Oh. She sank again.

‘Wh-what...’ Pip began.

‘We’ve got him,’ Hawkins said. ‘He was just arrested. He had managed to make it to France. Interpol have him now. But we’ve got him. He’ll be extradited back and officially charged tomorrow.’

She was still sinking. How was she still sinking? There was only so deep she could go, until she fell right through the ground into nothing.

‘I-I,’ she stuttered. Sinking. Shrinking. Watching her feet so they couldn’t disappear down through the carpet.

‘You don’t have to worry any more. We’ve got him,’ Hawkins said again, his voice softening. ‘Are you OK?’

No, she wasn’t. She didn’t understand what he wanted from her. Did he want her to thank him? No, this wasn’t what she wanted. Charlie didn’t belong in a cage; how could he help her from a cage, tell her what was right and wrong, what to do to fix it all? Why would she want this? Should she want this? Was that how a normal person would be feeling right now instead of this black hole inside and her bones caving in around it?

‘Pip? There’s nothing to be scared of any more. He can’t get to you.’

She wanted to scream at him, tell him that Charlie Green was never a danger to her, but Hawkins wouldn’t believe her. He never believed her. But maybe it wouldn’t matter, maybe there was still a way here to fix herself, to safely step off this spiral before it reached its end. Because that was where this was all heading, she could feel it, and yet she couldn’t stop herself. But maybe Charlie could.

‘C-can I...’ she began, hesitating. ‘Can I please talk to him?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘To Charlie,’ she said, louder now. ‘Can I please talk to Charlie? I’d really like to speak to him. I-I need to speak to him.’

A sound came down the line, a croak of disbelief from Hawkins’ throat. ‘Well, um...’ he said, ‘I’m afraid that that won’t be possible, Pip. You’re the only eyewitness to a murder he allegedly committed. And if there’s a trial, obviously you’ll be called as the prosecution’s lead witness. So, I’m afraid it’s not going to be possible for you to talk to him, no.’

Pip sank even further, bones fusing with the structure of the house. Hawkins’ answer was a physical thing, sharp and lodged inside her chest. She should have known.

‘OK, that’s fine,’ she said quietly. It wasn’t fine, it was anything but fine.

‘How’s the... how’s that other thing going?’ Hawkins asked, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. ‘The stalker you came to me about. Have there been any other incidents?’

‘Oh, no,’ Pip said flatly. ‘Nothing else. That’s all sorted now. That’s fine, thank you.’

‘OK, well, I just wanted to let you know about Charlie Green, before you saw it in the press tomorrow.’ Hawkins cleared his throat. ‘And I hope you’re doing better.’

‘I’m fine,’ Pip said, and she hardly had the energy to even pretend. ‘Thanks for your call, DI Hawkins.’ She lowered the phone, her thumb finding the red button.

Charlie was caught. It was over. The one possible salvation she’d had left, other than this dangerous game against DT. At least she could officially cross Charlie’s name from the list of people who might hate her enough to want her to disappear. She’d always known it wasn’t him, and now it really couldn’t have been: he’d been in France all this time.

Pip glanced at her computer screen again, at the page asking her to name Andie Bell’s first hamster, and it was almost funny just how ridiculous it was. Just as funny, as ridiculous, as the notion of decomposing bodies and the way we all become one. Disappearing wasn’t mysterious, it wasn’t thrilling; it was cold bodies with stiff limbs and purpling patches as the blood inside pooled. What Billy Karras must have seen when he found Tara Yates. What Stanley Forbes must have looked like in the morgue, though how could he have had any blood left in him when it was all over her hands? Sal Singh too, dead in the woods outside her house. Not Andie Bell, though; she was found too late, when she was almost entirely gone, disintegrated. That was the closest thing to disappearing, Pip supposed.

And yet, Andie hadn’t disappeared, not at all. Here she was again, six and a half years after she died, and she was Pip’s only remaining lead. No, not a lead, a lifeline: some strange unknowable force connecting them across time, though they’d never met. Pip wasn’t there to save Andie, but maybe Andie was there to save her.

Maybe.

But still, Pip had to wait. And Andie Bell would remain a mystery at least for the next twenty-four and a half hours.

‘This is a Tel-Co Link prepaid call from... Becca Bell... an inmate at HM Prison Downview. Please note, this call will be recorded and is subject to monitoring at any time. To accept this call, Press 1. To block all futu—’

Pip pressed 1 so fast, she almost pushed the phone right out of her hands.

‘Hello?’ She raised it to her ear again, her leg bouncing uncontrollably against her desk, rattling the pot of pens on top. ‘Becca?’

‘Hey.’ Becca’s voice came through, faint at first. ‘Hey, Pip, yeah I’m here. Sorry, there was a bit of a queue. How’re you doing?’

‘Yeah, good,’ Pip said, her chest constricting uncomfortably with every breath. ‘Good, yeah, fine.’

‘You sure?’ Becca said, a hint of concern pulling up her voice. ‘You sound a bit jittery.’

‘Oh, too much coffee, you know me,’ Pip said with a hollow laugh. ‘How are you? How’s French going?’

‘Good, yeah,’ she said, then added, ‘Très bon,’ with an amused sniff. ‘And they just started up yoga classes this week.’

‘Oh, that’s fun.’

‘Yeah, and I went with my friend, remember I told you about Nell?’ Becca said. ‘So, yeah, that was fun, although it’s made me realize how incredibly un-bendy I am. Something to work on, I suppose.’

Becca’s voice was bright; it always was. Pip might even describe it as close to happy. She found it strange, the idea that Becca might be happier in there than she would be out. Because she had chosen to be there in a way; she’d pleaded guilty even though her defence team had been confident that if they went to trial, they could have got her no jail time. It always struck Pip as odd, that someone would choose to be there, as Becca had. Maybe it wasn’t a cage, not to her.

‘So,’ Becca continued, ‘how is everyone? How’s Nat?’

‘Yes, good,’ Pip said. ‘I saw her a week and a bit ago. Her and Jamie Reynolds. They seem to be doing really well, actually. Happy.’

‘That’s good,’ Becca said, and Pip could hear the smile accompanying her words. ‘I’m glad she’s happy. And have you made any decision about the libel lawsuit yet?’

Truthfully, she’d almost forgotten it. DT taking up too much of her brain, winding round and round it like tape. Christopher Epps’ card was still sitting, ignored, in that same jacket pocket.

‘Well,’ Pip said, ‘I haven’t spoken to my lawyer since, or Max’s. I’ve been a bit distracted. But I already told them my answer. I’m not recanting and I’m not apologizing to him. If Max wants to go to a full trial, that’s on him. But he won’t get away with it twice; I won’t let him.’