No Turning Back: The can’t-put-it-down thriller of the year. Tracy Buchanan
blinking up at the setting sun. She hadn’t walked outside alone since what happened and her heart hammered at the thought.
She put her hand back on the door handle. Maybe Florence was right? Anyway, what exactly did she think she’d achieve going to see Ben Miller?
But then her fingers slipped from the handle and she found herself walking to the newsagents. It was just a couple of minutes away, right next to the greengrocers and facing the sea. She saw the headline scream out at her from the placard outside: ‘Dead boy’s father is known criminal.’ Anna shuddered and lowered her head, quickly walking into the newsagents.
She was relieved to see it was empty inside apart from Ben Miller who was bopping along to some music as he filled up the shelves, his dark fringe bouncing in his eyes, the smart red shirt he wore for work creased. A fan behind him lifted the edges of the newspapers nearby, Elliot’s face on every one of them.
Anna took her sunglasses off. ‘Hi, Ben,’ she said, trying to keep her voice normal.
He peered up and smiled. ‘Oh, hello, Mrs Graves. How’s Joni?’
She smiled. ‘Joni’s good.’
He’d always been so polite, so sweet. His father was a good man, trying his best for his two sons by working hard. His eldest son had been in trouble with the police. But Ben had kept on the straight and narrow, working at the shop, keeping his head down with his studies, even helping the community centre out every now and again. He’d once confided in Anna during one of those events that he wanted to leave Ridgmont Waters. That was the way it was with the kids who lived on the coast. While ‘inlanders’, as the villagers referred to people inland, were desperate to flock to the sea in the summer, if you’d lived there all your life, you were desperate to get away. All you saw was the way the salt air rotted the houses, how the harsh winters gobbled up any free time, how if the wind was in the wrong direction, the village could stink of dead fish and seaweed.
Anna hadn’t been like most kids though. Her father used to say the sea ran through her veins. She loved it there and couldn’t imagine leaving.
Until now. Maybe she’d have no choice when her name got out?
‘How are you?’ Anna asked Ben now, grabbing some milk.
His face flickered with sadness. ‘All right, I suppose,’ he said as he walked around the counter
‘Did you know Elliot Nunn?’ she asked softly, her heart thudding in her ears. She knew how strange and maybe wrong this conversation would seem to Ben once news of Anna got out. But this might be her only chance to talk to him.
Ben flinched. ‘Yeah, he was my mate.’
‘I’m really sorry, Ben.’
He shrugged. ‘That’s okay.’
‘Do you think Elliot meant to hurt the woman and her baby?’ Anna asked, trying to be casual as she dug around in her purse for some money.
Ben frowned. ‘No, Elliot wasn’t like that.’
She peered up at Ben. ‘Not violent?’
‘No way! Not until the other day anyway. I mean his family…’ He peered over Anna’s shoulder then lowered his voice. ‘They’re a bit dodgy, everyone’s scared of his brother. But not Elliot.’
‘That event I went to in the spring, the Easter digathon? Was Elliot there?’
‘Yeah, I think he was actually.’
Anna handed her money over. ‘So he did go to some of the community centre events then?’
‘Sometimes, if his dad let him.’
‘Why wouldn’t his dad let him?’
‘Says it’s for Nancy boys.’
Anna couldn’t help rolling her eyes. ‘That’s silly.’
‘Yeah, he’s an idiot, Mr Nunn is.’ His eyes widened, fear filling them. ‘But don’t tell him I said that!’
‘I won’t, don’t worry. Thanks, Ben. Take care, okay?’ She looked him in the eyes and smiled, trying to somehow show him she was a good person, that she didn’t mean to kill his friend even though he didn’t yet know she had. Then she left the newsagents, the door swinging shut behind her.
‘You got milk?’ Florence asked with a frown when Anna stepped inside a couple of minutes later.
‘Yes.’
‘We don’t need milk.’
Anna popped it in the fridge. ‘You can never have too much milk.’
Florence crossed her arms. ‘Anna, what’s going on?’
Anna sighed. Her gran knew her so well. ‘I went to talk to Ben Miller.’
Florence’s eyes widened. ‘Why on earth would you do that?’
‘I just don’t think Elliot trying to hurt me and Joni was random.’
‘Well no, poppet, he was probably stalking you like Inspector Morgan said.’
‘He wasn’t, I just know he wasn’t. But I think I know why he recognised me. He went to some of the community centre events, he must have seen me there.’
Florence shook her head. ‘Do you realise how risky it was to talk to Ben Miller like that?’
‘Why? He doesn’t know it’s me.’
‘But he might put two and two together, tell someone you’re staying here.’
‘He won’t, trust me.’ Anna walked up to Florence, holding her hands. ‘I’m fine, Gran. It was just a quick chat.’
Florence sighed. ‘I’m just so worried.’
Anna looked into her eyes. She hadn’t considered the strain this would put her gran under too.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said softly. ‘I don’t like worrying you.’
Florence stroked her cheek. ‘Please let the police do their job, poppet. I don’t want any more harm coming to my two girls.’
‘Okay,’ Anna said. ‘I promise.’
But as she did the washing up later, staring out towards the dark sea while Florence put the rubbish out, she felt a stirring in her tummy. Is this how her father had felt before he started investigating the Ophelia Killings?
Anna thought back to that summer. It had been hot just like this one. Anna remembered how excited she and Leo had been when their parents had dragged a blow-up pool into the apartment-block gardens for them to cool down in. They’d spent days splashing about and giggling. But then suddenly it all stopped, they weren’t allowed outside.
As the summer wore on and police sirens became a familiar background noise to her life, Anna began to understand why. She started to glean more about what was going on in her town: teenage boys from The Docks were being killed, all found drowned in their garden ponds surrounded by beautiful flowers, just like Ophelia from Hamlet. When Leo grew scared, Anna played the adult despite being two years younger than him, telling him they’d be safe, that the killer wouldn’t get them because they lived in the ‘good bit of town’. He would have nightmares about the murders though, waking in the night screaming. But Anna grew fascinated, following her father around whenever he was home, asking questions about the case, which he refused to answer.
‘You’re too young, darling,’ he’d say, brushing her cheek with his finger as he smiled at her. ‘Now go play with your Barbies, isn’t that what little girls like you are supposed to do?’
But that wasn’t what Anna wanted at all. She wanted to be like her father. So one night, four months after the first victim was found, as summer began to fade, Anna got into her father’s study while he slept and found a photo of one of the victims on his desk, an image that still