Chapter 33 Saturday, 13 June 2026 #2
Hannah longed to believe him, but… didn’t some killers keep trophies?
Souvenirs? They got overconfident and wound up incriminating themselves.
Or even more likely, in the chaos of the night, he had simply forgotten he still had it with him, tucked into the inside pocket of his tux.
The remote had been slim and light, no bigger than a pocket flashlight and much lighter in weight.
It was, disastrously for Oliver, forgettable.
‘You have the right to remain silent,’ Detective Wellesley said.
She took Oliver firmly by the elbow and began marching him through the club, towards the front door.
‘Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney…’
As the detective recited the Miranda warning, Hannah followed, the deep, queasy feeling in her stomach growing stronger.
Her gaze landed on Elle, who was now sipping a glass of water at the bar, Beatrice by her side.
She gave Hannah a satisfied nod. Hannah returned it with the barest flicker of a smile.
It was all she could muster. She’d solved it, hadn’t she, with Elle’s help?
So why did she still feel so ill?
Because Oliver had been her friend, or at least she’d thought he had.
The only person to really stick with her through the end of their time at Prescott, and beyond.
Because while she was now squarely, mercifully, off the hook, at the end of the day she’d still wanted to be wrong.
She’d still wanted the killer to have wound up being someone else.
The detectives were at the door now, with Oliver.
He had grown silent, perhaps sobered by the recitation of his rights.
Hannah hung back, thoughts spinning. If Mr Harris had figured it out as well, if he knew that Oliver had killed Madison, then why had he followed him up to the roof?
Maybe Oliver had passed him a message, maybe he’d thought he was meeting someone else up there…
Or maybe Mr Harris had acted strangely at breakfast, casting Hannah’s suspicion wrongly onto him, because he’d known she and Oliver were friends.
Maybe he’d initiated the meeting with Oliver.
Ever the teacher, maybe he’d planned to confront his former student in a private place, far from the detectives’ ears.
There were so many possibilities, but one thing was for certain: it had gone horribly wrong.
Hannah’s headache, which had retreated temporarily as Oliver’s shocking arrest played out, was now back with full force.
If she’d only figured it out sooner, perhaps she could have warned Mr Harris.
Instead, she’d suspected him of sleeping with Madison, a theory Elle had roundly debunked, while Oliver plotted his second murder of the night.
The front door was open now, and the detectives guided Oliver outside. Through the door, Hannah could see a cruiser parked on the street out front, waiting.
‘Come on,’ Detective Crews said firmly. He gave Oliver a shove through the door. ‘Time to go.’
Silently, Oliver allowed himself to be walked outside. As he went, he twisted his head around, eyes meeting Hannah’s once more. ‘Help me,’ he mouthed, and then he was out of sight.
Hannah stood in the doorway, shaking. It was over. She’d done exactly what she’d set out to do – help the detectives solve the case, exonerate herself.
A fresh wave of nausea hit. Clutching her stomach, she ran for the restrooms, not sure she was going to make it in time.
One week later
Hannah nursed her glass of Sauvignon Blanc, regretting asking for the five ounce pour instead of the nine, and wondering whether she’d been stood up.
It was Saturday, twenty past four in the afternoon.
Lilac Society, the trendy Lower East Side wine bar Gemma had picked, was bustling despite the early hour. But Gemma was nowhere to be seen.
Hannah had come from a matinée screening at the Tribeca Film Festival, followed by a Q she should have put it together ages ago. Confirmed her own suspicions. But instead she’d stayed largely off socials, chosen not to pay attention.
‘I posed as a reporter from PopDaily, said I knew he’d run The Upper Edge and I wanted to interview him, anonymously if he preferred, for a major profile piece. I knew he wouldn’t be able to resist. He took the bait, and then I vanished. It was all the confirmation I needed.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Hannah said. ‘That he betrayed you that way.’
Not that she’d been any sort of angel herself.
Gemma shrugged. ‘It’s in the past. I just needed to know for sure.’