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“It’s up to you,” November whispers back. “I mean… doesn’t she work here now? Would it put her in a difficult situation?”
“I don’t think so. Emily works for Balliol. It’s a different college. It’s not like we’d be making accusations about one of her colleagues.”
“One of whose colleagues?” Emily says, making Hannah jump and turn around, to where Emily is standing in the kitchen doorway. She is holding a huge casserole filled with steaming chickpeas, plump apricots, and savory spices, and it smells incredible. Hannah and November watch as she maneuvers it onto the mat in the center of the table, and then Emily says again, “You were saying? About someone’s colleagues?”
“Well, so, that’s the real reason we’re down,” Hannah says. “I’m sorry I said that about the prank April played on you. That was stupid. But I was thinking about the layout of the staircase—the fact that Neville was convicted because no one could have entered the building between him leaving, and us coming in.”
“Right…” Emily says slowly. She is dishing out tagine and couscous into three bowls, a furrow between her black brows, unsure where this is going.
“Unless… unless they were already in there.”
Emily stops. She puts a bowl down in front of November and looks hard at Hannah.
“Hannah, what are you saying? You’re saying that someone else on the staircase—”
“I’m saying it’s possible. The two guys below—Henry and Philip—they had alibis. They were both together all night in Henry’s room, and they gave evidence at the trial about hearing April walking around on the floor above from about ten forty-five and answering the door to someone. And the rooms below them, rooms one and two, room one was empty, it was used for some kind of scouts storage. And the girl in room two had her boyfriend over. I know because I knocked on the door on my way down and they came out together. But Dr. Myers… he was never questioned at the trial. He didn’t come out and see what was going on. Why wouldn’t he come out when he heard me screaming like that?”
“Yes. Why wouldn’t he…” Emily says, very slowly. “Unless he had something to hide… Fuck. I can’t believe the police didn’t rule him out, though?”
“I mean, maybe they did and we just didn’t hear about it—but on the other hand, maybe they just never suspected him. What would his motive be?”
“Well, that’s a good point,” Emily says. “What would his motive be?”
Hannah looks down at her plate. She has to tell Emily. It isn’t fair not to. She takes a deep breath.
“Well… we think April may have been pregnant.”
She’s not sure what she’s expecting from Emily. Shock maybe, or a flicker of something indicating that she already knew. Neither comes. Instead a deep, weary sadness spreads over Emily’s face.
“Fuck,” she says very quietly. “Oh my God, that’s awful. Why didn’t they bring it up at the trial?”
“According to Geraint, Neville’s defense thought it would look bad,” November says. “You know—victim-blaming. But if Myers was the father, it wouldn’t have gone down well with the college, would it?”
“Or his wife,” Emily says. “You know he’s married?”
“What?” Hannah is more puzzled than shocked. “When? Recently?”
“No, forever. He was married when we were at Pelham.”
“What?” Now Hannah really is shocked. “But—but where was his wife then? Had they separated?”
“I don’t think so. Fellowship abroad or something? But she came back the following year, after you’d left, and he moved out of Pelham and into a rather nice house in Jericho with her. I think they’re still there. She’s a professor at Wadham.”
“Shit,” November says. She looks very sober, in spite of the glass of white wine she’s holding. Hannah has a sudden, visceral longing for a glass herself, even though she hasn’t drunk since she held her own positive pregnancy test in her hand.
“And this is why you’re going to see him tomorrow?” Emily says. She looks rattled now, her cool composure shattered. “To try to—what? Trap him into something? Confront him?”
“Not confront him, no,” Hannah says impatiently. She digs her spoon into the tagine, as if the gesture can somehow restore the normality of the situation. “I’m not stupid. We’re just—we’re going to talk to him. That’s all.”
“I mean—” Emily stops. She folds her hands in her lap as if she’s trying to think how to compose something, and then starts again. “Look, if you think your evidence at the trial could have been based on a mistaken premise, then I can understand you wanting to get to the bottom of that, but—this could be dangerous.”
“It won’t be dangerous,” Hannah says, rather cross now. This is not what she wants. She doesn’t want Emily echoing Will’s concerns. “As far as Myers is concerned, November and I are just two grieving people remembering April in her last year. He doesn’t need to know anything else.”
“I really think—”
“I really think this is Hannah’s decision,” November puts in, and Hannah shoots her a grateful look. Yes. Thank you. “If Myers is guilty—which is a pretty big if—he’d be absolutely insane to try anything. We’ll be together in broad daylight. He’s hardly going to gun a pregnant former student down just for coming on a tour of Pelham.”
“Ugh,” Emily says now, as if frustrated. She runs her hand through her hair, leaving the stiff waves mussed and tousled, and then rubs under the nose-clips of her glasses before resettling them. “I wish I could come with you, but I’ve got tutorials. Will you promise me you’ll be careful? And will you report back tomorrow night?”
