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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
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  114. 109
  115. 110
  116. Teaser chapter
  117. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

“That toyshop at the top of the road,” he said. “The one belonging to Trefor Lovell. And, Wildeve, you need to prepare yourself. Adam’s ID was inside.”

90

90

Wednesday 1st August 2018, 3:51 A.M.

26 The Avenue

The night had taken on a nightmarish quality for Dessie. The sound of sirens wailing. The images in Fletcher’s camera that could not be unseen. She had imagined their future together many times, but she had never expected this. It spelled the end of the life she had hoped for.

Dessie knew she needed to call the police, had picked up the handset half a dozen times, then put it down, uncertainty and a sense of misplaced loyalty staying her hand. As she reached for it again, she caught the sound of footsteps.

Fletcher stood at the top of the stairs, with the noose of a dressing gown belt wrapped around his hand, its poppies like splashes of blood against his whitened knuckles.

Dessie recognized it as the one belonging to the new woman opposite. She’d been wearing it a day or two ago as she’d hefted rubbish bags into her wheelie bin. The same woman was now missing, according to her husband, who’d knocked on Dessie’s door earlier in the day, asking if she’d seen her. She swallowed and her mouth tasted sour.

“What were you doing?” Fletcher’s voice was pleasant and even. That frightened her more than anything else. His gaze lingered on the camera by her feet, and they both knew.

“I—” She didn’t have the faintest idea what to say to him.

“You found it, then,” he said. No question, just a statement of truth.

“You lied to me,” she said. She tried to keep her voice steady, but it broke on lied.

“What are you going to do?” He took a step toward her, and she flinched, pressing herself closer to the wall, trying to make herself disappear. “Are you going to tell the police?”

“Fletch—” The police had to be told. It was the right thing to do. The only thing.

“They’ll put me in prison this time, Dessie.”

She shook her head, “No, no, I’m sure it won’t be like that. You can explain that you didn’t mean to take those pictures, and you need to get help—”

“And you think they’ll believe that? This is a second offense, Dessie. A custodial sentence.”

“You’ll think of something, Fletch.” Her eyes were pleading with him to make this easy for her, to accept his mistakes and to walk away without a fight.

His fingers bruised her arms. “Two years, Dessie. Maximum sentence for voyeurism.”