Page 98 of A Murder is Going Down

‘Yes.’

‘Why, exactly?’

‘I sent it to you.’

‘Sorry?’

‘I sent you my manuscript about the true story of how my brother died.’

‘Thisisa pitch? I knew it.’ Marianne shakes her head. I can’t tell whether it’s in disgust or admiration. Or maybe those two things are too entwined for her to separate them. ‘I asked you straight out and you lied to me. That’s a little tacky, darling.’

‘You sent me a rejection letter.’

‘Rejection is a part of life, sweetheart.’ Marianne sounds more confident, like she’s regained familiar ground.

‘But clearly, you didn’t even read it. Or you would have recognised it the moment I started speaking.’

‘You think I wade through my own slush pile?’

‘It’s a good story.’

‘Every writer thinks that.’

‘You want to know what happens, though. Don’t you?’

‘In real life or the story?’

‘Same thing.’

‘Was it even murder? Because, I’ve got to say, if the resolution to this whole thing is that Felix slipped, I’m going to be disappointed.’

‘It was murder.’

‘Who was it, then?’

‘You can’t guess? The clues are all there. The t-shirt. The bathroom. The hair.’

‘Thebathroom?’ Marianne thinks about it. ‘Elena. She’s the only one with a real motive. The wheelchair is a misdirect and she can really walk normally. She pretends to be stuck in the lift … but gets out somehow, goes outside, pushes her shitty husband to his death, then sneaks back in.’

‘How?’ I ask.

‘I don’t know. With mirrors. I’m sure it wouldn’t be that hard.’ Marianne waves away the laws of physics with one hand.

‘That’s not what happened.’

‘Tell me this – is there any chance she has an identical twin?’

‘Do you want me to go on?’

‘Fine.’

Then

I tell Aunty Sam I’m going for a run and she’s distracted enough by her garden not to recognise how unlikely that is. Then I catch the bus into the city and turn up at Jade and Haruto’s place, uninvited and unannounced. Jade’s still at work, but Haruto answers the door, looking at me like I’m trying to sell him affordable bitcoin investments.

‘Heidi?’ he says, recognising me a beat too late. ‘Are you okay?’

I’m possibly redder than I realised. Or maybe it’s my running shorts. (Iknewthey were too short when I bought them, but Lilia swore I was pulling them off.) I take out my phone and swipe through until I get to the photo of me, Aunty Sam and Felix.