‘I’ll testify,’ Becca said, ‘if it happens. I know I already told you that. People need to know what he is, even if it’s not a criminal trial, not real justice.’

Justice. The word that always tripped Pip up, brought the blood out on her hands. That word was her prison, her cage. One glance down and yes, there Stanley was, bleeding out across her hands. She could talk to Becca about him if she wanted to, someone else who knew him as more than Child Brunswick. Becca and Stanley had even gone out twice before deciding to just be friends. Becca could listen, even if she couldn’t understand. But, no, Pip didn’t have time for that, not now.

‘Becca, um, I’m...’ she began, unsteadily. ‘I actually needed to ask you something. Quite urgent. I mean, it’s not going to sound urgent. But it is. It’s important but I can’t really explain why to you, not on the phone.’

‘OK,’ Becca said, some of the shine gone from her voice. ‘Are you OK?’

‘Yes, fine,’ Pip replied. ‘It’s just, well, I need to know what Andie called her first hamster.’

Becca snorted, taken aback. ‘What?’

‘It’s... it’s a security question. Do you remember what she called her first hamster?’

‘A security question for what?’ Becca asked.

‘I think Andie had an email account. A secret one. One the police never found.’

‘AndieBell94,’ Becca said the words in one quick stream. ‘That was her email address. The police definitely asked about it at the time.’

‘This is another account she used. And I can’t get on it unless I answer the security question.’

‘Another account?’ Becca hesitated. ‘Why are you looking into Andie again? Wha—Why? What’s going on?’

‘I don’t think I can say,’ Pip said, holding down her knee to stop her leg rattling. ‘This call is being recorded. But it might be something... important to me.’ She paused, listening to the light swell of Becca’s breathing. ‘Life or death,’ she added.

‘Roadie.’

‘What?’ Pip said.

‘Roadie, that was Andie’s first hamster,’ Becca sniffed. ‘I don’t know where she got that name from. She got him for her sixth birthday, I think. Maybe seventh. I got one a year later and called him Toadie. Then we got our cat, Monty, who ate Toadie. But her hamster, he was Roadie.’

Pip’s fingers thrummed, ready.

‘R-O-A-D-Y?’ she asked.

‘No. I-E,’ Becca said. ‘Is this... Is everything OK? Really?’

‘It will be,’ Pip said. ‘I hope. D-did Andie ever mention someone called Harriet Hunter to you? A friend?’

Silence down the line, the background hum of nearby voices. ‘No,’ Becca said eventually. ‘I don’t think she did. I never met anyone called Harriet. Not that Andie ever really had people over at the house. Why? Who is she?’

‘Becca, listen,’ Pip said, her fingers fidgeting against the phone. ‘I’m going to have to go, I’m sorry. There’s something ... and I might not have much time. But I will explain everything to you when it’s over, I promise.’

‘Oh, yeah... that’s OK,’ she said, her voice less close to happy now. ‘Are you still coming to visit, next Saturday? I’ve put you down on the log.’

‘Yes,’ Pip said, her mind already straying away from Becca, back to the computer screen and the security question waiting for her. ‘Yep, I’ll be there,’ she said absently.

‘Good luck,’ Becca said, ‘with... and let me know you’re OK. When you can.’

‘I will,’ Pip said, and she could hear it now too, the jittering edge in her own voice. ‘Thanks, Becca. Bye.’

She did drop the phone this time, pushing the button too hard, the phone sliding right off her blood-slicked palm. Pip left it there, on the floor, her fingers finding their way to the keyboard. To R and then O and on. Roadie. Andie Bell’s first hamster.

Invisible blood smears across the trackpad as Pip guided the on-screen arrow to the Next button.

A page loaded, telling her to create a new password, and to re-type it in the box below to confirm. The feeling in her chest changed again, fizzing as it came into contact with her skin. What password should she use? Anything. Anything, just hurry up.

The first thing that came into her mind was DTKiller6.

At least she wouldn’t forget it.

She re-typed it below and clicked to confirm.

An inbox opened up, not enough emails to even fill the screen.

Pip exhaled. Here it was. Andie Bell’s secret email account. Preserved after all this time. Untouched, except by her. Pip had that feeling again in her spine, like she was out of her own time, untethered.

It was immediately clear why Andie had made this account. The only emails she’d ever sent and received were to Harriet Hunter. That must have been the reason Andie made the account, but it still wasn’t clear why, what her connection to Harriet and DT was.

Pip clicked through the emails, reading the same messages Harriet had showed her, from Andie’s side this time. Nothing new here. No explanations. No lifelines. There were only eight messages back and forth, all under that same subject line: Hi.

There had to be something else here. Anything. Andie had to help her, she had to. That’s why everything was leading back to her, coming full circle.

Pip clicked out of the primary inbox, into social. There was nothing here, just a blank page. She tried the third option – Promotions – and the page filled with lines and lines of emails. All from the same sender: Self-Defence Tips. Andie must have subscribed to their emailing list at some point. She’d been getting the emails, once every week, long after she was already dead. Why was Andie looking at a self-defence newsletter? Pip shivered. Had Andie believed she was in danger? Had part of her known she wouldn’t make it past seventeen? That same inevitable feeling that lived inside Pip’s gut?

Pip checked down the side bar. There was nothing in the trash, no deleted emails. Damn. Come on, Andie. There had to be something here. Had to be. There was a connection here, and Pip was the person supposed to find it. She knew it, that unknowable thing. Things falling in line the way they were always supposed to be.

Her hand drew up suddenly as her eyes caught on a number in the side bar. A small 1 next to the Drafts folder. So small and slight, like it had been trying to hide from Pip’s prying eyes.

An unsent draft. Something Andie wrote. What was it – an unfinished message to HH? Maybe nothing at all, maybe just blank. Pip clicked to open the drafts folder, and there it was, waiting for her at the top. One unsent email and she could already see it wasn’t blank. The date on the right-hand side marked it as being saved on 21/02/12. The subject line said, from anon.

Pip’s chest constricted, and there was a strange rattling in her breath now, as she wiped away the blood from one hand and opened the draft.

To whom it may concern,

I know who the DT Killer is.

I’ve never said it out loud, not to anyone, not even just to myself. It’s only been a thought in my head, growing and growing, taking up more space until it’s all I can think about. Even writing it out here feels like a big step, makes me feel slightly less alone in this. But I am alone in this. All alone.