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that it . . . that that’s how it went down? How do you know he wasn’t deliberately killed?’
    For a second, the atmosphere in the room froze. Patrice’s dark eyes widened.
    ‘Who told you that?’ she said, a deep, guilty blush spreading across her cheeks. ‘Of course he wasn’t delib—Dylan, what’s got into you?’
    I stared at her, my heart thumping. What did that guilty look mean?
    That she knew he’d been murdered? All this time she’d known and she’d kept it from me?
    I met her gaze.
    ‘Why didn’t you tell me the truth?’
    ‘I did tell you the truth. Accidental death was the official version. The police said it was an accident, for goodness’ sake,’ Patrice protested.
    ‘What about the unofficial version?’ I said. ‘Somebody told you something different, didn’t they?’
    Patrice looked away. Her sallow cheeks reddened.
    ‘I can see you know something and you’re not telling me,’ I said, trying to keep my voice steady. ‘So you might as well say what it is. It can’t make any difference now.’
    Patrice pressed her lips together in a thin line. ‘I really don’t see why you’re so intent on—’
    ‘He was my dad ,’ I said firmly. ‘I have a right to know what happened to him. Or at least what people thought. ’
    ‘For goodness’ sake, you sound just like your mother. Hysterical.’ Patrice sighed. ‘She once said she thought her phone was tapped.’
    ‘Did she?’ My throat tightened.
    ‘Oh, that’s just the start of it. She said that the motor accident was a cover-up . . . that William had been murdered. She was delusion—’
    ‘Who did she think killed him?’ I said. ‘Why would it be covered up?’
    I could hear my heart beating loudly.
    ‘Your mother didn’t know anything specific, Dylan, and I’m sure she was wrong. The whole thing was preposterous. I mean the police report said it was a traffic accident.’ Patrice sat back in the armchair, examining her bright pink nails. ‘Your mom was – as I’ve told you many times – prone to getting hysterical, especially at that time . . . You were just a few months old and not sleeping and she was exhausted, and before he died, your dad was completely wrapped up in his work and she was getting no help from him—’
    ‘Please just tell me what she said.’ I gritted my teeth.
    ‘Goodness, it’s so long ago.’ Aunt Patrice paused. ‘Let me see, she said William . . . your dad . . . kept going to the Hub . . .’
    ‘What’s that?’
    ‘Some place to do with his work.’ Patrice paused again. ‘Not his lab, but . . . I don’t know . . . a headquarters of some kind.’
    ‘Who did he talk to there?’
    ‘Geri Paterson at first, but Geri thought he was being ridiculous so he went over her head to her boss, but he didn’t believe William’s life was in danger either.’
    ‘What was his name?’ I asked.
    ‘I don’t know, but William was convinced that “the others” would come after him. After he died, your mom kept saying, Now they have come after him . . . now they’ve killed him. I spoke to Geri afterwards and she said it was nonsense. William was killed in a traffic accident. End of.’
    I frowned. ‘Who were “the others”?’
    Patrice raised her eyebrows. ‘Well, your mom didn’t say, but I’d have thought that was obvious.’
    I stared at her. ‘Obvious?’
    Patrice adjusted her Hermès scarf, tugging the two ends so they met. ‘“The others” must be the others with the Medusa gene, of course . . . their families, I mean.’
    ‘Why?’ I said. That didn’t make any sense. ‘Why should it be them?’
    ‘Because the families had just found out that the Medusa gene – which William had sworn blind was harmless . . .’ Patrice sneered, ‘. . . was going to kill the mothers. I imagine William and your mom were convinced that they were going to take revenge.’
    The room spun. I gripped the side of the sofa, suddenly light-headed.
    My mom suspected my dad had been killed by the