Two weeks after the murder, Rachael was almost certain she saw her husband, Mark.

She was stood on a traffic island in the middle of the main shopping street when she caught sight of him. He was just coming out of the local pub and heading, she guessed correctly, into the bookmakers, two doors further along the street.

Rachael watched as he jogged up the road, his collar up against the rain that was now beginning to fall.

She wondered if her daughter had seen him also; but Chloe was looking in the opposite direction, so would not have seen anything.

Besides which, Rachael hardly felt inclined to start questioning a six year old about what she may, or may not, have seen. Instead she gave her daughter's hand a squeeze and smiled at her.

"Come on slow coach, we need to get home," she said. Chloe returned her mother’s smile. "Will Daddy be there?" she asked. Trying not to let her anxiety show, Rachael replied, "I don't think so."

That night Rachael lay in bed, willing herself to fall asleep. But sleep had been eluding her for the past two weeks and it was not about to return now.

She turned over in an attempt to make herself more comfortable and froze. Lying beside her, sleeping blissfully was Mark.

Gingerly she put out her hand but he awoke before she could reach him.

"Is that you, Mark?" she whispered. Her voice was quavering. Mark stared at her, a look of panic pinned to his face.

Rachael again stretched out her hand, but before she could reach him, he rose from the bed and disappeared out of the door. Left on her own, Rachael sat up, put her face in her hands and wept.

The last time Rachael saw Mark was inside the police station several days later. She had seen Mark many times by now and was almost beginning to grow used to him.

She had spotted him when she and Chloe were out shopping; when they had been playing in the garden; at mealtimes; and while watching TV. Mostly though she seemed to see him at night as she tried unsuccessfully to sleep.

As Rachael, with Mark by her side, walked towards the Duty Sergeant she felt certain this was when they would part.

"I want to make a confession, officer, to murder." The words were said slightly hesitantly.
"Oh yes, sir? And who exactly did you kill?"
"My wife, and my daughter, I killed them last month. I want to confess .. I need to confess."
"Well sir," said the Sergeant with a slight edge to his voice, "you had better come with me."

Rachael looked over at Chloe who had been playing quietly in the corner. The bruising on her neck where she had been strangled would begin to fade now, but neither she nor Rachael would ever grow any older.

"Time for us to go now, love," said Rachael, "It's over."

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