Page 6 of The Serial Killer’s Sister (The Serial Killer’s Daughter #3)

‘You seem a bit … distant,’ she says. ‘You’re not worried about the report, are you?’

‘Not really. A bit. Oh, I don’t know, Serena.

’ I cup my chin in my hands, let out a long sigh.

She’s my best friend. I want to be able to let it all out – tell her what I’ve been told this morning.

Maybe sharing it would help me process it, make sense of it.

But what will she think of me? It plays out in my head: Oh, hey, Serena – guess what?

A detective came over to my house and told me my brother is a wanted serial killer.

He’s murdered five women. How mad is that?

And I immediately know I can’t let any of those words leave my lips.

Somehow, I’ll be guilty by association and my quiet, happy little life will blow up.

What are you doing, Henry? Why punish me now?

‘I know you were nervous about the report, but honestly, you’ll have come out on top, there’s no doubt in my mind. You always do.’

I smile. It wouldn’t be entirely disingenuous to let her think I’m worried about how I’ve come across in the assessment because until the knock on my door earlier, that was all I was concerned about.

‘You know me,’ I say. ‘Just want my kids, their families, to have the best possible version of me.’

‘You give them your everything. Everyone knows that. If a bunch of assessors couldn’t see that during their limited time here, then they’re useless and should be fired.’

The staffroom door flies open again, the appearance of the head teacher extinguishing the conversation like water on flames.

‘Here you are,’ Mr Beaumont says, his cheeks flushed. ‘I’ve been looking for you.’ He’s not directing his line of sight, or his speech, to either of us in particular but I’m so sure it’s me who he’s speaking to, I jump up.

‘Oh?’ I say, my eyes flitting to Serena, whose wide-eyed look makes my pulse judder.

Mr Beaumont’s tone isn’t his usual light and breezy, ‘everything is good’, one.

It’s his panicked ‘something is very wrong’ one, and we both know it.

I can almost sense Serena’s desire to retract her statement about not having any doubt in me. Was my assessment that bad?

‘In my office now, please.’ He turns without making any eye contact, a terrible sign, and strides out.

Being summoned, or more often dragged, to the office was a regular occurrence for me at Finley Hall.

I never thought I’d relive those times as an adult, though.

My palms sweat as I head to the door, not daring to look at Serena.

As I hurry along behind him my heels clonk across the parquet floor of the hall.

He walks so fast I can’t keep up, like he’s on a mission.

A thought invades my mind: I’m assuming he wants to see me about the report, but what if it’s not that at all?

What if DI Walker has been sniffing around here?

Christ. If Craig Beaumont so much as links me to something so terrible, he’ll probably sack me.

Having the sister of a serial killer as his senior teacher would not be the image of his precious school he’d wish to portray.

And who could blame him? I glance outside the windows to the car park as I pass by, craning my neck to see if a police car is visible.

I can’t see one, but I suppose he might have already left.

Beaumont’s office door is closed by the time I get to it.

Bloody power play. He wants me to feel uncomfortable; wants me to stand here uncertain.

Should I walk in because he summoned me and knows I was behind him, or should I knock?

Irritation makes my muscles twitch as I hover with my hand raised, debating what to do.

I give two sharp knocks and enter without waiting for a response.

He’s seated, tapping away at his keyboard, and I stand in front of his desk, my knees knocking beneath my skirt while I attempt to keep my eyes on him.

I can’t let them wander around because that would make me seem nervous.

The room is stuffy, the air within his dark-wood panelled office stale.

He never so much as cracks a window. I don’t know how he bears it all, trussed up in his three-piece suit.

He’s all pomp and show. I ball my hands by my sides and try to slow my breathing down.

I can’t lose this job, it’s everything I’ve worked for.

These kids are my life. I won’t let Henry take this from me.

‘This isn’t the conversation I wanted with you today,’ he says, not looking up. ‘Well, not any day, of course. But specifically not today.’

His pause doesn’t mean I should speak, so I allow the moment of silence to expand.

I must let him fill in the gaps; I need to learn how much he knows.

I have to ascertain what I can get away with here.

He shakes his head, steeples his fingers in a way that makes him seem much older than his thirty or so years.

The fact he’s reached this position at such a young age is something of a mystery, and despite our best detective skills Serena and I haven’t managed to prise this information from him yet.

But the rumour among some of the other teachers is simply that the previous head was his uncle and pulled some strings.

I’m more inclined to believe that because Mr Gally left so abruptly six months ago, they had little opportunity to advertise and then interview a suitable replacement.

Beaumont was in the right place at the right time, so they got him into position quickly to prevent the governors kicking up a fuss.

His eyes haven’t left his computer screen, which is unnerving – I want to lurch forwards, grab a hold of his face in my hands and force it upwards.

He can’t even look me in the eye. But then, since the Christmas party he’s not been too strong on eye contact.

I shudder as I remember how he’d stared at me the whole night, making me feel uneasy, then just before the evening ended, I called him out on being ‘a bit letchy’, in front of the entire staff.

So I probably shouldn’t read too much into how he’s avoiding my gaze now.

He closes his eyes. I want to sigh, or shout at him.

Get on with it, man! And then he swings the monitor screen around so I can see it.

A fluttering inside my stomach grows rapidly into a violent beating of wings as I recognise what’s on the screen.

The image is paused, and in a particularly unflattering moment as the woman’s mouth is wide open in mid-yell – teeth bared like an animal on the attack.

Her hands are poised and look as if they are about to land on the small, terrified child’s shoulders.

I gasp. The woman on the zebra crossing looks manic, deranged, almost unrecognisable. Almost.

‘If I hadn’t seen this footage with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it for a single second. But, Anna, it’s here. In black and white.’

‘Footage?’ I gulp down my unease. Bad enough to think this was a photo – but if there’s more …

‘Yes. I think you should watch it. Seeing as so many others have already.’

My heart pounds as he elaborates; his words flow into each other and blur.

But I get the gist. This piece of footage first found its way onto the parents’ WhatsApp group before being shared on Spotted Staverton’s Facebook page, and he’s had call after call from concerned mums and dads.

He hits the play button and I watch in muted disbelief as the woman who looks like me leaps from the car that is identical to mine and lunges towards the scared girl.

I’m stunned at how angry this person is.

My mind tries to reconcile the features of the woman I see on the screen with myself.

It’s not me. Yet, of course, I know it is.

‘Oh, my God,’ I say, shaking my head. The video footage stops abruptly and I look to Mr Beaumont. ‘Where’s the rest? This isn’t all of what happened.’

‘This is all that was uploaded. There is no more.’

‘Well, it’s making it out to be worse, Mr Beaumont.

I mean, look!’ I rush around to his side of the desk and play the last few seconds back.

Just before the video cuts off, I’ve got my hand raised as if I’m about to strike her.

‘I do not hit her. I did not hit Isobel. This makes it look as though I’m about to attack her. ’

‘Yes. That’s exactly how it appears, Anna. So, you can see why so many parents have demanded I do something about this.’

‘What?’ The single word is barely audible, spoken in astonishment.

Fear. Do something about this? The words ricochet off the inside of my skull and my blood runs icy cold inside my veins.

If I leave the office now, go back to my classroom, carry on as though nothing has happened, I wonder if this whole incident would somehow erase itself.

But the weight of what’s to come is already heavy in the room – Beaumont’s expression foreshadows it.

‘I’m going to have to ask you to take leave, Anna.’ And there it is. A tingle begins at the back of my nose and I know tears aren’t far behind. I hang my head. ‘For a week at least,’ he says. ‘Until I can gather the relevant information for a full misconduct case review.’

My head snaps up. ‘Who recorded it?’

‘ That’s all you have to say?’ He gives a disbelieving sigh together with a shake of his head.

‘I have the right to know.’ I’m barely holding it together, my frustration leaking from my clipped words – any moment now I’ll lose the ability to keep my anger harnessed.

‘It was posted anonymously.’

‘Of course. I don’t even get to know who the hell is trying to ruin my career.

’ Maintaining composure is something I’m usually good at, and until today I’ve not uttered a single contemptuous word while in my teaching role.

Certainly, I’ve not given Mr Beaumont cause to question my standards or my integrity before. Now both are under fire.

‘You have to realise how this looks, Anna? You’re a senior teacher at a highly respected private school. And there’s evidence of appalling behaviour. Based on this footage, the parents of the pupil in question have every right to take legal action …’

Legal action . The words instil a sense of despair and blood rushes to my head, making my face burn. ‘I didn’t touch her, Mr Beaumont,’ I say, firmly without shouting. ‘You have to believe me. There were witnesses. Not one of them will say I laid a finger on her.’

‘A parent has come forward, actually, Anna.’

‘Good, good.’ Relief washes over me. ‘So you’ll know this is being blown out of all proportion.’

‘The parent saw your hands on her shoulders.’

‘Well, yes. I laid my hands on her to reassure her, Craig. I wanted to make sure she was OK.’

‘Mr Beaumont, Anna. Let’s keep it professional.’

A surge of hot anger rises inside my stomach and it’s all I can do not to explode. But that would play into his hands. And those of whoever has started this. I can’t let that happen.

‘Fine. Have it your way, Mr Beaumont . Thanks for the vote of confidence. I assume you’ve got cover for my class.’

‘Yes, Serena will step in. She is more than capable of taking two classes for today until I organise someone to cover your period of suspension.’

I nod, lost for words as the phrase ‘period of suspension’ rings in my head.

A few hours ago, everything was ticking along as usual.

My only concern was an Ofsted report. Now, I have to worry about a serial killer who might be targeting me, a potential assault charge, and losing my job.

With my eyes to the ground, I walk briskly back to the classroom, grab my bag and leave without uttering a word to the class, or Serena.

Tears don’t even come as I sit behind the wheel of my car and replay the events that have occurred this morning. I’m numb, like I’ve been immersed in a bath of ice. How the hell do I fight this?