Beth’s phone rang again while Priya was trying to persuade her to drink some water.
She flinched, then looked at the screen.
“My cousin,” she said, almost apologetically.
The officer moved a little away to give her space. I sat on the chair beside her, holding the blanket that had slipped from her shoulders.
“I’m not going back to the house,” Beth said into the phone.
She listened.
“No. I have somewhere.”
I was glad of that room, the kitchen shelf, the cup she had been free to move. Martin’s death had changed many things. It had not made her earlier decision meaningless.
When the call ended, she stared at her messages.
“He sent something.”
“Tonight?” Priya asked.
“Earlier. I didn’t listen.”
She touched the screen, then stopped.
“Should I?”
I looked towards the officer.
“Perhaps tell him it’s there.”
Beth beckoned him over and explained. He asked her not to delete or change anything and spoke with his colleague. There was no dramatic demand to hand over her entire life. There were questions, explanations and things he needed to establish.
Beth asked me to stay while she listened.
Martin’s voice filled the small space between us, quieter than I expected.
“You’ve got this all wrong. Your friends aren’t telling you everything. One of them has been giving me information for days.”
A pause. A rustle.
“Ask yourself why she’d do that. Don’t let people use you, Beth. Ring me.”
Then it ended.
Nobody moved immediately.
Hearing him alive was worse than hearing a threat. His voice belonged to the man who had stood in my doorway, who had carried chairs and interrupted his wife. My mind kept expecting him to continue.
Beth looked at me.
“What information?”
“I don’t know.”
“He could be lying,” Priya said carefully.
“Yes,” the officer said. “We’ll need to establish that.”
Beth replayed nothing. She put the phone down and covered her mouth with one hand.
Across the room, Vivienne asked what had happened. The officer said there was a message they needed to follow up. He did not invite us to decide what it meant together.
Celia looked towards Beth.
“Do you need anything?”
Beth shook her head.
The question could have come from any of us. So could the offer of tea, the blanket, the effort to make ourselves useful. Nothing in that room told me which kindness, if any, had carried a second purpose.
Later, a detective arrived and introduced herself as Leila Grant. She did not attempt to take over the room with her voice. She found somewhere to sit at Beth’s level and explained what would happen next as far as she could.
I caught only parts of the conversation. That was as it should have been. Being present did not make every answer mine to hear.
When Grant spoke to me, she confirmed my contact details and asked about my relationship with Beth.
“We’ve known each other two weeks.”
“And you’ve been helping her?”
“Keeping some work things. Listening. A small contribution towards immediate costs.”
I heard how much could fit into two weeks if someone needed help and you said yes.
“Did Martin know?”
“About the box, yes. He asked me for information. I told him to ask Beth.”
Grant nodded.
“We’ll want to understand those conversations. Not all tonight.”
That was the first suggestion that tonight might eventually end.
Before I left, I checked whether Beth wanted the spare jumper in my bag. She said she was warm enough. I put it away instead of wrapping her in it regardless.
Priya had arranged to wait until Beth’s cousin arrived. Vivienne was finding a clean towel; Celia was washing cups no one would need again that night. They were familiar movements, and watching them briefly made me feel less frightened.
Then I remembered how easily familiar movements could become an explanation in themselves. She was making tea, so she was kind. She was taking charge, so she knew. I had made those judgements all my life without ever thinking of them as judgements.
Outside, the crescent had become quiet again, though police vehicles remained near the hall. A few curtains moved as I stepped onto the pavement. I rang Tom and told him I was coming home.
He opened the door before I reached it.
For once, he didn’t ask me to explain while I was still taking off my coat. He put the kettle on and waited.
I told him what I could without passing on Beth’s private conversation. He listened. When I began to shake, he sat beside me rather than telling me not to.
Upstairs, Poppy was asleep with the paper crown beside her pillow.
I stood in her doorway for a moment, listening to the ordinary rhythm of her breathing.
My phone lit with a message from Beth.
I’m at my cousin’s tonight. Thank you.
I replied, then opened our earlier conversation, the one about the box.
If he asks, please send him to me.
I had kept that promise.
Somewhere between the first Thursday and this one, somebody had decided not to keep theirs.