Louise Voss & Mark Edwards 3-Book Thriller Collection: Catch Your Death, All Fall Down, Killing Cupid. Mark Edwards
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‘I hope you find it useful, Kate. I must say . . . I’m surprised at what came up. It – well – it wasn’t the sort of thing I’d assumed it would be. But it must have been important for you. And I’m quite sure that it will help you in coming to terms with your loss. If you need any more sessions to go into it in even more depth, do telephone me for an appointment, won’t you?’
‘Thank you,’ Kate said, somewhat bemused. She felt completely woolly-legged, and mellow, as if she’d either smoked a large joint or had a very good massage; but this was gradually being superseded by a sharply growing desire to find out what she had said. ‘Um . . . is it normal, that I can’t remember what I said? Or does it mean that I’m, like, still blocking it out?’
Doreen looked over her glasses at her. ‘No, whatever came out while you were under means that you aren’t blocking it. However, it’s fairly unusual for you not to recall anything you said. Unusual, but not unheard of . . . You don’t remember anything at all?’
Kate thought hard. ‘Well . . . at one point I thought I was dreaming, about . . . about a forest, lying down in dark trees, and overhearing something . . .’
‘Yes,’ Doreen said. ‘You talked about that. Two men, conversing. Shortly before the fire.’ She looked oddly at them both, as if she knew there was more to it than they’d divulged.
Kate glanced at Paul in near-panic. What had she said? Who were the two men?
‘I’ll play you the CD as soon as we get home,’ said Paul, exaggeratedly looking at his watch. ‘We must be off, actually, if we’re to avoid the rush hour. Thank you so much, Doreen, for seeing Kate at such short notice. I’m sure she will find that really helpful.’
Vernon had a habit of talking about Kate to other people as if she wasn’t there, and Kate reflected woozily on how much it had wound her up. But, somehow, now that Paul had done the same, she felt merely protected. She liked it. She slipped her hand into his and smiled at both him and Doreen.
‘Thank you,’ she said to Doreen. ‘I do feel better, weirdly, even though I don’t yet know why. It was . . . very relaxing.’
Doreen ejected the CD, put it into a paper cover and handed it to Paul. She showed them both to the door, and they walked back to Paul’s car in silence, Paul clutching the disk. He unlocked the doors, and they climbed in, and stared wordlessly at one another.
‘What did I say?’ demanded Kate, ‘tell me!’
‘Listen for yourself,’ Paul replied, slotting the CD into the car stereo. ‘But it was very, very interesting . . .’
Dazed by Vernon’s visit, Miranda was unable to shift herself from her position on the bottom stair. She watched Amelia skip up to the front door in response to the chime of the doorbell, her emotions tumbling over one another like socks in a dryer. Guilt, because she had allowed Vernon to take Jack. Resentment, because Kate was too busy having a good time with her new boyfriend to answer her phone. Anger, because Pete was boozing with his pretty colleague and hadn’t been here to protect her and Jack. And beneath all that, the craving for another glass of wine. No, sod that. She wanted the whole damn bottle.
Amelia opened the door and Miranda heard a man say, ‘Hello. You must be Amelia.’
The next thing Miranda knew, Amelia had rushed happily inside clutching a pink teddybear. ‘Look, Mummy, look.’ Behind her stood a handsome man. But although he was handsome, he wasn’t attractive. It was his eyes, she decided, as she pushed herself to her feet and realised that she ought to be very scared.
‘Where’s the boy?’ the man asked in a low, even voice.
Amelia had already run up the stairs to show the teddy to her brother – not that he would be interested in such a girly toy. Miranda felt sober now. All her maternal sensors were buzzing, screaming red alert. This man was far more dangerous than Vernon. Her voice shook as she replied, ‘Get out or I’ll call the police.’
The man took a step closer. She noticed how big his muscles were beneath his shirt. How strong his hands looked, spiderwebbed with thick veins.
‘I want Kate’s son.’
‘He’s not here.’
Sampson lifted his chin and directed his gaze up the stairs, moving towards Miranda. She pulled herself up to her full height – all five foot three of her – and tried to turn herself into a human barrier.
Sampson grabbed her by the neck and flung her aside. She flew into the wall, smacking her head on the frame of the living room door. She fell to her knees but, driven by fear for her children, was on her feet again within seconds, chasing Sampson up the stairs. She tried to grab the back of his shirt to pull him back, but it was like trying to hold onto a train.
He walked straight into George’s room, staring down at George, who looked up from his PlayStation with confusion. In the game, he was playing a killer cyborg, and when he saw the stranger enter his bedroom it was as if the video game character had become real flesh and metal. Amelia grinned gappily at the nice man who had given her the teddy bear. But then she saw her Mummy’s face as she tried to get around the man, and she started to cry, the bear instantly forgotten.
‘Where’s Jack?’ Sampson said.
Miranda scooted round him and grabbed George and Amelia, protecting them with her body, pushing them into the corner and standing in front of them.
‘I told you, he’s not here.’
Sampson stared at her, reading her face. Then he reached past her and grasped Amelia by the arm, pulling her past her sobbing mother as if she were as light as a feather. Amelia punched him with her little fists but the blows were like puffs of air. He held her facing outwards, so Miranda could see her terrified face, and said, ‘Where is he?’
Miranda reached out for Amelia and Sampson swatted her away.
Calmly, as if bored by the whole situation, he said, ‘If you don’t answer my questions I’ll kill your daughter.’
Miranda tried to console her child, ‘It’s okay Milly, just keep quiet and everything will be fine. It’s okay, darling.’ She wished she believed her own words. She felt like she was about to start hyperventilating. She always told the children, when they woke up in the night, that there was no such thing as monsters. Now, she realised, that was a lie.
Sampson said, ‘Where is Jack?’
Struggling to keep control of her breathing, Miranda replied, ‘His father took him.’
‘When?’
‘About five minutes before you got here.’
‘Where is he going?’
‘I don’t know.’
Sampson turned Amelia to face her and put his hand around the little girl’s throat.
Miranda gasped, reached out, pulled her hands back. ‘They’re going to the airport. He’s going to take Jack back to Boston. Please, let her go. You’re terrifying her.’
Sampson ignored her plea. ‘What kind of car is he driving?’
Miranda shook her head. ‘I don’t know. It was grey, I think. I didn’t notice.’
George spoke up, in a subdued voice. ‘It was a silver car. The one with the sticking out bum. It’s called a Megan, like a girl in my class is called Megan.’
Sampson turned his attention to the boy. On the screen behind him, soldiers were crouching with huge guns amidst a firestorm of smoke and bullets. ‘A Megane?’
‘A Megan. I saw it out the window.’
Sampson nodded. He paused for just a moment, then put Amelia down. She ran into her mother’s arms and Miranda squeezed her more tightly than ever before. Surely