When I open the door, I see I was right to think that Huhne wouldn’t trust me. Her eyes narrow as soon as she sees me.
‘What kept you, Mr Millard?’ she asks. ‘Busy drawing?’
Oh. The picture. Of Huhne’s family dying. I’d forgotten about that. I rather wish I hadn’t done that now.
She pushes pass me, shoving something into my chest as she does so. It’s a ball of paper. The picture. I let it drop.
‘I couldn’t find the keys,’ I repeat, sticking to my story, following her.
‘You and your keys,’ she says, as if we have an in-joke.
The only joke we would have about keys is if she has found Ally’s, in my stuff. And that wouldn’t be funny.
‘Where’s Nicole?’ asks Huhne. She continues down the hall to the kitchen, towards the partially bound, indirectly gagged Nicole. Will Huhne notice? Shall I tell her? I could do a big reveal: beneath that table, DC Huhne, is a wife killer.
‘She’s through here.’ I push past her, lead the way. Huhne follows, close behind.
I enter the room first. Nicole wears a fixed Broadway smile. I stand to one side to let Huhne experience it.
‘See, DC Huhne,’ says Nicole. ‘I’m fine. Dan’s just been feeding me dinner.’
Huhne nods. I see her eyes flick over the balls of spat-out fish fingers spread over the table, and the sabre. Then I see her see the tea stains on Nicole’s top.
‘What’s happened to you?’ Huhne asks. ‘Spilt something?’
‘Nothing,’ says Nicole, as she’s been told.
‘Right,’ says Huhne. ‘If you say so. Any food left?’ she asks.
‘No,’ I say, as Nicole says, ‘Yes.’
I see Nicole wince slightly, then change her answer to ‘No’.
DC Huhne is clearly a woman who believes in taking the first answer, because she sits down at the table, taking my place. Her feet, with their nail, must be almost brushing against Adam as she puts them under the table. I stay standing.
‘Fish fingers, is it?’ asks DC Huhne. ‘My favourite.’
She picks one up from my plate, and bites into it. Nicole and I watch her.
‘So, Nicole,’ says DC Huhne, fake-conversationally, ‘what was it you wanted to talk about?’
Nicole is doing the fake smile again.
‘I got it wrong, DC Huhne. Dan’s not a killer,’ Nicole says.
I look at DC Huhne. She looks at me. We share a moment. One I do not want.
‘No?’ says DC Huhne.
‘No,’ says Nicole.
I don’t know if we’re talking about Helen or Ally. How many of her suspicions has Nicole already shared? Which ones is she now trying to set aside?
DC Huhne leans forward across the table. I look at her feet, to see if they have edged further under the table. No. She has moved them back. The nail sticks out of the heel, ready to snag anything close to it. I think of Adam, under the table, preparing to be crucified.
‘So,’ says DC Huhne, ‘is someone else on the hook?’
Nicole now could end it all. She could say Adam’s name. Would he then stab her in the stomach? Or would he leap up, from under the table, proclaim his innocence or kill us all, or both? Will he not do that anyway, eventually?
Nicole must be having the same thoughts, because she remains silent. Then she gasps. Adam is making choices for her.
‘I got it wrong,’ says Nicole. ‘It wasn’t a murder, it was an accident.’
Helen, then. We are still talking about Helen.
‘Really?’ says DC Huhne, nodding. ‘And how did you deduce that?’
‘Dan told me,’ says Nicole.
DC Huhne raises an eyebrow. ‘We should have you on the force, Nicole. Your powers of investigation would be unrivalled. Twinned with Mr Millard’s research tools, you’d be unstoppable.’ She has been taking sarcasm classes from DS Pearce.
‘And he showed me his diary,’ Nicole adds.
No. No, that is not right or good. DC Huhne is not the target audience for book three. Nicole should not say that. I will Adam to ply the knife, to silence her, to stop the word-of-mouth spread for a book that was never meant to emerge into the world.
DC Huhne turns to me.
‘A diary, Mr Millard? I thought you wrote picture books. Was it a work of fiction or is there a bit of contemporaneous fact in there? Help us all stick to reality?’
I should have a lawyer, I should not be interrogated. I cannot confess to the diary. If she reads the diary, she will not understand. She is a narrow woman, narrower than Nicole. She sees right and wrong, and she enforces the law. She does not, I am sure, understand love.
So I shrug. That seems the best answer.
‘Oh, Mr Millard, don’t be coy. I’d love to see some of your writing. Or perhaps, some more of your writing. To go with my lovely picture.’
Again, there is a moment. I think of Luke, of his writing, the note, left behind. She, I am sure, thinks of it too.
‘DC Huhne,’ says Nicole, ‘it’s fine. Adam wasn’t the one to kill Helen. He writes a diary. That’s not a crime. I’M BOUND to say – ah!’
We both noticed Nicole’s word play, her emphasis. But Adam reacted first.
‘What I mean, DC Huhne,’ says Nicole, her voice shaking, ‘is that you should leave. It’s late. I’m fine. Dan is taking care of me. Adam will be along to get me soon.’
Which is true, of course. Because once DC Huhne has gone, Adam will get Nicole.
DC Huhne nods. She rises to her feet. The napkin floats from her lap. If she bends down to pick it up, she will be level with Adam. Any move by him to suppress Nicole will be obvious. Nicole sits up straighter, as far as her restraints will allow.
I spring round the table. ‘Allow me!’ I say, snatching up the napkin.
Nicole slumps in her chair as Huhne stands up.
DC Huhne pauses, and takes the napkin from me. Rather than put it bag on the table, she puts it in those deep mac pockets. I see it featuring in court, as an exhibit, next to another napkin, with writing on. I wonder if the judge will like the floral decoration, whether shared taste would make the sentence more lenient.
Huhne looks at me. I doubt I’ll have to wait long to find out.
‘Well, I’m glad you’re safe, Nicole.’ Huhne turns to me. ‘I’ll take my leave then, for now, Mr Millard.’
Huhne walks out of the room, back into the corridor. I follow her, with some notion of playing host. Her left heel clacks against the floor.
‘You should get that fixed, DC Huhne,’ I say.
‘I’ve got other priorities, right now, Mr Millard,’ she replies, approaching the front door. She lets herself out, without needing keys.
‘It’s on the latch,’ I say, too late.
DC Huhne steps over the threshold.
‘This is not the end, Mr Millard,’ she says.
I have just shut the door when, from the kitchen, there is a crash and a scream.