Back I Know You
Chapters (72)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Page
  3. CONTENTS
  4. Rachel
  5. Casey
  6. Rachel
  7. Rachel
  8. Casey
  9. Rachel
  10. Rachel
  11. Casey
  12. Rachel
  13. Rachel
  14. Casey
  15. Rachel
  16. Rachel
  17. Casey
  18. Rachel
  19. Rachel
  20. Casey
  21. Rachel
  22. Rachel
  23. Casey
  24. Rachel
  25. Rachel
  26. Casey
  27. Rachel
  28. Rachel
  29. Casey
  30. Rachel
  31. Rachel
  32. Casey
  33. Rachel
  34. Casey
  35. Rachel
  36. Casey
  37. Rachel
  38. Casey
  39. Rachel
  40. Casey
  41. Rachel
  42. Casey
  43. Rachel
  44. Casey
  45. Rachel
  46. Casey
  47. Rachel
  48. Casey
  49. Rachel
  50. Casey
  51. Rachel
  52. Casey
  53. Rachel
  54. Casey
  55. Rachel
  56. Casey
  57. Rachel
  58. Casey
  59. Rachel
  60. Casey
  61. Rachel
  62. Casey
  63. Rachel
  64. Casey
  65. Rachel
  66. Casey
  67. Rachel
  68. Casey
  69. Rachel – two days later
  70. BOOK CLUB QUESTIONS
  71. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  72. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Tartly, I said, ‘I don’t know what you think of. You don’t seem to take in anything I tell you.’ It was a mistake to sass him, me a young girl, a foreign girl. Men like him joined the police so that if someone sassed them, they could arrest them.

‘Smart-ass, hey? Well, we’ll see about that. Those cameras don’t show anyone else driving up, so you can kiss goodbye to the rest of your life.’

He banged on the door, and the guard came immediately. From her smirk, I could tell she’d been listening outside. As she came in to grab my arm again, I realised that none of them wanted to help me clear my name. For some reason they had decided already that a naïve British girl was capable of murder. Of pressing a pillow over a child’s face, slashing a woman across the throat, and shooting a man twice her size in cold blood.

Rachel

Rachel

I was paranoid walking through the streets of Coldwater, feeling so many eyes on me. I would have to leave this town, no matter what happened. I couldn’t bear that sense of being watched. It’s her. Racy Casey. The one who . . . All I wanted now was to never be recognised again, to be totally anonymous. And to think, all this happened because I’d dreamed of being famous once, a household name. Well, I was now.

Soon, I found myself back at the town library. It was an older librarian this time, a man with an impressive grey beard down to his mid-chest. He didn’t seem to recognise me, and I was glad – perhaps there were still people out there who didn’t watch rolling news or go online, who would not have seen my picture or know there was a former convicted murderer on their streets.

‘Hi,’ I muttered, approaching the desk.

‘Sorry?’ he boomed. ‘Can you speak up?’

Louder, I said, ‘I want to look up some old news stories. Is everything online now?’

‘Oh no, not by a long chalk. We have all the local and national papers, though, going back a hundred years – microfiche, or some of them are bound.’

‘Great.’ I wished he wouldn’t talk so loudly; weren’t librarians supposed to be quiet? ‘And if I didn’t know what year, but say I wanted to search for a particular name?’