Tilly has a cut to her finger. We can’t be too careful and I’d like her to be examined as a precaution. I know it’s been a distressing night for you as well as your daughter, but all I can say is she’s been so brave and we’d be failing in our duties if we didn’t get her looked at.’
He shook his head and clasped his hands on his head of thinning hair. ‘I know. I just don’t know what I’ll do if anything comes back bad. What if she touched the blood and it got into the cut on her finger? I know how these things work, I used to be a nurse in another life.’
‘So you also know how important it is to be checked out.’
He nodded. ‘You’re right, thank you.’ He went to stand. ‘Why did it have to be my daughter who found the body?’
Gina had no answer for that. She was glad someone had found the body but it did choke her a little that it happened to be two fifteen-year-old girls. She only hoped that they’d soon forget the incident and not let it affect their lives.
He scratched his head, grabbed his phone from the table and left.
Gina tried to imagine herself standing by where they’d found the body. She imagined the rain trickling through the gaps in the coffin and, in her mind’s eye, she crouched by the tree and peered out at the figure wearing a long dark coat and tight trousers. Why had they come back if they’d buried the body? Maybe they’d come back to check that their victim was dead or maybe something else brought them. Had they cycled? She felt slightly light-headed, heart racing as she thought of how close those girls had come to a potential murderer. Someone had been there, lurking in the bushes. She only hoped that whoever it was hadn’t seen the girls, which might make them a target. A cold tingle reached up the back of her neck and she did up her jacket as she imagined the girls being watched. She made a note to discuss keeping an eye on their houses.
Chapter Nine
Now
Friday, 30 October
The candle flickers, lighting up the board on the wall – my mood board. I think that’s what people call them. It’s nothing more than a piece of cork with push pins attaching all my research to it in an orderly fashion. I stare at the photo of him as I grab a marker pen and slash a huge cross over his face. He’s gone, but it doesn’t end there. This is just the beginning.
I place a sheet of paper in the printer and double-check the most important letter I will ever write before I print it up. Gloved hands, of course. I wouldn’t dream of touching the paper or the envelope. I know how these things work. Not that it will matter much, once a team of journalists have had their grubby hands all over it, any evidence would probably be destroyed with layers of fingerprints.
The map to my right tells me where I go next and who will come to me. I have everything well planned. Years of preparation now finally have a purpose. Today, I’m stronger than ever and that strength will only grow. I’m more ready than I’ve ever been.
My body feels electrically charged as I run through the details of the next piece of the puzzle. Those nights where I’d wriggle in my sweat-drenched sheets mulling over these moments made it all worth it. The days where I’d be eating breakfast and look down at my empty plate of toast, not remembering the process of actually eating it. The only clue was the taste of molten margarine coating the back of my throat, threatening to reach further down my gullet before forcing it back up. That’s no way to live. There are pleasures in life and they are there to take so that’s what I’m doing. I’m no longer going to hide or deny who I am and what I want.
Staring at the little screen, I scan my words. The letter is perfect. It says everything I want it to say and, for once, people are going to want to know who I am. Maybe they will find out who I am. Who knows? A grin spreads across my face. I’m back.
Look at me, see me; open your eyes; for if you don’t, I will open them for you.
Then I see you in