HOLLY LASTED A WEEK before telling her parents what had happened. The story had appeared in the local newspaper by then and although her name hadn’t been used, she knew it was only a matter of time before the information got out there. She had hoped to keep it from them, as if by doing so, she might be able to deny it happened at all, sweep it under the rug, the rug that had saved her. But once it was in the newspaper, she knew it would probably get picked up by the nationals, and then they’d know anyway. Better they heard it from her.

They cried, both of them. Anne first and then Martin when he came on the phone. They told her they would come and visit, come and bring her home, she told them not to, using the dissertation as the perfect excuse. It still needed to be finished and by concentrating all her efforts on it, she was able to distract herself from the trauma that was still weighing heavily on her mind. She wondered at night, as she lay staring at the ceiling and listening hard for any sounds on the landing, whether or not she would ever sleep easily again.

With three days until the dissertation deadline, she was almost finished. The thing was virtually completed. But then what would she concentrate on? Fiona’s duplicity?

Fiona was already done. She’d packed and headed back to Berwick. Their friendship had cracked, the seemingly thick ice of it turning out to be razor thin, far more delicate than she would ever had guessed. They had talked in detail about staying in touch, getting together, perhaps even doing a Master’s at the same university. But Holly saw the truth in Fiona’s eyes as she climbed into her car with the boxes all crammed into the back. Her eyes didn’t lie. They would keep in touch, for a while. But over time, they would talk less until eventually their interactions would consist of nothing but seeing each other’s photos posted on Facebook. Holly didn’t mind. She couldn’t look at Fiona without feeling a niggling sense of betrayal.

It was probably for the best anyway. Realistically, when would they have got together? She needed to focus on getting her work done, then her sister’s wedding, the birth that was coming up all too quickly. And she needed to decide what she was going to do next.

Knowing Joseph’s funeral had been held made her feel more secure. She finally felt certain he wouldn’t come back to the house. She still listened at night though, without Fiona there, she was more on edge than she liked to admit. But during the day, those feelings were easy to forget.

With a day to go until the deadline, Holly was sure she’d get her dissertation done. She was working late into the night when someone knocked on her front door.

She looked at the time. Quarter past eleven. Who would come round that late at night?

“Miss Simpson,” a man’s voice said from outside. “It’s D.C.I Wyman. Would you mind opening the door?”

Holly got up, trying to keep calm. Why was he here so late? She pulled open the door to find him standing there in a black suit. “Mind if I come inside?”

He stepped forwards and she automatically moved back, doing her best not to panic. Why was he here?

“How have you been?” he asked, stopping in the middle of the living room, turning to face her.

“Coping,” she replied.

“I know what you did,” he said bluntly, pulling out a pair of handcuffs. “Would you mind keeping still for a moment.”

Holly froze as he took her right arm, clicking the handcuff around her wrist before doing the same to her left arm. “Take a seat,” he said, pushing her down onto the sofa. She sat with her heart pounding, not wanting to speak, worrying she would immediately confess.

“Am I under arrest?” she asked after he said nothing for more than a minute.

“Not yet. I want to know the truth though. Did he fall down the stairs or did you push him?”

“What? What kind of question is that? Why are you asking me that?”

“I understand, Miss Simpson. A man like that, running at you, I’d be scared too, he was a big guy.”

“Why are you here so late?”

“Well, I’m here to make you an offer, better than you’d get from any judge.”

“An offer? What offer?”

“You and me go upstairs to your bedroom. Then I keep what you just said to myself. Not a word goes beyond us two. What do you say?”

Holly was stunned. Was he really suggesting she sleep with him to avoid being arrested? “You’re coming upstairs with me,” he said, interrupting her thoughts. “The only question is whether you do so willingly or I drag you up there.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“You’re in handcuffs, Holly. I saw your body. Even in that dressing gown, you couldn’t hide it. You wanted me to see it, I know you did, letting it come loose like that. Now get up those stairs or this will get very unpleasant.”

Holly stood up slowly, her legs weak. Could she run? Scream? Would the neighbours hear? No, they were students, same as her. They’d already gone home. “Fiona will be back in ten minutes,” she said.

“Nice try,” he smiled. “But I’ve been waiting for her to go back to Berwick. I do my research, Holly. You have to when you’re in my position. Can’t be too careful. Now,” he paused, grabbing her cuffs and pulling her towards him. “Upstairs.”

She walked in front of him, each step feeling like it was taking her closer to her doom. She stopped in the hallway, looking back over her shoulder at him. He was right behind her.

“You have beautiful eyes,” he said, running his hand over her cheek. “I knew a woman once with eyes just like yours, I’d love to compare them.”

She walked slowly upstairs. She was carried downstairs a week later when she failed to answer the phone to her mother one too many times. Her mother turned up at the house, hammering on the door. The police turned up shortly afterwards, D.C.I Wyman breaking down the door and finding the body in the bedroom. D.S Hills came up after him, shocked by the sight of her corpse with its dark holes where her eyes had been. For Wyman, the sight wasn’t as disturbing, for him it brought back pleasant memories of a perfect date night.