Page 53 of Rich Little Liars

‘It did. Insufficient evidence to pursue charges.’ He lets that phrase sit for a moment. Insufficient evidence. Not innocent. Not proven. Just not enough proof to proceed. ‘But investigations can be reopened. Especially when new information comes to light.’

‘What new information?’

‘I’m not sure yet. But something about your situation feels wrong to me, Ms Reynolds. And I’ve learned to trust that feeling.’

‘I haven’t done anything wrong,’ I say. My voice sounds hollow. Empty.

‘Then you have nothing to worry about.’

But we both know that’s not true. I have everything to worry about.

‘Where were you,’ he asks, ‘between the hours of 10 p.m. and 3 a.m.?’

‘At home. With Richard.’

‘Can anyone verify that? Before Richard came over?’

‘Richard could, if⁠—’

‘And you were both in the house all evening? Neither of you left?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Hmm.’ He makes a note. ‘And you said you were awake when the break-in occurred. Why was that?’

‘I couldn’t sleep. I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately.’

‘Insomnia?’

‘Something like that.’

‘Related to stress, would you say? Anxiety?’

‘Probably both.’

‘About anything in particular?’

I think about the notes. The ring. I should hand over everything and let the police deal with whoever is doing this. But telling him means explaining why the notes matter. Why finding my wedding ring among burned remains sent me spiralling. It means revealing what I did.

‘Just general anxiety,’ I say. ‘About settling into a new place. Meeting new people. And I’m still coming to terms with the trauma of everything I lost.’

Harvey’s expression suggests he doesn’t believe me. But he doesn’t push. Just closes his notebook with a soft snap that sounds like a verdict.

‘I’ll be in touch about your situation.’ He stands, tucking the notebook into his jacket. ‘And Ms Reynolds? Don’t leave town without letting us know. We may have more questions as the investigation progresses.’

‘Wait. Am I a suspect?’

The question comes out too sharp. Harvey pauses, looking down at me with either concern or satisfaction. It’s hard to say which.

‘Everyone’s a suspect until they’re not,’ he says. ‘That’s how investigations work.’

Then he’s gone, the door swinging shut behind him, and I’m alone again with Richard and the beeping machines and the growing certainty that everything is falling apart.

I turn back to the bed. Richard hasn’t moved. The bandage around his head is stark white against his pale skin. He looks smaller somehow. Diminished. Like the violence that put him here has taken something essential away.

‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper. ‘I’m so sorry.’

Harvey suspects something. That much is clear. He’s connected the fire to whatever is happening now, seen a pattern in the chaos that I’ve been trying desperately to obscure. And he’s not going to stop digging until he finds what he’s looking for.