Contents (71)
- THE
- DAUGHTER
- MICHELLE FRANCES
- PROLOGUE
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- EPILOGUE
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
‘Oh my God!’ exclaimed Trixie. Kate gingerly pushed the door open further so she could see inside.
Papers were strewn across the hallway, spilling from the doorways of the rooms. She stepped in, catching her breath as she saw into the living room. Furniture had been overturned or destroyed. Cushions lay slashed on the floor, drawers had been brutally tipped empty. Kate slowly walked around the flat. Nervously called Adam’s name as she stepped through the debris of each devastated room, but the place was empty.
‘We need to call the police!’ declared Trixie.
Kate ignored her. ‘What did the man look like?’
‘Eh?’
‘Who came this morning? What did he look like?’
‘Oh. Big, you know, tall. Had a moustache, one of those long ones,’ said Trixie, running her finger and thumb down either side of her mouth.
It was him. The same man I saw outside the courtroom and in the street in Ramsbourne. Kate tried to gather her thoughts. He knew something. If he found Adam – she hoped to God he hadn’t already – she remembered what had happened to Justin. Maybe the man knew Adam had met her. Maybe he knew Adam had given her the document that was burning a hole inside the bag on her shoulder right now.
She suddenly knew she couldn’t go home.
She was way, way out of her depth. Help, she needed help. There was only one person she could think of: Jill. The uber lawyer had already turned her down but now Kate had proof. Proof of what Crixus did to people. Surely Jill would listen? Know what to do? At the back of her mind was a dim recollection of needing to be at Greg’s office for the PR session mid-morning but that would have to wait. She turned to leave.
Trixie had her phone out of her pocket and was about to dial when she cut Kate a quizzical look.
‘You remind me of someone. This girl . . . you look a bit like her . . .’
Kate stopped at the doorway of the flat. ‘Who?’
Trixie frowned, then shook her head. Dismissed it. ‘I can’t remember. No one . . .’
Kate raised herself up to her full five-foot-one height. Stared Trixie down. Her voice was strong, steeped in emotion. ‘Her name is Becky Ellis. And she is not a no one.’
Then she turned away from Trixie’s gawping face and left.
SIXTY-ONE
Friday, 24 February 2017 – the day of the accident
The heavy rain meant it was already dark when Becky packed up her things, turning off her laptop. She sent a brief text to her mum: ‘Leaving now. See you (both!) soon. X’ Then she put her phone and water bottle in her backpack, pulling out her helmet, ready to cycle to the station. The wind blew the rain hard against the office window, an irregular rhythm of cold and wet, and she groaned. She’d be absolutely soaked by the time she got home, would need a shower before she could show her face in front of Tim.