Page 6 of The Serial Killer's Sister
DI Walker is at the front door, but he turns to offer a reassuring smile. I’m not sure it’s enough for my husband.
‘But he said you could be in danger.’ Ross directs his hissed words to me. For some reason, I’m not feeling as worried for my safety as Ross is. Is it the shock? Maybe I’m numbed by the news. A part of me doesn’t believe what the detective told me – surely it’s not possible thatHenry could kill five women? How sure is he that it’sthesameHenry Lincoln they’re after?
‘I strongly suggest you remain alert, observe your surroundings at all times and report anything out of the ordinary. Like I said – call at any time. And if the resources are available, I’ll get an officer posted outside.’
I open my mouth to question this, given what I’ve just said, but DI Walker pre-empts it, adding, ‘Covertly, obviously.’
Placated for now, Ross shows the detective out.
I stand in the doorway, my muscles rigid as I watch DI Walker speaking to a group of uniformed officers directly outside our house. What are they talking about? Me? Henry? Is Detective Walker asking them to remain stationed right there on the pavement?
‘Let’s get back in,’ Ross says, disappearing from my side. DI Walker finishes whatever he’s saying, and I follow his progression until he walks out of my line of sight. A policeman catches my gaze and before I think it through, I stomp towards him.
‘Do you have to all congregate here?’ My tone is unintentionally sharp, so I offer a smile to soften it. ‘Only it’s likely to attract a lot of attention, surely?’ The policeman I’m aiming my question at merely shrugs, but a woman steps through them and approaches me. She’s dressed in plain clothes, like DI Walker, so I assume she’s a detective too.
‘Sorry, ma’am,’ she says. ‘I’m Detective Tully, part of the investigating team.’ Her smile is warm and genuine; she exudes compassion and I wish it’d been her who’d delivered the bombshell about Henry, not DI Walker. ‘We’ve been carrying out door-to-door enquiries but we’realmost done in this area so the officers won’t be here much longer. I realise this all must be very unsettling.’
‘Yes, it is, quite,’ I say. ‘I know you’re only doing your job, but as I said to Detective Walker, Henry isn’t likely to show his face with all this police presence, is he?’ I cast my gaze around, as if I might see him lurking among them.
‘I’ll move them on, ma’am, don’t worry.’ She gives me a nod, then turns to address the officers and like a swarm of bees, they gradually progress down the street and begin to disperse to their various vehicles.
Once I’m satisfied they’re gone, I stride back inside, go back to the kitchen and look at the card the detective gave me. The thought that all the activity is because of Henry causes pins and needles to prickle my fingertips. If what they’re saying about Henry is true, I cannot afford to become embroiled in whatever mess he’s created – I need to stay as far away from this investigation as possible.
I press the lid of the pedal bin and place the detective’s card into it.
Chapter 4
Even the car radio blasting out the usual upbeat tunes on Heart FM can’t drown out my thoughts as I drive the route to work. I hit red light after red light; it’s as though even they are working against me. I’m lucky to be out of the house, though, having escaped another lockdown; this one was threatened by Ross, as opposed to the government. His reaction to DI Walker’s announcement that Henry is a wanted serial killer wasn’t initially over the top. Most people would, no doubt, react similarly: shock, uncertainty, worry. Expected responses. But when DI Walker left, Ross flipped and tried to make me stay home from work. I can’t – but more importantly, won’t – allow this to affect my day-to-day life by hiding away. I have an important job that I love and, as I pointed out to him, I’ll probably be safer surrounded by staff and pupils at the school than I would be at home anyway. Still, in my mind’s eye, I see the fear etched on Ross’s face, pinching his features in such a way that he looked unrecognisable.I grip the steering wheel until my wrists hurt. ‘Why, Henry? And why now?’
A blaring horn snaps my attention back to the road. I’m sitting at a green traffic light. I put my hand up in apology to the car behind me and accelerate, the speedometer soon nudging fifty as I take the approach road leading to the dual carriageway. I was already uptight about today – awaiting the report has had my nerves jumping. Nothing compared to what they’re doing now, though. Every tiny muscle in my entire body is on edge: twitchy, agitated, tense.
Ross knows that I had a crap childhood and he is aware of how hard I’ve fought against it to get to where I am today. He knows I have nothing to do with Henry. But what he doesn’t know is why. Not the real reason.
My mind drifts as I come off the carriageway and slow down. I head through the lanes towards Seabrook – a journey I can do without thought.
I never considered Henry to be a truly bad person. Misguided, yes. As he grew up, he had a mean streak – he made mistakes. But this? If what DI Walker says is true, then Ross is right to be worried. Secrets are always a risk. But a serial killer knowing your secret is a whole other level. As I conjure Henry’s face the last time I saw him, my blood chills in my veins. To save a future victim, am I going to have to share why the other date is significant? If I do that, it won’t just be my marriage that I risk.
‘Jesus!’ I slam both feet down hard, the emergency stop causing a screech of tyres as I am flung forwards against the wheel. The little girl, mere centimetres from the front of my car, freezes. She stares at me, her eyes wide as saucers, her mouth fully open in a silent scream. I unclipmy seatbelt, fly out the door and rush up to her. ‘You stupid girl! Why did you cross? Didn’t youseeme?’ Blood is pumping so hard through my body it feels like my heart will erupt through my chest. I’m about to grab her by the shoulders, the urge to shake her into awareness overwhelming, when other peoples’ voices ground me. I look up. I have an audience.
And then I see it. The black and white stripes. Shit. It’s a zebra crossing. All power leaves my body, and my legs tremble.
‘I’m … sorry, Mrs Price.’ The girl, who I now recognise from Seabrook Prep, stammers the words, close to tears. I put my hands to my face, take a deep breath. It’s me who’s the stupid one. Driving without paying attention.
‘No, no. It was my fault –I’msorry.’ I lay my hands gently on her shoulders and guide her to the pavement, trying to ignore the alarmed and angry mutterings of the onlookers. Most of whom are parents of the pupils.
Well done, Anna.
I make sure she’s all right before getting back in the car, but the damage is done. The image of her frightened little face will be forever burned into my retinas. I keep my eyes averted from the onlookers, shame burning my face, then very slowly drive on, my focus dead ahead.
I’m still shaking by the time I park up, but it’s guilt that’s replaced any shock. The girl’s name came to me after I drove away from the crossing. And now, as I get out of my car, another memory hits me and my stomach clenches. During one of my playtime duties Isobel had come up to me, slipped her hand into mine and asked if she could stay with me because she’d fallen out with her best friend. Oh, God – what must she be thinking of me now?
I reach my classroom just as the bell sounds. No time for a much-needed second coffee. I smack my briefcase down on the desk and watch my kids file in. They’re silent as they walk to their tables, but Mikey sneaks me a cheeky grin. He’s come on leaps and bounds this year with his social skills and it melts my heart to see his confidence growing. These kids might have opportunities far beyond those whose parents aren’t able to pay for their education, but their willingness to learn and overcome personal challenges never fails to amaze me.
I break into a smile as I look at them, standing behind their chairs awaiting my nod that they can sit. I pause for a moment, considering the predictability of this everyday occurrence. A small, banal detail – a rule that all the children follow without question. And they wait for a gesture from me; I possess the power to say if they can sit or not. Granted, it’s not control at a grand level, but I do hold the ability to dictate certain behaviours. As a teacher that’s a given. Am I any different to those who controlled me, Henry and the other children at Finley Hall? I’ve adapted, learned, and nowI’mthe one who has control over others.
I guess Henry adapted too.
By breaktime I’m gagging for a coffee and I’m first in the staff room. Thankfully, I’m not on playground duty today, so I can hide away in here for the next fifteen minutes. The room overlooks the rolling fields of Staverton, and on certain days you can spot the steam train winding its way along the track to and from Totnes, puffs of smoke swirling into the sky like huge, fluffy clouds. Ross and I took the steam train to the butterfly farm when we werefirst going out and he showed me some of his favourite places along the route from when he was growing up. I still remember the twisting feeling of jealousy when he talked about his childhood – his memories of his family. I’d love to be part of a big family like Ross is used to, but we’ve decided we’re better off just the two of us.
