Louise Voss & Mark Edwards 3-Book Thriller Collection: Catch Your Death, All Fall Down, Killing Cupid. Mark Edwards
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afraid she doesn’t live here any more. She and her family moved away about a month ago.’
Vernon processed this information. ‘That’s a real pity. I’m an old college friend visiting from America. I guess I’ve had a wasted journey.’ He shook his head disappointedly and exhaled a long, tragic sigh.
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ smiled the man. ‘I’ve got her new address. I’ll just fetch it for you.’
Vernon grinned. ‘Would you? That would be marvellous.’
On the way to Kate’s sister’s house, Sampson found himself driving past a large out-of-town shopping estate, a Toys R Us standing out among the DIY superstores and carpet warehouses. On impulse, he pulled in and minutes later was walking the aisles of robots and plush monsters, videogames and karaoke machines, looking for a pink teddy bear. He hadn’t intended to do this, and he wasn’t doing it because he found it amusing – he had no sense of humour – or for sentimental reasons. He just thought the bear might be useful.
He remembered little Amelia’s happy voice on the phone. He had never killed a child. He’d never had call to, or been instructed to do so. He wondered what it would be like: if it would feel any different to killing an adult. When he had taken his first life, it had excited him, thrilled him, and he had spent the years since hoping in vain to replicate that thrill. That first murder had been when he was eighteen. A girl called Kelly who had spat in his face when he raped her on their first date. He put his strong hands around her throat and pressed his thumbs into her windpipe. The disbelief and terror in her eyes turned him on. When she went limp and stopped breathing he was still inside her. It was a beautiful moment. Come to think of it, she looked a little like Kate had when she was around that age, at the CRU. Not as stunning as Kate, but there had definitely been a similarity.
Since Kelly, no murder had given him that charge of excitement. Perhaps killing a child would do it.
Killing Kate’s child. Now that would be something.
He could picture Kate’s face as she watched her son die at his hands. Hear her screams. She would be in thrall to his power. Her pain would be like a star bursting. Immense, intense. Afterwards, she wouldn’t struggle or fight any more. She would be dead inside. And she would be his.
At the checkout, he paid for the teddy bear. The insipid smile on its face made him sick. But the young woman behind the counter smiled at him like he was a kindly father or uncle. He looked around the store. There were children everywhere, little girls and boys of every size and colour. Perhaps he should take one, see what happened. Practice. But as the cashier slipped the bear into a carrier bag he decided not to waste his time. He had to get on.
In the car, he consulted his map and headed south – towards Kate’s sister. Towards Kate’s son.
Miranda peered out of the window and wished it would stop raining so the children could go and play outside. The boys were in George’s room, playing video games, watched by Amelia. Every now and then she heard Amelia squeal, ‘Let me have a go.’ The PlayStation was an even better childminder than the TV, though Miranda felt horrible for letting them play on it for so long, especially Jack, who had never been allowed to play video games before. Miranda had this nagging voice in the back of her head telling her she should be encouraging them to create their own entertainment with pens and coloured card. But that would be deemed ‘boring’.
She checked her watch. Five thirty. Was it too early for a glass of wine? She had a really nice bottle of Merlot on top of the fridge. She could already taste it, the fruitiness on her tongue, the smoothing of her nerves. But she would wait half an hour. Then pour herself a really big glass. If she timed it right, she might be in a good mood when Pete got home from work. Assuming he came home at the usual time and didn’t stay behind for a drink as he’d often been doing recently. There was a new woman working at the veterinary surgery, some skinny young creature called Jennifer, who Pete talked about a lot, as if he couldn’t help but mention her at every opportunity. Miranda didn’t think anything would come of it. It was probably just one of those little workplace crushes that time would dampen and kill. The thing was, she found she didn’t really care as much as she should. She wondered abstractly what it would be like if Pete left her, bringing up the children on her own. It wouldn’t be too bad. At least it would be a change.
Damn rain, she thought, making her feel melancholy and discontented. It was always the same when it rained in summer. She went into the kitchen – refusing to look in the direction of the Merlot – and opened the cupboard doors, trying to decide what to give the children for their tea. Kate was bringing up Jack as a vegetarian, which was annoying, but he certainly looked well on it. He was a lovely little boy. Mercifully unlike his father.
It had been lovely to see Kate, of course, but Miranda couldn’t help but feel envious of her sister. She had always envied her – her career, living in America, her brains and looks – and now, more than ever, she wished that her life was as exciting as Kate’s. Okay, perhaps leaving your husband, fleeing halfway across the world and going on some bizarre hunt with the brother of an ex-love could be better described as traumatic, or at least stressful . . . but it wasn’t domesticity. It wasn’t being stuck at home longing for a glass of wine while your husband flirted with his junior – his young – colleagues.
Maybe she should have that glass of wine now. It was nearly six. And it wasn’t as if it would do any harm. Just a small glass, sipped slowly. Then she’d make tea. She took the bottle down from the fridge and uncorked it. She filled the glass up rather higher than she’d intended – how clumsy – but she really shouldn’t waste it. She took a big, warming gulp. Then another.
That was better.
She sat at the kitchen table and ran a finger around the rim of the glass. She heard a shout from upstairs, and her first instinct was to leap up and make sure everything was okay. But then she heard laughter and relaxed. The children were merely enjoying their game. George and Amelia seemed to like having their cousin over from the States. The first thing George wanted to know when they met was whether he’d ever seen a gun; Amelia wanted to know if he’d been to Disneyland.
The telephone rang. She jumped up, thinking it might be Kate. ‘Hello?’
‘Hello darling.’ It was Pete. ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I’m going to be late home. We’ve had a hell of a day – it’s been like a whole series of All Creatures Great and Small rolled into one.’ He chuckled. This was an old joke of his. ‘Anyway, I had to rush up to the Grange to see one of old Mountford’s favourite horses, which I managed to save, and now Mountford wants to take me and the whole surgery out for a drink to say thanks. You know how hard it is to say no to him.’
Miranda wanted to ask if Jennifer would be there – in her mind’s eye, the veterinary nurse had long, dark, lustrous hair and a cleavage that men daydreamed about diving into it – but just said, ‘Fine.’
Would she ever feel brave enough to leave Pete in the same way Kate had left Vernon? Well, she knew she would never run away. That was far too dramatic. Though if she were married to the dreaded Vernon perhaps she would run away. She could never understand what Kate saw in him. Okay, so he was very clever, academically, but there was something about him that gave her the creeps. He was the kind of man who fancied himself a ladies’ man but came across more as a knicker-sniffer. A man who stared at the breasts of flat-chested women, as if willing them to grow boobs for him to leer at. Yuk.
Pete wasn’t like that. Except with Jennifer perhaps. Did their fingers touch when she passed Pete the worming tablets? Had their eyes ever met over a sick hamster? Did she wear a tight white uniform that stretched perfectly across her pert bottom? There was another cry from above, then a thump, shaking her from her green-eyed reverie. She stood up, noticing as she did that the wine glass was empty, just a smear of red at the bottom like a bloodstain, and she felt a little woozy and unsteady on her feet. She stood at the bottom of the stairs and called up. ‘Is everyone alright up there?’
Before any of the children replied, the doorbell rang.
Vernon took the wrong exit – nine instead of ten – and spent the next