Page 52 of Rich Little Liars

‘No. They were wearing a balaclava or scarf. I couldn’t see.’

‘Height? Build? Anything distinctive?’

‘Tall. Broad shoulders. That’s all I remember.’

‘Male or female?’

The question catches me off guard. Thinking back to those dark moments in my hallway, I can’t be certain. The figure was bulky with clothing. The movements were strong but not distinctively masculine.

‘I don’t know,’ I admit. ‘I assumed male, but I can’t be sure.’

Harvey writes this down. The same notebook from before, I notice. Worn leather cover. Pages slightly dog-eared. He’s been taking notes on me for a while.

‘And you didn’t recognise anything about them? The way they moved? Their voice?’

‘They didn’t speak. And I was too scared to notice how they moved. I just saw someone in my house who shouldn’t be there.’

‘Right.’ He flips back a few pages. ‘This is the second time in a week you’ve reported an intruder at your property.’

‘Yes.’

‘The first time, we found no evidence anyone had been there.’

‘I know.’

‘And now someone’s broken in and attacked your… friend? Partner?’

I don’t know how to answer that. What are Richard and I? More than friends. Not quite partners. Something undefined and fragile and possibly now destroyed by what happened tonight.

‘He’s someone I care about,’ I say. ‘That’s all that matters.’

Something shifts in his eyes. A sharpening of focus that makes me want to look away. ‘Ms Reynolds, I’m going to be direct with you. There are things about your situation that don’t quite add up.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You move to East Hampton alone after your husband’s death in a house fire. You keep to yourself. You report seeing intruders that leave no evidence behind. And now someone breaks into your home and assaults a man who happened to be staying with you.’ He pauses. ‘That’s a lot of incidents for someone who claims to be seeking a quiet life.’

‘I’m not claiming anything. These things keep happening to me.’

‘Did you ever stop to ask why?’

The question hangs between us. Harvey isn’t stupid – I knew that from our first meeting. He’s the sort of officer who notices things. Who files observations away and waits for patterns to emerge. And right now, he’s looking at me like he can see the pattern I’ve been trying to hide.

‘What are you suggesting?’ I ask.

‘I’m not suggesting anything. Just asking questions.’ He leans back, his posture relaxed but his eyes never leaving my face. ‘Tell me about the fire. The one that killed your husband.’

My throat tightens. ‘Excuse me?’

‘I’ve been doing some reading. Daniel Reynolds, thirty-seven, killed in a house fire several months ago. Investigation concluded it was accidental.’ He pauses. ‘But there were questions, weren’t there? About how the fire started. About why your husband didn’t get out when you did.’

‘There are always questions after something like that.’

‘Of course. Perfectly normal.’ His tone is mild, almost friendly. ‘But some of the questions were specifically about you. About why you survived and he didn’t. About whether the fire was really as accidental as it seemed.’

I can’t breathe. The room suddenly feels smaller. The beeping of Richard’s monitors too loud. Harvey’s gaze too sharp.

‘The investigation cleared me,’ I manage.