He never meant to hurt anyone.

He just had a compulsion.

My stomach turned. ‘Just a compulsion’? Just who had he hurt? Had he hurt my Heidi? Was that why she seemed broken when she was around him? It would explain so much. How vulnerable she could be. How it had taken her a long time to start a physical relationship with me. My poor Heidi. And who else? Ciara? Unknown girls. Young girls. Just how young?

My mind flitted to my daughter. My innocent, beautiful daughter. Had he ever been alone with her? Had he changed her? I almost couldn’t breathe for thinking about it. I knew he had held her. I knew there were pictures of him, smiling at the camera. His creepy grin. And my child.

Something in me snapped as I closed his diary and looked at him there, the mouth slack, minute foamy bubbles forming on his lips.

I made a decision then, you see. I could’ve saved him, maybe. I could’ve called for help, but I didn’t. I sat and watched as those short, gasping breaths drew further and further apart, the odd gurgle growing quieter. I sat and wished he was at least conscious so I could tell him what a bastard he was. I hoped he knew he was dying. That he felt the struggle for every one of those short, shallow breaths. I hoped he felt fear. I hoped he felt pain. I hoped he knew I was there beside him, but there was no way I was going to help him. I hoped he felt as powerless as his victims had. Joe McKee, man of the people. Disgusting paedophile.

I waited until he was silent. Until there was no hope for him. I let him die.

The enormity of my actions, or my lack of action, hit me quickly. I was shocked, horrified at myself. Yes, he deserved to die, but was I now just as bad as him? Was I now a killer?

I lifted the diary and slipped it into the drawer of his locker. I’d deal with it later. Once I figured out how to talk to Heidi about it all. If she told me what I was now sure was true, if she confirmed what he had done, I could maybe find some way to justify it to myself. To live with it.

Of course, when I went back to look at the diary the next day, it was gone. Funeral arrangements were being made and I got swept up in it all. I tried to find the right time to tell Heidi, but is there ever a right time?

Then the police said it was murder and the crushing reality of the situation swept over me. I vowed I’d tell them the truth and I tried, I really tried, to find the courage to tell them. But then when they said he had been suffocated, I’d almost been sick. If I spoke up then, told them no, that he’d taken ill, and I’d just not called for help, they’d have no reason to believe me. Especially as I’d said nothing before.