Page 49 of The Serial Killer's Sister
This year
Acid churned in his stomach. The build-up of tension, anticipation and excitement all mixed together and he knew it was all about to come to a head. The grand finale was drawing closer. So close, he could smell it; taste it. Truth. Revenge. Justice.
He inhaled deeply through his nose, tilting his head to the sky, then released the breath slowly through pursed lips, controlling it until his lungs were empty. He continued this circular breathing technique until his pulse was slow and steady, countering the adrenaline rush that had swept through his system when thinking about the day’s goals.
May the 13th.
Today was the day he’d carry out his sixth murder. The one this had all been for. He’d considered that it might be his last, too. But that would depend. He was prepared for a number of eventualities. Further deaths could wellbe necessary. He checked the time and mentally prepared himself for the next step.
Tick, tock.
Chapter 35
‘I’m going to need to stop off for petrol,’ I say when we’re on the pavement outside my house. DI Walker narrows his eyes.
‘Why, how far are we going?’
‘It’s a three-hour drive. I’ve only got quarter of a tank.’ I turn away before he can question me further, then climb into the car and click my seatbelt. I don’t want to give him an exact location yet. If I simply gave the police the location, they’d know where Henry was going to be. Then they might ditch the middleman, so to speak, and head him off without me even being there. I can’t have that – I want to face the man who’s brought my life crashing down. I need to see him, understand his sudden motivation to expose me – and himself in the process – because it doesn’t make sense. The ‘why now?’ question still burns within me.
As I drive across Shaldon Bridge, I slow right down. For what might be the last time, I gaze out across theRiver Teign estuary, at the fishing boats bobbing on their moorings and gulls feeding in the mudflats, my heart feeling as though it’s fit to burst. I swipe at the tears – hot drops that contain all my anger, sadness, regret – and put my foot down hard on the accelerator, quickly leaving my home behind.
‘I fucking hate you, Henry Lincoln.’
I yell the words over and over until a calmness washes over me. I check my rear mirror as I approach the petrol station – DI Walker’s Audi is a few cars back – then indicate and turn in. My stomach lurches as I realise who is at the next pump and the anger I’ve just dispelled comes rushing back.
Yasmin. Looking fresh and happy. She would, wouldn’t she – she’s got a gorgeous partner, a baby on the way – her future is looking rosy.
But Ross ismyhusband.
I avert my gaze as I fill my car up. If I don’t look at her, I can maybe ignore my inner voice telling me to aim the petrol nozzle at her. The pump display nears thirty pounds, so I slow it down. The pennies nudge up: £29.90, £29.94, £29.98 … I make minute movements of my fingers – abrupt squeezes to ensure the display reads dead on £30.00. The satisfaction when I achieve it is replaced with a burst of rage when I replace the nozzle and an extra penny registers.
‘I didn’t press it. It was thirty bloody quid dead on.’ I kick the bottom of the pump. I’m aware that people are staring at me. ‘What? Don’t you realise they’ve got the pumps fixed?’ I’m no longer sure who I’m even directing my rant at, but I’m invested now. ‘It’ll soon add up if they take an extra penny every single time the pumps areused. Don’t they take enough as it is? They make billions, they may as well suck the blood straight from my veins.’
‘Anna,’ a soft voice close to my ear says.
‘What?’ I turn sharply and my stomach clenches. ‘Oh, great. What doyouwant? To take something more from me?’ Yasmin, face perfectly made-up, hair twisted into an annoyingly pretty, messy chignon, and dressed in a casual jumpsuit, gives an awkward smile as she lays a hand on my arm.
‘Are you all right?’ she says, her forehead creasing with concern. For a split second I allow myself to sink into her eyes, and I find myself believing she’s being genuine. I shake myself out of the trance.
‘No,Yaz. I’m not. Strange that, isn’t it,’ I bark and push her hand away. Her face fills with pity, which makes mine burn with even more rage. I don’t need her pitying me.
‘I know you’re having a terrible time of it,’ she says, ‘and I know a lot of that is down to me. I’m sorry it’s happened this way.’ The softly spoken words, oozing with fake compassion, set light to the already smouldering taper and the flame ignites.
‘That’s okay then. As long as you’re sorry that you’ve stolen my husband, that makes it all good. Excuse me, I’ve got more important things to deal with.’
‘I understand your anger, how you’re hurting. He hates himself for it.’
‘Good,’ I snap. I catch sight of DI Walker’s car on the edge of the forecourt. He’s leaning against the passenger side, arms crossed, an amused look on his face as he watches me talking to Yasmin. Through the fury that pulsates beneath my chest, I feel a stab of humiliation,but my attention quickly returns to Yasmin, who seemingly doesn’t know when to shut up.
‘When you’re in a better headspace, would you talk to him?’
Who does she think she is, asking that?I blow air from my cheeks. ‘When he hasn’t even bothered to check if I’m okay? He left me for you, Yasmin. And he hasn’t had the decency to speak to me since.’
‘Are you sure?’ She takes a step back as though I’ve hit her.
‘What do you mean,am I sure?’ I’m getting tired of this exchange; my restless feet are desperate to get away.
‘He left early this morning to go and see you. He’s been beside himself with worry, Anna.’
