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The Killer Inside
Cass Green
‘Dark, twisty and menacing, I couldn't put it down!’ Roz Watkins You love me. But do you really know me? The gripping new thriller from the Sunday Times bestseller A perfect childhoodYou were the golden girl. The apple of your parents’ eyes. My beautiful, clever wife. A perfect marriageI would do anything for you. But some things about me must stay hidden. A perfect liarOne summer afternoon, it all begins to unravel. Because I’m not the only one with terrible secrets to hide. And when the truth comes out, it seems we both have blood on our hands… ‘So complex, so twisty, so compelling’ Rachel Abbott ‘A compulsive, addictive read, cast with unnerving characters and a premise that packs a real emotional punch’ Lucy Clarke
THE KILLER INSIDE
Cass Green
Copyright (#u46b24a53-b552-5625-ba96-a036c6ddda74)
HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019
Copyright © Caroline Green 2019
Caroline Green asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
Cover design by Sim Greenaway © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019
Cover photographs © Stephen Mulcahey/Arcangel Images, Shutterstock.com (http://www.Shutterstock.com)
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
This is entirely a work of fiction. Any references to real people, living or dead, real events, businesses, organizations and localities are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. All names, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and their resemblance, if any, to real-life counterparts is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books
Source ISBN: 9780008287245
Ebook Edition © SEPTEMBER 2010 ISBN: 9780008287252
Version: 2019-07-29
Dedication (#u46b24a53-b552-5625-ba96-a036c6ddda74)
Dedicated to The Sibs: Helenanne Hansen and Charlie Green
Contents
Cover (#u60df5f98-337b-508f-afd1-e32f99d2a429)
Title Page (#ue99d944e-64f1-5838-a003-8850b90bfbb5)
Copyright
Dedication
Summer 2019
Summer/Autumn 2018: Elliott
Elliott
Irene
Elliott
Irene
Elliott
Elliott
Irene
Elliott
Elliott
Elliott
Elliott
Irene
Elliott
Irene
Elliott
Elliott
Irene
Elliott
Irene
Elliott
Elliott
Elliott
Elliott
Elliott
Irene
Elliott
Irene
Elliott
Spring 2003: Liam
Autumn 2018: Elliott
Irene
Summer 2003: Liam
Autumn 2018: Elliott
Irene
Elliott
Elliott
Elliott
Elliott
Winter 2018: Elliott
Autumn 2003: Liam
Summer 2019: Elliott
Autumn 2003: Liam
Summer 2019: Irene
Elliott
Elliott
Summer 2019: Liam
Elliott
Elliott
Spring 2021: Irene
Elliott
Acknowledgements
Keep Reading …
About the Author
Also by Cass Green
About the Publisher
SUMMER 2019 (#u46b24a53-b552-5625-ba96-a036c6ddda74)
There are three people alive inside the whitewashed family home at one pm on this sunny afternoon in late July. And because not much happens on this quiet road in this quiet seaside town, the first gunshot could perhaps be mistaken for a misfiring exhaust.
But at this time of the afternoon, there is only a young man walking an elderly West Highland terrier on the road and he is lost in the music pumping through high-end, noise-cancelling headphones. Oblivious to the shriek of the seagulls and the rhythmic smash of surf against rock, he doesn’t hear the sharp retort of the gun or the screaming in its aftermath either.
By the time the second shot comes – at 1.34 pm – he is long gone. The only witness to the violence is a seagull perched on the back wall, which tumbles into the air in outrage at the sound.
It is less than a minute later when the gun fires for the third time.
SUMMER/AUTUMN 2018 (#u46b24a53-b552-5625-ba96-a036c6ddda74)
ELLIOTT (#u46b24a53-b552-5625-ba96-a036c6ddda74)
That festival was a big deal in our part of the world.
Just up the road from the seaside town we called home, the End of the Summer event was usually a low-key, family-run affair with a number of acts you’ve probably never heard of.
But this year was very different. For some complicated reason involving a favour by Dave Grohl, The Foo Fighters – one of the biggest bands in the world – were headlining. The band is the mutual favourite of me and my wife Anya and as soon as I heard about it, I knew we had to be there.
Tickets went on sale at nine am on a day in June, when my Year Five class was doing guided reading, followed by maths. I told them they were going to watch Planet Earth as a treat for being good (not true – they had been little bastards the day before) while I endlessly pressed redial on my phone with one hand, the other attempting to access ever-crashing ticket websites on the school computer. When it got to ten am I had to stop briefly to let the class out to play, before racing to the staffroom to continue.
When I got the automated message telling me, with totally unwarranted cheerfulness, that, ‘Due to exceptional demand, tickets to the End of the Summer festival are now sold out,’ I said, ‘Bollocks,’ loud enough and with sufficient heat that some of the older guard in the staffroom gave me pinched looks.
But then, the weekend before the event, a miracle occurred.
My friend at work, Zoe, knew someone roadying, and she was able to get her hands on two extra tickets; one for me, and one for Anya.
We were ecstatic. It was the very last weekend before the schools were back and it felt like a perfect way to end the summer.
And anyway, Anya needed cheering up.
