Page 61 of Death Kiss

A flash of pink glitter.

Oh god.

It takes minutes before I can force myself to continue, my pulse thudding in my throat as tears prick.

The pink gives way to a small shoe covered in sparkles and unicorns. And it’s not just a shoe. The shoe leads to an ankle. Purpling and dark with decomposition.

‘Fuck,’ I cry, covering my mouth as the smell hits. Grief strikes me as realisation hits. It’s not just an abuse ring. It’s murder.

Suddenly I can see exactly why the killer did what they did to the men inside. And these are the families they meant.

The people who need closure.

My story might make my career, but it will devastate so many lives.

I sit there, next to the poor little foot, for so long that I lose track of time.

The sun is cresting the sky by the time I trudge back to my car. I need to go thoroughly hide my camera and the physical photograph. When I come back, I’m going to call the local police station directly. I need someone else to see this before Ashworth gets his despicable mitts into it.

TWENTY-SEVEN

KAT

Ellie bursts into the flat in a cacophony of noise.

‘Calm down,’ she tells Reggie, peering inside the carrier she holds as the cat lets out an almighty yowl.

I grip my bowl of cereal tighter in the kitchen, knowing that while it’s been three days since we killed Hugh and Gregory, my face still reads like a map of punches.

‘Don’t be so dramatic,’ Ellie says, placing the carrier on the sofa and opening it. Reggie steps out before turning and glaring at her. If cats could use laser eyes, Ellie would be incinerated.

There’s no chance at peace, though. Hamish, as we’ve named the scruffy little sausage dog after wanting one for so many years, comes trotting into the sitting room and straight over to the couch. He can’t jump up there on his own, so Reggie watches him with disgust, his back arching.

Hamish doesn’t bark. He just sits and watches Reggie, looking both confused and delighted at this new development.

Ellie melts down onto the floor. ‘Well, hello. Who are you?’

Hamish is in her lap in a second, licking her cheek.

‘His name is Hamish.’

Ellie talks to the dog in a baby voice, which seems to excite him. ‘And where on earth did you find a cute little Hamish between Saturday and now?’

Oh, you know, I stole him from a pedophilic murderer whom I killed.

‘He just kept showing up. We had him scanned, but no registered owner.’ I hate lying to her, but the truth is somewhat criminal.

‘He’s so sweet.’

‘Yes, but he also seems to be short of a few brain cells. It’s endearing, but he’s fallen off the bed countless times already.’

I’m dreading her looking at me. My bruises have turned into a mixture of dark red and that horrible yellowy green. A long top hides most of them, but not the ones on my face.

Hamish flops over in her lap, demanding belly rubs. Reggie gives a final hiss and darts along the back of the sofa, making for his room. Giving a yip of excitement, Hamish goes after him, dancing around the bed while Reggie lies down. Content that the dog can’t get up, Reggie sets about having a bath.

When I turn back round, I notice Ellie staring.

‘Jesus, Kat. What the hell happened to your face?’