Who Is The Killer In 'By The Pricking Of My Thumbs'?

This is thriller where the killer murders with put leaving a detail and you wont ever feel bored i guess all of you guys will enjoy reading this

When finding evidence is by the skin of one's teeth, what price are you willing to lay to find the culprit?~~~She was just a typical girl from a not so typical family, who will seek justice after her loved ones' death. She was the only survivor in that death trap or at least that was what she knew. Their death wasn't just a mere tragedy, it was intentional. The purpose was to eradicate her clan, but they failed when she survived.When her only reason for living was taken away from her... What was left in her being were: hatred, anger and the burning fire to have her revenge, but it was hard to find since no obtainable evidence could uncover the culprit behind the terrible scheme.When her boss, turned lover, started to show affection, a beam of light was flashed in her being. The newly found solitude with him gradually replaced her negative feelings. But as another guy entered into the picture and claimed her to be his, it drifted her back to her intentions which led her to unravel some secrets she never thought existed. Join me as I lay pieces of information about the Culprit's real identity.

I was the prime suspect in the notorious murder of my parents-in-law in Cardinal City. The one who arrested me was my wife—Linda Reese, the police chief. While the verdict was still pending, the killer struck again. The new victim was murdered with the same savage cruelty. Linda knelt before me, begging me to tell her the truth. I told her I didn’t know. The victims’ families screamed, demanding that I be carved into pieces. Three months later, Linda found me beside a garbage bin, bringing with her a memory-decoding device. Her hands trembled as she pressed two thin needles into my temples. “I’m sorry, Finn. I know you’re not the killer. I just want this slaughter to end. I don’t want anyone else to die. Let everyone see your memories—let them see what really happened back then.” But when she finished watching my memories, she collapsed to the ground, utterly broken, and fell to her knees.

Fifteen years ago, my parents-in-law were cut into pieces. My wife and I spent years searching for the killer. One day, I came back from the market and found that the neighbor’s family had been murdered in the same way. At the crime scene, I saw the neighbor’s face in the mirror. I rushed out and chased him. I was just about to catch him when my wife stopped and handcuffed me with her own hands. “Drop the act. You’re the killer!”

The prettiest girl in our class, Mandy Smith, died unexpectedly in our dorm. When the police took statements, my two other roommates and I pleaded guilty. I took out Mandy’s love letter to my boyfriend. “I killed her because she was seducing my boyfriend.” Anna Anderson took out a purchase history for cyanide. “I killed her because she snatched my overseas studies spot from me.” Fiona Lee took out an expulsion letter. “I killed her because she reported me for cheating.” All three of us hated Mandy. However, the police found that all of us had alibis during Mandy’s time of death. The counselor also asked us to stop lying. However, the three of us sneered. “Whether you believe it or not, one of us is the murderer.”

My grandmother is, as far as the law is concerned, a dead woman. She faked her own death so she could go off with the boy she'd grown up beside, and she left evidence behind that made my grandfather her killer. He went away for twenty years. She sold his house and ran to Port Halcyon with the other man. One of them became a famous attorney who talks about justice in courtrooms. The other became a philanthropist who talks about compassion under television lights. My grandfather carried the word wife-killer for the rest of his life. My father grew up on whatever the neighbors could spare. He never spent a day in school, and he wore his hands raw laying brick until he'd put me through college. Two generations, two pairs of ruined hands, lifting me one step at a time out of Pinebarrow. Fifty years after my grandmother's fake death. I sit on the felony bench of the Dunstone Superior Court. In front of me are five young women charged in a murder. The case against the first four is airtight. Against the fifth, there's half a fingerprint at the scene and a witness who accounts for her entire night. Even the police call her the least likely of them. The murder charge won't hold. I go through her file. Under family, there's a name. Evelyn Harrow. My grandmother. I look at how much the two of them resemble each other. And when her lawyer moves to have her released from this courtroom a free woman, I bring the gavel down lightly. "This court denies the defense motion for dismissal. This court further recommends that the district attorney formally charge the defendant with murder."