Hannah made a sound which wasn't a word. Cal looked at her as if he'd forgotten she could hear.
“That's not—” he began.
“I saw him,” Nora said.
“You don't know what happened.”
“Then tell me.”
Hannah's face had gone pale. Her free hand stayed against the wall. Nora wanted to turn toward her, say something which made the information less terrible, but Cal still held her wrist. Kindness would not get her out of his hand.
“Let her go,” she said again.
He loosened his grip a little. Hannah pulled, and he caught her more tightly, the movement quick enough to show Nora that listening was not the same as agreeing.
“He came back,” Cal said.
Nora kept still.
“I took you in. They were looking after you. I couldn't do anything there except stand about, so I went back. There was more than she'd found. I wasn't leaving it.”
“You went for his money?” Hannah said.
Cal turned on her. “He came in. He wasn't supposed to. I didn't know he'd be there.”
She tried to wrench her wrist free. His grip drew her arm straight, and Nora moved closer.
“Let her go, Cal.”
“He went for me. What was I supposed to do?”
“My father?” Hannah said. “You were in his house.”
“He knew who I was. He knew you, Nor. He'd have had you out of here before you'd even opened.”
“What did you do to him?” Nora asked.
“In the kitchen. He was between me and the back door. I hit him.”
Hannah's mouth opened. Cal looked away from her, toward the shelves.
“He wouldn't stop.”
“Was he still standing?” Nora asked.
“You weren't there.”
“Was he?”
Cal shook his head once.
“No. But he knew. I couldn't let him get up.”
Hannah began saying no, very quietly. Cal spoke over her.
“I kept hitting him. All right? I couldn't let him tell them. You can't tell me what I should have done.”
Nora remembered Mercer's question about the scrubbed kitchen. “Then you cleaned the floor.”
Cal looked at her. “After I put him in the van. There was bleach under the sink. I thought if I washed it, nobody would know where it happened.”
He had said it as though the floor were the whole house. Nora saw the parts he'd chosen not to see: marks beyond the tiles, things a cloth could miss, people who would keep looking.
“The message,” Hannah said. Her voice was barely there. “Don't fuss.”
Cal looked away.
“You sent that?”
“He had his phone. I sent it. His car was outside. His bag was by the door. I didn't take those.”
“Where's his phone?”
“It went with him. In his coat.”
Hannah pulled her wrist toward herself. He jerked her back, and she struck at his hand with the folder she'd managed to gather from the floor. It was not strong enough to make him release her, but it made him flinch.
“Don't touch me,” she said.
Cal looked at her. “I didn't come here to hurt you.”
“Then let go.”
He turned toward Nora again.
“You need to help me.”
“I've reported the body.”
He stopped. His hand tightened around Hannah's wrist again.
“Who?”
“Mercer. The full address. What I saw.”
“Tell her you made a mistake.”
“I didn't.”
“Tell her you weren't sure.”
“I told her I recognized him. They can establish the rest.”
“You can still—”
“No.”
His mouth moved. Nora thought he might cry. The possibility made her almost step toward him, the habit of comfort so old she had to stop herself with the sight of Hannah's wrist.
“I saved you,” he said.
“You did.”
“You'd have died there.”
“You got me help.”
“And now you're doing this.”
Nora could feel the truth of the rescue in her own body. The left arm, the night she couldn't remember in order, the cloth pressing hard, his voice finding hers when she couldn't make it loud enough. She could not deny it to make refusing easier.
“I told them that, too,” she said.
“You told them?”
“Everything I know. What I did. What I wanted.”
“Then they'll take this.”
“Yes.”
He looked toward the front window, then the passage. Hannah pulled once more; he shook her wrist as if she were interrupting him.
“We can go,” he said. “There's enough left. Not for everything. For us.”
“No.”
“We can say she went back. She knew the house. She said she'd killed somebody. They already know—”
“No.”
Hannah struck his hand again. This time he released her for an instant, then reached as she turned toward the service door. Nora stepped forward, keeping herself in his sight.
“They're going to the unit,” she said. “You can't move it before they get there. I gave them the key information. The layout. I've put it in writing.”
His attention came back to her, fierce and immediate.
“You went through my things.”
“I went for the bench.”
“I was going over tonight. In the van. Get him out, then bring it. You were meant to wait.”
“You've had days,” Nora said.
“I know.” His grip changed on Hannah's wrist. “I went to the door. Took the van. Then I came back here and did this.” He looked at the shelf. “Kept saying tomorrow. I couldn't go near him again.”
Hannah stared at him. “And my father's things?”
“I'd have told you I couldn't find the folio. You'd stop coming here. I only needed—”
“Where, Cal?” Nora asked.
Cal looked toward the front door again. “I would have found somewhere.”
Cal let go of Hannah's wrist and took the knife from the work surface. He opened it with the same practiced movement Nora had watched yesterday and held it by his side.
Hannah moved toward the bolt.
“Don't,” he said.
Nora stayed in front of him. Her injured arm felt heavy and useless, the dressing suddenly conspicuous between them. She was not going to win a fight with him. She needed him to keep looking at her long enough for Hannah to get the door open.
“I sent the payments,” she said. “The message. My own account.”
Cal looked at the knife, then at her. He had made it a weapon; now he had to choose what he would do with it.
“You should have come to me,” he said.
“I did.”
Behind him, the bolt moved.