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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
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  32. 27
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  52. 47
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  54. 49
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  113. 108
  114. 109
  115. 110
  116. Teaser chapter
  117. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Wildeve’s stomach plunged. He was a proud man, a respected police officer with a varied and decorated career, and she had offended him.

“Where are you going?” she said, a dark hole about to swallow her up.

“Can’t conduct interviews in this T-shirt,” said Mac, holding out his hand to her and pulling her up from her seat.

They walked back to the parking lot together. “A couple of ground rules, Wildeve. No breaking the law. No obstructing justice. We operate under the radar and we give anything we get to the team. Got it?”

“Yes, guv.”

“And one other thing.”

“Yes, guv?”

“Call me Mac.”

52

52

Now

What is the opposite of a crime of passion? A crime of apathy? Indifference? Of calm?

My belief is that death should never be inflicted from inside the blinding mists of fury or because of a lack of control. It is much more deserving than that. Planning and preparation are required. As little mess as possible. A method that is meticulous both in execution and aftermath.

The research was less difficult than I had anticipated.

Three of them still lived in this town. They were easy to find, even though two had married. Internet searches. Public social media accounts. A list of friends and followers—husbands, brothers, sisters, mothers—helped me to identify them. It never ceases to surprise me how much of their lives people choose to give away. Photographs of their houses or new cars, children in school uniforms, detailed plans for the evening, a window into their lives for a motivated stranger.

One lived in London but made regular visits home.

It was easy.

If I was forced to make a guess, I would say the sirens will be passing Mayflower Road in approximately one minute. My suitcase is packed; the keys are in my pocket. I could run. I could go now and they would not find me.

Stop and smell the roses.

A favorite phrase of Birdie’s. I have tried to live by that adage, to fill my home and my heart with the scent of flowers. To sweeten the bitterness of what I have lost.

It is fitting that Natalie Tiernan was the first. First through the shop door. First to find Birdie. First to die.

Little Tallie. Except she was not so little anymore. Thirty-eight years old, a mother and a wife.

As I had brushed her hair in the shadow of the trees, the cursing of the birds filling the silence, I smiled at the sight of the silken strands, as golden as her five-year-old self’s.

53

53

Tuesday 31st July 2018, 1:15 P.M.

18 The Avenue

Four porcelain dolls were hanging upside down by their pretty ankles from a light fixture inside Trefor Lovell’s workroom at the back of the shop.