Page 51 of The Serial Killer's Sister
With a heaviness dragging me down, I walk slowly back to my car. DI Walker is leaning against it as I approach.
‘No rush, take your time,’ he says.
‘It’s funny, that, isn’t it? How I don’t seem to be in a hurry to reach the place where my life is likely to be terminated.’
‘Fair enough, sorry. You were in a rush when you left the petrol station, though. What’s changed?’
‘I bumped into her.Yaz. You know, my husband’s pregnant lover?’
‘Oh.’ He makes a face. ‘Awks.’
In spite of myself, I laugh at his use of language. ‘Could say that.’ Then I remember his expression as he watched me talking to her. ‘You seemed to be enjoying the show, though.’
He frowns as though puzzled, then shakes his head. ‘I can understand why that might cause you to speed off without paying.’
‘It was a bit more than that.’ I lean back, next to the detective. ‘She said Ross had left her place to come to see me this morning. But he never showed.’
DI Walker jolts forwards, alarm evident on his face. ‘Shit. That’s not good.’
‘Oh, great. That makes me feel so much better, thanks.’
He does a strange skip-jump across to the opposite row of cars, opening his door and getting in. I walk across, in time to hear him speaking into his radio about checking the whereabouts of Ross Price, of The Right Price estate agency in Shaldon. Then he rattles off its address. My chest tightens and my heart thuds rapidly as I struggle to catch my breath. DI Walker stops speaking and looks up at me.
‘It might be nothing. He probably lost his nerve and decided to go to work instead.’
‘It’s … Saturday, though.’ I take a deep breath. ‘He rarely works weekends.’
‘Officers will check. Try not to worry.’ He gets out and lays both hands on my shoulders. ‘But let’s speed this along, eh?’
I nod. ‘Of course.’
As I climb into my car and begin reversing out, I catch sight of the bathroom girl boarding a coach. Her wordsring in my ears: ‘I hope you give whoever it is what they deserve.’ I feel a surge of determination.
I need to alter the narrative. It doesn’t have to end with my death.
Chapter 37
This time, DI Walker is sticking so close he’s practically tailgating me. When I’m about a mile away from the location Henry wants me to meet him at, I take a left turn. The opposite turning would take us to Finley Hall, but this one leads to a wooded area. Back then, it wasn’t frequented a lot by the locals, wasn’t somewhere that was mentioned on the maps. I wonder if that’s changed. I’m guessing it can’t have if Henry is confident to bring me here – he’s bound to have checked the place out first.
Unless, of course, that’s the point. That he wants this to be a very public affair. My stomach grumbles – it was already unhappy with the lack of food, but now it’s cramping from the churning of acid. Why didn’t I pick something up at the service station? Eating is the last thing on my mind, but consuming some form of energy would’ve been wise given what the next few hours could have in store. The thought makes me cold. Every inch of me wantsto pull over, stop this madness. Go back to my home and forget Henry’s game.
Ross. He has Ross.
I don’t make a U-turn, but I do steer the car into a layby, then open the door to expel bile. I cough violently, the burning in my stomach, my oesophagus, my throat, making my eyes stream. A car slows up, I hear its tyres on the gravel behind me. Christ. I can’t even puke without an audience.
‘Here,’ DI Walker says, passing me a pack of wet wipes. I eye him cautiously as I pull out a clump of them. I equate wet wipes with babies, toddlers – messy kids. When I’d asked him before about his own family, he’d neatly side-stepped the topic, but now I wonder if he has, in fact, got children. ‘Always prepared for every eventuality,’ he says, as if reading my mind.
‘Good job one of us is.’ I spit the last of the acidic saliva out and drag the wipe over my lips. Then I take another and use it for the rest of my face, the coolness offering a little relief. DI Walker goes to his car, then returns with a bottle of water and thrusts it at me.
‘Keep it.’
I attempt a smile, then sip the water. It tastes bitter on my tongue from the remnants of bile. I swallow more in the hope of being completely rid of it.
‘Don’t suppose you have some mints, too?’ I raise a hopeful brow.
‘You really aren’t prepared, are you? Call yourself a teacher?’ He tuts, shakes his head and trudges back to his car again. I think he’s genuinely annoyed I’m not as organised as he imagines a teacher should be.
‘I used to be,’ I say, holding out my hand for him todrop a few mints into. ‘Prepared, I mean. Organised. If you’d met me prior to this past week, you might’ve gained a better idea of me.’
