Page 40 of A Murder is Going Down

The panic on Marianne’s face tells me I shouldn’t have mentioned suffocation. ‘What do you think they want from us?’ she asks.

‘I don’t even know whotheyare. Or iftheyexist.’

‘If they’re targeting me, it could be anyone,’ Marianne says. ‘Writers. Editors. Publishers. Maybe two of my ex-husbands. No, three. No, Josh would never.’

‘Jesus.’

‘The next question is, what are we going to do about it?’ Marianne looks up at the hatch above our heads. ‘I hate to say it, but I think it’s time to open that.’

‘And dowhat?’

‘You’re young and strong.’

‘I’m not climbing into a lift shaft,’ I say. I mean it.

‘Let’s just take a look and see how close we are to the nearest set of doors,’ Marianne says.

‘I’m not climbing into a lift shaft.’

‘We’ll only open the hatch.’

‘How? Do you have a screwdriver in your handbag?’

‘I think I … have … something.’ Marianne goes through her bag and comes out with a nail file.

Well … shit.

Even on her tiptoes, Marianne’s not tall enough to reach the hatch. She gives me a look that makes me briefly sure she’s going to ask me to be her stool. But no, Marianne kicks off her shoes, grabs the metal rail that runs around three walls of the lift and, with more grace than I would have anticipated, pulls her body up to balance her feet on the rail.

‘I wasn’t expecting that,’ I say, grinning despite it all. It’s an understatement: who is this action hero and where has her hyperventilating alter-ego gone?

Marianne lets herself smile. ‘Ten years of Pilates.’

With one hand, she grips the handle on the hatch, while her other hand uses the nail file to turn one of the screws. It’s not easy work – the file doesn’t fit perfectly into the screw, so it moves reluctant millimetre by reluctant millimetre. I can’t watch, not because it’s boring, butbecause, if I do, I can see straight up Marianne’s skirt to her full-coverage knickers.

Instead, I ask, ‘Do you think they can see us? The guy on the intercom. Can he see what you’re doing right now?’

‘What is he going to do about it? If he wants to drag us out of here, please,be my guest.’ The last three words are delivered loudly towards the camera in the ceiling.

I can think of a few things that somebody in charge of a lift could do to the people trapped inside, but I don’t mention any of them. I’m still dealing with Marianne’s transformation from panicked claustrophobe to Furiosa.

‘Can I help?’ I’m not sure how, since there’s no way I’m getting up on that bar without spraining something, flashing everything or both.

‘No,’ Marianne grunts. ‘But keep talking, distract me. What happened next? And what about Elena’s brother, the new, hot one? He sounds suspicious.’

‘Michael?’

‘Yeah. He doesn’t want you and Patrick poking around into Felix’s death. Plus he sounds too hot and charismatic – that’s a red flag.’

‘Is it?’

‘Prove me wrong, then. What happened next?’

I don’t need to be told twice.

Then

The next afternoon we’re in the back of Ben’s mum’s Volvo, driving out to meet Sarah – Lilia’s piano teacher and one of the last people to see my brother alive.