Insane - Who Are You To Judge? (Gripping Psychological Thriller)

Chapter 29 - Avery

Pinocchio – no one left alive

Rapunzel – no one left alive

Little Red Riding Hood – grandmother missed

Snow White – two dwarves missed

I rack my six o'clock brain, searching through all the different files I have stored in the corner of my mind dedicated to the fairy tales. I list all the different stories that almost began, that I ended and that are yet to complete, trying to pick out which fairy tale is the cause of my unwanted new postman.

I quickly rule out Red's grandmother since the last time I checked in on her, she was in a care home in Scotland.

Sneezy and Bashful are a bit of a nuisance – I really do hate loose ends. It wasn't my intention for them to go amiss, but you would be surprised how difficult it is to get the seven dwarfs and Snow White and the Wicked Queen all into one place. It isn't like I can return and finish the job later on – that's far too risky.

So, although it tugs at my mind every time I think of my failure of Snow White's tale, I decided many years ago that the wisest route I can take is to let them live out their little dwarf lives and I would make sure to keep an eye on them.

I have stayed true to my decision and as far as I am aware, the two of them have no idea that the death of their friends is even related to other murders, let alone who the culprit might be.

Even so, I must consider the unlikely case that they are smarter than they let on and they are scheming against me.

Apart from them, there really aren't many other suspects. I am never fond of leaving people out of the tale and if I do, I am extremely careful not to show them any of my features, lest they identify me.

Of course I would never tell anyone about my double life. I've never trusted someone enough to know for sure they wouldn't squeal. So there's no one there.

Well, I suppose there is one person who knows my secret – but he's still in prison and it doesn't look like he's getting out any time soon.

It has been fifteen days since I revisited the alley in which I screwed up royally. Yesterday, forensics finally did their second sweep of the murder scene – and to my delight, they picked up on the suit fibres and the hair follicles.

"Forensics found some more evidence," the arrogant, slender man on my screen announces. The audio from yesterday is slightly crackly, but I am able to just about make out what they are saying. "It is microscopic," he continues, "so it's really no surprise they missed it the first time."

The beer-bellied man seems unimpressed by the slender one's negative attitude, but he simply nods along. "How long will it be until we have the fibres and hair strands identified?"

The slender one groans. "Oh, I don't know, Flynn. It will take as long as it always does. It gives us time to bring in family and friends and get DNA samples off them."

I've been watching CSI: Grimm Reaper for years now, so although I get rather mixed up with the names, I know enough to know that the fat one is of a higher ranking than the other. I'm confused as to why he lets the annoying one speak to him like that. Oh well, it's not my place to tell them how to do their job. Even though I do it better than them.

"It looks like the victim and her husband have been living separately for several months now and they have been on bad terms. I think we need to bring him in first."

Perfect. That's just what I want to hear. The pigs are playing so easily into my plan, I might as well attach string to their heads.

If it weren't for the misfortune that led me into this situation, I would say that luck is on my side.

The timing so conveniently allows me to taint his alibi just before they call him in. They already have him as a person of interest, all they need is a little push in the right direction. Or is it the wrong direction?

Due to the company I have kept over the years, I have acquired some basic hacking skills – hence the personal TV show. All I have to do is bypass the firewall of Southhurst New Surgery, eliminate the records of the Prince's appointment and the police have no solid proof of his alibi. Him faking an appointment and being out of the office on the exact day his wife is killed is really just the icing on the cake. There is no way that the police will assume this is a mere coincidence.

I only have one meeting in the afternoon today. The rest of the day I spend at the office, having my ears pierced by Kirsty going on and on about her amazing deals to our boss. I swear, if I didn't know her, I would create a goddamn fairy tale for her.

I have the option to take my work home and most days during the winter I do – simply because the office is frikkin' freezing. I swear they have never heard of the invention radiator.

Today, however, I grin and bear the pain of my teeth bashing against one another and the burn on my arms I'm sure to find this evening because of the friction being caused between my cashmere jumper and arms by my hands.

It's worth it, though. I am borrowing my friend's computer today because mine 'crashed last week' and by using company owned computers, it'll be more difficult to trace the IP address that hacks the doctor's records all the way back to me.

I won't bore you with the details of the hacking process, since I doubt many of you would even understand the technical language, but in simple terms? After a few minutes the firewall crumbles like the Berlin Wall in 1989.

A pulse of energy shoots up and down my spine as I admire the beautiful sight of information loading on the screen, right before my eyes. There's something about gaining information that I probably shouldn't have that makes me feel so superior to my fellow persons.

As I'm scrolling through the long list of names, I hear Kirsty's stilettos (which she really cannot walk in) echo on the wooden planks as she struts up to my desk. I immediately close down the screen and bring up a list of clients. In all honesty, I have no idea who half of these clients are or what they are doing on the system, but I pretend to concentrate intently on the words in front of me.

When Kirsty is next to me, she leans down – very much invading my bubble – and her ash blonde split ends fall onto my shoulder as she studies the document on my screen.

I grind my teeth together, trying to push my anger out through them instead of through Kirsty. I couldn't deal with a scene at the office, right now.

"Hi," she finally says. Her mouth is so close to my nose I can smell her breakfast. Raspberry jam on toast with a banana.

"Hey," I smile back, trying not to let my dislike of her shine through the mask.

"Ooh, what do we have here? Looks like we're going to be competing for clients," she says with a little too much enthusiasm. How typical of her, to immediately make it a competition.

Had she approached me two months ago in this way, I would have jumped at the opportunity to knock her down a few pegs. Yet, it takes all the self-restraint I can muster to simply smile and laugh softly, praying that she will hurry the hell up and remove herself from the particles which are surrounding me.

She finally struts off in the opposite direction. By God, I don't like her.

Once she is firmly out of sight, I reopen the website with the doctor's records and click on the Prince.

I have to say, my trait of snooping really could keep me poking through his entire medical history, if there weren't more pressing issues at hand.

I focus my eyes only on the appointment dated 2nd April.