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

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 to be the notorious Ophelia Killer? It couldn’t be the real one, surely. Whoever it was, how did they know about Elliot? Was Anna’s name out? She quickly googled her name with trembling fingers. But the same old results came up: her website, her profile page on the Coast to Coast website, her Twitter profile, various articles. Nothing connecting her to Elliot Nunn’s death.

      Her eyes slipped to the last line of the email.

      …that pretty daughter of yours…

      She shoved the laptop off her knees and ran upstairs, relieved to see Joni sleeping soundly.

      ‘You okay, Anna?’ Florence called up to her.

      ‘Not really.’ Anna went back downstairs and showed Florence the email.

      A frown creased Florence’s head. ‘The Ophelia Killer? I don’t understand.’

      ‘Me neither. I ought to call the police.’

      Anna called the number Detective Morgan had given her. He answered on the first ring.

      ‘Your name must be getting out,’ he said straight after she told him about the email. ‘It’ll be a nutter.’

      ‘No, I googled myself, no one’s connecting me to the death yet.’

      ‘Forward the email to me,’ he said. ‘I’ll get someone to look at it.’

      ‘Is there any chance we can we get some protection, maybe one officer? When I send the email, you’ll notice the last line mentions Joni, it made me feel uncomfortable.’

      ‘Of course, we’ll get a car to sit outside. You’re still at your grandmother’s?’

      ‘Yes. Thank you so much, Detective Morgan.’

      ‘No problem, Anna. Anything else I can help you with?’

      She peered out towards the angry sea. ‘Do you know yet why Elliot might