Callum pulls the car to a stop outside my house an hour later. I clutch hold of my bag, I want to go straight to my room, lie down on my bed and go to sleep. At least, after a good nap, I might be able to gather my senses and think about the best next course of action.

‘Danielle, I want you to seriously think about this, please tell me you will,’ Callum says, fixing his gaze on me.

I smile at him. ‘Of course, I will. I’ll speak to you later yeah, and thank you for coming with me this weekend, I really appreciate it.’

I slip out of the car and gently push the door shut. From where I’m standing I spot Mum watching me from the living room window. Great, it doesn’t look like I’m going to be able to go straight up to my room without her questioning me about the weekend. Callum drives the car back up to the top of the road; I watch him turn the corner, before I head in the direction of the front door, keeping my head down. Perhaps if I convince Mum I’m tired, she’ll leave me to go straight up to my room.

‘So, how was it?’ Mum asks, before I’m even halfway through the front door. She’s staring at me with a big beaming smile, her phone in her hand. She’ll be straight on the phone to my aunt to let her know how my weekend went I’m sure. They always have a good natter on a Sunday; they sound like a couple of school girl’s gossiping in the school playground when they’re on the phone to each other.

‘Yeah it was great,’ I reply, resisting the urge to roll my eyes.

‘So what was the B&B like?’ Mum asks, following me into the kitchen with big curious eyes.

Shit, what the hell am I going to say to her? ‘Pretty basic you know; not sure if it would be your cup of tea, but it was nice.’

I can feel Mum’s eyes bearing down on me. ‘I think you seem to think your Dad and I can’t cope unless we’re in a five star luxury hotel, but it wasn’t always like this for us, you know. I might not stretch to a hostel, but I’d be perfectly happy in a B&B.’

I grin at Mum. ‘What with no turn down service every day and little chocolates left of on the pillows?’ I laugh. ‘Right just gonna go upstairs.’

‘I’m doing beef for lunch later by the way, Callum could’ve joined us. Why don’t you send him a text and ask him?’

‘I think he wants to get home. You know what his Mum’s like, she wasn’t particularly happy with him when he told her we were going to come home today instead of yesterday.’

She shakes her head. ‘I can’t understand why Jackie’s like that; it’s a wonder how she and her husband have stayed together because of the way she is.’

‘I know it gets on Callum’s nerves. Call me when lunch is ready.’

I thunder up the stairs, slamming my bedroom door shut behind me. A picture of me and Callum, pinned to a collage of photos on the back of the door flutters onto the carpet; I bend down, pick it up and put it back in the correct position. It’s a picture of both of us; our mouths wide open in two big smiles as we enjoy a ride on a log shoot. I sit on the edge of my bed, and think back to the weekend, to everything I learned while I was there. Oliver told me someone; the other person, who Harvey killed, spread lies about Oliver to my parents. What lies? Did he want my parent’s to think Oliver was a bad person?

I think back to the countless newspaper reports I’ve read about my family’s case. They mainly focused on me, Harvey and my family, not the other person who Harvey killed, Ian. Ian sort of almost got brushed under the carpet, but what if he’s the key? I remember the podcast that covered the case a couple of years ago. It was so popular they actually did an episode a night about it for a week; I’d downloaded each episode, saving them on my computer and scrutinized every piece of information I could learn. They’d spoken about the other man my brother killed; it was the first podcast I’d listened to that had spoken about him at length. I reach for my laptop sitting on my bedside cabinet, open it up, and select the files I want, pressing play. The presenter’s nasally tone fills my room. He must’ve had a cold when he recorded this.

‘One of the most intriguing aspects about this case is that not only did Harvey bludgeon his parents to death, but he also murdered one of their friends, a man later identified as Ian Jones, who was the same age as Harvey’s father. It’s been speculated Harvey’s father was the mutual connection here, but this has never been proven, as virtually nothing about their lives, before the three weeks leading up to the murders, has been uncovered. This is what makes this case so much more intriguing, and why it has continued to endure and haunts us to this day. Now the media’s primarily focused on Harvey’s parents, but I’ve always thought this man, Ian, is the key to everything. The neighbours claim they saw this man before the family even moved into the house, where they were to meet their fate, but he never conversed with anyone. As one local put it, everyone who comes to live in Little Castle always wants to become integrated with the local community; there are always events going on and it’s a great way to make new friends, and a way to get to know the neighbours. This person also said she thought this Ian was controlling, especially of the young family who were staying with them, Harvey, his parents, and his sister. So what do we know about this man? He was born in 1954 in Norfolk, to parents David and Irene Jones; he was an only child, he never particularly excelled at school, but in his early twenties we know he worked in the steel industry and made a few friends there. He had a brief marriage with Alison White which lasted only three years, the couple had no children. He continued working in the steel industry until the age of thirty-seven, when virtually all trace of him disappears, until he turns up again in the days leading up to the murders. So there’s a period of ten years where we have virtually nothing about this man. What was he doing in that time; where did he go, who did he meet? I believe the more we look into the missing ten years in Ian Jones’ life, the closer we will come to finding out what happened, so stay tuned for part two of this series when I reveal what I manage to uncover.’

I press pause. This was what I wanted to hear. This was the last podcast recorded for that week. There never was a follow up series like the podcaster said there would be. I’d waited ages for it at the time, before finally giving up on there ever being one released. The previous episode had been about the murders themselves; the police investigation; me and Harvey, and what our lives could be like now, nothing I didn’t know already. I rub the back of my neck. Two years ago, when I first heard the recording, I considered trying to get in touch with the creator of the podcast, but decided against it, fearing he would end up being some nutter who wouldn’t leave me alone. But now, I’ve no idea if he did find out more about Ian. I want to know why he never made another podcast. If there’s something I can find out about him, before I look at moving back into where I used to live, then perhaps it could unravel everything, there’ll be no need for me to move back there. Could it really be that simple?

I find the guy’s website; he’s not covered my family’s case in the last two years at all, at the time I thought he was obsessed with the mystery, as so many people have confessed to being. There’s an about section; it tells me his name is Max; he’s in his late thirties and lives in Suffolk, not too far away. I study the picture of him, arms folded across his chest, standing in a wooded area, with a solemn expression on his face. I drum my finger nails on my laptop. There’s a contact form on his website for people to get in touch. I click in the box and begin to type a message.

            Hi Max,

            This is a difficult message for me to write, my name is Danielle. You covered my family’s case two years ago on your podcast, and I really want to know if you managed to find out anything more about Ian, the other person who my brother killed. You were going to do another episode on your podcast, but I don’t think you ever did. I would really appreciate it if you could get back in touch with me as soon as possible.

I look at the ceiling. Can I do this? I remember what Callum said to me the other day, the moment you invite one nutter into your life, the rest are going to start crawling.

I shake the thought out of my head, and press send. All I can do now is wait for him to reply.