Page 53 of The Serial Killer's Sister
‘Now we wait, I guess,’ he says. I look away as he walks up to the stone-walled structure. ‘Weird to have an old well in the middle of nowhere, isn’t it?’
I don’t answer. My vocal cords feel tight, like they’ll snap if I try to talk. I take the water bottle he gave me and suck from the sports cap. When I am more confidentof speech, I tell him about the woods. How some of the kids from the children’s home came here to escape sometimes, but mostly it was deserted.
‘This area was likely a farming region, or a settlement thousands of years ago,’ I say.
DI Walker leans over the well. ‘I wonder how far down it goes.’ I half expect him to yell down it, like a child might do. But instead, he delves a hand into his pocket and throws a coin down. I hold my breath.
‘I didn’t hear it hit,’ he says.
‘The deepest hand-dug well is in East Sussex and it’s 1,285 feet deep.’
He shoots me a curious look.
‘I researched it once.’ I shrug, giving a cautious glance around. ‘Where are you, Henry?’
‘It appears we still have some time.’ DI Walker sits on the edge of the well.
‘Can you not?’ Irritation edges my words. He’s going on about risks, but then he sits on an old stone well that could collapse at any moment.
‘Maybe you should explain why we’re here. What’s the importance of this place for Henry?’
Now we’re at the location and I’ve accepted this is where it all ends, there’s no reason to hold on to my secret.
‘You asked what the significance of the second date was. May the thirteenth. Well, this is it. It’s the last place Henry and I were at together. It’s where promises were made.
‘He said it’s where theliewas spoken, though?’
‘I think he was referring to a line from the old poem. You know, the one I was telling you about: cross myheart, hope to die? Well, one of the lines from it is, “I spoke a lie – I never really wanted to die.”’
DI Walker nods. Keeps nodding. ‘I see. Or, I don’t – but I’m guessing that was something between you and him. And each of the murders was a reference to that poem.’
‘Exactly.’ I take my jacket, and pull out the paper with the poem scrawled on it:
Cross my heart and hope to die,
Stick a needle in my eye.
Wait a moment; I spoke a lie –
I never really wanted to die.
But if I may, and if I might,
My heart is open for tonight.
My lips are sealed and a promise is true:
I won’t break my word; my word to you.
Cross my heart and hope to die,
Stick a needle in my eye.
A secret’s a secret – my word is forever;
I will tell no one about your cruel endeavour.
You claim no pain, but I see right through
