Page 58 of The Serial Killer's Sister
‘Do you give in?’ he says. He walks around the front of the well and bends down so that our eyes are level. ‘Hey, Anna. Long time no see,’ he says, and pretends to shake my hand. ‘You might not remember me; and to be fair, I wouldn’t have recognised you either. We’ve both changed a lot over the years.’
I squint at him. I felt it a few times, I realise now – that inkling, a sense that I’d seen him before – but I hadn’t made any links with him and my past life. Why would I?
‘I’ve waited a long time to find the person responsible for my sister’s disappearance.’
Sister?I frown. None of this makes sense.
Until it does.
I shake my head.No. He isn’t. He can’t be. No, no, no.
‘Yep. It’s true – no good shaking your head at me. I was Dean Briggs – Kirsty’s younger brother. Remember me now?’
Chapter 41
THEN
‘You know this is bullshit, don’t you?’ Dean paces outside Miss Graves’s office. Henry shuffles his feet, not looking at Dean, his focus remaining on the closed door, his ear against it listening to the muffled voices of the manager, Frank the caretaker, and the two officers who were updating them on the investigation into Anna’s and Kirsty’s disappearance. ‘They just can’t be bothered, that’s the truth of it.’
‘Two runaways from the “scabby home” were never gonna gain a whole lot of attention, though, were they,’ Henry says, moving away from the door. ‘They’ll be added to the long list of missing children that no one will ever do anything about. Case closed.’ He turns his back and starts walking away.
‘That’s it? That’s all you have to say about this? Our sisters are missing, dickhead. Could be dead in a ditch somewhere. And you’re happy to walk away?’
‘Look, mate—’
‘I’m not your mate.’ Dean squares up to Henry, his eyes blazing.
‘Whatever,’ Henry says, his hands up in surrender. ‘They ran away. Left us here in this hellhole. Get over it.’ Henry strides down the corridor, but Dean isn’t finished.
‘Nah,’ Dean says, shaking his head and rushing after Henry. ‘There’s more to it.’ He grabs him by the arm, swinging him around to face him. ‘And you know it. Don’t you? What aren’t you telling me?’ Dean pushes his face right up to Henry’s, the tips of their noses touching.
Henry scoffs and pushes Dean away. ‘Just trust me. Your sister’s in a better place.’
‘What’s that meant to mean? What the fuck have you done?’
‘Nothing. For Christ’s sake, Dean. I’m sorry you’ve been dumped like me, but face facts – it’s not the first time and it won’t be the last. Our selfish bloody sisters planned their escape and didn’t involve us – end of. They ditched us for a better life. We’re on our own now.’
It was the last time they’d speak to each other for thirteen years. Dean Briggs made a promise to himself that he would never stop searching for Kirsty, though. He wasn’t going to give up on his sister like everyone else. Like Henry had given up on his.
Henry’s indifference had bothered him more and more over the months and years, until he became sure Henry knew what had happened to Kirsty and Anna. Had he helped them run away? Or hurt them? After Dean broke into Miss Graves’s filing cabinet and read what she’d written about Kirsty’s rape and resultant pregnancy – and her futile attempt to lie and pretend that it was Annawho’d been assaulted instead – he wondered if his sister had been so distraught at what happened to her, what she’d been forced to do, that she couldn’t cope with her feelings and had done something drastic.
All his unanswered questions plagued him; gnawed at his brain day and night. When he was old enough to leave supervision and Finley Hall, he did, getting a job with a security firm and renting a room in a shared house. Everyone else who left Finley also scattered; there was no trace of who had gone where. Initially this worked to Dean’s advantage, as it meant no one could look him up either. He’d heard about the fire at Finley – all those records he knew Miss Graves kept on the children were conveniently destroyed. For a few years, Dean kept his head down and worked hard until he’d saved up enough to find his own flat.
It was when he lived alone, isolated from others, that he allowed his obsession to take over. Convinced that Henry was the only one who held the answers, he spent every spare moment gathering information and trying to find him. When his means ran out and he was no further forward, he knew he had to up his game.
And whose literal job was it to find missing persons?
Chapter 42
It’s as though the world has stopped turning and I’m falling off. Plummeting down, fast, my heart leaping into my mouth. How can DI Walker be Dean? The notion is so ridiculous I laugh, and the restricted, throaty noise sounds alien to my ears. I narrow my eyes at him. My incomprehension must be clear for him to see, because he lunges at me, and I flinch, whipping my head to the side. He sneers, grabs my chin between his thumb and forefinger, and twists my head so his face is inches from mine.
His eyes are wrong – almost everything about him is different. Yet, in my heart, I know. Why hadn’t I recognised him? Despite the years without seeing him, I should’ve known; something should’ve triggered a recollection.
‘Look at you, grasping at every memory you have of me, trying to decide if I’m telling the truth.’
A low groan vibrates against the tape on my mouth,and I thrash my legs like a spoilt toddler who can’t get their own way, frustration at not being able to speak burning my insides. I say the wordsLet. Me. Speak.over and over in my head, then try to verbalise them, but a distressed humming sound, like one of those kazoo instruments we had in music lessons at school, is all I can produce. I bring my bound hands to my mouth and begin rubbing them against the duct tape.
‘Bloody hell.’ He forces my hands down with his. ‘You’re not helping yourself if you think creating that noise is going to make me take the tape off. I put it on for a reason. I’m not having you running your mouth off, interrupting me while I talk.’ He pats his hand on my coat pockets, then delves into the left one and pulls my mobile from it. ‘I’ll take this,’ he says. He backs away and sits against the tree a few metres away, his legs bent up in front of him, his elbows resting on them. Gun in one hand, my phone in the other.
