the door about two inches, and Sanders squeezed through, making a beeline to toward the living room. Kate shut the door and locked it. She was happy that Sanders didn’t still have that dying mouse in his jaws.
Back in the bedroom, she read more about the case of Rachael Chess. No one had ever been arrested, even though it had been discovered that she was having an affair with one of her married instructors at nursing college. But that instructor, Gregory Chapel, had a solid alibi for the night that Rachael had been murdered. There was no mention anywhere of a Corbin Dell. There was also a notable lack of good pictures of the murder victim. Most of the news stories used the same one, a highly pixelated black-and-white picture of a girl in a graduation gown and mortarboard, smiling widely into the camera. It was probably the picture that Rachael’s parents had provided. Kate studied it, comparing it to the pictures from the book. She didn’t think it was the same girl. Same dark hair, but the faces were different. She tried to remember the picture of the girl on the beach. All she could remember was wind-blown dark hair, jeans, and a sweater. The beach had been named on the back of the picture, as well, Kate thought, but she couldn’t remember it. But that picture must have been of Rachael Chess. It was the same unusual spelling of her first name. And the beach, a cold New England beach, connected them as well. Didn’t it?
A loud beep emanated from her laptop, and Kate toggled back to her e-mail page. She’d gotten a response in the chat box from Corbin. Hi, he’d written back. Her heart fluttered a little, as though he’d suddenly shown up at the door, not just on her computer screen. She took a moment, then wrote: Did you kill Audrey Marshall?
Then deleted it.
Then wrote it again, and pressed send. There was a lengthy pause, a series of dots flashing next to Corbin’s name, indicating that he was composing his answer.
Corbin: I didn’t. I promise you. Do the police think I did?
Kate: They’ve been back here. They say you were in a relationship with her. Were you?
Corbin: I was.
Kate: Why did you lie about it?
Another pause. Then: Habit, I guess. When we were seeing each other, it was a secret, so I just got used to not talking about it. I didn’t kill her.
Kate: Do you know who did?
Corbin: No. I wish I did.
Kate: Where are you now?
Corbin: Home. Your home, in London. It’s rainy here. What’s it like there?
Kate: Nice. Windy and nice. The police are going to send someone to talk with you.
Corbin: That’s okay. I’ll talk to them.
Another chat box suddenly appeared. It was Martha. You there?
Kate wrote back to Martha: Yes. Do me a big favor. Are you home?
Martha: yes
Kate: Can you go knock on my door and find out if Corbin’s there? Don’t say anything about me.
Martha: okay, but I don’t think he’s there, haven’t heard anything from your flat for days
Kate: Please check.
Kate turned her attention back to Corbin’s chat box. He’d written: Everything ok with you?
Kate: Everything’s fine. Sanders says hello.
Corbin: Ha!
Kate almost asked a question about Rachael Chess, but stopped herself. He’d know that she’d been snooping around his place, trying to discover if he was a murderer.
Instead she wrote: What was Audrey Marshall like?
Corbin: She was great. It’s awful what happened. I can’t stop thinking about it.