Isolated. M. A. Hunter

conclusion to the one you’ve presented. But…’

      She leaves the ‘but’ hanging in the air and I can’t say I’m surprised that the publishers are getting nervous. Cassie Hilliard’s family have enough money to put the publishers out of business – or at the very least have them tearing through bureaucratic red tape for the next ten years.

      ‘So where does that leave us?’ I ask when I’ve composed myself and remembered that Maddie is merely the messenger.

      ‘They are continuing with the copyedit and you’ll have the proposed changes over to you sometime in late January and in the meantime, their legal department will continue to scrutinise the backstory and potential libel implications. The family haven’t brought any kind of civil action against them or you yet and they just want to make sure that doesn’t happen.’

      ‘Worst-case scenario?’

      Maddie lets out a long and fatigued sigh. ‘Worst-case scenario, they ask you to reword the final chapter and leave it to the reader to determine guilt. It’s not the end of the world to leave the ending open, if you ask me. It will certainly leave your readers with questions, and that in itself will only generate further discussion.’

      I’m not convinced, and hate the thought of leaving my readers without the whole picture. ‘And best-case scenario?’

      ‘They leave everything as it is and the world gets to see the truth about what really happened. Either way, you look set to have a second bestseller under your belt. Twitter is already hanging on every rumour about the book and its possible publication date. As soon as this wrangle is finished with the lawyers, they’ve promised to officially reveal the cover and put it up on pre-order.’ Maddie pauses and takes another slug from her bottle of mineral water. ‘The publishers have talked about an official launch party for the announcement. Now, I know you’re not keen on big public displays, but they really think it will help announce the book if you’re there to pose for pictures. As much as you hate the term celebrity, Monsters put you on the map, and now everyone is desperate to know what’s coming next.’

      I cringe at the mention of a launch party where I’ll be the centre of attention. When did it become necessary for authors to have faces? I’d much prefer to just write and allow all the marketing and publicity to be handled by the experts.

      ‘You’re chewing the sleeve of your cardigan again,’ Maddie warns.

      I yank my arm down, frustrated that I still have that nervous habit. ‘They’re not expecting me to speak at this event, are they?’

      Maddie doesn’t have the chance to answer as the phone on the corner of her desk bursts into life. She grabs it on the second ring and adopts her regular telephone voice, but whatever she’s being told is clearly not good news as the blood drains instantly from her face. Do I assume this is news from the publisher’s legal team?

      Maddie hangs up without saying another word, pushes back her chair and charges towards the closed door.

      ‘Maddie, what is it?’ I call after her. ‘What’s going on?’

      ‘There’s a woman on the roof,’ she replies absently, ‘and she’s threatening to jump.’

      Chapter Six

      Now

       Blackfriars, London

      The lift takes for ever to arrive and by the time it does, Maddie is white as a sheet. I really don’t think it’s a good idea for either of us to be going anywhere near the roof, but given Maddie’s history, I know there is no way I will be able to talk her out of forcibly getting herself involved. Maddie’s father died by suicide when she was at university and she’s always blamed herself for not seeing the signs. We’ve only ever had one conversation about it because she prefers to keep her personal life guarded, but I know she was the last person her dad phoned before he swallowed a handful of painkillers. She told me that, in hindsight, she’d known something was off by the way he ended the call, but she ignored that instinct and has regretted it every day since.

      My father didn’t reach out to me before he was found hanging by the neck in HMP Portland. I try to think that’s because he didn’t want to inflict further pain on me, but I wish he had. I wish I could have told him that life without him in it will never be as bright.

      I’ll be no use in this kind of high-intensity, stressful situation, but Maddie needs a friend more than ever and there’s nobody else I can call. How many times has she been there for me when my investigation into Anna’s disappearance has stalled, or when my impostor syndrome rears its ugly head and tells me I have no idea how to plot and structure a book? Despite my personal reservations, I will stick to Maddie like glue.

      It’s a relief when the lift finally arrives on the tenth floor. One of the security guards from reception is standing guard at the door to the roof-access staircase, and he’s already told another pair that the scene is out of bounds. What is it with people wanting to gawp at a person threatening to throw themselves from a building? You see it in the movies when someone is teetering on the edge of a rooftop and the crowds gather beneath; if it were me, I’d turn and run. At best, an observer will see the person stand there for a time, until they’re talked out of the act; at worst, you’d have to watch as they plummet to the ground and then hear the sickening crunch of bone compacting with concrete before seeing the red puddle spread out from the point of impact.

      No, thank you; not an image I want to witness. There’s enough evil in this world.

      ‘Roof’s out of bounds,’ the security guard says to us dismissively.

      ‘You don’t understand,’ Maddie counters. ‘I’m professionally trained for these situations; I’ve completed the ASIST training.’

      He stares at her blankly.

      ‘It stands for Applied Suicide Intervention Skills Training. And I help out on The Samaritans helpline so unless your colleague up there has dealt with a similar situation before, he’s going to need my help.’

      It’s only now that I notice how ill the security guard looks. His name badge identifies him as Clyde, though I don’t recognise him, despite my umpteen visits to Maddie’s building. Her literary agency takes up a third of the sixth floor – with its view of The Shard – but the remainder of the building is taken up by a wide variety of other businesses. There are also metal detectors and luggage X-ray machines at the entrance so security is pretty high; if this woman has managed to get through all that and up to the roof, she must either work here or have been visiting someone who does.

      Clyde now looks at me for some kind of corroboration. I have no idea whether what Maddie has just told him is true or not, though it isn’t in her nature to lie about something so serious, particularly when a woman’s life is at stake. I choose to nod and back my friend and mentor.

      Clyde takes a further second to consider his options, before stepping aside and scanning his security pass at the panel, and opening the door for us. ‘Tell my colleague what you told me about The Samaritans stuff, yeah?’

      Maddie is straight through the door without another word and whilst I admire her single-handed determination, I do wish we’d stayed put in her office below and waited for news. The stairs up to the next door are large and steep, and lead to a ladder which completes the final part of the journey. The hatch we then have to squeeze through isn’t exactly practical, but once on the other side we are immediately on the roof. The wind up here is both gusty and bitter. I close the hatch behind me and take in the immediate surroundings. The roof is largely flat with a number of vent openings, which must feed into the air-conditioning system that pumps through the building all year. It isn’t immediately apparent where the woman is – for the briefest moment I can’t help thinking we are too late – but then I catch the sound of voices carrying on the wind to our left. Maddie must hear it too as she turns and moves off in that direction without a second’s thought.

      I hurry after the blur of purple and silver as her