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nothing,” said Devlin quickly. “I shouldn’t even be speculating like this with a member of the public. Forget I said anything,” he said, looking annoyed with himself.
    I didn’t reply, but a part of me was secretly pleased that Devlin had slipped up because he didn’t consider me like any other member of the public.
    “Well, if there’s nothing else, Gemma, I have other people to question…” Devlin started to rise.
    I started to get up as well, then paused, suddenly remembering the conversation I had overheard in the garden. Could that have any bearing on what had happened to Sarah? But it seemed so ridiculous—like bad dialogue from a B-movie—I blushed to even think of repeating it. In any case, what I had really overheard? Two people plotting to… kill someone? No, this was getting into the realms of total fantasy.
    And besides, if I mentioned it, I would have to tell Devlin that I thought one voice was vaguely familiar. Would I have to confess my suspicions that it was Jon? Was I sure it was him? I was aware that my dislike for Jon might bias me against him. Maybe subconsciously, I was looking for a way to discredit him and my overactive imagination did the rest. I didn’t like Jon Kelsey but I didn’t want to make him the key suspect in a murder enquiry for no good reason, particularly as Cassie would never forgive me.
    “Gemma? Is there something else?”
    “No, nothing,” I stood up hastily. “Sorry, my mind wandered for a moment.”
    Devlin looked at me intently and I wondered if he could see through my lie. When we had been students together, he had always had an uncanny ability to guess what I was thinking, to almost read my thoughts. If this had been then, he would have known immediately that I was lying. But now… As I’d said to Cassie, we were different people and that special bond between us was gone. The thought made me feel slightly depressed.
    I let myself out of the office and rejoined the other guests in the outer gallery. Cassie had been questioned and was free to leave with me now but she insisted on staying with Jon. He would have to wait until the last guest had been interviewed and the police were satisfied with the crime scene before he could shut the gallery. I gave Cassie a quick hug, then left, stepping gratefully out into the crisp night air.

CHAPTER FIVE
     
     
     
     
    The gallery was located in the heart of the city but it wasn’t a long walk to North Oxford where my parents lived. Like most local residents, I normally cycled everywhere, but knowing that I would probably be having a few drinks tonight, I had decided to leave my bike at home. Jon picked up Cassie for the party and had given me a lift as well, and I’d decided to walk back myself. Oxford wasn’t a big city anyway and it was fairly easy to get around on foot.
    It was generally safe in the city centre too—well, except for one’s ankles, I thought wryly as my heel sank into another rut in the network of cobblestones lining the street and I wobbled precariously. I remembered now why I had never worn fancy shoes much when I was a student here. Cobblestones were a killer for high heels. I wished I had had the foresight to pack a pair of ballet flats into my handbag. As it was, I had to stumble and trip my way through the streets, past the historic university buildings and college quadrangles, their Gothic spires and bell towers now wreathed in shadows, and up the long stretch of Banbury Road into the northern suburbs.
    I finally arrived on my street, footsore and weary, to find a police car parked outside my parents’ Victorian townhouse. My heart lurched. Had something happened to them? I quickened my steps and breathed out in relief as I got closer and realised that the constable was at the door of the house next to us. A few curious neighbours had come out of their homes to see what was going on, including my mother—elegantly attired as always in a cashmere twinset and tweed pencil skirt—who