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Hannah is frowning, trying to puzzle something out, when she realizes Geraint is speaking again.
“The thing is, being devil’s advocate for a moment,” he is saying, “even if April was pregnant, it’s hard to see what that’s got to do with the case. It’s not Victorian England. No one was going to force anyone into a shotgun marriage. There’s the sexual jealousy angle”—he shoots Hannah an apologetic look, knowing that he is tacitly pointing the finger at Will here—“strangulation typically points to a domestic murder, usually a crime of passion—but April’s boyfriend was never in the picture, he was away from college the night of the murder. Pregnancy just isn’t much of a motive.”
“Well, you say that,” November puts in. “But there’s pregnancy and there’s pregnancy. What if it was someone who couldn’t afford to be found sleeping with a student? Someone whose job or marriage might be at stake?”
“You mean a member of staff?” Geraint asks. November shrugs and Geraint looks intrigued. “It’s certainly a possibility,” he says.
“Oh my God,” Hannah says. Her hands have gone suddenly cold. “Oh my God.”
“What?” Geraint asks, and then frowns. “Are you all right, Hannah?”
Hannah shakes her head, but she’s not sure if she means I’m not all right, or That doesn’t matter right now. She knows her face has gone pale, and from Geraint’s expression she can tell that she must look as stricken as she feels.
“Dr. Myers,” she whispers, more to herself than to them.
“Who?” November says. Geraint is frowning.
“That tutor who lived on your stairwell?”
“Yes.” Hannah’s heart has started pounding, sickeningly hard. She feels unutterably stupid. She cannot believe this never occurred to her before. “Yes. Oh my God, he’s the one person who could have accessed April’s room between Neville leaving and me and Hugh arriving. He wouldn’t have needed to enter the building, he was already there.”
“But are you saying—” Geraint frowns, and then starts again. “He couldn’t have got April pregnant, surely? He wasn’t even her tutor.”
“No, he was mine—but April knew him. She went to a party he threw. He had this reputation.” Hannah feels sick. There is a buzzing in her ears. “He used to invite students—female students—out for drinks. They were all April’s type, very beautiful, very—”
Suddenly she cannot go on. The ringing in her ears is growing louder. The room is taking on a strange, distant quality.
“Are you saying he could have been sleeping with her?” Geraint asks. He looks skeptical but also strangely hopeful. Hannah feels anything but.
“I don’t know—” Hannah manages. Her tongue feels strange and thick in her mouth. Her fingers are freezing. She feels numb all over. “Did I get it wrong all along? I don’t—I don’t—”
The words are not coming. Suddenly her body feels as if it doesn’t belong to her, like her limbs are made of Plasticine.
“I don’t—” she says. Her voice sounds like it’s coming from very far away.
“Hannah?” she hears. “Hannah, are you okay?”
“I—”
Everything disintegrates, and she slides into the dark.
AFTER
When Hannah wakes it’s to a confusion of noise, people crowding around, Geraint saying “Give her some air!” over and over, and November kneeling beside her, concern all over her face. There is a coat under her head and someone has removed her glasses. It makes her feel strangely vulnerable, even more than she already did.
“Someone call an ambulance,” she hears, and she struggles up onto her elbows.
“No, no, please, I don’t need an ambulance.” Her voice is shaky, but she tries to put conviction into it. “I’m pregnant—that’s all.”
“You’re pregnant?” The words don’t seem to calm Geraint down. If anything he looks more alarmed, like she is a ticking bomb that might explode at any moment.
“We need to get you checked over. Is there a doctor here?” November calls over her shoulder to one of the hovering hotel staff. She stands up. “Anyone? Do you guys have a house doctor for the hotel?”
“I’m a doctor.” The voice comes from the far side of the foyer, a man’s voice, his accent English, not Scottish, getting louder as the footsteps approach. “Can I help?”
Hannah tries to sit up. Without her glasses all she can see is a blur of faces.
“This lady—she’s fainted,” Geraint is saying in a worried voice. “She’s pregnant. Should we be calling an ambulance?”
