It was a thought that beggared belief. How the hell was I going to be able to test that theory? And what if I was wrong? I’d look like an utter twat to my work colleagues – yet another wild theory from the interloper. And as for the Kershaws, accusations like that could ruin lives, and these were people I knew and loved.

But what if I was right? The more I thought about it, the more the critical pieces fitted together, and the final scene was becoming clear, like one of those Wasgij puzzles where you looked back at the picture from the opposite viewpoint. Had I been unwittingly living with a killer? A killer whose practices appeared to be escalating and, if the most recent death was anything to go by, was tidying up loose ends? But was it loose ends, or was it something worse? If he had killed Cameron Ellison with the rather extreme and misguided aim of helping my situation, then that was not part of a master plan months in the making; it was less disciplined and more spur of the moment, warped and reactionary. It was more the action of someone losing patience, or self-control, and in a strange kind of a way, it was almost brazen. Did he feel he had nothing to lose? Or had it become a sick kind of a sport: he was challenging me to join the dots and uncover him as the clever killer he thought he was? Whether Phil was getting cocky, or losing control, either way it made for one hell of a deadly man.

Involuntarily my body took a sharp intake of breath. There were others who could get caught up in the crossfire, who could be in immediate danger.

Maggie was home this morning.

Shit.

65

‘Come on, come on, pick up, Maggie.’ I paced up and down as time warped and elongated the spaces between the rings. Finally, she picked up. I had to play this calm, for everyone’s sake.

‘Hello?’

‘Maggs, it’s, me. Don’t say my name. Are you home? Is Uncle Phil there with you? Just say yes if he is.’

‘No, I’m not at home, I’m down at uni.’ Relief flooded through my body and I flopped back into my chair. ‘What’s this about? What’s going on Sam?’

‘I can’t explain why right now, but I’ve got this awful feeling that your Uncle Phil is our killer. Too many things point that way, seem to add up. And you know that car guy, the stalker guy I told you about last night? I told Phil yesterday too, and he turned up dead this morning.’

‘Fuck.’

‘I know it sounds far-fetched, and you’ll tell me I’m mad but—’

‘No, not that, yes, I mean that too but, I mean fuck, Sam. Your mother was still at home when I left.’