The Role Model: A shocking psychological thriller with several twists by Daniel Hurst (big ebook reader txt) 📗

for,’ he says, eyeing me up and down as I stand before him, clutching my treats from the shop. ‘I’m talking about the lad that your mother has buried in the woods.’

22

HEATHER

It’s good to be home.

It’s even better to have a glass of wine in my hand.

I make my way into the living room, where I pick up the remote control and try to find something to watch on the TV that isn’t just another news report on poor Rupert. But it’s not easy. It’s that annoying window of time between six and seven o’clock in the evening which means nearly all the terrestrial channels are broadcasting the news. It wouldn’t be so much of a problem if my digi-box wasn’t on the blink again because then I would have had way more channels to choose from, but thankfully, I find some cooking show on BBC2, and that will have to do for now.

Anything but another report showing that picture of Rupert standing in front of the sea on a family holiday.

As I try to lose myself in the banality of a couple of C-List celebrities standing over a sizzling pan of meat, I am reminded of the fact that I’m sitting in the exact place where Tim died. While the carpet and sofa have changed since that fateful day, the memory of what happened here has not. I did consider moving not long after, but I had enough on my plate with raising Chloe, training for the police and trying to come to terms with the fact that I had killed a man to add a change of address to the equation. I figured I’d move a few years later, once I had settled into my new job and Chloe was a little older. But then there were all the reports of the housing market crash and how it wasn’t the right time to be moving, so I put it off and now here I am, still in this house that harbours a deadly secret. But if I’m honest with myself, there is another reason why I haven’t sold up and left this place behind, and I’m pretty sure it’s the determining one.

It’s because I feel that as long as I am the one living here, then my secret is safe.

I don’t know what it is, but I have this belief that allowing a stranger to buy this home and make it their own will somehow unleash its past into the public eye, and considering that I have gotten away with Tim’s death so far, I’m reluctant to tempt fate and change anything. I’m not sure if that means that I’m going to stay here forever, but maybe it does. I obviously have to take the secret of Tim’s fate to the grave, so I might as well live here until I go there too.

Of course, it’s not just the one secret that I have to take to the grave anymore. Rupert’s whereabouts is the second one, and it’s the thought of that which makes me worry again about Chloe. I called upstairs to her when I arrived home from work ten minutes ago, but she only responded with a muffled shout about revision, so I didn’t want to interrupt her. But the sound of her bedroom door opening lets me know that she might be coming to me for once now.

I hear her footsteps descending the staircase and turn around to see her, doing my best to put a little smile onto my face as if to say that everything is alright in the world, which of course, it is not. But then I see Chloe’s expression, and my false smile quickly fades. She looks troubled.

Even more so than she did on the night that Rupert died.

‘What’s wrong?’ I ask, grabbing the remote and switching off the cooking show.

Chloe says nothing as she slumps down onto the sofa beside me and stares blankly at the black TV screen in front of us, so I can only assume at this point, and my best guess would be that it has to do with what happened with Rupert.

It turns out it is.

But it’s much worse than I feared.

‘Somebody saw us,’ Chloe says, her voice low and her eyes still focused on the TV.

‘What?’

‘Somebody saw what happened to Rupert.’

I rack my brains for any way that could be true.

‘What are you talking about? Who saw us?’

‘Jimmy saw us.’

‘Who the hell is Jimmy?’

No answer.

‘Chloe. What are you talking about? This isn’t funny!’ I say although I am still hoping this is some kind of weird joke.

‘I know it’s not funny. It’s bad.’

That chilling response does nothing to ease my nerves, and I grab my daughter’s hand and force her to look at me.

‘Chloe, tell me what is going on. Right now!’

‘A man stopped me on the street earlier and said he knew what we did that night.’

‘How does he know that?’

‘He says he was in the park and saw your car turn up. He watched you walk over to me. And he saw you bury Rupert.’

I think back to that dreadful night in the park. It was obviously pitch black, but I was sure that no one else was around. There were no signs of anybody.

Then I remember the sound of the twig snapping in the woods.

Was that him?

Was that Jimmy?

‘What else did he say to you?’ I ask, trying to keep calm, although the grimace on my daughter’s face lets me know that I am squeezing her hand too tightly.

‘He says he wants you to meet him,’ Chloe replies, removing her hand from mine. ‘Tomorrow. At the same park. Five o’clock.’

‘I can’t do tomorrow. I’ll be at work.’

‘I don’t think it’s optional, Mum.’

Chloe still seems very calm despite what she is telling me, and I’m not sure why. If this is true, we are in serious trouble.

‘Why didn’t you tell me this earlier? You could have called me!’ I tell her.

‘I needed some time to think. I wasn’t sure if he