One thing’s for sure, I need to do an afternoon’s work then think of a way to offload your holdall. Once it’s found it will all be a big mistake. I’ll be in the clear and they’ll be looking for someone else. I don’t need your fucking journal now. I’ve got my flash drive and, anyway, the contents are branded into my memory. I know the running order and every infidelity you committed. I could recite them. Luckily no one can read my mind, but I’m going to make sure that someone reads your fucking journal so everyone can finally know what a piece of work you really are.

Chapter Seventeen

By six o’clock I’ve finished an abstract for a new paper and read over my study ready for submission to the funding panel. They’re happy with the outline for the new psychopath scale and they want something more formal. They want to increase my salary. I suddenly realise what the next step is. Professor. It’s almost in the bag now.

This is very good. Very good indeed. It proves that I’m a balanced individual who can perform to high levels. That, according to my colleagues, I am in the top 1 per cent of my profession. Not the neurotic bundle of paranoia you labelled me. Not at all.

I’m feeling pleased with myself until I check Frances’s phone as I’m parked up in a layby on the way home. Her mother has phoned twice and someone called Elliot has texted her to say he’s been round with her scones but she’s not in. She must have closed the shop. Good.

I worry for a moment that she knows it’s me and she’s phoned you. Poor, newly divorced Frances. Just your type. Instead of calling the police, have you convinced her to have a cup of tea and forget about it? With your endless fucking charm and powers of persuasion? Looking into her eyes like in the photos where she was holding my baby son?

I suddenly don’t feel worried any more. She deserves to suffer. She’ll lose money. People will be wondering why the café’s not open, won’t they?

I drive the rest of the way home in despair. Today’s been a nightmare, really, despite the funding news. I’m completely exhausted and when I get home my next-door neighbour, owner of the fucking dog, is standing in my drive. I get out of the car and smile at her.

‘Police been round. Earlier on. Asking if you were in this morning.’