Page 88 of The Psychopath Next Door

She hadn’t said anything about the murder. Hadn’t mentioned Iris at all.

But five minutes before her parents had got home, Rose had said, ‘Can I ask my question now? The one you owe me.’

‘Of course.’

Rose had picked up her queen and turned it over in her small hands.

‘Who’s next?’ she’d asked. ‘You said there are three people who need to pay for Maisie’s death. Who’s the third one?’

Now, Fiona turned away from the window as the taxi’s rear lights vanished into the distance. She was sure there were still specks of blood, maybe pieces of skull, of brains, on her skin. Fragments ofIris’s DNA. She went to the bathroom and turned the shower on, shedding the fresh clothes she’d put on before the chess game. She scrubbed herself clean, really getting under her fingernails, shampooing her hair, then doing it again. Only when she was confident there could no longer be any traces of Iris on her did she get out.

She wrapped a towel around her and turned to the steamed-up mirror.

Did she really need to do it? Write the remaining name there in the condensation? She decided yes, one last time, putting her finger to the glass and etching the name of the third person on her list.

Her next-door neighbour.

Part Three

32

April2019

‘We need to go. Now.’

The tip-off had come in from a civilian member of staff at the nearest police station, a woman called Kia who Fiona had picked up in a bar several months before, stringing her along ever since. Kia had sent a text from the phone she used to arrange their occasional liaisons.

They’re going to arrest you both this morning. Sorry. Good luck! Xxxx

Fiona had stared at the text for too long, hardly able to believe it. She hadn’t seen this coming.

But she knew what they needed to do.

‘Maisie.’ She shook her shoulder. ‘Maisie. We need to get going. Right now.’

She showed her the text from Kia and Maisie sat up like a toy whose power button had been pressed. Wide awake. Ready. It was one of the things Fiona liked about her – this ability to shake off sleep in an instant, so different to the sloth-like masses. If she’dknown this would be the last hour they’d ever spend together, she might have taken more time to mull over Maisie’s finest attributes. Her ambition and single-mindedness. Her wonderful, creative cruelty. Fiona wondered if the emotion she experienced when she and Maisie were alone was similar to what the herd called love, or if it was only recognition. Her own reflection in the dark glass of Maisie’s regard.

‘What time is it?’ Maisie asked. She was already out of bed, combing her fingers through her hair as she headed to the en-suite to pee.

‘Quarter past eight.’

Above the trickle, Maisie called out through the open door. ‘How long have we got?’

‘I don’t know. But we have to assume they could be here any second.’

As she spoke, she took down a suitcase from on top of the wardrobe and began to throw clothes into it. Underwear. Chargers. The spare phones they kept for emergencies. She marched into the bathroom, where Maisie was now cleaning her teeth in front of the mirror, and swept a load of toiletries into a bag. ‘Please, hurry up and get dressed.’

‘Fiona? Just relax, okay? We’re going to be fine. We’re smarter than them.’

‘Different, special, better?’

‘Exactly.’

Most of the time, Maisie’s sense of superiority, her confidence, gave Fiona goosebumps. The cold glow of her arrogance; Fiona loved to bask in it. But it was also a flaw, and Fiona had warned her it could one day be a fatal one.

She snatched the toothbrush from Maisie’s hand. ‘We have to run. Now.’

Fiona strode back into the bedroom and dropped the toiletries into the now-full suitcase, then grabbed some clothes and threw them to Maisie as she appeared in the bathroom doorway. ‘Get dressed.’ She hefted the suitcase. ‘I’ll see you downstairs.’

---