Page 1 of The Psychopath Next Door

Prologue

September2021

There was no one to meet her outside the prison gates. She had left her only friend, if that term could be used for her relationship with Lucy, behind her on the inside, and she hadn’t seen her family in a very long time. Standing outside Franklin Grange, breathing in air that tasted of freedom and promise and something else – was that coppery tang the anticipation of vengeance? – Fiona realised that, for the first time in years, she was completely on her own.

‘Me against the world,’ she whispered beneath her breath, remembering how Maisie had always said the same thing, except it had beenus against the world, hadn’t it?Us. The dark alliance that had started back in Australia when Fiona was young, still learning about her nature. It had been Maisie who taught her who she was. What she was.

Different.

Special.

Better.

She walked away from the prison without looking back. They had given her directions to the local train station, a twenty-minute walk along a wide, quiet road, and a ticket that would take hersouth, back to London and temporary accommodation, where a bank card awaited. She wasn’t one of those unfortunate women who emerged from prison penniless, needing to seek help from the state. She had the money Maisie had left her, an amount that had been sitting in the bank for two years now, gaining interest.

The money was going to make everything so much easier, and she would have been grateful to Maisie, if gratitude were something she was capable of – if she didn’t believe that everything that came to her was hers by right. She was pleased, though. Happy that Maisie had bought that flat when it was cheap, back before London property prices went crazy. Someone else was living there now, a young couple with a baby, and Fiona wondered if they knew the history of the people who had lived there and whether they would care if they did. She liked to think that she and Maisie had imprinted their energy on the place. Liked to believe the place felt haunted. Liked to imagine the couple’s baby waking up screaming in terror, standing in its cot, rattling the bars and wailing as a cold dread it couldn’t understand crept beneath its soft, plump skin.

It was the kind of image that could keep Fiona going for an hour or two.

She left the main street and walked along the approach road to the station. There was a little shop here with a dog tied up outside it, a Staffy, eyes fixed on the door. Fiona was tempted to untie the lead, to take the dog with her. Teach its neglectful owner a lesson. Instead she crouched beside the dog and petted it, whispering secrets in its ears.

‘There are three of them,’ she told it.

The dog cocked its head, trying to understand.

‘What do you do when someone hurts you, wrongs you? Do you bare your teeth? Do you bark? I’m not going to do that, little one.’

She stroked its soft head. Through the shop door she could see a tall man with a double chin paying for an energy drink, the assistant putting a pack of cigarettes on the counter.

‘I’m not going to bark, little one. I’m not going to let them know I’m coming. Do you know what I’m going to do?’

The dog’s tail wagged back and forth, but it looked unsure. She imagined the thoughts in its boxy little head. Who was this human? Why did she seem different to the other people it knew? Why was she special, better? She leaned closer, feeling its warm and meaty breath on her face.

‘I’m going to get really close, little doggy. So close. And then do you know what I’m going to do?’

The Staffy’s owner was coming now, lumbering towards the door with his sugary drink and his Marlboros. He saw her and his brow furrowed, though he didn’t look too annoyed because, well, she was cute.

The man reached the door and came outside. Fiona just had time to whisper her last words.

‘I’m going to bite,’ she said.

The dog’s owner was here but it hadn’t even noticed him. It stared at her like it understood. Like it wanted to join her pack, make her its leader.

‘I’m going to rip their throats out.’

Part One

1

July2023

The first thing I thought when the doorbell rang was that Rose, my twelve-year-old daughter, must have lost her keys, just as I’d lost track of time. We’d only given her the keys last month, when we moved into this house. Keys and a phone, encouraging her to be more independent, which involved getting the bus home from her new school rather than being picked up in the car.

Could it really be four o’clock already? I’d taken the day off to sort out my home office, and if Emma got home and found it in this state she would know I’d allowed myself to get distracted.So predictable, she would say. But it was just too easy to get sidetracked when sorting out my vinyl collection. So many treasures I hadn’t listened to in years. Records I’d forgotten I had, like the one spinning on the turntable now, a surprisingly rare copy of The Cure’sBloodflowers, which was much better than I remembered.

The doorbell rang again and I hurried downstairs. Through the frosted glass, I could see that the caller was not Rose. It was a woman. My heart skipped. Rose should be home around now. Had something happened to her? An entire scenario played out in fast motion: Rose running through the school gates, excited about itbeing the last day of term, not looking where she was going; a car taking a corner too fast ...

I yanked open the door, a little breathless suddenly, and found myself face to face with a woman. She was tall, about five-ten. Blonde hair. Late thirties, I guessed, six or seven years younger than me. Undeniably attractive, with a smattering of freckles across her nose, and large hazel eyes. The only other thing I noticed about her was that, despite being slim, she had impressive arm muscles, like a tennis player’s.

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