Back The Killer Inside Save as PDF
Chapters (61)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. SUMMER 2019
  4. SUMMER/AUTUMN 2018
  5. ELLIOTT
  6. IRENE
  7. ELLIOTT
  8. IRENE
  9. ELLIOTT
  10. ELLIOTT
  11. IRENE
  12. ELLIOTT
  13. ELLIOTT
  14. ELLIOTT
  15. ELLIOTT
  16. IRENE
  17. ELLIOTT
  18. IRENE
  19. ELLIOTT
  20. ELLIOTT
  21. IRENE
  22. ELLIOTT
  23. IRENE
  24. ELLIOTT
  25. ELLIOTT
  26. ELLIOTT
  27. ELLIOTT
  28. ELLIOTT
  29. IRENE
  30. ELLIOTT
  31. IRENE
  32. ELLIOTT
  33. SPRING 2003
  34. AUTUMN 2018
  35. IRENE
  36. SUMMER 2003
  37. AUTUMN 2018
  38. IRENE
  39. ELLIOTT
  40. ELLIOTT
  41. ELLIOTT
  42. ELLIOTT
  43. WINTER 2018
  44. AUTUMN 2003
  45. SUMMER 2019
  46. AUTUMN 2003
  47. SUMMER 2019
  48. ELLIOTT
  49. ELLIOTT
  50. SUMMER 2019
  51. ELLIOTT
  52. ELLIOTT
  53. SPRING 2021
  54. ELLIOTT
  55. Acknowledgements
  56. Keep Reading …
  57. 1
  58. Enjoy another psychological thriller from Cass Green …
  59. About the Author
  60. Also by Cass Green
  61. About the Publisher

She finished the letter and then looked up at me, a little expectantly.

‘There’s something else in the envelope,’ I said and she frowned, before looking inside and then pulling out the piece of photo strip.

Her face was impassive as she looked down at it, then back up at me.

‘Why did you go to Cambridge?’ she said again, very quietly.

I got to my feet, suddenly unable to be still a moment longer.

‘Because that man is dead!’ I was shouting now. ‘We should have told the police. And you obviously knew this Liam better than you told me you did!’ I was becoming so het up that I wasn’t even speaking in grammatical sentences now. ‘I don’t think you’ve told me the whole story!’

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the piece of printer paper that was folded there. I had easily found the news story from the Cambridge newspaper that Irene had shown me.

I handed it to her.

‘And I have a strong feeling it has something to do with this.’

Can you imagine what it was like for a mother?

Seeing those small finger-shaped marks in the peanut butter and understanding what they meant?

It was hours later. Anya was tucked up in bed, exhausted after all the excitement then trauma of her party. All the other parents had left shortly after the ambulance took Dylan away. Patrick and I had almost finished clearing up all the mess from the party.

The sight of that little boy’s face – the terrible flushing of his skin and the terror in his eyes as his throat closed over – kept running through my mind. Thank God he got to the hospital in time. I can’t even bear to think about … if he hadn’t.

Anyway, I was desperate for a gin and tonic. The bottle of gin was in the larder, a space used as an overspill area for storage at the back of the kitchen. The peanut butter jar had been put precariously on a shelf near the door, not in its usual space.

But here’s the thing: because I was so worried about any possible contamination, I had locked the larder with the tiny key that we’d never had any reason to use before, just to prevent anyone prowling for any extra snacks that weren’t on the approved list.