“I don’t know,” Heather said, unable to keep the sarcasm from her tone. “A lot of stuff I thought was pretty bloody unlikely now seems to be true.”

He nodded at that, conceding the point. Heather decided to try a different approach.

“Did she—did my mum believe you were innocent? Did she think you were a victim of a great injustice or something? Is that why she kept on writing to you?”

“She thought I was good. Knew I was good, I mean. The only person who valued me … In my whole life. Do you know what that’s like?”

Somewhere far above them, a seagull called. Heather pursed her lips, biting down her immediate reply, which had a lot of swear words in it and largely concerned the injustice of her mother’s loyalties. Colleen Evans had believed Michael Reave was good, apparently; had given him unwavering support through his years in prison. Colleen Evans had also watched her sixteen-year-old daughter walk out the front door and not come back; had let her relationship with her only child atrophy into something cold and weak. But it had never been too much effort to pick up a pen and write to her old friend, the Red Wolf.

“Michael,” she said quietly. “Do you have any idea who is killing these women? Do you know who is such a fan of your work? Any thoughts at all?”

Reave shrugged and shook his head, smiling slightly, as though Heather had made a particularly poor joke. Heather took a step forward, ignoring the tension in her own gut.

“How did you choose them? At least tell me that, Michael. Was it random? Or were you looking for something in particular? The person who’s taking them now—does he know what you were looking for?”

“I told your mother once that I was sentenced and found guilty years ago,” said Reave. His voice was soft, dangerous. “Long before any women died, long before I even left the place where I grew up. I was destined to be found guilty, because of who my family was, and what they did to me. Even he …” Reave stopped then, an unreadable expression passing over his face like a summer storm. Heather opened her mouth to ask who “he” referred to, but Reave continued. “I’ve been judged because of what they did to me, what they made me, and they’ll never see any blame for it.”

“Who? Who are they?”

He shrugged as if this didn’t matter. He gestured around at the dirty walls. “I’ve been trapped all my life. I told Colleen that once, and she tried to give me a way out, I think. It was her who showed me the sky, but here I am, stuck here, forever, even so. What I am isn’t my fault. And listen,” he turned back to her, his face stern. “I understand you wanting to know about your mother, but I’m no fool. You ask too much about other things, you’ll get yourself in trouble. I don’t want that for you.”