Her Perfect Life: A gripping debut psychological thriller with a killer twist. Sam Hepburn

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      How could anyone read a message like that and not search their past for an unpunished crime: a casual cruelty inflicted in a long-forgotten playground, the spurning of a lover, the blunt rejection of a grating, over-eager job applicant? She is guilty, she knows, of all these sins and more. Which is why the word deserve stays with her. Not you will die or you must die but you deserve to die as if, as those latex-gloved fingers typed the words and folded the note into the envelope, they were acting as agents of justice, disclosing a truth which Gracie’s own conscience was refusing to accept.

      ‘I can’t think of anyone I’ve hurt deliberately but there’s obviously someone out there who thinks otherwise.’

      ‘Anyone you’ve had problems with recently?’

      I could shout it out, she thinks. Tell him everything: Yes, Inspector, there’s a girl my husband slept with who wants to destroy my marriage. But that’s not the line that she and Tom have agreed. She hunches forward, sliding her hands between her knees like a nervous child. ‘No.’

      That look again, as if she is a specimen in a jar. ‘Anyone who’s come back into your life after a prolonged absence?’

      ‘Not that I can think of.’

      He studies the file. ‘I see from the notes that these packages began soon after you moved into this house, then suddenly stopped about six months ago.’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Reeves thought the lull could be due to the culprit going to prison for another crime.’

      He doesn’t volunteer what kind of crime Reeves thought that might be and Gracie, probably sensibly, doesn’t ask. He says hurriedly, ‘Personally, I think he’s wrong. Apart from this fixation with you I think your stalker probably behaves like a normal, law-abiding citizen.’

      ‘Why do you think that?’

      ‘Just a gut feeling, Ms Dwyer.’

      Gracie’s fingers pull at the edge of her shirt. ‘What else does your gut tell you?’

      ‘Given the objects they pick, I think it could well be a woman, or a man and a woman working together.’

      ‘So why would they suddenly stop?’

      ‘Maybe they didn’t.’

      ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘Not making contact for a while might be part of the power game. A ploy to keep you on edge, not knowing when, or if, it’s all going to start up again. Likewise the switch in packaging – trying to keep you guessing. I’ve seen this kind of thing before, stalkers who suddenly change their tactics to deny their target any sort of certainty. Now, have you got those names for me?’

      Gracie fetches a printout from the countertop. She points to the two neatly typed lists and says in a small voice, ‘These are the people who were at the shoot and these are the ones who came to the house. I’ve marked everybody who’s been interviewed before.’

      He raises an eyebrow, impressed by her efficiency. Gracie carries her mug to the sink and looks out across the river as she rinses away the coffee dregs. ‘They’re mostly other nannies that Heather’s had round after school.’

      ‘Heather … that’s your nanny, Heather Patterson?’

      ‘She’s been with us for three years. She’s totally trustworthy.’

      ‘And your husband?’

      ‘My husband?’ No, Inspector. My husband is not trustworthy.

      ‘Did he have people round while you were away?’

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