A flash of anger crossed Rose-Butler’s face but disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. He still had Sarah by the arm. He winked at Jameson. He tugged Sarah around to face him.

‘Sarah!’ Jameson called.

Her wide eyes met his. ‘Marcus?’ she whispered.

And then they were falling backwards, both Rose-Butler and Sarah, toppling over the edge of the wall, her arms reaching out, her legs kicking.

He was too late.

61

Psychopaths never commit suicide.

When Bloom had sat on the stairs all those years ago, holding Seraphine’s note, that had been the thought that dominated her mind. It was a simple truth. It was evidenced in all the research. Psychopaths were incapable of feeling anxiety or depression, guilt or shame. And they had an inflated sense of self-worth. They were immune to the main causes of suicide.

Only if there was a calculated benefit – such as avoiding jail – might a psychopath consider suicide.

And so she’d thought she must have been wrong. That Seraphine wasn’t a psychopath, after all. Perhaps she’d had mild Asperger Syndrome. That might explain her lack of emotional sensitivity.

Bloom’s guilt had intensified over the past fifteen years. She thought she’d seen a psychopath in Seraphine because that was what she’d wanted to see. And that the girl had paid the ultimate price.

But that was not the case. She’d been right. Seraphine Walker was a psychopath.

She looked at the file now spread across her mother’s kitchen table: the session notes, Seraphine’s diary, the pathologist’s report, and a handful of press cuttings about the original stabbing and Seraphine’s suicide.

She felt a strange sense of relief.

If Seraphine was the puppeteer and the game a means of gathering like-minded people, then they wouldn’t harm Sarah. It was designed to test its players, and that was exactly what it was doing. Bloom had been set a moral challenge, based on her particular experiences and knowledge, and Jameson a tactical one based on his particular talents and background.