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Back The Family Next Door Save as PDF
Chapters (117)
  1. Also by
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright Page
  4. Epigraph
  5. PROLOGUE
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. 53
  59. 54
  60. 55
  61. 56
  62. 57
  63. 58
  64. 59
  65. 60
  66. 61
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  70. 65
  71. 66
  72. 67
  73. 68
  74. 69
  75. 70
  76. 71
  77. 72
  78. 73
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  80. 75
  81. 76
  82. 77
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  84. 79
  85. 80
  86. 81
  87. 82
  88. 83
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  90. 85
  91. 86
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  93. 88
  94. 89
  95. 90
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  97. 92
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  100. 95
  101. 96
  102. 97
  103. 98
  104. 99
  105. 100
  106. 101
  107. 102
  108. 103
  109. 104
  110. 105
  111. 106
  112. 107
  113. 108
  114. 109
  115. 110
  116. Teaser chapter
  117. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

She pushed the metal tray holding Adam Stanton back into place. Her sharp ears caught a tiny sound, almost like an escaping sigh, and if she had been a fanciful woman, she might have said that Adam was breathing out his relief that at last she was on the right path.

But she wasn’t a fanciful woman; she was a rational one. Her only concern was whether she could find the answer before the killer claimed another life.

80

80

Wednesday 1st August 2018, 2:58 A.M.

The Avenue

The postman had stopped going home.

She was there when he lay in the darkness of his bedroom, and when he sat at the kitchen table, his meal turning to cardboard in his mouth. And once, when he had gone upstairs to run a bath, she was lying in the tub with a scalpel sticking out of her eye.

He had taken to sleeping in the back of his van. A camping mattress and a pillow, and he could snatch a few hours’ rest. But the truth was he couldn’t escape her, even there. She haunted him. And so did his mistakes.

The postman had been dozing for a couple of hours when he sat up abruptly, his hair stuck to his forehead in the moist heat of the night. For a minute, he forgot where he was, and he was back in the basement of the club, with the woman lying dead on the bloodstained concrete, the thump of the bass and the smell of sweat and testosterone. He lay back on the mattress, his hands behind his head.

Wide eyed, alone, in the darkness.

81

81

Wednesday 1st August, 3:00 A.M.

25 The Avenue

Evan stood outside the back door, cloaked in the shadows of the nighttime garden.

He had almost changed his mind when he had crept past the lamplit sitting room and seen the top of his father’s head rising above the armchair. He had paused, uncertain, and then his ears had picked out the steady rhythm of his father’s breathing. The boy guessed he’d been waiting up all night for their mother to come home and had succumbed, briefly, to sleep. Another pang of sorrow hit his heart.

The heat was beginning to break up, and a freshening breeze shook the leaves until they danced. Evan didn’t like it. The muttering of the dry leaves represented all things he had come to fear, the whisper of ghosts and the unseen. He smelled rain. The bushes rustled and his heart jumped.