Each Day I Wake: A gripping psychological thriller: US Edition Read Online Free PDF Page B

part of a special team at The Herald, led by Evan Hamilton, set up to investigate financial malpractice. I had been given an archive of the background that Hamilton had developed on the investigation and Janet had included this along with my own earlier stories.
    In all the wealth of detail on the new investigation, one name stood out. Tyrone Montague, CEO at OAM Securities. I tried to understand why I had the strongest sense that I needed to be interested in this man but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t find an explanation of why I felt this way.
    I knew then that there were more than a few people out there who were very angry with us, with me, about what we’d done to them.
    Yet somehow I knew that what had been published so far was just the tip of the iceberg. The real culprits were still out there, evading scrutiny.
    I closed the file and put the tablet aside. I knew I would have to return. I needed to discover as much as I could about these people, what they did, who they’d cheated.

CHAPTER 21
    That night, the visions returned.
    I’m looking on as Rebecca dies, as I squeeze the life out of her.
    I can’t look away.
    The tattoo on my left forearm is visible again. I’m trying to make it go away, to prove to myself that what Josh Healey says can’t be true – that I’ve invented the tattoo to protect myself, to prove to myself that it couldn’t be me carrying out this cold blooded murder. But try as I might, the tattoo will not go away. It’s real, as real as everything else I’m seeing.
    And there’s something else.
    The hands around poor Rebecca’s neck. I’m seeing the fingers of the right hand.
    Short index finger, long ring finger.
    This is important. But I don’t know why.
    I see her die.
    The vision ended.
    I looked at my hands.
    My index finger and my ring finger were the same length. Somehow I knew that, just like eye or hair color, these differences in finger length were characteristics that separated people from others. And the one doing the killing could not be me.
    I knew what Josh Healey would say. I was inventing this to prove to myself that it was not me doing these terrible things. Just as I was inventing the tattoo.
    But I no longer believed him.
    This was evidence.
    Evidence that it was not me.
    It was someone else.
    Someone I was beginning to know more about.
    I needed to discover who this was. Who had been doing these killings.
    And I knew then that finding this man was the only way I would recover my past.

CHAPTER 22
    When the police arrived it came more as a relief than as a shock.
    Perhaps, after all, my phone call was understood for what it was.
    He introduced himself as Detective Inspector Stephen Ives. DI Ives.
    He was young, angry looking, not the type you’d send on a goodwill mission.
    He told me that the short, uniformed woman officer with him was Detective Sergeant June Lesley. DS Lesley.
    There were no informalities. He came straight to the point. “You phoned in as a result of the Cathy Newsome appeal?”
    I nodded. “Yes. She’s been found?”
    He shook his head. “It’s still a missing persons enquiry.”
    “Then why are you here?”
    “You gave us some other names.” He looked at his notes. “Rebecca, Margot, Felicity. Said they’d been killed along with Cathy Newsome.”
    “That’s what I wanted to say. I didn’t think I was getting through to the officer taking the call.”
    “We almost passed it over. It wasn’t until DS Lesley investigated the report made about your call that we became interested.” He paused and looked once more at his notebook. “Tell me, Mr. Markland, do any of these names mean anything to you?”
    He read them out.
    Rebecca French.
    Margot West
    Felicity Jenkins.
    Rebecca, Margot, Felicity. The names of the other girls I’d seen being killed.
    I thought hard. I was sure I’ve never heard their surnames before.
    I gave him an honest reply. “I don’t know those names.”
    “But, Mr. Markland, aren’t those the same