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Back When I Was Ten Save as PDF
Chapters (79)
  1. Cover
  2. WHEN I WAS TEN
  3. Dedication page
  4. Epigraph page
  5. PROLOGUE
  6. PART ONE
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. PART TWO
  31. 24
  32. 25
  33. 26
  34. 27
  35. 28
  36. 29
  37. 30
  38. 31
  39. 32
  40. 33
  41. 34
  42. 35
  43. 36
  44. 37
  45. 38
  46. 39
  47. 40
  48. 41
  49. 42
  50. 43
  51. 44
  52. PART THREE
  53. 45
  54. 46
  55. 47
  56. 48
  57. 49
  58. 50
  59. 51
  60. 52
  61. 53
  62. 54
  63. 55
  64. 56
  65. 57
  66. 58
  67. 59
  68. 60
  69. 61
  70. 62
  71. 63
  72. 64
  73. 65
  74. 66
  75. 67
  76. 68
  77. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  78. WHEN I WAS TEN
  79. Also by Fiona Cummins

Just a note to keep you in the loop. Sara Carter has now been referred by Essex Police back to the UK Protected Persons Service (UKPPS) who will work closely with her to find her a new identity and rehome both her and her family in an undisclosed location (no longer in your constituency). Keep a low profile for a while, old chap. With a bit of luck, it’s a storm in a teacup and it will blow over in no time.

Supper soon?

Stanley

Geoffrey sat up straighter. This was good news. Great news, actually. Sara Carter and her family had gone to ground and were now out of the media spotlight for the foreseeable future.

He wasn’t terribly familiar with UKPPS, but he understood enough to know she wouldn’t be found by the press unless she wanted to be found. The police and National Crime Agency officers who worked inside the witness protection scheme went to great lengths to maintain the secrecy of their charges’ new homes. No one outside the scheme knew where they had moved to, and to prevent corrupt police officers from getting hold of this highly sensitive information and selling it on, separate computer systems were used.

As for the documentary, they would have released all their best material to the newspapers. Once it had been broadcast tonight, the story would die. He was almost home and dry.

He pushed aside his bowl of prunes. Diet be damned. Geoffrey Heathcote was going to celebrate with a Danish pastry.

I loved her so much. I still do. And she loved me. I forgave her a long time ago – I don’t think I ever blamed her – but now it is me who seeks absolution, for not being there when she needed me most.

For years and years, I’ve been looking for her, but with no success. When the documentary makers invited me to make a television programme, I only agreed because I hoped the publicity might lead us back to each other. But fate intervened. Now I have found you. We have found each other. Surely a gift from above.

Please don’t tell your mother and father yet. What a wonderful surprise it will be.

53

A gunshot rang out.

Catherine tried to run, her feet thundering against the pavement, but she was too slow. Her body became its own ballet, a staccato choreography of jerks and shudders as bullets tore through her chest cavity and spine and abdomen.

She collapsed to the concrete, her blood a running river, and she couldn’t breathe, she was drowning in it, and she swum up and up through layers of consciousness until she broke the surface, still thick with sleep.