The next morning, Emily wants me to tell the police, and Hanna wants to confiscate my phone. But I say no to both and wonder if this will be our little secret or if someone was recording the whole thing, if a neighbor was filming us shouting in the street and it’s already online, if even through a sock, on a day it shouldn’t, the camera in my bedroom filmed every word.

But no one calls and no one visits, not the police nor Danny nor anyone else.

If someone really was outside, I should have filmed it. It’s things like this that will help me get the full three months. I need to get used to strapping on the head cam quickly, instinctively, so I practice for half an hour, on then off, over and over, until I can do it with my eyes closed.

Everything important needs to be recorded. Every possible clue needs to be piled up until the police can’t ignore them.

Someone knew we were having a sleepover. They knew we were in the house the moment I got that text.

I pick up my phone and type a message. I send it and wait.

OK then. Come get me if you’re brave enough.

Chapter 43

Sara’s article was published today, so I go on the Doveton Messenger home page, and there it is, my words under the headline:

YOUTUBE STAR FIGHTS BACK AFTER MAGPIE MAN MESSAGES

Serial killer branded “pathetic” by daughter of first victim

She has published my comments word for word, and over my shoulder, I hear the camera in the corner of the room whirring more than normal.

It’s trying to focus on the story I’m reading, showing my viewers what I can see. To help, I turn on the head cam and point it at the laptop, waiting a few seconds as it refocuses until the words are clear.

Now everyone who’s watching me can read Sara’s article.

Jessica Simmons, the daughter of the Magpie Man’s first victim, has spoken exclusively to the Messenger about her new internet show and her quest to bring her mother’s killer to justice. The residents of Doveton will never forget what happened on that terrible night, when a wife and mother was savagely murdered, but seventeen-year-old Jessica wants the whole world to remember.

The more people who are reminded of Mom’s fate, the more who believe the texts really are coming from the man who killed her, the better my chance of catching him.

When I’ve finished the story, I read the comments, pointing the camera at the ones that stand out, showing my viewers the difference between useful and useless.

“I haven’t spoken to you for a while,” I say. “Not like this anyway. But we’re running out of time. What did you like today? What did you love? What did you share just because everyone else had?