Chapter 8: Rain

He drove to the river and stopped on the south side of Tower Bridge, and I got out without being asked.

The rain had started again.

It came down in long cold lines through the lamplight, and the bridge stood over us with its towers lit blue.

I walked out onto the walkway with my coat open and my hair soaked through.

Clement came after me and stopped a few feet away.

"You knew her name," I said.

"Yes."

"Before tonight."

"Yes."

"How long?"

The river moved below us, dark and fast.

"Since March," he said.

"And the others?"

"What others?"

"Crispin.

"The accidents.

"How long have you known he was planning them, Ardley?"

He didn't say anything for so long that I thought he wouldn't.

Then he said, "The fourth one."

I heard it, and I didn't understand it, and I made him say it again.

"The fourth.

"The cyclist on the pavement in Kensington.

"I saw Crispin's second phone on the back seat that evening, and I read the messages while he was in the shop.

"I've known since that evening."

I couldn't speak for a moment.

Years of dates and fittings.

Years of him in the front seat, saying, mind your head, Miss Marchbanks, and I had let him hold doors for me.