Page 12 of The Serial Killer's Sister
‘You’re actually taking something of his?’
‘Well, yeah. It has to be something important to him, or what’s the point? He’ll give up too easily if it’s something dumb.’
‘Good point. Maybe you’re not quite as nice as I thought, Anna Lincoln!’
Chapter 7
‘Are you all right, Anna?’
DI Walker’s words seem far away; muffled. I hear them but I’m unable to respond. My mind is back there. At Finley Hall. Where this unfolding nightmare began.
‘Anna? Anna!’
I snap back to the here and now and stare at the detective, all wide-eyed and startled. ‘Sorry. Was thinking.’
‘Do you want to tell me what’s going on?’ DI Walker’s face is uncomfortably close to mine – if I lie to him, he’s going to see it. I read somewhere that starting a lie with the truth makes it more convincing. And I’m not actually going tolie. I’m just not going to give him the full story.
‘I think you’re right about Henry coming after me,’ I say. DI Walker’s eyebrows raise, but he doesn’t speak, so I take a breath and carry on. ‘But I’m not so sure I’m going to be his next victim. Well, not a victim in the sense that he intends to kill me.’
DI Walker’s face scrunches up in confusion. ‘What makes you think that?’
‘Because this,’ I point at the newspaper article on the table, ‘is a game. One that we used to play a long time ago. And all this is his way of drawing me into it.’
‘Why?’
‘That, I don’t know.’ I force myself to keep eye contact with him. I consciously prevent myself from blinking, swallowing hard or fidgeting because those tells will expose me. ‘But he’s made his first move.’
‘Like chess?’
I hesitate. I know I should explain more about The Hunt; how and why it started at the children’s home – what it became – but the instinct to hold back this information until I know Henry’s full intentions myself is too strong.
‘Something like that, yes.’ I push myself off the sofa, slowly so as to test my legs, and then retrieve my laptop. ‘And there’s something else.’ I pass it to him.
‘What’s this?’
‘The reason I called you,’ I say. ‘I’m not sure how it’s possible, but I think what happened is connected.’
‘What do you mean, what happened?’ I sense frustration in DI Walker’s clipped tone.
‘Just … watch.’ I lean across him and hit the button to play the footage. I pay close attention to DI Walker’s expression, silently picking at my fingernail while the CCTV of the zebra crossing incident plays out. When it stops, the detective looks up briefly, frowns, then watches again. And again. My nerves can’t take this, I begin to pace.
‘So? What do you think?’ I say, when his silence becomes too much to bear.
‘About your behaviour? Or about the fact someone has been able to access the CCTV?’
My face burns. ‘It cuts off at a moment that makes it look a lot worse than it was. Had it played for longer, you’d see that I calmed down and Igentlyput my hands on her shoulders; it really didn’t happen the way it looks here.’ I’m rambling, I know. My attempt at convincing him is, I’m well aware, more of an attempt to convince myself.
‘I rather imagine that was the point. Clever.’ He looks at it yet again, this time pausing it frame by frame. ‘The date and time stamp has been cropped out. What time did this occur?’
‘It was around eight forty. I left here about ten minutes after you left.’
‘You were followed, then.’ He says this so calmly it makes me stop my pacing.
‘What?’
‘You said you weren’t sure how it could be connected, but if they were following you and witnessed it, they might well have used the opportunity to their advantage.’
I’m about to argue against his theory – it sounds ludicrous. But then I remember how preoccupied I was and realise I wouldn’t have noticed if a vehicle was tailing me. Still, why not just record it with their mobile phone? It’s easier and less time-consuming than tracking down the exact piece of CCTV.
