Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 91373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
I poured myself a whisky and sat down on the couch with my laptop and exhaled slowly before opening the file. My stomach churned as I read the scanned letters in chronological order. The first few praised and marveled at how I’d brought his story to life on-screen. Though he never signed the letters, I thought of him as Quinn Gray. He shared how he’d been raised by his father and stepmother after his mother committed suicide in front of him when he was seven years old. The similarity to Gray’s story and Charlie King’s was uncanny and alarming. Charlie hung his victims after he murdered them because his mother hung herself. All his victims looked like his mum.
I shuddered, rubbing at my tired eyes, before continuing. The letters began to read like a son seeking approval.
I know only you can understand these dark desires that drive me. Somehow you know me. You sent Charlie to me as a message. Charlie and I are one and the same. I am Charlie. And you give me permission. You give me permission to do the things I need to do, things other people will never understand.
Nausea swarmed in my gut, guilt rising as I reached a letter that coincided with the first murder.
Father, I did it. I unleashed this driving need inside me. And it was glorious. She got what she deserved, and my soul fed on her. But it’s opened up a yawning hunger I can’t ignore. I need more. Tell me you understand.
“Fuck,” I bit out, and then my heart raced faster at his next letter.
I thought you approved, but you’re nowhere in sight. Don’t you see what I’m doing? Why aren’t you speaking up? Why aren’t you telling the world that I’m just doing what you said I should do?
And the last letter:
You bastard, you’ve left me. You’ve left me just like him. And for a woman? I should have known. Well, I won’t stop. I can’t stop. And you will know how very disappointed I am in you.
Understanding dawned in a sudden and terrifying realization.
No.
I scrolled back up.
Father, I did it.
“No, no, no.” My chest tightened as I scrolled to the last letter. And for a woman?
Lunging off the couch, my laptop crashed to the floor but I ignored it, racing for the kitchen counter where I’d left my phone. My fingers trembled as I hit Sarah’s number.
Fear made my breaths shallow as her phone went straight to voicemail.
“Fuck!” I yelled, hanging up but only to hit DCI English’s number. The phone rang as I grabbed my keys and jacket, throwing myself out the door.
The detective chief inspector picked up on the seventh ring. “Cavendish?”
“He’s coming for me and Sarah,” I panted, hurrying down the stairs. “In one of his letters, he referred to me as ‘Father.’ The letters read like a son seeking approval. And when I didn’t publicly talk about the similarities of his murders to King’s Valley, he got angry. He says ‘You’ve left me just like him. And for a woman.’ I think he’s referring to his father and stepmother. And he’s most definitely referring to me and Sarah. We’re his alternative. He’s coming after me and Sarah. She’s at the Lute, a bar near Charing Cross. I’m on my way now.”
“I … Oh, okay. I have to get my team to look at this, Cavendish.”
“We don’t have bloody time!” I bawled, racing down the street, searching for a cab.
“She’s in a public place. Sarah will be fine. Let my team look at this, and I’ll be in contact.”
“Fuck!” I hung up on him in a rage and threw my hand in the air at the sight of a black cab with its light on. It pulled over and I dove inside. “The Lute. And I’ll pay you double to get me there in half the time.”
Thirty-Five
SARAH
“You should really think about doing Rise and Shine Britain, Sarah.” Liz waved a perfectly manicured hand. Everything about Liz was immaculate and classy. She wore a chartreuse green silk shirt that looked stunning against her dark umber skin. Her high-waisted pencil skirt was black, but her stilettos were a matching chartreuse. Her dark braids were swept up in an intricate bun and she wore delicate gold rings on every finger. She had a similar style to Aria. And like Aria, Liz was brisk and businesslike but warm and friendly too. “You’ve got something about you, Sarah. People will love you on interview. I can tell.”
We’d spent the last two hours sipping cocktails and talking about work, our lives, and my plans for Juno. What was next after Juno. Now we’d circled back to the interviews my publishers wanted me to do.
“As much as I appreciate that, I am not ready to do national television.” I blushed just thinking about it. “I admit I’ve come a long way in confidence these past few months, but I didn’t miraculously change overnight.”