Page 91 of Murder on the Upper East Side

While Gemma scanned the QR code printed on a discreet wooden stand at the table – as discreet as any QR code could be – and ordered a drink, Hannah reflected on the events of the past week. Oliver had been arraigned and was in custody, where he’d remain until his preliminary hearing. At that point, the judge would determine if the prosecution had sufficientevidence to bring the case to trial. If so, he’d face two counts of murder: in the first degree (Madison) and in the second (Mr Harris).

The evidence against Oliver in Madison’s murder was abundant, but the second charge had been keeping Hannah up at night. What did they have on Oliver, if anything? Yes, she could imagine precisely what might have gone down between Oliver and Mr Harris on the Lenox Club roof, but it was just that – a story. Over the past week, she’d replayed her conversation with Mr Harris over and over. It seemed possible that Oliver had drawn him up to the roof and pushed him over the edge, but when she really thought about it, hadn’t Oliver still been sitting at the bar, sipping black tea, when she’d gone up to speak to the detectives a second time? She could almost swear she’d avoided making eye contact as she’d passed through the lounge on her way to the stairs.

If Hannah had unwittingly played a part in Oliver’s false accusation in the second murder, she owed it to him to find out. It was not only the right thing to do, but her journalistic instincts wouldn’t let her rest with so much doubt still swirling.

For instance, it was conceivable that Mr Harris had jumped. Or, while two unrelated murders at the Lenox Club in the same night seemed hard to fathom, it was impossible to rule out a scenario in which Mr Harris had gone to the roof to meet someone else altogether, someone with their own vendetta unrelated to Madison DuPont.

Gemma’s eyes lit on Hannah’s empty glass. ‘You look like you need another.’

‘Maybe in a bit.’ She twisted the stem between her fingers. She had an article to write when she got home, and she was determined to keep her head clear.

‘You sure?’

Hannah nodded. ‘I’m glad you came. The truth is, I feel awful. I’m the reason Oliver was charged.’

Gemma tilted her head to one side, a small frown tugging at the corners of her mouth. ‘How so?’

‘I went to the detectives with a tip.’ She hesitated. This next part was going to be sensitive, but Gemma deserved the truth, didn’t she? ‘Did you know that Oliver ranThe Upper Edge?’

Gemma’s face darkened, but she didn’t look surprised. ‘Back then? Of course not. We never would have stayed friends.’ She sighed. ‘But years later… I began to suspect. Oliver was so nice to me after I left school. Like, guilty-nice. I didn’t see it that way at the time, and in college, I put Prescott firmly out of my mind, but it’s always stayed with me – a nagging doubt. And as his star rose on YouTube, I became certain. There were similarities to the old Instagram posts – it’s the tone. He was so perfectly himself. So a few years ago, I reached out from a burner account.’

‘Oh wow.’ Inwardly, Hannah cringed.Shewas the journalist; 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 fromPopDaily, said I knew he’d runThe Upper Edgeand 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.’

Hannah nodded. ‘I can’t believe we were so wrong about Oliver. Then and now.’

Gemma shook her head. ‘Me either. That he’d turn out to be akiller?’

For a moment, both women sat in silence. Then Hannah cleared her throat. ‘It’s Mr Harris’s murder I can’t stop thinking about. When we had breakfast together at the gala, he was anxious. He kept glancing around, like he knew someone was watching. Like something bad might happen.’

‘Interesting. What did you and Paul talk about?’

‘I asked him about his relationship with Madison, then and now. I was talking to everyone who’d been in her circle, trying to figure out who’d killed her. The word “relationship” made him visibly uncomfortable. I thought, for a beat, that there had been something between them. An affair, when we were seniors.’

Gemma stiffened, and Hannah held up a hand.

‘It wasn’t that; I was off the mark. But I do thinkthere was something going on between Madison and Mr Harris – something far from romantic.’

‘Such as?’ Gemma’s drink arrived, a tall, peachy cocktail, and she took a long swallow.

For a moment, Hannah nearly changed the subject. Perhaps it was unfair to ambush Gemma with the past like this. But as they’d been talking, a new theory had taken shape, and she had to follow it to the end. This was Gemma’s last night in New York; she’d brought her suitcase with her. This would be Hannah’s only chance before Gemma flew back to LA.

A moment ago, Gemma had called Mr HarrisPaul. And when she’d brought up her suspicions about an affair between Mr Harris and Madison, Gemma had physically stiffened. Hannah was almost certain she was right.

She drew in a steadying breath. ‘For the past week, I’ve been going over everything I learned that night. I think it was Mr Harris in the photos with you, senior year. And I think Madison found out.’

Gemma stood, chair squealing against the bar floor. Fear flashed across her face.

In an instant, Hannah was on her feet. ‘Please stay.’ She had been too blunt, as always. ‘I think Madison used this information against him, after she bullied you out of school. I imagine she threatened to get him fired unless he wrote her a glowing recommendation that would get her into the writing programme at Columbia, where he had connections.’

For a moment, the two women stared at oneanother. Then, Gemma sighed and sank back into her chair. Hannah followed suit.