Читать книгу No Turning Back: The can’t-put-it-down thriller of the year - Tracy Buchanan, Tracy Buchanan - Страница 9

Anna woke with a gasp. She checked for Joni, felt her small warm body against her. Then she looked at her own hands in the darkness. Only moments before, they’d been covered with the boy’s blood.

But that had just been a dream.

The day before hadn’t been a dream though. The day before, it had been real. She knew because she could still smell his blood, the sickly metallic tang of it. Still see the way his eyes had looked into nothingness as he took his last shuddering breath. It wasn’t as bad as when she’d seen her father dead, his long body twisted on the rocks, the sea a violent thunder of grey behind. But it came close. The schoolboy was sprawled on the ground, blue eyes staring up, comb glistening with his blood as it lay by his side.

Anna hardly remembered what happened after that, it came in a flash of images, sounds and tastes. Shrill sirens getting closer and closer. People appearing on the beach like ants from the village and The Docks, news already spreading so fast. Then police officers running along the pebbles from all directions, the whine of a distant helicopter. Anna’s own desperate screams when a female police officer tried to take Joni away. The feel of the handcuffs against her wrists, a police officer softly grasping her elbow. She found comfort in that, the gentle way he’d handled her. Did that mean they understood she had only been protecting herself, most of all her daughter?

They weren’t so gentle when she was questioned in the stiflingly hot police station later, the storm that had been threatening earlier was now in full force outside, thunder and lightning making Anna jump. Anna could even hear the sea, the waves were so ferocious, despite the police station being one of the most inland buildings of the village.

Detective Morgan, a middle-aged man with a bulbous red nose and piercing blue eyes, was assigned to her case. He sat with his arms crossed, eyes hard, skin glistening with sweat from the unbearable heat. Next to Anna was the only solicitor she knew, a small bald man called Jeremy from the firm of local solicitors in the village she’d been using for the house move.

Did she know the boy, the detective asked? Did she carry the comb in self-defence? Had she intended to kill him?

No, no, no, she answered before asking over and over when she could see her daughter. The detective had reassured her she was in the safe hands of Anna’s gran now, that she’d had a check-up and was fine. But that didn’t stop Anna needing to see Joni.

Then she was left alone in the room with her solicitor for what seemed like an eternity. She remembered putting her hand to her own cheek, feeling the large gauze over it and not even remembering how the gauze had got there, how the stitches in her cheek had been etched into her skin either.

After a while, the detective returned.

‘I’m sorry I was hard on you, Anna,’ he said, sitting across from her, face softer now, eyes kinder. ‘But you need to understand the position we’re in.’

‘I just want to see my daughter,’ she said.

‘What’s the charge, Detective Morgan?’ her solicitor asked him, the only fan in the room lifting the few strands of hair he had.

The detective looked Anna in the eye. ‘No charge. We’ll be releasing you pending further investigation, Anna.’

‘But I was arrested.’

‘Yes, but we have decided not to charge you. It was clear self-defence, Anna. You said yourself the boy fell against your comb and we have three witnesses to back that up.’

The relief had been immense. ‘So I can leave?’ she’d asked, incredulous.

‘Yes, everything you’ve said matches up with witness statements. But Anna,’ the detective said, looking her in the eye, ‘tensions are high out there. I recommend you leave via the back entrance.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The boy’s family. Your name isn’t out there yet but people saw you at the scene, someone may recognise you and…’ His voice trailed off.

‘But I didn’t mean to kill him,’ Anna said.

‘We know that. But right now, his family will be wanting a target for their grief, especially the brother.’

The brother.

‘We understand,’ her solicitor, Jeremy, said, nodding. He turned to Anna. ‘Maybe you should stay at Florence’s this evening?’ he said, referring to Anna’s gran. ‘Just to be on the safe side.’

Panic fluttered inside Anna’s chest. ‘But no one knows where I live, do they?’

‘Someone may have recognised you from your estate,’ the detective said. ‘You’re a radio presenter, after all.’

Anna shook her head. ‘Nathan’s the public face of the station, people only know my voice.’

‘I still think Jeremy’s right. Your daughter’s with your grandmother anyway, it would certainly be worth you staying there tonight.’

A few moments later, Jeremy drove Anna away from the station to her gran’s house. As they passed the front, she looked out to see a group of people gathered on the marble steps. A thin dark-haired woman was being comforted by a red-haired man. A red-haired woman was leaning against a pillar, smoking as she scowled up at the station. Two other women, one with a child in a pushchair, were sobbing as they clutched onto each other.

Standing apart from them all was a man with tattooed arms, looking out towards the sea, his back to Anna.

Anna looked at the dark-haired woman again. Was that the boy’s mother? The large red-haired man next to her turned towards Anna, his blue eyes – blue eyes just like the boy’s – sinking into hers.

They were filled with fury.

She quickly looked away.

She’d caused that grief, that anger.

‘Oh Christ,’ Anna said, the memories crashing over her now.

The floorboards creaked and her gran Florence appeared at the door.

‘You look predictably exhausted, poppet,’ Florence said, wrapping her soft fleece dressing gown around her plump frame as she sat on the bed, the early morning sun highlighting the creases around her blue eyes.

Anna blinked in disbelief. ‘It really happened, didn’t it?’

‘I’m afraid it did, Anna.’

Anna peered out at the sea through a gap in the curtains. A fisherman wandered down the shore, his nets trailing out behind him, a boat bobbing up and down nearby. Seagulls squawked, a child shrieking in happiness as his mother chased him in and out of the tide, probably one of the many tourists that visited at this time of year. The pebbles were still wet from the storm the day before but the sky was bright blue, promising yet another blisteringly hot day.

Florence followed Anna’s gaze as she watched the mother and son outside. ‘You did what any mother would do,’ she said gently.

Anna looked down at Joni. ‘Like the boy’s mother? Does she want to kill me like I killed her son?’

‘Don’t let guilt eat you up. If you hadn’t done what you did…’ Florence shuddered. ‘I can’t even contemplate it.’

Joni stirred, stretching her tiny arms above her head and yawning. Anna gently lifted Joni, placing her against her shoulder. Anna didn’t usually let Joni sleep in bed with her unless she was ill, she’d not wanted to get into the habit. But she hadn’t been able to bear having Joni out of sight the night before. She wondered if she’d ever let Joni sleep alone after what happened.

Then she thought of the boy again. He’d been a baby once. Had his mother slept with him beside her when he was ill, stroked his head and dreamed of his future like Anna did with Joni?

Anna felt nausea work its way up her body. She quickly handed Joni over to Florence and ran to the bathroom, retching into the toilet.

‘Anna?’ she heard Florence say.

‘I’m fine,’ she choked back. She pulled the toilet lid down and leaned on it, trying to compose herself as she looked at the montage of family photos hanging on the wall: Anna and Joni by the beach a few months ago; an old one of her father smoking a cigarette as he looked out to sea from the lighthouse; another of her mother, her long dark hair clouding around her head as she drew on her easel.

Anna and Florence had agreed not to disturb Anna’s mother. No news had been leaked yet linking Anna to the murder, and the last thing Anna needed right now was to be worrying about her mother’s fragile state. So they’d agreed they’d go over later to tell her face-to-face then Florence would call Anna’s brother, Leo, to tell him. She knew how her brother would react and didn’t need it that day.

As for Guy, luckily he was on a business trip in New York, one of the many places his job as an architect took him. She’d called him not long after arriving at her gran’s the night before. They’d barely spoken on the phone since he’d left, mainly communicating over text to arrange drop-offs and pick-ups for Joni. So it had been strange to hear his voice over the phone line. After the initial relief that Joni was safe, Guy couldn’t seem to wrap his head around the fact the schoolboy had died…and Anna had killed him.

It had made her feel even worse.

And that was just Guy’s reaction. She dreaded to think about how her mother would react.

She stared at the photo of her father and imagined him peering up from the Dictaphone he used for all his news interviews, a sad smile on his handsome face. ‘You did what you had to do, my beautiful girl,’ she imagined him saying.

She had, hadn’t she? It was like Florence had said to her the night before, it was an instinctive reaction, a reflex, like the way a leg flings up when knocked on the knee. And anyway, what was the alternative? Anna dead right now? Or worse, Anna lying in an empty bed, grieving the loss of her precious child?

She wrapped her arms around herself. The fact was, no matter how much she tried to dress things up, she had taken a life.

She was a killer.

Anna moved the rake through the sand, slowly surely, until she heard the clink of metal on shell. She knelt down, wet sand on her knees, and plucked the cockle from the sand, rubbing the grains off its ribbed back with her thumb. It was clamped shut, its fleshy insides protected by the white-brown shell. Anna imagined herself curled up in that shell, Joni against her belly, safe.

She reached up to the gauze on her cheek and suddenly saw the boy’s eyes again, felt his blood on her hands.

She grabbed her rake and stood again, searching the sand for the tell-tale circular impressions the cockles left.

Above her, the sun shone bright. The sea was calm after its outburst the night before. Anna noticed Florence watching from her garden, Joni napping on a blanket beside her in the shade. She lifted her gloved hand to wave at Anna, and Anna smiled, waving back. She was grateful to be here, at her gran’s, on a secluded part of the sandiest bit of Ridgmont Waters’ beach. She’d always loved this place. It was one of three houses built by a local architect in the twenties to replicate an American-style white beach hut with solid enough materials to withstand the regular battering of the British sea. Anna still remembered the first time she visited it when she was a child. They rarely visited their gran’s house despite the fact Florence was desperate to see her grandchildren. Anna’s mother had always had a strained relationship with her mother and if they did meet up, it would usually be for a quick tense coffee in town or during brief visits from Florence for birthdays and at Christmas. Anna quickly gave up asking why they couldn’t see her gran more when her mother always replied with a terse ‘you wouldn’t understand’ each time.

The spring just before Anna’s father died, her mother had surprised her by taking her and her brother to visit their gran. Florence had met someone new after spending years alone since Anna’s grandfather had passed away, and she’d invited them all over for lunch to meet him. It was the first time Anna had visited her gran’s house. Anna remembered feeling completely at home as soon as she’d got there, its big comfy sofas and thick woollen rugs, reclaimed wooden shelves littered with family photos, the smell of baking bread and lavender making Anna yearn for that in her own home. The apartment she’d grown up in with her parents wasn’t small; it adorned the top floor of a block of apartments and overlooked the sea. But it had never felt homely with its dark walls and modern furniture. Florence’s house felt like a proper home with two large windows looking right out onto a wooden veranda leading down to the sea. Her gran had seemed so happy, her new partner a tall, handsome older man called Alistair with sparking green eyes who made Anna giggle by pretending to pull magic shells from behind her ears.

Her parents had sat tense and quiet throughout the lunch, and had made excuses to leave not long after, despite protests from their children. Anna still remembered how sad Florence had looked as she’d watched them all walk from the house and Anna had promised herself she’d see more of her gran, even if it meant sneaking out of the apartment to see her.

It wasn’t until Anna’s father died a few months later that she did just that, finding herself walking towards Florence’s house one day. Her gran hadn’t been there, so Anna had curled up on her veranda and fallen asleep. She’d woken to the sound of Florence’s gasp and seen her and Alistair looking down at her.

‘Oh, poppet,’ Florence had said. ‘Come in before you catch your death.’ Anna was there every day from then on, her mother barely noticing, so wrapped up in her grief and depression. Anna grew close to her gran, and Alistair too. He’d never had children and Anna found herself becoming something of a surrogate daughter for him. She was devastated when he too passed away a few months later after a short battle with cancer. It made Anna and Florence even closer, joined in their grief over his death.

Florence had been a godsend for Anna, bringing her out of her shell, even funding her journalism course. There had been no turning back after that. Anna blossomed from an introverted quiet girl into a talented student with an army of local friends she still met with almost every week.

And it had all started in this house. Anna ought to feel a sense of comfort there now, especially as she searched for cockles, something that usually brought her a measure of calm. But as she dragged her rake back and forth through the sand, she felt anything but comforted.

Joni let out a cry. Anna looked up, heart pounding. But she was fine, Florence was lifting her from her blanket, rocking her. Anna picked the bucket up and put the rake over her shoulder, carrying her findings towards her gran.

‘I think she’s getting too hot,’ Florence said when Anna got to them. ‘Not known morning heat like this for a long time. Good haul?’ she asked Anna, looking at the bucket.

‘Not bad,’ Anna said as Florence took her rake from her. ‘Enough to go with the sole you got. I’ll put some aside for Mum too. I’ll prepare them while Joni naps.’

‘Lovely. I’ll just finish here then come help you,’ she said, gesturing to the garden. ‘Got to get my daily exercise.’

Anna picked Joni up and walked into the house, the sound of the waves disappearing as she closed the door. She placed Joni on Florence’s comfy blue sofa, bunched up by several colourful scatter cushions so she didn’t fall off, her blue teddy clutched close to her. The sun peeked through the vast windows making light bounce off her gran’s TV screen. Anna had purposely avoided the News. She knew her name hadn’t got out yet, otherwise she’d be getting calls. It would happen eventually though, she ought to ready herself. That’s what Florence had told her over breakfast that morning.

‘Game face,’ she’d said. ‘Better get it ready.’

What would the headlines be when her name was leaked?

Radio presenter kills schoolboy

Schoolboy tries to murder radio presenter’s baby daughter

Before she knew what she was doing, she was reaching for the remote controls and switching on the TV. She’d usually go for the radio first, but she needed to see the boy again. She switched the channel from CBeebies, which Joni had been watching that morning, to BBC News 24, and there the boy was right away, eyes staring out at Anna from the screen.

Her legs seemed to crumble beneath her and she sank onto the sofa.

He looked so young. That neat dark hair of his, rosy cheeks, distinctive blue eyes. And in his school uniform too.

She caught sight of the words racing along the bottom of the screen.

‘…notorious family.’

‘…deprived docklands area…’

‘…known to police…’

‘…mother released with no charge…’

So it was ‘Schoolboy tries to murder mother and baby’. Not just schoolboy but poor schoolboy, criminal schoolboy, schoolboy from troubled family.

And then there, his name: Elliot Nunn.

Elliot. A child’s name. An innocent name.

The screen cut to a live feed, a young male reporter standing in front of a line of tired-looking flowers. Anna turned the sound up.

‘…from the estate reserved for dock workers at the once-famous Ridgmont HM Dockyards. Here we are before the building Elliot Nunn lived in with his mother, father and two of his sisters. Mourners have been leaving flowers outside all day.’ The camera zoomed out to reveal a graffitied brick wall lined with flowers and teddies, and beyond, an untidy garden littered by rubbish. The faded flowery curtains of the family’s flat were closed, a small child’s bike discarded at the doorstep. Behind it all was the debilitated dockyard, hints of the skeletal remains of ships long abandoned since The Docks closed in the eighties. It had swallowed up a huge 300-acre site in its heyday, churning out hundreds of navy ships and employing thousands of people. When it closed, most of it was taken over by private investors and eventually turned into a smart new estate where Anna was now living. But the former housing put aside for dock workers remained – now known as The Docks – two rusting cranes and the huge tower block Elliot Nunn had lived in standing garish and tall over them. Either side of them were crumbling brick buildings, graffitied and vandalised. There had been promises to demolish the site, but that would cost money, money the local council would rather plough into the new builds dotting up around the area.

In the middle of it was a school, an ugly sixties building with a faded brick exterior. Elliot must have been a pupil there. Had he walked straight from school to the beachfront where Anna was walking with Joni, one goal in mind: to kill someone?

I won’t let you hurt me.

Why had he said that?

‘I’m joined by Dawn Williams,’ the reporter said now, interrupting Anna’s thoughts. ‘Dawn, you’re Elliot Nunn’s aunt.’

Anna felt her heart gallop and she moved closer to the TV. She ought to turn it off, but she just couldn’t. The camera focused on a large woman with frizzy red hair to her shoulders, the same woman who’d been outside the police station smoking.

The woman’s blue eyes looked like steel but her bottom lip quivered slightly, her smudged eyeliner hinting at a sleepless night and many tears.

Anna put her hand to her mouth.

‘Thank you for joining us,’ the news reporter said softly. ‘We understand what a difficult time this must be for you and your family.’

The woman nodded, jaw clenching. ‘They asked me to represent.’

‘Of course. How are Elliot’s parents coping?’

‘Gutted. Absolutely gutted. He was a gorgeous boy, so kind and gentle, wouldn’t hurt a fly.’ She wiped her nose and looked into the distance.

Kind and gentle? Anna saw Elliot’s hand raising, the glint of silver. She shook her head, eyes brimming with tears. How could a kind and gentle boy do such a thing?

‘It must be a comfort to see so many well-wishers?’ the reporter asked, gesturing towards the flowers.

‘Yeah, my brother and sister-in-law want to say thanks.’ Two young boys pedalled past on their bikes, waving at the camera. In the distance, a seagull landed on a bin overspilling with rubbish, making it shudder.

Anna looked at the floral tributes. It was as though a child had been killed by a heartless killer.

Maybe Anna was a heartless killer. She’d raised the comb in the air. What had she been planning to do before he fell against it? Would she have jutted it into his skin anyway to protect Joni?

Anna wrapped her arms around her belly, feeling like she might get sick again. She looked at Joni. She was alive. Safe. Wasn’t that all that mattered?

The reporter tilted his head. ‘You say your nephew wouldn’t hurt a fly but he did hurt a mother, attempt to harm her child too. What were your—’

‘Piss off!’ a man’s voice shouted off camera. The camera wobbled as a hand covered it. There was the sound of a scuffle then the hand was removed and the reporter appeared on camera again, rearranging his tie, a look of panic in his eyes. Behind him, the aunt was being marched away by a man with short fair hair, muscular arms.

The reporter seemed to compose himself and followed them down the drive, shiny grey trousers catching in the light. ‘Jamie? Are you Jamie Nunn?’ The reporter looked over his shoulder at the camera, eyes sparking with excitement. ‘Elliot Nunn’s older brother,’ he explained to viewers.

Anna thought of what Detective Morgan had said about Elliot’s brother.

‘Leave us alone,’ Elliot’s brother hissed without turning. ‘My little brother’s dead, just leave us the fuck alone or you’ll end up like him.’ He continued with his aunt down the path, the grief and anger throbbing off them both.

Anna put her head in her hands. She’d caused that grief.

‘Oh, Anna.’ She looked up to see Nathan standing in the doorway, Florence behind him.

‘He guessed you’d come here,’ she said apologetically. ‘He knows.’

‘How?’ Anna asked Nathan.

He sighed. ‘Sources.’

‘So my name will be out soon?’

‘Eventually. I wish you’d just told me the truth instead of calling in sick.’

‘I’ll leave you to it,’ Florence said softly, putting her hand on Nathan’s shoulder. ‘Good to see you again, Nathan.’

When Florence walked out, Nathan peered towards Joni. ‘She’s okay?’

‘Yes, physically, anyway,’ Anna said, trying to keep her voice strong. ‘But she witnessed what happened which can’t be good for her…’ Her voice trailed off and she turned away, trying desperately not to cry.

Game face.

Nathan walked across the room and pulled her into a hug. ‘I’m so sorry, Anna. Of all the people for this to happen to.’

She looked up at him. ‘I killed a boy, Nathan.’

‘You had to and I’m not the only one who thinks it,’ he said fiercely. ‘The Coast to Coast “Your Say” lines were jammed this morning with—’

She pulled away from him. ‘You did a phone-in on it?’

‘Before we knew it was you, Anna! Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have?’

She sighed. ‘I suppose not.’

‘Everyone’s on your side, bar the usual devil’s advocate, of course. You have nothing to worry about.’

‘I still killed him.’

Nathan shook his head. ‘Self-defence. You weren’t charged, were you? It’ll be fine. You’re a bloody hero.’

‘It doesn’t feel like it.’ She sank onto a sofa, raking her hands through her long hair. She’d washed it, over and over, when she’d got in the night before. But she could swear she could still feel and smell the boy’s blood in it.

Nathan sat next to her and they both watched the TV. The newsreader was now discussing whether it was right that Anna – or the ‘unnamed mother’ as they referred to her – hadn’t been charged. It was clear the newsreader thought it was right.

And then there it was again, that photo of Elliot stretched across the news studio behind them.

‘I don’t understand why he did it,’ Anna said.

‘We have our fair share of nutters and stalkers.’

‘No, he wasn’t a stalker. He seemed to recognise me but he was surprised to see me. If he’d been stalking me, surely he’d know I’d be there? I do that walk every evening.’ She thought of the look in Elliot’s eyes before he ran at her. ‘He seemed scared of me too.’

‘Scared? Why on earth would he be scared of you?’

‘I don’t know,’ Anna said with a sigh. ‘But something’s not adding up, I can feel it.’

‘Feel?’ Nathan said with a raised eyebrow. ‘So your gut’s telling you that, is it? We’ll make an investigative reporter out of you yet, Anna Graves. Just like your father.’

Anna shook her head vehemently. ‘I’ll never be an investigative reporter, not after what it did to him. Does everyone at work know?’ Anna thought of Heather’s smug face. I always knew there was something a bit odd about Anna Graves, she’d probably say.

‘Just a couple of the senior reporters,’ Nathan said. ‘I’ve bribed them to keep quiet for now, amazing the blackmail material you get at Christmas dos.’

He smiled but Anna didn’t smile back. Instead, she scratched at her arms. What would it be like when her name got out?

Another photo of Elliot appeared again on TV, this time with his parents at a wedding, according to the caption. The mother’s black greasy hair piled on top of her head, a pink dress hanging off her thin frame. The father looked angry, his russet hair long and messy, eyes hard as he looked into the camera. Elliot stood between them, his hands thrust into the pockets of black trousers that were too short for him, dark hair smartly combed. He looked sullen, eyes away from the camera.

Anna looked at his mother again. Her life was etched into the lines in her face, the dark circles under her eyes. She’d be crippled with grief right now.

But then so might Anna if she hadn’t protected herself and Joni like she did.

She put her face in her hands and let the tears come, praying she’d wake up from this horrible nightmare.

Anna walked down the path towards her mother’s bungalow. The grass was overgrown, the roses Florence had so carefully planted the month before already neglected and dying. Anna remembered how she’d felt the first time she saw the bungalow, two months after her father had died, one in a row of many. It had seemed so tiny, so claustrophobic compared to the large apartment that had been their family home. It was too far away from the cobbled touristy centre of the village where their apartment had been…and where Anna had lived with Guy until recently.

‘I think Daddy would have liked this,’ she remembered saying to her mother, lying to make her feel better. The truth was, the bungalow was too far away from the sea for Anna’s liking. Still just a ten-minute walk, but that was enough to make Anna feel land-locked and trapped.

‘Rubbish,’ her brother Leo had hissed. ‘He hated the bungalows here, said they smelled of decay, didn’t he, Mother?’

But their mother had just stared into the distance, eyes blank, already lost to the anti-anxiety pills her doctor had prescribed her.

‘The curtains are closed,’ Florence said now as she peered at the bungalow.

Anna sighed. That was usually a sign her mother was going through one of her more reclusive periods. The last time Anna had seen her was two weeks ago. Her mother had been okay then; even sat on the floor and played with Joni. Anna had tried to enjoy the brief respite from her usual indifference. But she couldn’t help but think it meant her mother was due a down episode. That’s the way it was with her mother, a rollercoaster of ups and downs since she’d lost her husband.

Anna walked up the concrete path, Joni sucking her thumb as she looked around her. She always seemed nervous when they visited her ‘nanny’s’, sensing Anna’s nerves no doubt. Florence put a protective arm around them both.

As they approached the bungalow, the curtains were flung open and Anna’s brother, Leo, appeared at the window, his dark hair slicked back, his brown suit too small. His nostrils flared as he saw his sister and gran approaching. One less opportunity to gloat to Anna about being the ‘only person to see Mother this weekend’. He enjoyed putting guilt trips on Anna, mostly about her needing to spend more time with their mother, or more recently about the fact she’d returned to work after having Joni, something his timid wife Trudy ‘wouldn’t dream of doing’ after having their twins.

‘Great,’ Anna muttered. ‘Leo’s here. I was hoping I could get away with a phone call to tell him.’

‘At least you can kill two birds with one stone.’ Anna flinched and Florence sighed. ‘Sorry, poppet, wrong choice of words.’

‘What a surprise,’ her brother said as he opened the door. His eyes paused on the gauze over Anna’s cheek. ‘What happened to you?’

Anna put her hand to her cheek.

‘Hello, Leo,’ Florence said, stepping inside and giving him a kiss on his pale cheek. ‘Trudy not here with the kids?’

Anna admired how her gran could still show Leo affection, despite how cold he was with her. Anna tried, but gave up most of the time when it came to her brother.

‘Trudy’s taken them swimming,’ Leo replied. ‘Thought I’d take the chance to see Mother without the children, you know how she can get with the noise they make,’ he added, looking pointedly at Joni.

Anna repressed her anger. This wasn’t the time to argue with her brother. ‘How is Mum today?’ she asked instead.

‘Talkative.’

Anna and Florence exchanged a look. Maybe she wasn’t having one of her down days then. But the ‘up’ manic days weren’t so great either. Her mother generally had two moods: quiet and detached, or talkative and angry. Anna wasn’t sure which one she preferred.

They walked through to the small living room with its faded red sofas and patterned carpet. The shelves either side of the small fireplace were cluttered with books and ornaments, no family photos like at Florence’s.

Anna’s mother was leaning over, tickling the chin of her black and white cat, Korky, her long grey hair grazing her plump knees. She peered up, a look of surprise on her face when she saw Anna and Florence walk in.

‘Hello, Beatrice,’ Florence said, sweeping into the room and leaning down to kiss her daughter on the cheek. Anna’s mother flinched. She didn’t like affection.

‘How are you, Mum?’ Anna asked.

‘Too hot. And tired,’ her mother replied. ‘The sirens kept me awake.’

Anna avoided her gaze, focusing on placing Joni on the floor with the toys she’d brought with her.

Her mother scrutinised Anna’s face. ‘What happened to your face?’

Leo frowned. ‘Anna’s just visiting, Mother. I know it’s a rare occurrence but—’

‘Honestly, Leo, Anna comes every week, that’s hardly rare,’ Florence snapped.

Leo bristled. Florence may be the most loving person Anna knew, but she also knew when to put people in their place.

‘Anna?’ her mother pushed.

‘I have something to tell you, Mum,’ Anna said, looking her mother in the eye.

Her brother frowned. The last time they’d had a conversation like this was when Anna told them her and Guy were splitting up. It had triggered one of her mother’s episodes, meaning she’d refused to see anyone for two weeks.

‘Someone tried to hurt me and Joni yesterday,’ Anna said, trying to keep her voice calm.

Her mother’s eyes widened.

‘As you can see, we’re fine, I just got a bit of a cut to my cheek,’ Anna added quickly as Joni tried to reach for the cat. ‘But I had to—’ Anna swallowed. ‘I had to protect Joni and – and I…’

‘Spit it out, Anna,’ her brother snapped.

She couldn’t say the words, which was totally unlike her. She looked at her gran beseechingly.

Florence put her hand on Beatrice’s arm. ‘Anna and Joni were attacked on the beach yesterday, Beatrice. Anna had to defend herself, defend Joni. The boy died.’

‘Died?’ Beatrice asked incredulously.

‘My God,’ Leo said as he stared at Anna. ‘You’re the one they’re talking about on the news, the mother who killed the boy from The Docks?’

‘She had to protect Joni,’ Florence said.

‘By killing a schoolboy?’ Leo asked.

Anna ignored him, looking at her mother who started scratching her arms, something she did when she was nervous.

‘I didn’t mean to,’ Anna said to Beatrice. ‘It was an accident. I had a comb, a sharp tail one. It was the only thing I could grab, the boy had a knife, and – and the comb went into his neck…’

‘How old was the boy?’ Beatrice asked Anna.

Anna swallowed, tears brimming at her eyes. ‘Fourteen.’

‘Just a boy,’ Beatrice said. She turned away to look out of the window, face drawn.

‘Couldn’t you have bloody stabbed him in the leg or something?’ Leo said.

Anna closed her eyes, saw the comb’s end slipping into the soft skin of the boy’s neck, smelt his blood, felt it on her hands again. ‘I didn’t…he – he struck out with his knife, and I had – had to do something. Then he fell…’

‘You’d do the same to protect one of the twins,’ Florence said gently.

‘I wouldn’t be that bloody stupid,’ Leo retorted. ‘There are ways of protecting one’s children without resorting to murder.’

Anna kept her eyes on her mother. All she wanted, all she’d ever wanted, was for Beatrice to look at her, really look at her and hold her and tell her it was okay. Like the time her father died, the ambulance sirens disappearing into the distance, leaving her with her mother and her brother. She’d grasped at Beatrice’s cold hand, desperate for comfort. But Beatrice had just walked away, disappearing into her own private grief, not offering any word of comfort to her children.

It was no different now, Anna needed her mother.

But instead, all she got was a cold gaze. ‘Leo’s right,’ Beatrice said. ‘You shouldn’t have gone for his neck.’ Leo stood next to his mother, putting his hand on her shoulder. They both stared at Anna and Anna felt as she always had with them: ostracised, alone, judged.

A sob escaped her mouth.

‘Right then,’ Florence said, scooping Joni and her toys up as she tried to contain her anger. ‘We’ve done what we came to do, Anna. Shall we go?’

Anna nodded, suppressing her disappointment. ‘Let’s go.’

That evening, Anna tried to drive thoughts of her encounter with her mother and brother away. She ought to be used to it. She’d felt increasingly isolated from them after her father died. They’d sit quietly in the bungalow, reading and wallowing, refusing to talk about Anna’s father. Anna had wanted to talk about him, think about him, remember him. She didn’t want him to fade away. So she’d retreat to the lighthouse or to visit her gran, the only person she felt able to share memories of her father with. It was no different now.

No, she mustn’t dwell on the past. She had to focus on the now, on Joni. Guy would be looking after her that weekend, he was coming to collect her straight from the airport. As much as it pained Anna to be apart from Joni, she had to stick to their agreement, especially seeing as social services would be visiting, ‘just standard procedure after an incident like this,’ according to her solicitor. She couldn’t be seen to be breaking her agreement with Guy. And anyway, despite the problems between her and Guy, she knew he would keep Joni safe.

Anna focused on playing with Joni that evening, bathing her and forcing herself to remember over and over, ‘Look, you saved your daughter’s life. She’s here!’ But she still saw Elliot’s face, the awkward angle of the comb jutting from his neck, the blood and the gurgles, guilt piled upon guilt thanks to her mother and brother’s reactions.

As she read Joni’s bedtime story to her, she wondered if Elliot’s mother used to do the same for him. Did she brush her nose against his soft hair like Anna did with Joni? Hold his warmth close, marvel at how lucky she was to have him?

‘Mama.’ Anna looked up to see Joni peering at her, her little brow creased.

Anna forced a smile, kissing her forehead. ‘Okay, darling, bedtime.’ She lifted her into the travel cot that Florence had bought so Joni could stay there every now and again when Anna and Guy needed a break. Anna was still staying with her gran, not quite ready to return home yet. And Joni was still in with Anna, Anna not quite ready for her to be in a separate room.

She flicked on her video monitor then stepped out of the room. Joni cried, lifting her arms out to her. She did this sometimes. Just when Anna thought she’d slipped into a good sleeping phase, Joni would throw a curveball and refuse to sleep. Anna hoped this was just one of her fussy sleeping phases, not a result of what she’d witnessed. Anna stroked her head, shushed her, watching as her eyes grew heavy again. Then she tiptoed downstairs.

‘Joni okay?’ Florence asked, delicious smells wafting in from her kitchen as she cooked the cockles Anna had collected that morning. Anna had learnt all she knew about cooking seafood from Florence, a skill passed down the generations.

‘Just a bit unsettled,’ Anna said.

Florence tilted her head, examining her granddaughter’s face. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I keep thinking about something Elliot Nunn said before he tried to hurt us.’

‘What was that?’

‘“I won’t let you hurt me”. He was scared of me.’

‘Maybe you misheard him?

Anna shook her head. ‘No. He definitely said it and it’s important, I just don’t know how. I can feel it in my gut.’

Florence raised an eyebrow. ‘Your father used to say that when he was doing one of his investigations. Let the police do their job, darling, you’ve been through enough.’ Florence gestured towards the living room. ‘There’s a glass of wine waiting for you. Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes.’

Anna squeezed her gran’s hand. ‘I’m so lucky to have you.’

Florence’s face softened. ‘I’m always here for you, you know that.’ She gave Anna a big hug then went into the kitchen.

Anna walked into the living room and sank onto the sofa, directing the fan towards her face as she stared out to sea. The sofa was positioned right next to the large folding doors that opened onto the veranda, offering a perfect view of the setting sun. The storm had held off and now the evening was warm, the sun a bright orange glow, reflected like fire in the sea. A couple strolled by hand in hand and Anna thought of how she used to walk along the beach with Guy on summer evenings. They even had picnics out there, Anna giddy from wine as she lay back, not caring about the sand in her hair as she stared up at the orange sky.

As she thought that, an image of Elliot Nunn suddenly came to her, his dark hair filthy with sand, his eyes wide open as he stared oblivious towards a sky he’d never see again.

Anna turned away from the sea and pulled her laptop out, resisting the temptation to open a browser and google herself. She’d know if her name was out by the calls and texts. She quickly clicked into her emails, saw one from the station’s PR manager about an interview request with the local newspaper. The radio station was going to try to push the ‘working mother’ angle to the media to raise Anna’s profile now she was back from maternity leave. Anna hadn’t been so keen. Her father had started to get a little publicity before he died because of his news reports and look what that had done to him. Better to just get on with the job, head down. That would all change once her name got out though. The station would be inundated with a new angle: child-killing local radio presenter.

Anna looked at the name of the journalist who was requesting the interview. Yvonne Fry, a woman Anna had gone to school with, even been friends with until Yvonne had left to work for the local paper at just sixteen and they lost contact. Imagine what she would think when she found out Anna was the mother all over the news? Anna sighed and clicked into her emails. There was one from her friend Maxine inviting her and some other friends over for dinner the week after to discuss their plans for the village’s annual fireworks display in November. It seemed a long way off but Maxine liked to be organised. Anna stared at the email. It was so jolly, so innocent, talk of ‘wine on tap’ and ‘chocolate cake and chatter…unless the kids wake up, of course!’ Usually Anna would smile and reply with an instant ‘yes’. But what would life hold for her when her name got out? Could her friends forgive her for killing a local schoolboy?

She ignored Maxine’s email, going to another one. The production assistant had forwarded on some listeners’ emails from the day before. They were all good, praising Anna for her return. There was even one from another mother who’d just returned from maternity leave herself and had found courage listening to Anna on the way into work.

Anna felt a sense of grief for her life before all this. If this were a normal day, this email would have given her strength, made her feel it was all worth it. But now all it did was make her realise just how much everything would change. Could she still be an inspiration to women like this one with the death of a boy over her head?

She clicked out of the email then she froze.

There was an email in her inbox with the subject line ‘Elliot Nunn’.

Impossible! Her name hadn’t been publicly connected to the case yet.

Then she noticed the ‘from’ field: Ophelia Killer. A shudder of fear ran through her body.

She quickly opened the email, fingers trembling.

From: The Ophelia Killer

To: Anna Graves

Subject: Elliot Nunn

Yes, I thought the subject line would catch your eye, Anna. Tell me, did he look beautiful when he died? Those blue eyes staring up into sheer nothingness, the pallor of his skin, that special silver veil that only comes with death.

The blood, I wouldn’t have liked the blood. But still, one can’t be fussy. Maybe you took a photo? If so, please do send! I’m finding myself rather fascinated with this one, the boy’s potential for murder was rather appealing, wasn’t it? He was a bit naughty for targeting you while you had that pretty daughter of yours with you though…

Take care now. TOK

Anna barely breathed for a few seconds as she stared at the email. The Ophelia Killer had terrorised The Docks over one hot summer, killing seven teenage boys. But then the killings had abruptly stopped. Her father had investigated the murders, spending every spare minute he could looking into them. Then he’d killed himself, throwing himself from the lighthouse. Anna had always blamed his obsession with the killings for that.

Was someone pretending to be the notorious Ophelia Killer? It couldn’t be the real one, surely. Whoever it was, how did they know about Elliot? Was Anna’s name out? She quickly googled her name with trembling fingers. But the same old results came up: her website, her profile page on the Coast to Coast website, her Twitter profile, various articles. Nothing connecting her to Elliot Nunn’s death.

Her eyes slipped to the last line of the email.

…that pretty daughter of yours…

She shoved the laptop off her knees and ran upstairs, relieved to see Joni sleeping soundly.

‘You okay, Anna?’ Florence called up to her.

‘Not really.’ Anna went back downstairs and showed Florence the email.

A frown creased Florence’s head. ‘The Ophelia Killer? I don’t understand.’

‘Me neither. I ought to call the police.’

Anna called the number Detective Morgan had given her. He answered on the first ring.

‘Your name must be getting out,’ he said straight after she told him about the email. ‘It’ll be a nutter.’

‘No, I googled myself, no one’s connecting me to the death yet.’

‘Forward the email to me,’ he said. ‘I’ll get someone to look at it.’

‘Is there any chance we can we get some protection, maybe one officer? When I send the email, you’ll notice the last line mentions Joni, it made me feel uncomfortable.’

‘Of course, we’ll get a car to sit outside. You’re still at your grandmother’s?’

‘Yes. Thank you so much, Detective Morgan.’

‘No problem, Anna. Anything else I can help you with?’

She peered out towards the angry sea. ‘Do you know yet why Elliot might have tried to hurt me and Joni?’

‘All we have at the moment is maybe he heard you on the radio and grew obsessed with you.’

Anna shook her head. ‘No, that just doesn’t add up. I just can’t shake the feeling it was more than that.’

He was quiet and Anna sensed something in the silence. Was he thinking the same as her? ‘Detective Morgan?’ she asked.

‘Try not to worry about it, Anna. We’ll do everything we can to find out why Elliot Nunn did what he did. Do send me that email, won’t you?’ Then he was gone.

Anna sank back in her chair, peering up at the ceiling. Even if it was someone trying to get her attention, as Detective Morgan suggested, is this how it was going to be from now on, emails from people pretending to be serial killers? Would she ever be able to feel secure in Joni’s safety again?

‘Are they sending someone over?’ Florence asked, wrapping her arms around herself as she peered out into the darkness.

Anna felt a stab of guilt. Florence was nearly seventy. Despite how robust she was, she didn’t need to be feeling scared in her own home. She put her hand on her gran’s arm. ‘I’m so sorry, Gran, this is your house. I don’t want you to be scared here.’

‘Oh, poppet, we’ll be fine,’ Florence said, squeezing her granddaughter’s hand. ‘This place is like Fort Knox the amount of locks that double glazing man put in, we’ll be safe here.’ She sighed. ‘I hate you having to go through this though.’

‘Me too.’

They both looked out to sea, watching as the waves clashed into each other beneath darkening skies.

The next evening, Anna saw Guy for the first time since Elliot’s death. He stood on the doorstep of Florence’s house wearing crisp jeans and a casual white shirt, his dark hair and beard longer than they had been the last time she’d seen him, the week before. Her heart lurched at the sight of him. She missed him so much, especially now. How could everything have fallen to pieces in just a matter of weeks? His brown eyes held Anna’s for a moment then he noticed Joni crawling down the hallway towards him. He grabbed her into a hug and swirled her around as she giggled.

‘My gorgeous little girl,’ he said as he cuddled her. Then he held her out in front of him, examining her all over with his eyes.

‘She’s fine,’ Anna said.

He looked at Anna. ‘How are you?’

‘Still trying to wrap my head around what happened.’

‘Yeah, me too,’ he said, jaw flexing. ‘It’s all over the news.’

‘My name isn’t though.’

‘Not yet. I just can’t—’ He stopped talking.

‘What?’

‘I didn’t think you’d be capable of killing someone.’

‘Wouldn’t you, for Joni?’

He thought about it. ‘Before all this, I’d have said hell yeah. But now the reality is in front of me, I don’t know.’

Anna crossed her arms, tears brimming. ‘Well I did and your daughter is alive in your arms right now because of that.’

His face softened. ‘I know, Anna, I’m sorry. It’s just a lot to take in. Do they know why the kid tried to hurt you both?’

‘I have no idea.’

Guy frowned as Joni played with his necklace. ‘Could he have been a stalker? What if there are others out there like him?’

‘No, he wasn’t a stalker, Guy. This is a one-off freak occurrence.’

‘Maybe I should take Joni for a few weeks, until this settles down?’

Panic flooded Anna’s chest. ‘No! She’ll be safe with me, I promise.’

‘Then why are you here at your gran’s?’ he said, looking around him.

‘It’s just a precaution.’

‘I’m not very comfortable with all this.’

‘Guy, please don’t do this. You know I’d never risk Joni’s safety.’

He held her gaze. ‘Really? She nearly got stabbed, Anna.’

‘For God’s sake! I was walking along the beach just like I do every day with her, with you too when we were together. I’m already struggling enough with the guilt.’

He sighed. ‘I know, sorry. I’m tired, I’ve been cooped up in a plane then a car the past few hours and it’s bloody hot out there. And I’m worried, that’s all.’

She tried to calm herself down. ‘I understand. But our daughter is safe, okay? I promise.’

As she said that, she thought of the email she’d got from the person claiming to be the Ophelia Killer. A trickle of fear ran through her.

She handed Joni’s changing bag to Guy. ‘Remember she’s dropped her midday feed like we discussed.’

‘Yep. Say goodbye to Mummy,’ he said, handing Joni over to Anna.

She kissed her daughter’s cheek. ‘Be a good girl for Daddy, darling,’ she said, breathing in her scent. ‘You’ll see Mummy in three days. I love you so much.’

Joni wrapped her arms around her mother’s neck and pressed her nose against her cheek. ‘Mama.’

‘Mama?’ Guy asked, tilting his head.

‘Yes, she said it for the first time the other day.’ She didn’t want to say what day.

‘What a clever girl!’

‘I know, isn’t she?’

They smiled at each other and her heart ached for all that was lost between them. Then Guy broke her gaze.

She handed Joni back to him, trying to stop herself crying. This was unbearable, she didn’t want to lose sight of her daughter for one moment and yet here she was, handing her over for three whole days.

It’s for the best, she reasoned with herself. Joni will be safe with her father.

‘We have lots of plans, little girl,’ he said to Joni. ‘Your Uncle James and Auntie Liz are coming over with Isobel and Anya tomorrow.’

Joni smiled, recognising her little cousins’ names.

‘Then I’m thinking a day at the beach is in order if it’s not too hot.’

‘Sounds fun,’ Anna said, forcing a smile for the sake of her daughter.

Guy looked at Anna. ‘It’ll all work out, Anna.’

Joni reached her chubby hand out for her mother. Anna grasped it.

It had to work out.

The rest of the evening, Anna tried to relax, picking up one of Florence’s magazines and flicking through it. Then she paused. There was an article about the community centre in The Docks that her gran sometimes helped out at, Anna too, on occasion.

Could she have met Elliot Nunn at one of those events? She remembered meeting a few of the kids at some event a few months ago. But there had been so many of them, their faces blurring into one. Except one kid, Ben Miller. His father worked as a caretaker for the building where Guy’s architect company was based. His mother had died when he was just eleven, just as Anna’s father had died when she was eleven.

He worked at the newsagents down the road.

Before she knew what she was doing, she jumped up, grabbing her cardigan and pulling its hood over her head, putting some sunglasses on.

‘Just popping out,’ she shouted up to Florence.

Florence appeared at the landing, a look of alarm on her face. ‘Out? Anna, is that a good idea?’

‘Look at me,’ she said, gesturing to her sunglasses. ‘If I see someone who saw me that day, they won’t recognise me.’

‘I don’t know, poppet…’

‘I need the fresh air. I’ll be fine. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.’

She blew her gran a kiss then let herself out. As the door shut behind her, she paused a few moments, blinking up at the setting sun. She hadn’t walked outside alone since what happened and her heart hammered at the thought.

She put her hand back on the door handle. Maybe Florence was right? Anyway, what exactly did she think she’d achieve going to see Ben Miller?

But then her fingers slipped from the handle and she found herself walking to the newsagents. It was just a couple of minutes away, right next to the greengrocers and facing the sea. She saw the headline scream out at her from the placard outside: ‘Dead boy’s father is known criminal.’ Anna shuddered and lowered her head, quickly walking into the newsagents.

She was relieved to see it was empty inside apart from Ben Miller who was bopping along to some music as he filled up the shelves, his dark fringe bouncing in his eyes, the smart red shirt he wore for work creased. A fan behind him lifted the edges of the newspapers nearby, Elliot’s face on every one of them.

Anna took her sunglasses off. ‘Hi, Ben,’ she said, trying to keep her voice normal.

He peered up and smiled. ‘Oh, hello, Mrs Graves. How’s Joni?’

She smiled. ‘Joni’s good.’

He’d always been so polite, so sweet. His father was a good man, trying his best for his two sons by working hard. His eldest son had been in trouble with the police. But Ben had kept on the straight and narrow, working at the shop, keeping his head down with his studies, even helping the community centre out every now and again. He’d once confided in Anna during one of those events that he wanted to leave Ridgmont Waters. That was the way it was with the kids who lived on the coast. While ‘inlanders’, as the villagers referred to people inland, were desperate to flock to the sea in the summer, if you’d lived there all your life, you were desperate to get away. All you saw was the way the salt air rotted the houses, how the harsh winters gobbled up any free time, how if the wind was in the wrong direction, the village could stink of dead fish and seaweed.

Anna hadn’t been like most kids though. Her father used to say the sea ran through her veins. She loved it there and couldn’t imagine leaving.

Until now. Maybe she’d have no choice when her name got out?

‘How are you?’ Anna asked Ben now, grabbing some milk.

His face flickered with sadness. ‘All right, I suppose,’ he said as he walked around the counter

‘Did you know Elliot Nunn?’ she asked softly, her heart thudding in her ears. She knew how strange and maybe wrong this conversation would seem to Ben once news of Anna got out. But this might be her only chance to talk to him.

Ben flinched. ‘Yeah, he was my mate.’

‘I’m really sorry, Ben.’

He shrugged. ‘That’s okay.’

‘Do you think Elliot meant to hurt the woman and her baby?’ Anna asked, trying to be casual as she dug around in her purse for some money.

Ben frowned. ‘No, Elliot wasn’t like that.’

She peered up at Ben. ‘Not violent?’

‘No way! Not until the other day anyway. I mean his family…’ He peered over Anna’s shoulder then lowered his voice. ‘They’re a bit dodgy, everyone’s scared of his brother. But not Elliot.’

‘That event I went to in the spring, the Easter digathon? Was Elliot there?’

‘Yeah, I think he was actually.’

Anna handed her money over. ‘So he did go to some of the community centre events then?’

‘Sometimes, if his dad let him.’

‘Why wouldn’t his dad let him?’

‘Says it’s for Nancy boys.’

Anna couldn’t help rolling her eyes. ‘That’s silly.’

‘Yeah, he’s an idiot, Mr Nunn is.’ His eyes widened, fear filling them. ‘But don’t tell him I said that!’

‘I won’t, don’t worry. Thanks, Ben. Take care, okay?’ She looked him in the eyes and smiled, trying to somehow show him she was a good person, that she didn’t mean to kill his friend even though he didn’t yet know she had. Then she left the newsagents, the door swinging shut behind her.

‘You got milk?’ Florence asked with a frown when Anna stepped inside a couple of minutes later.

‘Yes.’

‘We don’t need milk.’

Anna popped it in the fridge. ‘You can never have too much milk.’

Florence crossed her arms. ‘Anna, what’s going on?’

Anna sighed. Her gran knew her so well. ‘I went to talk to Ben Miller.’

Florence’s eyes widened. ‘Why on earth would you do that?’

‘I just don’t think Elliot trying to hurt me and Joni was random.’

‘Well no, poppet, he was probably stalking you like Inspector Morgan said.’

‘He wasn’t, I just know he wasn’t. But I think I know why he recognised me. He went to some of the community centre events, he must have seen me there.’

Florence shook her head. ‘Do you realise how risky it was to talk to Ben Miller like that?’

‘Why? He doesn’t know it’s me.’

‘But he might put two and two together, tell someone you’re staying here.’

‘He won’t, trust me.’ Anna walked up to Florence, holding her hands. ‘I’m fine, Gran. It was just a quick chat.’

Florence sighed. ‘I’m just so worried.’

Anna looked into her eyes. She hadn’t considered the strain this would put her gran under too.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said softly. ‘I don’t like worrying you.’

Florence stroked her cheek. ‘Please let the police do their job, poppet. I don’t want any more harm coming to my two girls.’

‘Okay,’ Anna said. ‘I promise.’

But as she did the washing up later, staring out towards the dark sea while Florence put the rubbish out, she felt a stirring in her tummy. Is this how her father had felt before he started investigating the Ophelia Killings?

Anna thought back to that summer. It had been hot just like this one. Anna remembered how excited she and Leo had been when their parents had dragged a blow-up pool into the apartment-block gardens for them to cool down in. They’d spent days splashing about and giggling. But then suddenly it all stopped, they weren’t allowed outside.

As the summer wore on and police sirens became a familiar background noise to her life, Anna began to understand why. She started to glean more about what was going on in her town: teenage boys from The Docks were being killed, all found drowned in their garden ponds surrounded by beautiful flowers, just like Ophelia from Hamlet. When Leo grew scared, Anna played the adult despite being two years younger than him, telling him they’d be safe, that the killer wouldn’t get them because they lived in the ‘good bit of town’. He would have nightmares about the murders though, waking in the night screaming. But Anna grew fascinated, following her father around whenever he was home, asking questions about the case, which he refused to answer.

‘You’re too young, darling,’ he’d say, brushing her cheek with his finger as he smiled at her. ‘Now go play with your Barbies, isn’t that what little girls like you are supposed to do?’

But that wasn’t what Anna wanted at all. She wanted to be like her father. So one night, four months after the first victim was found, as summer began to fade, Anna got into her father’s study while he slept and found a photo of one of the victims on his desk, an image that still haunted her: a boy with pale skin lying in a pond, blank blue eyes wide open, dirty ripples of water below him, hints of bright soaked flowers around his head. And then, dotted over his torso, five round bloody marks, skin removed by the Ophelia Killer as trophies, as Anna later learnt.

That was the penultimate victim. A couple of weeks later, her father killed himself on the same day the last victim was found, jumping from the top floor of the lighthouse to the rocks below, the horror of the case finally getting to him.

Anna felt tears spring to her eyes and scrubbed at a plate to force the memories away. Florence was right, she’d been silly to question Ben Miller like that. She needed to leave the investigations to the police. If her dad had, maybe he’d still be alive, not driven to depression by the horror and stress of it all.

She removed the plug, watching as the bubbles spun down the sink. Then the sound of something smashing outside pierced the silence. Florence was out there! She quickly dried her hands and ran out of the open back door, calling her gran’s name.

Then she froze.

Standing on the beach outside was a crowd of people, candles flickering in the darkness. ‘Child killer,’ someone hissed.

It was Elliot’s father, his blue eyes fierce with anger.