Page 41 of The Serial Killer's Sister
‘Helpful.’ I think my stomach has stopped contracting now, and I lean back against the bathroom wall, my knees bent up in front of me. I dab the tissue against my lips. The detective looks at me expectantly.
‘Your theory?’ He sits down opposite me, mirroring my position.
‘Cross my heart, hope to die. Stick a needle in my eye,’ I say. Those words haven’t been spoken in seventeen years and they feel odd on my tongue; sound even stranger to my ears. It’s as though by speaking them, I’ll summon a supernatural force, or the bogeyman – like how inThe Candymanfilm if you say his name five times he’ll kill you.
‘What does that mean?’
‘You never heard that before?’ I say, shocked, as I assumed everyone had heard of it, particularly our age group. But DI Walker shakes his head. ‘It’s the promise rhyme,’ I explain. ‘I thought all kids used it to swear they’d keep their promise. No doubt things have progressed – I don’t hear the children at Seabrook using it now. But I remember it well. Henry said it whenever he needed to feel secure.’ Whenever he needed his big sister to offer comfort or have his back.
‘Can’t say I have, no. I always swear on someone’s life.’ He lifts an eyebrow. He says it in a light-hearted way, but tendrils of ice climb my back and twine around my neck. He doesn’t appear to notice my discomfort, his mind clearly drifting as he looks towards the ceiling. ‘So itwasall for you, then.’ DI Walker seems to be saying this more to himself, like he’s confirming his own suspicions.
‘I gave up my old life a long time ago, detective. And I tried to put everything behind me. Including my own brother. But some things, however well you suppress them – compartmentalise them – stay with you. Haunt you.’
‘You think Henry is haunting you because you abandoned him?’
‘Yes. Maybe something has happened in his life more recently that has brought everything back to him. My life was going so well, I hadn’t thought about the past for such a long time. But, if Henry hit a low in his own life, he might well have been bitter enough to want to wreak havoc with mine, so he wasn’t alone in his pain.’
‘Like experiencing a shock, or something? That could trigger his behaviour?’
‘Yes, exactly. He always craved stability. If he managedto gain that, but then lose it, I imagine that would set him off on the wrong track. Like it did back at Finley Hall.’
‘And his focus would go straight to you. You are the person he blames.’
‘Which means,’ I say, my voice curiously calm, ‘I think you were right from the beginning. I’m his target. I’m the one destined to be his sixth victim. Tomorrow.’
Chapter 28
The car journey to Torquay police station passes in relative silence. We both stare dead ahead, DI Walker focusing on the road while I stare blankly and think. I want to ask more about the women who’ve been murdered – what their names were, what they did for a living, what family members they were forced to leave behind. Did they suffer? My stomach twists as the images of death flash through my mind. Of course they suffered …
As much as I know that it’s Henry’s deep-rooted issues that made him do such heinous things to these women, I still can’t equate the Henry I knew with this one. He hurt people back at Finley Hall, and his behaviour got out of hand, but he was a confused, hurt boy. To think he’s done these things now, as an adult, tears my heart in two. After such a terrible start to life himself, why has he then gone on to make others’ lives even worse? I went the opposite way, going into teaching to try to impact children’s lives for the better.
‘You’re quiet,’ DI Walker says.
I don’t look at him, and I don’t offer any words of agreement or otherwise. He sucks air through his teeth, then reaches into the compartment between the two seats, taking out a pot of chewing gum. He flicks the lid with one hand and takes a piece out, popping it into his mouth. Then, wordlessly, he shakes the pot in my direction, ejecting a small square of gum onto my lap. I stare at it for a moment, then hold it between my fingers.
‘You’re meant to eat it, not play with it.’
‘Chew, you mean,’ I say, my voice weary. ‘You can’t eat them.’
‘Ah. Did your mother tell you it tangles around your windpipe if you swallow it, too?’
‘My mother barely spoke to me, detective. Not even to put the fear of God into me.’
‘Oh. Sorry. I forgot for a second.’
We fall back into an uneasy silence until he pulls up in the station car park and my tummy flipflops with anxiety. I’ve not been in a police station for a very long time and I’d prefer not to be stepping inside one right now. Somehow, I feel as though I’ll be under scrutiny – that all eyes will be on the serial killer’s sister. It’s an appellation I’d rather not have. I wonder what other siblings or children of killers feel about such titles. Horrified? Embarrassed? Proud? I’m sure at least one or two will capitalise on it, use their link as a way of gaining attention, maybe even make money from it. Books are written about killers, documentaries and films are made. I shiver at the thought. People are strange.
But before this, didn’t I enjoy watching crime dramas? Discuss theories and exchange gossip with people? Does that make me strange too? If this all gets out, if my faceis splashed on the front of tabloids, will my Netflix watchlist come under scrutiny? Others will theorise – maybe even suggest that because of our shared backgrounds, I’m like Henry too.
And if my own secret comes out, they may well make documentaries about me.
‘I won’t keep you long,’ DI Walker says, opening my car door for me. I scan the area as I climb out, wondering if there’s anyone here to spot me walking inside with a detective. Anyone with their phone camera pointing this way readying themselves to snap a shot to put up on social media.
DI Walker takes me inside the police station with him and we sit in a tiny room while I go through my statement. My hand shakes as I sign it.
‘I swear I wasn’t trying to obstruct the investigation,’ I say, my voice trembling. ‘I wasn’t thinking straight.’ It’s partly true.
‘I’ll do the best I can to limit the fallout,’ he says, taking it from me. ‘But youcannotafford to lie to me again. Understand?’
