Page 18 of The Serial Killer’s Sister (The Serial Killer’s Daughter #3)

It’s pretty obvious from the new riddle that Henry’s intention is to torment me.

He’s always felt let down, particularly by females – it’s unsurprising that women are his target victims. I guess his hatred of them began with Val – ‘mother’ – then shifted to Miss Graves at Finley Hall.

While he was there he was let down by everyone around him, me included, so I can’t help wondering if everything he’s doing is purely an attempt to regain my attention; my time. He needs to be noticed.

The riddle could relate to any number of things – none of which immediately make sense.

I stare at the words, reread the lines, but nothing stands out as being a clue to the next location – not like the first one.

Henry’s making me work harder this time, adding pressure like a timer on a bomb, hurtling towards zero and the unavoidable explosion.

I push the paper away. Obsessing over it isn’t helping; I need a distraction.

That way, my brain will relax and find the answer.

The laptop is open on the dining room table, its screen blank – like a black hole, and just as deadly.

I know within it lies a version of myself I cannot bear to face.

Because of the visit to Finley Hall, I put the hideous zebra crossing incident out of my mind, but maybe I should be trying some damage limitation.

Get on the school’s Facebook page, or at least open the teachers’ WhatsApp group to see what’s being said there.

I can’t hide from it, not if I want to retain my professional standing.

I make a tentative step towards it, my heart thrashing like a caught fish on a line, hands gripped into fists by my side.

I’m so wound up by the mere thought of what people are saying about me, that when I hear a noise from the back of the house, my first thought is that my eardrums have popped due to the pressure building in my head.

But then I hear it again and freeze, fully alert.

It’s the back door. Someone is trying to force it; break in.

Is Henry here? Oh, God – why did I turn down DI Walker’s protection offer? I’m going to look really stupid if Henry carries out his promise of me losing my head. I can almost hear the detective’s voice saying I told her this would happen .

Act. Do something.

Hearing the creak of the door fully opening, I finally leap into action, rushing to the side table.

I grab the lamp, yanking the plug from its socket, turn it upside down and loop the cord around my wrist. Ducking behind the half-open lounge door, I lift the solid-wood lamp base up high, ready to bring it down on the intruder’s head as they walk in.

A shadow grows bigger on the wall beside the door.

I hear the breath of the person on the other side.

Henry . How will I know it’s him? I haven’t even seen a photo for the past seventeen years.

Doesn’t matter, though. Even if it’s not him, it’s someone wishing me harm.

Or someone stealing from my home. Either way, this will be self-defence.

As the door pushes open, I let out a huge war-like cry and launch myself at the person entering. I’m about to crash the lamp against his skull, when his equally loud cry stops me.

Ross cowers, his hands over his head protecting it from my swinging lamp.

‘Fuck!’ he yells. ‘Anna, it’s me.’

All power leaves my legs and I collapse in a heap on the floor, the lamp thudding down beside me as my grip on it loosens. I swallow hard and try to gulp in air at the same time, causing a weird hiccup to escape. ‘Sorry,’ I gasp, the realisation dawning that I just almost killed my husband.

‘Why the hell did you jump out on me like that?’ His eyes are wide, black, his pupils obliterating his irises.

I feel a flash of anger. ‘Why the hell are you sneaking in the back door?’

‘I … I just …’

‘What?’

‘I came from the other way – I’d been looking at the property behind ours.’

‘Okay, well you don’t usually use that back entrance.’ I gather myself, get up onto my knees. Ross gets to his feet first and offers me a hand. ‘Thanks,’ I say. Neither of us speak for a few moments as we recover our breath. Ross leans back against the wall.

‘That was close.’ His hand is on his chest. I look into his eyes and see the shock still in them.

‘I need to tell you something,’ I say, not shifting my gaze from his. ‘I’ll make us a coffee and bring you up to speed.’

‘Sounds ominous.’ His face is weary, dark circles like smudges under his eyes.

The vertical line between his eyebrows deepens; evidence he’s worried.

That’s one of his tells. Mostly, he’s very good at hiding his emotions, maintaining control at all times.

Everyone has some kind of expression, or characteristically noticeable thing, though – something maybe only the closest person to them would recognise.

I’m sure I have something too. And right now, I’m hoping Ross isn’t seeing it as I step away from him and leave the room to go and make the drinks.

‘I went back to Finley Hall this morning,’ I say as I walk back in with mugs in hand. My pulse pounds in my neck as I see Ross standing over the piece of paper containing the riddle, his face pale.

‘What’s the matter, Ross?’ I put the coffee down and twist the paper around so it’s facing us. ‘Do you know what this means?’

‘No, why would I know?’ he snaps. ‘I assume it’s aimed at you?’

‘I just thought … well, you looked like it might mean something to you.’

He shakes his head and sits on the sofa, taking a mug. His hands are shaking. ‘You drove all the way to the Midlands?’

‘Yes, I had to. And this new riddle was tucked inside a toy. Henry has started The Hunt again and wants me to play.’ Ross knows about the game Henry used to make me play, how it turned nasty; I told him that much early in our relationship.

I’m not sure if the expression on Ross’s face is surprise, anger, or disappointment.

It could well be all of those and more besides.

He opens and closes his mouth, but no words are emitted.

I place the piece of paper on the table in front of us, the same way DI Walker had done with the first clue.

I give Ross a brief overview of the morning’s events, culminating in how I found the Tamagotchi in the hollow of the old cedar tree which contained this new riddle. I push the paper closer to him.

‘So?’ I prod.

‘So … what?’ He gives me a perplexed look.

‘Does anything jump out at you; make sense at all?’

‘No, it doesn’t mean anything, I’m afraid.

But I don’t like the sound of it.’ His breath judders and I get a sinking feeling in my stomach which informs me that, for the first time since we met, I don’t entirely believe my husband.

Is the liar referred to in the riddle actually Ross, and not me?

But then maybe all the colour drained from his face when he read the line about me losing my head.

Although the ‘losing my head’ part could quite simply mean me going out of my mind and jumping to conclusions.

And what would Ross even have to lie about?

Christ, what a perfect way to drive a wedge between me and my husband. Henry is truly one of the best manipulators – this could be exactly what he’s aiming for.

‘Right, well, I think I need some fresh air. Fresh perspective. Time’s running out and DI Walker is counting on me.’

Ross looks taken aback. ‘Really?’ His eyes narrow.

‘Yes, DI Walker feels sure I can help them figure it out. Stop Henry before he kills again.’

‘Oh, does he now?’ Ross gives a little humph and curls his lip. ‘Well, he better have your best interests at heart, Anna. If they’re using you as bait—’

‘They’re not,’ I say quickly. Although that’s crossed my mind on more than one occasion. ‘See you shortly.’

‘Will you be okay on your own? Maybe you should stay indoors.’ His words, edged with worry, cause a wave of guilt to swoop through me.

‘I’ll be fine. I’ve got this.’ I hold up the personal alarm I bought years ago when I first moved to the coast. I depress it quickly and it emits a short, high-pitched burst of squealing. ‘See?’

‘And you’ve got your mobile?’

‘Yeees,’ I say, patting my pocket as I pull on my coat. ‘Don’t start dinner; I don’t know how long I’ll be. I’ll grab fish and chips for us on the way back.’ I slam the front door harder than intended, stalk down the path out into the road, and head towards the Ness.

As soon as I’m alone with my thoughts, Henry swamps them.

Why is he trying to spoil my carefully forged life?

Is his so bad that he needs to ruin mine now?

According to DI Walker, this is the third year that Henry’s been killing women, so maybe something significant happened to him that started this off.

Or, maybe after I left Finley Hall – and him – behind, his behaviour worsened and he became increasingly sadistic.

Just because he’s started The Hunt now, doesn’t mean he wasn’t killing people in the years prior to this latest string of murders.

The police might not have linked him to any before.

I pull my jacket around me tighter. It’s not cold, just a bit breezy, but a chill shudders through me.

I skirt around the edge of The Ness House.

The restaurant appears quiet but no doubt there are locals gathered to drink and chat at the bar end.

The warm glow of light seeping through the windows, casting a yellow hue across the grass, is comforting.

But I veer away from that and head to the coastal path.

It’s more secluded; I’m less likely to bump into anyone who wants to give me a hard time over the CCTV footage.

The peace of the evening is calming, the lapping waves so relaxing I almost forget what a mess the past two days have been.

But then, as a freak wave crashes against the rocks, the lines of the riddle crash against my skull: Tell-tale tit, your tongue shall be slit; all the dogs in town shall have a little bit .

These last lines have to hold the clue to the next location because they’re different in tone to the rest. They’re part of a childhood rhyme.

The last clue was linked to Finley Hall, but I’m not so sure this one is.

I don’t think he would send me to the same place twice.

Frustration clouds my mind and I let out a strangled cry.

Damn Henry. I’d give anything to ignore the little psychopath again.

If I were to go about my business, carry on life as normal, it would be like giving him the middle finger – showing him he doesn’t have power over me.

But that’s wishful thinking. He holds all the power, and he knows it.

He could ruin my life.

He could take my life.

What’s certain is that someone will die, whether I play his game or not.

And I can’t have more blood on my hands.

But how can I fight back against an enemy I can’t see?