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Ignoring, too, the pressure building in my lungs. I just had to keep going, lose him in the woods then plan my next move…
    I stumbled on something and was suddenly yanked backwards as Luke grabbed me by the hood of my top. The momentum sent us both sprawling to the ground, but he still had hold of me and, in one swift movement, he flipped me over so I was lying on my back, and jumped on top of me, his knees pinning down my arms. The murderous brutality of his expression told me there’d be no mercy from him, and there wasn’t. He placed his hands almost carefully round my neck and began squeezing.
    His grip was vice-like, cutting my air off immediately. I was utterly helpless beneath his weight, and within seconds my vision began to cloud round the edges. Luke was going to kill me. He was actually going to kill me! I felt myself passing out, which was when I had a sudden chilling realization.
    Luke was definitely the killer. It made so much sense. He’d always been the most heavily implicated in Rachel’s murder, and now he was getting rid of the witnesses to the crime, just as Marla had accused me of doing.
    â€˜You bastard!’ I thought with a mixture of fear, anger and resignation as I began to pass out. ‘You fucking treacherous bastard!’
    And then, just like that, his grip loosened and, as my vision began to clear, I saw why. Protruding from his mouth, like a long, forked tongue, was the end of a crossbow bolt. Blood collected in a pool on his lower lip before dripping down on to my face. He made a horrible gurgling sound like an old man choking on phlegm, and his body began to sway slowly from side to side.
    More blood poured out of his mouth now, in a continuous flow. Sickened, I pushed his hands away and shoved him off me, adrenaline surging through my body.
    The killer stood in the shadow of a pine tree no more than ten yards away, blocking the way down to the sea. He was still dressed in black from head to toe, his face covered by a ski mask, just as it had been the previous day, and he was reloading the crossbow, his movements almost leisurely, as if he had all the time in the world.
    Scrambling to my feet, I ran back the way I’d come. Clearly the house wasn’t secure but I had a better chance of defending myself inside than I had anywhere else. I prayed that Marla would let me back in because, if she didn’t, by the time she realized her mistake I’d be dead. My only other alternative was to make a break for the rocks, start climbing and hope for the best, but right now I could only think a few seconds ahead.
    I ran back through the side gate and round to the back door. I couldn’t see Marla through the window, and I was certain she would have re-locked the door, but I tried the handle anyway, not expecting it to open.
    It did.
    I was inside like a shot, locking and bolting the door behind me as I called Marla’s name.
    No answer.
    I ran through to the hallway, looking round wildly.
    And that was when I saw her emerging from the lounge, holding the knife with the serrated blade she’d threatened me with earlier.
    Something was wrong. Her expression was vague and distant, as if she was puzzled by something.
    Then I saw the long thin slash of red opening up along her throat and, as if by some off-stage cue, a curtain of blood poured out like something out of a horror film, engulfing her neck and chest. She began to topple, managed to put a hand against the banister to steady herself, then fell face first to the floor and lay still, the blood seeping out from under her, staining the floorboards the colour of claret.
    The killer stepped out from behind her, a bloodied machete in his hand, staring at me from behind his ski mask, cold contempt in his eyes.
    For an interminably long moment I stood there, unable to believe my eyes. How on earth could he have got in? He’d been behind me when he’d killed Luke and he couldn’t have got in through