<p><b>‘</b><b>A rich, intricately-woven novel of childhood crime and adult redemption. I finished it with my heart in my mouth. Highly recommended’ - Louise Candlish</b><br><b></b><br><b>‘Dark, creepy and ultimately compassionate, <i>When I Was Ten</i> is a chilling look at the consequences of a childhood gone wrong’ – JP Delaney</b></p><p><b>'Utterly compelling; a true just-one-more-chapter thriller' - Clare Mackintosh</b><br><b></b><br><b></b><b>'A spine-chilling tour-de-force. Fiona Cummins is a born storyteller’ - Erin Kelly</b><br><b></b><br><b>'Pacey, dark and surprises to the bitter end. Loved it' – Fiona Barton</b></p><p>Twenty-one years ago, Dr Richard Carter and his wife Pamela were murdered in what has become the most infamous double murder of the modern age.</p><p>Ten-year-old Sara Carter – nicknamed the Angel of Death - spent eight years in a children’s secure unit and is living quietly under an assumed name with a family of her own.</p><p>Now, on the anniversary of the trial, a documentary team has tracked down her older sister Shannon Carter, compelling her to break two decades of silence.</p><p>Her explosive interview sparks national headlines and journalist Brinley Booth, a childhood friend of the Carter sisters, is tasked with covering the news story.</p><p>For the first time, the three women are forced to confront what really happened on that blood-soaked night – with devastating consequences for them all.</p><p><b><i>When I Was Ten</i> is a chilling page-turner by Fiona Cummins.</b></p><p>Praise for Fiona Cummins:</p><p>‘Head and shoulders above most of the competition’ – Val McDermid</p><p>‘When writing from the perspective of ordinary people caught up in horrific events, Fiona Cummins is unbeatable’ – <i>Sunday Express</i></p><p>‘Brilliant . . . dark, creepy and twisted’ – C. J. Tudor</p><p>‘A crime novel of the very first order’ – David Baldacci</p><p>‘An excellent read’ – Martina Cole</p><p>‘Creepy as hell’ – Ian Rankin</p><p>‘Fiona Cummins has a gift for tapping a rich seam of evil that underpins the surface of the every day. Suberbly sinister’ – <i>Sunday Mirror</i></p>