Chapter 15: The Grey Sedan

We listened to all of it in the car, twice.

It was eleven minutes of Honora being gentle to a dying man.

She told Alistair which pages to initial.

She told him Ronan was tired and didn't need to be woken.

In the same soft voice, she told him a good husband didn't make his wife look foolish.

His answers were a few words each, and the last one was: "Yes, Honora."

When it ended Ronan took the drive out and held it in his fist.

He didn't say anything, and I didn't ask him to.

Then he drove me to Bree's.

At two in the morning he left me on Bree's doorstep with a kiss on my forehead and a copy of the file on my phone.

"Friday is in thirty hours," he said. "Sleep."

I slept for three of them.

At five a.m. Bree shook me awake by the shoulder.

"There's a man in the hall with a suitcase," she said. "He says he's your husband. I'm not letting him in until you say."

I sat up and pulled the blanket round me.

"Is he alone?"

"He has a black eye and no shoes."

I went to the door.

Preston stood on the landing in his socks with one bag at his feet.

A red mark was swelling under his left eye.

"She took my phone and my cards," he said. "I climbed out the bathroom window, and I walked."

"Walked where?"

"Here." He tried to smile. "I know I don't deserve a couch."

Bree folded her arms.

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