Page 18 of A Murder is Going Down

‘I’ll help you,’ I say as we arrive at the train station. Patrick smiles like he never doubted it, which nearly makes me change my mind. ‘But,’ I say, ‘I think we have to be open to all possibilities, even if that means that Felix did kill himself and Elena doesn’t get the insurance money.’

The train arrives just as we reach the platform, so there’s a scramble while we jog and swipe, and Patrick accidentally runs his bike tyre over my foot.

‘Also, you can’t be a rude weirdo to everyone, especially Elena’s friends,’ I finish as we choose our seats. There’s only one other person in the carriage: a middle-aged woman whose eyes flicker up from her phone screen to look us up and down.

‘I don’t care if people think I’m a rude weirdo.’

‘I’ve noticed.’

‘You’d be surprised how much easier life becomes if you stop caring about what people think of you,’ he says.

‘What do you suggest we do?’ I ask.

‘We could get Elena to introduce us to some of her friends; obviously we’re only interested in those who were at theparty. We should also try to find out something about Felix’s mental health. If he was suicidal, there might be medical records. He would have seen a doctor or a psychologist.’

‘Plenty of people who are depressed never see anyone about it,’ I feel compelled to point out, mostly because I want the woman in the carriage, who is clearly eavesdropping, to know I am a thoughtful and sensitive person.

‘Sure, but it would be good to know. Maybe Elena can tell us who his GP was?’

I laugh. I can’t help it. ‘I know his GP.’

Patrick looks impressed, as though I’ve made a Sherlock Holmes–level deduction about a suspect’s location based on the consistency of their cigarette ash. (Side note: vapes have really killed ash-related deductions.) ‘How?’

‘It’s Ben’s dad.’

‘Your Ben? Your ex-Ben, I mean? The Ben formerly known as Yours?’

‘Don’t call him that.’

‘His dad was your brother’s GP?’ Patrick mimes being sick. ‘Isn’t that a bit incestuous?’

‘Felix wasn’tsleepingwith him,’ I say. ‘So far as I know, anyway.’

‘Yikes.’

‘Can we try to leave Ben out of this? I’ll talk to the party guests with you. I’ll sift through the cigarette ash and make appropriately brilliant deductions—’

‘Wait, what cop shows areyouwatchi—’

‘But let’s only go the doctor route if we absolutely have to.’

‘You’re really in?’

‘I’m in.’

‘Yes!’ Patrick fist-pumps dramatically. ‘I knew the wedding wasn’t a one-off. Heidi, we’re going to havefun.’

I know he’s joking, so I make awhateverface back at him and hope he’s not a good enough detective to see how nice it feels to have someone express any pleasure in my company. It’s been a while.

Now

‘Do you have a photo of Patrick on your phone?’ Marianne asks.

‘Why?’

‘Just curious.’

‘Um, sure. Probably.’ I say this like I don’t know why she’s asking. ‘Can I look later, though?’