No Turning Back: The can’t-put-it-down thriller of the year. Tracy Buchanan

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ to remember over and over, ‘Look, you saved your daughter’s life. She’s here!’ But she still saw Elliot’s face, the awkward angle of the comb jutting from his neck, the blood and the gurgles, guilt piled upon guilt thanks to her mother and brother’s reactions.

      As she read Joni’s bedtime story to her, she wondered if Elliot’s mother used to do the same for him. Did she brush her nose against his soft hair like Anna did with Joni? Hold his warmth close, marvel at how lucky she was to have him?

      ‘Mama.’ Anna looked up to see Joni peering at her, her little brow creased.

      Anna forced a smile, kissing her forehead. ‘Okay, darling, bedtime.’ She lifted her into the travel cot that Florence had bought so Joni could stay there every now and again when Anna and Guy needed a break. Anna was still staying with her gran, not quite ready to return home yet. And Joni was still in with Anna, Anna not quite ready for her to be in a separate room.

      She flicked on her video monitor then stepped out of the room. Joni cried, lifting her arms out to her. She did this sometimes. Just when Anna thought she’d slipped into a good sleeping phase, Joni would throw a curveball and refuse to sleep. Anna hoped this was just one of her fussy sleeping phases, not a result of what she’d witnessed. Anna stroked her head, shushed her, watching as her eyes grew heavy again. Then she tiptoed downstairs.

      ‘Joni okay?’ Florence asked, delicious smells wafting in from her kitchen as she cooked the cockles Anna had collected that morning. Anna had learnt all she knew about cooking seafood from Florence, a skill passed down the generations.

      ‘Just a bit unsettled,’ Anna said.

      Florence tilted her head, examining her granddaughter’s face. ‘Are you okay?’

      ‘I keep thinking about something Elliot Nunn said before he tried to hurt us.’

      ‘What was that?’

      ‘“I won’t let you hurt me”. He was scared of me.’

      ‘Maybe you misheard him?

      Anna shook her head. ‘No. He definitely said it and it’s important, I just don’t know how. I can feel it in my gut.’

      Florence raised an eyebrow. ‘Your father used to say that when he was doing one of his investigations. Let the police do their job, darling, you’ve been through enough.’ Florence gestured towards the living room. ‘There’s a glass of wine waiting for you. Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes.’

      Anna squeezed her gran’s hand. ‘I’m so lucky to have you.’

      Florence’s face softened. ‘I’m always here for you, you know that.’ She gave Anna a big hug then went into the kitchen.

      Anna walked into the living room and sank onto the sofa, directing the fan towards her face as she stared out to sea. The sofa was positioned right next to the large folding doors that opened onto the veranda, offering a perfect view of the setting sun. The storm had held off and now the evening was warm, the sun a bright orange glow, reflected like fire in the sea. A couple strolled by hand in hand and Anna thought of how she used to walk along the beach with Guy on summer evenings. They even had picnics out there, Anna giddy from wine as she lay back, not caring about the sand in her hair as she stared up at the orange sky.

      As she thought that, an image of Elliot Nunn suddenly came to her, his dark hair filthy with sand, his eyes wide open as he stared oblivious towards a sky he’d never see again.

      Anna turned away from the sea and pulled her laptop out, resisting the temptation to open a browser and google herself. She’d know if her name was out by the calls and texts. She quickly clicked into her emails, saw one from the station’s PR manager about an interview request with the local newspaper. The radio station was going to try to push the ‘working mother’ angle to the media to raise Anna’s profile now she was back from maternity leave. Anna hadn’t been so keen. Her father had started to get a little publicity before he died because of his news reports and look what that had done to him. Better to just get on with the job, head down. That would all change once her name got out though. The station would be inundated with a new angle: child-killing local radio presenter.

      Anna looked at the name of the journalist who was requesting the interview. Yvonne Fry, a woman Anna had gone to school with, even been friends with until Yvonne had left to work for the local paper at just sixteen and they lost contact. Imagine what she would think when she found out Anna was the mother all over the news? Anna sighed and clicked into her emails. There was one from her friend Maxine inviting her and some other friends over for dinner the week after to discuss their plans for the village’s annual fireworks display in November. It seemed a long way off but Maxine liked to be organised. Anna stared at the email. It was so jolly, so innocent, talk of ‘wine on tap’ and ‘chocolate cake and chatter…unless the kids wake up, of course!’ Usually Anna would smile and reply with an instant ‘yes’. But what would life hold for her when her name got out? Could her friends forgive her for killing a local schoolboy?

      She ignored Maxine’s email, going to another one. The production assistant had forwarded on some listeners’ emails from the day before. They were all good, praising Anna for her return. There was even one from another mother who’d just returned from maternity leave herself and had found courage listening to Anna on the way into work.

      Anna felt a sense of grief for her life before all this. If this were a normal day, this email would have given her strength, made her feel it was all worth it. But now all it did was make her realise just how much everything would change. Could she still be an inspiration to women like this one with the death of a boy over her head?

      She clicked out of the email then she froze.

      There was an email in her inbox with the subject line ‘Elliot Nunn’.

      Impossible! Her name hadn’t been publicly connected to the case yet.

      Then she noticed the ‘from’ field: Ophelia Killer. A shudder of fear ran through her body.

      She quickly opened the email, fingers trembling.

       From: The Ophelia Killer

       To: Anna Graves

       Subject: Elliot Nunn

       Yes, I thought the subject line would catch your eye, Anna. Tell me, did he look beautiful when he died? Those blue eyes staring up into sheer nothingness, the pallor of his skin, that special silver veil that only comes with death.

       The blood, I wouldn’t have liked the blood. But still, one can’t be fussy. Maybe you took a photo? If so, please do send! I’m finding myself rather fascinated with this one, the boy’s potential for murder was rather appealing, wasn’t it? He was a bit naughty for targeting you while you had that pretty daughter of yours with you though…

       Take care now. TOK

      Anna barely breathed for a few seconds as she stared at the email. The Ophelia Killer had terrorised The Docks over one hot summer, killing seven teenage boys. But then the killings had abruptly stopped. Her father had investigated the murders, spending every spare minute he could looking into them. Then he’d killed himself, throwing himself from the lighthouse. Anna had always blamed his obsession with the killings for that.

      Was someone pretending СКАЧАТЬ