Don’t Trust Me: The best psychological thriller debut you will read in 2018. Joss Stirling

Chapter 22

      

       Chapter 23

      

       Chapter 24

      

       Chapter 25

      

       Chapter 26

      

       Chapter 27

      

       Chapter 28

      

       Chapter 29

      

       Chapter 30

      

       Chapter 31

      

       Chapter 32

      

       Chapter 33

      

       Chapter 34

      

       Chapter 35

      

       Chapter 36

      

       Chapter 37

      

       Chapter 38

      

       Chapter 39

      

       Chapter 40

      

       Chapter 41

      

       Chapter 42

      

       Chapter 43

      

       Chapter 44

      

       Chapter 45

      

       Chapter 46

      

       Chapter 47

      

       Chapter 48

      

       Chapter 49

      

       Chapter 50

      

       Acknowledgements

      

       About the Author

       About Killer Reads

       Prologue

      The door closed on the man lying broken at the foot of the stairs. Life hadn’t yet left him – a twitch of a finger, a shallow lift of the ribs, betraying that there was hope if help got there in time.

      But it wouldn’t, would it?

      Walking with unhurried steps down the suburban street despite a racing heart, the killer felt that congratulations were in order. Thinking fast on your feet was a trait to be regarded with a certain pride. It had come into its own just a short time ago when it became clear something had to be done. His madness had to be stopped.

      The act was self-defence really, when you thought about it.

      Oh yes, there were plenty of excuses to be made.

      A wild glee bubbled up which had to be hidden from other people out and about enjoying a London summer’s evening. An innocent face was such an asset. Glimpsing the families lingering in shadowy gardens, citronella candles lit to deter the mosquitoes, memories of childhood games stirred. Candlestick in the conservatory by Mrs Peacock? No, no, that was a stab in the dark. Rope in the library, Professor Plum? Really, was that the best you could do? Lead pipe in the kitchen, Colonel Mustard? Warmer. The police would be left guessing like inept players when they found him – that’s if they even suspected a crime had taken place. Underestimated by everyone, the killer knew how not to leave too many traces. The scene was staged correctly. Justice done. Time to fade into the background, just one among the many passers-by. Just look at them. Any one of them, under the right conditions, might also take a cast-iron pan to the back of someone’s head and end a life.

       Chapter 1

       Jessica, 7th August 2016

      ‘I’m leaving.’

      We have barely just walked through the door when Michael makes his declaration. I’m still standing in my holiday T-shirt and shorts, cradling the duty-free bought at the end of our week in Minorca. Our bedroom is scattered with a week’s worth of dirty clothes and he is already repacking his suitcase.

      ‘What? Leaving leaving, or just leaving?’ I ask, mesmerised as he transfers ironed shirts from the wardrobe to his carry-on. It’s like he’s become a whole different person after the holiday wear got dumped. Back to business. Item one: deal with errant girlfriend.

      He pauses, hand arrested in choosing the right tie. ‘I’ll stay overnight at Gatwick. I don’t want to disturb you by having a taxi fetch me at five.’

      And I’m not disturbed now with this sudden departure? ‘Oh, so just leaving. I see. I thought, after… you know… it might be hasta la vista, baby.’ I give a hiccup of laughter and unscrew the top of the lime-green liqueur I bought on impulse at the airport. I take a swig.

      ‘Jessica! I