Heather opened her satchel and pulled out the biscuit tin. Now that she knew what was inside, it felt heavier, like she was carrying around a severed head rather than a bunch of letters. She opened the lid, already looking at the scrabbly handwriting with a sense of dread.

“I found these letters in Mum’s attic, under a pile of old records.”

“Letters? What sort of letters?”

“Well, I … Maybe it’s better if you just have a look.”

Nikki took the proffered bundle and began reading. Heather watched her face. As Nikki’s brows drew together in an expression of confusion, Heather got up and finished making the tea. When she came back to where Nikki stood at the worktop, her friend was holding the paper in her hand as if it might bite her.

“Is this what I think it is?”

Heather half laughed, although she felt very far from amused. “I know, right? I might have been a bit out of touch with my mum over the last few years, but this? This is a bit of a shock.”

“Michael Reave. The Red Wolf.” Nikki was shaking her head slightly, as though to clear it. “Heather, have you not heard the news?”

“No? What do you mean?” Heather blinked. Normally she was all over the news—since she laughingly still liked to refer to herself as a journalist, she took it as part of her job to keep up with current events—but for the last couple of days she had been, she realized now, avoiding the world. Listening to her mum’s old CDs, watching old movies. It was easier to do with no Internet in the house.

Nikki put the letters down and went back into the living room. She returned with a newspaper, which she held out to Heather. The headline read “THE RED WOLF STRIKES FROM WITHIN PRISON,” while the lead underneath stated: “Police are concerned a copycat may be at large.” Feeling oddly light, as though her head might float up to join the ceiling at any moment, Heather read on.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she said eventually. Nikki, meanwhile, had gotten her laptop out and was reading rapidly through the same Wikipedia article Heather had seen. Her eyes had grown very wide.

“Hev, this bloke was a monster. He used to arrange the pieces of these poor women’s bodies in these elaborate displays, all interlaced with plants and … bloody hell, I’m sure I’ve seen the CSI episode based on it. There were bits of their bodies they never found. They still think there are victims they don’t know about yet. Hev, did your mum know? Did she know what he was doing before he was caught? Do you think this could have anything to do with her, you know…”

Heather shook her head. “I’ve not read all the letters, but in the ones I’ve seen, they don’t talk about him killing anyone. But I mean, what do I know? Did I even know her at all? This man, currently serving life for chopping women up into bits, apparently knows a whole different side to my mum I’ve never seen.” Heather picked up her hot mug of tea and put it back down again. “She must have known him while he was killing those women, but was she aware of what he was doing? I’ve no idea. Plus, I don’t have any of her letters. Who knows what she was asking him? I mean, did he even know she had a family? A husband? Did my dad know what she was up to?” She half laughed, feeling abruptly sick again. “Oh god, was my mum one of those mad women who gets fixated on prisoners because they think they can change them?”