‘Jesus.’
‘And the woman Seb killed in the crash, who was driving the other car. A chain of deaths, one after another. Mazz thought she’d set it all in motion.’
She stopped talking. Cory looked back at the window and watched a sparrow in the raised bed pull at a worm. The rain must have brought it to the surface.
‘All this,’ Rowan said, ‘it doesn’t make it right, your breaking in. Obviously I’m not going to go to the police but you went through my room – my things. How dare you?’
‘I knew you weren’t telling me the whole story. When you tried to put me off talking to Turk, that’s when I was sure.’
She took a sip of brandy then moved the glass away. She couldn’t afford anything other than a clear head. ‘Why did you need to know so badly?’ she asked. ‘What’s it all for?’
He came back to the table and sat down. He looked at the bottle and Rowan pushed it towards him. ‘Marianne wanted me to know,’ he said. ‘She wanted to tell me.’
‘But she didn’t tell you.’
‘She was trying. Every time we talked, she told me another detail, a hint. Is it surprising that she had to do it gradually, something like this?’ He took the top off and poured himself another half-inch before pointing the bottle in her direction. She shook her head.
‘I think she was trying to tell you, too, wasn’t she?’ he said.
‘What?’
‘That card in your box of sketches – I need to talk to you. Her handwriting.’
‘Oh.’ Shit, she’d forgotten about that but of course, Cory must have seen it. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘It arrived the day after Jacqueline called to tell me she’d died. I never got a chance to find out why she . . .’
‘How do you do it?’ he said. ‘Tell someone you’ve killed someone?’
‘Why do you do it? That’s a bigger question for me. Why, after ten years, would she feel a sudden urge to confess?’
Cory looked at her over the rim of his glass. ‘I know you don’t trust me.’
‘I don’t.’
‘That’s fair. My reputation – Greta, Hanna. But I promise you – I promise you with my hand on my heart,’ he laid it on his chest, palm down, ‘that it was never my intention to expose or hurt Marianne in any way.’
‘What made her different?’
‘I didn’t mean to hurt the others, whatever it looked like – and I do see how that might be hard to believe – but Marianne . . . Never. We were friends, Rowan.’
‘Who needs enemies?’
‘We were.’
‘What does that mean, in your world?’
He frowned, narrowing his eyes. ‘What are you asking?’
‘I’m asking what you’re going to do with all this now you know. I’m asking if she can trust you now.’ She hesitated. ‘If I can.’
He took another sip and Rowan suppressed an urge to reach over and knock the glass out of his hand. ‘What good would it do?’ she said, and the look on Cory’s face told her he heard every bit of her fear and anger. Well, she thought, let him. ‘What would it achieve, bringing all this out into the open now? Marianne’s dead – she can’t be tried, brought to justice. Do you think it would help Lorna’s family to know that their daughter was killed?’ Murdered: still, after all these years, she couldn’t bring herself to say the word. ‘And the Glasses – Jacqueline and Adam – can you imagine how much it would hurt them?’
‘I’m not planning to tell anyone.’
‘Planning?’
‘I’m not going to tell anyone. Okay?’
‘And your portrait?’
‘Is just a portrait. Of a woman I liked very much.’ He looked down at his hands and it occurred to her that he was crying. When he looked up again, however, seconds later, his eyes were bright but dry. ‘I’m not your problem, Rowan.’
This time the cold fingers took hold of her heart.
‘She knew she could trust me, whatever she told me. Whatever – I told her that. I’ve asked myself over and over – Did I make it happen? Did she misinterpret me in some way? Did she think she’d told me too much?’ He shook his head. ‘No. She jumped, I’m sure of it, but . . .’
‘How?’ Rowan demanded. ‘How are you sure?’
‘I knew her.’
‘For God’s sake.’
‘I did, Rowan. I knew her and I cared about her. She jumped but I wasn’t the reason.’
Twenty-six