She hit her head and slapped herself across the face. She didn’t like them as much as she made out, but tradition was tradition. Pull yourself together.
Leaning back, she felt the roughness of the bark scratching her neck. She wanted to cower down and curl up next to it – hide.
Oregano. The one thing she’d come out for and she had failed to get it. She’d tell Christian that they didn’t have any. He’d have to pop out to the supermarket while she started preparing the meal. She couldn’t have stayed in that shop any longer with that bawling child and the staring crowd.
She almost slipped on mud as she took a step from behind the tree. One step after another, all the way home. Looking up, the grey clouds seem to swirl and fall. The treetops rustled, scattering wet across her cheek. A large bird squawked from a high branch, its beady glare meeting hers. Staring down, she followed the pavement, avoiding the little dips where the tarmac had come up over the years. Tarmac changed to slabs, halfway home.
Thud, thud came a noise from behind. A car engine revved up in the distance concealing the sound of whatever was catching her up. Then the car quieted down.
The footsteps were getting louder and louder. Heart pounding, she began to jog in her heeled boots. The end of the cut through was in sight but that was less welcoming than the woods. The back of the houses had long gardens. No one was out in weather like this, tending to their plants and pruning their shrubbery. No one would hear her scream. The wind on her back whooshed as her stalker closed the gap. Run faster, just a little way to go. Then scream as loud as you can. She aimed for a sprint then her heel caught on an uneven slab. Fighting to wrench it out, she skidded forward and plunged to the ground, landing on her arm. A sickening pain shot through her shoulder and bicep. Screaming, she turned to see his face.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Cameras flashed and a boom pole almost clonked Gina on the chin.
‘DI Harte, who is the killer?’
‘You know the killer, don’t you?’
‘Are they coming for you next?’
‘The public have a right to know what you’re not telling us.’
Lyndsey Saunders stepped in front of Gina as she tried to exit the crowd of reporters, ignoring every question. ‘You should talk to me, maybe then we could work together on finding out who sent this letter, but I suspect you already know. The more I delve, the more I’m finding. I know you better than you think.’
‘What the hell does that mean? You sent me the letter, didn’t you? Not the one in the paper. It feels like a threat you know, sending letters like that.’
Lyndsey smirked. ‘So there definitely is another letter. My offer still stands. Let’s work together on this. Show me the letter. Trust me.’
Gina nudged her out of the way. ‘Stay away from me. If you cared about catching this killer, you’d have brought that letter to us before publishing it. Can’t you see what you’ve done? Trust you – never!’
‘I’m doing my job, DI Harte. The public deserve the truth, not a censored version of it. It is clearly in the public’s interest.’
‘You’ve hampered this investigation good and proper. The killer is loving what you did, so thank you for not helping.’ Gina ran to the main door and hurried in, fists clenched and face reddening with a burning anger. She stood outside the ladies and shouted as she hit the wall. Seething, she hoped that she could calm herself, just a little, but it wasn’t working. Her hands itched to hit out again until they bled.
Gina thudded through the fire door, straight to Briggs’s office, knocked once and entered without waiting to be asked. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. Pacing around the room, she stopped and stared out of the window, catching the end of a bus as it passed.
Redness crept up her neck. She scratched and tore at her skin until she almost drew blood.
‘Stop. We’ll catch whoever sent this letter to the press.’
Gasping for breath and fighting back a tear, Gina backed away from his embrace. ‘It’s like he’s back. I can’t escape – ever. Who’s doing this to me? Why me?’
His gaze fixed on hers. ‘They’re playing with you and we will find them. You should go home for your own safety. We can get patrols to drive by regularly or even station someone at your cottage—’
‘No, no and no.’ She wiped a tear away. ‘I’m going to be the one to catch whoever is doing this. I don’t need to go home and calm down or back off or whatever else you think I might need to do. Look at me.’ She paused. ‘Yes, it’s taken me by surprise, but you know what? I’m tougher than this. I won’t be defeated.’
He steadied her towards the chair and pulled it out. ‘Here, have this.’
She reached over to take his cup of coffee. ‘Thanks, sir.’ She took a sip and leaned back. ‘Right, panic over. Think, think, think.’ She tapped the side of her head and took a deep breath. ‘I have a plan and I’m sticking with it. As soon as Alexander Swinton’s mother is back at one thirty, I’m heading over there. At three, I have to take her to the morgue to view her son’s body. Nothing has changed.’ She could tell herself that as much as she liked, but things had changed. She swallowed and tensed up.
‘Do you know why you were mentioned in our killer’s letter?’
She shook her head. ‘If I knew that I wouldn’t look like this.’ She pointed at her blank expression then snatched the newspaper. ‘The press know how to stir. I wish they’d come here with the letter, at least to give me, us, the chance to prepare for its publication. What the hell were they thinking?’
‘Sales, that’s what Lyndsey thinks about. They love a bit of hysteria and threat.’
She nodded as she read it all again, stopping at the letter.
DI Harte,
This is for you. Trapped people, they claw, they plead, they beg. You begged, didn’t you? Remember? Think back. Now I have your attention. Stay with me. I need you.
I know. I know everything.
I watch.
I wait.
I am coming.
‘Do we have the actual letter?’ She slammed the paper closed and gasped for breath as she fought back every wave of panic that was threatening to spill over.
‘Wyre has gone to collect it. I do know it’s printed in Times New Roman, twelve point font. It will be photographed and taken straight to the lab. My issue is, everyone at the Warwickshire Herald will have had their mitts on it. We need to go through this letter. What do you know?’
She placed her head in her hands. ‘Why me?’
He sat down and took the newspaper from her side of the desk. ‘There’s no delaying what needs to be done. Talk me through it.’
‘This person obviously knows me well. They know things that only I thought I knew.’
‘Okay, that’s a start.’
She leaned across and stabbed at the letter with her index finger. ‘I watch. I wait. I am coming. Terry used those exact words when he locked me in the shed once – and during other times in our marriage. He’d taunt me with them. I don’t know how anyone on earth could possibly know this. It’s like he’s back.’ A tingle ran across her neck as she felt his invisible hands squeezing her windpipe. She winced as she remembered her ribs cracking. A swirl of nausea washed through her throat as the image of her nail peeling from her finger flashed through her mind. The dark days and nights and the boarded-up windows.