Page 26 of The Serial Killer’s Sister (The Serial Killer’s Daughter #3)

Think, Anna . And then it seems obvious. If someone were to come here and try to remain low-key, they’d likely sit on this very bench because it’s not in direct view of the other customers. I lower my head and my pulse skips as I notice freshly dug earth in front of the rose bush next to me.

Jumping up from the bench, I give a wary look around.

There’s a couple sitting at a table, their dog lazily slumped on the ground underneath, and two women deep in conversation over their lattes, each with a handbag-sized dog sitting on the chair beside them – but once I duck down, I’m not in plain view.

Henry must’ve realised this too when he chose this spot.

Or, of course, there’s a big chance that this area of dug soil is where one of the dogs has buried a juicy bone and I’m about to feel really stupid.

I pause, checking around to see if there’s anywhere else that could be the hiding place.

The earth is neatly laid back, though – a dog would’ve left it messy.

This has to be it. It’s worth a try, at least.

I take a deep breath, plunge my fingers into the damp soil and begin scooping the earth into a pile, hoping whatever is buried isn’t sharp.

With that sudden thought, I slow down, use the side of my palm rather than delving my fingertips in first; I wouldn’t put it past Henry to hide something that could cause me injury.

With the next scoop, a plastic bag is partially revealed.

I pull at the corner and the loose soil slips off as I drag it fully out of its grave.

I sit back on my heels, the carrier bag in my hands.

Half of me wants to delay opening it – just take the evidence straight to the police.

But, no doubt as Henry anticipated, my fearful curiosity wins over and I slowly open the bag.

Inside is a large, flat envelope and I’m surprised to feel a snag of disappointment. Is this just another riddle?

After a surreptitious glance around the gardens, I open the A4 envelope and peek inside, my breath held.

It looks like it’s nothing more than some photos.

My adrenaline level reduces – they can’t depict anything too bad.

Henry didn’t own a camera when we were at Finley; I never saw him with one anyway.

And even if he did have photo evidence of our shared secret, surely he’d have used them before now – blackmailed me or something.

I pull them fully out. My jaw slackens. I scan through the photos quickly – there are five of them – then I focus in on the first again.

A sob catches in my throat and I throw my head back, looking skywards in some vain attempt to rid the images from my mind.

My hands start to shake violently as I look through them again, and without warning vomit erupts from my mouth.

Green bile pools on the grass behind the bush.

I wipe away the remnants with the back of my hand and get to my feet.

I only manage a few paces before collapsing back against the trunk of a tree, the rough bark pushing painfully into my spine.

But I can’t move; I need the support. I survey the area.

‘Where are you, you bastard?’ My initial shock and sadness is replaced with a hot, gut-wrenching anger deep in my belly.

I propel myself away from the tree and stomp around the garden, shouting a string of words I can’t even decipher myself – they flow out of my mouth like lava.

Rage like this hasn’t surfaced for years and I frighten myself.

But I’ve a right to be mad. How could he do this to me?

Ross is the last person I’d ever suspect of betraying me.

The woman who asked me if I wanted anything comes out the patio doors, a bemused look on her face, and the other customers are all staring at me. I ignore them and push past the woman to get back outside. To anyone watching, I must look so rude. Is Henry witnessing this?

‘Come out, come out wherever you are.’ I shout as soon as I’m standing in the street, spit flying from my mouth.

‘Think you’re clever, do you?’ A woman walking by with a toddler pulls them in close, shooting me an alarmed, judgemental glare.

Realisation hits me – I’m in a public place, and I’ve already gained online notoriety; being seen like this will only cement their belief that I’m unhinged and not fit to teach children.

I shut my mouth, and hurry towards my car, quickly getting in and slamming the door.

I throw the envelope on the passenger seat and sit, motionless, shock seeping through me.

Maybe I shouldn’t really be mad at Ross. I don’t even know when these photos were taken – although from what Ross is wearing, the way his hair is, it’s pretty recent, not years ago.

Henry has decided he will tear down every part of the life I’ve worked so hard for; the life I love. He’s made it blatantly obvious he wants revenge. Wants me to suffer before whatever macabre conclusion he has planned for me.

I can’t let Henry win. Or, more to the point, I must not lose – because this isn’t just a game.