Free The Trespasser by Tana French

was mugged or hit by a car. There’s no way your mind should’ve gone straight to Aislinn. Unless there’s something about her that you’re not telling us.’
    Lucy’s smoke is right down to the butt. She grinds it out in the ashtray, taking her time, but she’s not stonewalling; she’s deciding. The light through the window is filling out; it’s ruthless on her, scraping away what should be offbeat-pretty, turning her to nothing but eyebags and mascara smudges on white.
    She says, ‘Is it OK if I get a glass of water? My head’s killing me.’
    ‘No problem,’ I say. ‘We’re in no hurry.’
    She takes her time running the tap in the kitchenette, her back to us; cups water in her hands and ducks her face into them, stays there while her shoulders lift and fall once. She comes back holding a pint glass in one hand, wiping water off her face with the other wrist and looking a couple of notches more alive. When she sits down she says, ‘OK. I think Ash might’ve been seeing someone else. As well as Rory.’
    That flash of her eyes again, checking our reactions, too ferociously intent. Me and Steve don’t look at each other, but you can feel your thoughts click together like glances. Steve thinking I knew it, I knew something was weird here ; me thinking Not a fucking chance I’m gonna get my run today.
    Steve says, ‘What was his name?’
    ‘I don’t know. She never said.’
    ‘Not even a first name?’
    Lucy’s shaking her head hard enough that her fringe falls forward. She shoves it back again. ‘No. She never even actually said she was seeing anyone else. It’s just a feeling I got; I don’t know anything specific. OK?’
    ‘OK,’ I say. ‘Fair enough. What gave you that feeling?’
    ‘Just stuff. Like the last few months – way before Ash met Rory – I’d ask if she wanted to meet up for a drink, and she’d say no, she couldn’t, but without any reason why not – and normally she’d have been like, “Can’t, I’ve got Pilates” or whatever. Or she’d say yes, and then at the last minute she’d text me like, “Change of plans, can we do it tomorrow instead?” She was around a lot less, mainly. And she got her hair done a lot more, and her nails – they were always perfect. And when someone’s around less, and gets more high-maintenance . . .’ Lucy shrugs. ‘Mostly it’s a new relationship.’
    Aislinn cancelling her restaurant date with Rory, with just a few hours to go. I thought she was showing him who was boss.
    I feel it again, that faint pulse that caught at me in Aislinn’s kitchen when Steve showed me the cooker. A pulse like hunger, like dance music: something good, away on the horizon, tugging. I can feel the beat of it hitting Steve’s blood too.
    He says, ‘How long ago did this start?’
    Lucy draws tight lines in the condensation on her glass and has a think, either about the actual answer or about the one she wants to give us. ‘Maybe five or six months ago. Towards the end of summer.’
    ‘Any idea where they might have met? Work? Pub? Hobby?’
    ‘Haven’t a clue.’
    ‘Who else did Aislinn hang out with, besides you?’
    Lucy shrugs. ‘She went for a drink with people from work, sometimes. She doesn’t have a lot of friends.’
    ‘What about hobbies? She have any?’
    ‘Not serious ones. She’s been doing a bunch of evening classes, the last couple of years: she did salsa for a while, and then some image and styling thing, and she learned a bit of Spanish . . . Last summer I think she was doing cooking. She liked the people, but she never talked about any guy in particular. There was never anyone she mentioned that bit too often, nothing like that.’
    Aislinn Murray is sounding like more and more of a laugh riot. I say, ‘I’ve gotta tell you, Lucy, this is coming across pretty weird to me. You and Ash, you were best friends since you were kids, but she tells you nothing about her fella?’
    Her eyes come up, wary. ‘I said we’ve been