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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
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  60. 55
  61. 56
  62. 57
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  72. 67
  73. 68
  74. 69
  75. 70
  76. 71
  77. 72
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  80. 75
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  100. 95
  101. 96
  102. 97
  103. 98
  104. 99
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  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 thought about lying to him, promising that she would not tell a soul about the photographs she had discovered on his camera, that she would keep his secrets buried in a place that she would never visit and allow to grow over, covered in brambles. But she could not bring herself to say that. Because it was not true.

He was looking at her, and she stared back at him, a challenge. She thought she saw love in his eyes and a tentative plea for clemency. But she could not bring herself to offer him the reassurance of even a half smile.

“Why have you got that belt? It belongs to that woman across the road.” She swallowed again. “The missing one.”

“I saw her last night,” he said. “She lost it.”

She flinched again and his grip loosened, his hands falling away. She wrapped her arms across her chest, rubbing at her violated skin. The expression on his face had changed to sorrow.

The camera was still lying on the floor. She calculated it would take less than three seconds to grab it. Around six seconds to make it to the end of the hallway, open the front door and run into the street. Another couple of minutes to alert the police. Or perhaps she could run to the end of the road. See if those officers were still waiting in their car outside number thirty-two.

Fletcher was unspooling the dressing gown cord he had wrapped around his knuckles. The skin on his hand was marked, indented. He smoothed out the belt, its silk creased and spoiled now.

He stepped toward her, hands reaching for her.

Dessie knelt forward, her limbs loose and liquid, and for a tantalizing moment, it looked as though she was moving toward Fletcher, to immerse herself in the warmth of their love.

But his girlfriend snatched up the camera and bolted for the front door.

* * *

Fletcher watched the woman he loved run from him. But he did not call after her. He let her go.

The mess of his life was nothing more than a dirty scribble on the page. No way to erase it. No way to start again now. Even if he tore it into a dozen pieces, the stain would still be there.

The boxes of tablets were spilled across the hallway floor. He did not bother to pick them up. Soon the police would come. He would lose his job again. He had already lost the love of his life.

They might try to pin those murders on him.