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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
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  50. 45
  51. 46
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  54. 49
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  110. 105
  111. 106
  112. 107
  113. 108
  114. 109
  115. 110
  116. Teaser chapter
  117. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Adam’s verdict was so spot-on that she almost turned around to check if he were standing behind her. French was holding court to a colleague on the other side of the room, his volume control turned so high she could pick out full sentences. “He’s a dick.”

“But he’s a clever dick,” said Mac with a grin.

A laugh slipped from Wildeve. A couple of officers looked over. She glared back, defiant. Adam would have enjoyed the joke, too. Mac’s expression grew serious again.

“Do your best, Wildeve,” he said. “Get inside his head. Retrace his steps. Find out what he was doing when he died.” His voice was quiet. “Adam was a damn hero every day in this job. Let’s make sure he dies one, too.”

27

27

Now

Human lives are defined by secrets.

All those truths that stay hidden because we’re trying to protect ourselves or others. Because we don’t wish to seem stupid or vulnerable, cruel or weak. Because we’re seeking answers to questions we’re not yet ready to share.

Olivia Lockwood kept secrets. I know this because she told me. She’d had a lover, a younger man, and was considering leaving her husband. Garrick Lockwood kept secrets. He didn’t know if he wanted to stay married to his cheating wife. Detective Inspector Adam Stanton kept secrets, too. He loved you, and he had never forgotten you, but he hadn’t told that police officer wife of his—he hadn’t told anyone—that he was trying to find you.

In the last few months, I have learned that our secrets are never as well hidden as we think they are. A freeze-framed expression. A forgotten newspaper photograph. A bloody secret buried beneath layers and layers of paint.

When the police hunt a killer, it is always the secrets they should seek out first.

Because—and remember this, it’s as important as life and death—the camera never lies.

28

28

Monday 30th July 2018, 7:28 P.M.

26 The Avenue

The sky was a painting. Streaks of tangerine and gold. An underwash of rose. Yet it wasn’t the colors that interested him, but the clouds.

Fletcher Parnell kept a spiral-bound notebook and fountain pen in the pocket of his jeans for occasions such as this. He’d run up the stairs as soon as he’d heard the low thrum of the plane’s engine, hoping for a distrail, at the very least.

But he had not expected this.

A fallstreak hole.

He turned to a clean page in his book. Dated it. Noted the event’s precise location. Scratched the words onto the lines.

Cavum. Layers of altocumulus. Iridescence.

He took a photograph on his mobile phone and wished he hadn’t left his camera at work. He flipped back through the pages, checking through meticulously kept records.