by Dan Scottow
Beth felt uneasy. Her mouth was dry.
She pressed her foot down harder, watching the speedo climb up through the forties, fifties, and into the sixties.
The car behind did the same.
She tried to convince herself it was merely a coincidence.
Another driver heading home.
Her heart pounding, Beth suddenly turned right, off the road onto a narrow farm track, without indicating. It was the wrong direction, but she had to see what her friend would do.
Beth heard the squeal of tyres as the car behind made a sharp turn.
The driver flicked their headlights onto full beam. Beth was momentarily blinded and eased off the accelerator. The car behind drew closer. It was tailgating her, its bright lights dazzling her each time she glanced in her mirror.
She took the next available left turn, hoping it would bring her back in the correct direction. After a few minutes she felt relief as she approached a familiar junction. She turned right, back onto the road home, pressing her foot down to the floor. The relief faded fast as her pursuer came racing up behind her. Headlights dazzling once again.
Beth’s heart raced.
She increased her speed.
Her pursuer accelerated too.
She pressed her foot on the brake, and the car gained on her.
Beth held on to the wheel with one hand as she reached down for her bag. She rummaged around for her phone, finally grasping it between her fingertips.
As she pulled it from the handbag it slipped out of her hand and fell into the passenger-side footwell. She had no hope of getting it without stopping the car.
Something told her that would not be wise.
She kept driving, her speed creeping up.
The car behind sped up and bumped into the rear of her Range Rover.
Whoever was following her was not just trying to scare her.
Beth tried desperately to put some distance between them, but she couldn’t get away.
The other vehicle veered sharply, clipping her rear end. As the cars impacted together, Beth swerved. Overcompensating, she crossed onto the wrong side of the road. She cursed as she corrected her steering.
Thank God there was nobody coming the other way.
Her knuckles turned pale as she gripped the wheel, trying to remain in control.
Once more, she was shunted aggressively.
She peered into her rear-view mirror, desperate to see who was behind her. Trying to make out a licence plate. Any detail at all about the car.
But all she saw was blinding white headlights.
The vehicle swerved out to Beth’s right and back into the side of her car. She kept her eyes fixed firmly ahead, trying to keep to the road. Metal squealed and crunched.
The impact and speed were too much. Beth lost control.
She slammed on the brakes too late.
Her car collided with a barbed-wire fence and Beth’s head bounced off the steering wheel as she came to a halt in a field.
Her pursuer screeched away. The tail lights disappeared into the night like two red eyes of a demon speedily retreating into the darkness.
And then there was silence.
21
Ringing.
As Beth came round, that’s what she heard. She felt dazed, momentarily unsure what had happened. Then the horror of the car chase flooded back to her. She didn’t know how long she had been there, but she knew she had been knocked unconscious.
Her phone. It was buzzing. She grabbed her bag, sluggish from the knock on the head. And then she remembered she had dropped the handset. She scrambled about on the floor, finding it under the passenger seat. Her vision was still not right. She struggled to focus on the screen. The caller rang off.
The screen showed the time as 10.45.
‘Damn, damn, damn,’ Beth whispered. She scrolled her screen.
Two missed calls from Margot. Five from Charlie.
She slipped her phone back into her bag and tried the ignition. Surprisingly, the car started on the first try. She reversed out of the field, up onto the road and headed for home.
* * *
As she pulled in slowly to the gravel driveway, Charlie stood in the doorway of their house, a stern expression on his face.
He eyed the car as Beth parked up. She turned off the engine but remained sitting in the driver’s seat.
Charlie strode over to her, wrenching the door open.
‘Where the hell have you been? And what the fuck happened to the car? It’s totally mangled!’
‘I… had an accident.’
‘My God! Are you okay?’ He crouched down beside her.
‘Yeah, I’m fine. I lost control and went into a field.’
Charlie embraced Beth before helping her up. He slipped an arm around her waist and walked her back to the house. As they stepped into the hallway, the warmth of her home hit her and she slumped, letting Charlie support her. He turned her towards him.
He sniffed, screwing up his face.
‘You’ve been drinking.’
‘I had two glasses of wine.’
Charlie looked at her, his disappointment apparent.
He sat her on the sofa and stood with his arms folded in front of his chest. His brown eyes fixed intently on her face.
‘Charlie, I swear I’m not drunk.’
‘So you drove your car into a field because you are totally sober, right?’
The sarcasm was thick in his voice, and it stung Beth like a slap.
‘No. I went off the road because…’ She stopped. She didn’t want to tell him.
‘Because what?’
She remembered Margot’s final remarks before she had left her that evening.
‘Because someone was trying to run me off the road.’
Charlie blinked a few times as the words sank in.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. He slammed into the side of me at sixty-five miles an hour and I ended up in a field.’
‘Right. That’s it. This has gone far enough. I’m calling the police.’
Beth jumped up from the sofa.
‘No, Charlie, please! Don’t.’
Charlie pushed her with one hand and she fell back down onto the seat. He pulled his mobile from his jeans pocket. Beth stood up again, grabbing at the phone, desperately trying to stop him. He twisted away from her.
‘Charlie, you can’t! I’ve been drinking. If the police come, they will breathalyse me. And they’ll arrest me. Think about this.’
Charlie stopped, staring blankly back at her. His lip quivered.
She reached up, clasping her hands around his. His face turned down to the floor. She slipped the phone out from between his fingers.
‘I know you’re scared. I am too. But this won’t help. This will lose me my licence. And we can’t afford for that to happen. We live in the middle of nowhere. Do you understand?’
Charlie nodded.
‘Good.’
Beth sat down on the sofa, patting the cushion. Charlie resisted at first. Beth reached up and took his hand, gently tugging him downwards. He collapsed onto the seat beside her.
‘We need to do something, Beth. We can’t keep ignoring this. It’s not going away. It won’t stop. Someone will get hurt.’
‘I know.’
They sat in silence for a while. Beth placed her hand on Charlie’s leg, stroking lightly, her eyes closed.
Charlie finally broke the quiet in the room.
‘So what do we do?’
Beth thought for a moment longer.
‘I don’t know. Somebody clearly thinks that I am Kitty Briscoe. Someone obviously wants me to pay for what she did. I think first, we need to establish who that someone is. We can’t do anything until we know who’s doing this to us.’
‘It must be someone linked to the case. The boy’s mother?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Or what about the lad? The kid who went to jail. He’d have as much reason as anyone to hate her.’<
br />
‘Yes. True.’
‘So Billy’s family. The guy who did time. Anyone else you can think of?’
‘I really don’t know. There’s a new girl at work. There’s something… not right about her. And all this started happening pretty soon after she showed up. I don’t like her.’
‘Okay. You think she could be connected?’
‘She wouldn’t even have been born when Billy Noakes was murdered. I don’t know what her connection is. Unless she’s one of these weirdos who’s obsessed with grisly murders. She was grilling me about it tonight. I got the impression she was digging. She wanted me to think she was joking, but I’m sure she meant it. I don’t know how or why, but my gut tells me she’s connected in some way.’
‘Right. I’ll see if I can find any info on Billy’s family. The lad, he’ll be harder to track down. He’s protected. But someone will know where he is, I’m sure.’
Beth nodded.
Charlie placed his hand on top of Beth’s.
‘I love you. I won’t let anyone hurt you. I’ll protect our family. I promise.’
‘Thank you.’ She stood up. ‘I need to get to bed.’
‘You go. I’ll be up soon,’ Charlie replied.
Beth trudged up the stairs. Charlie heard running water from the en suite.
He pulled the folded newspaper from his pocket. Skimming it once more, he made a note of a few names. A quick internet search on his phone revealed that Detective Matt Simms had retired a few years earlier on medical grounds.
Hardly surprising, Charlie thought. He couldn’t find any further information. So he changed tack. He scoured the page for the reporter.
Tom Cavanagh.
Bingo.
Charlie typed the name into the search engine, and within seconds he had all the details he needed.
He must have been a rookie at the time of the case; still looked relatively young now. He found a mobile number, tapping it into his phone.
After a couple of rings, Cavanagh picked up.
‘Hello?’ The voice was thick Brummie. Grouchy, probably from being called late at night by a stranger.
But when you’re a journalist, that’s par for the course. Charlie explained who he was.
‘Okay, mate. So why are you calling me this late? You got a story for me?’
‘No. Sorry, I don’t.’
Silence. Charlie could hear the occasional long breath, maybe drawing on a cigarette.
‘I’m trying to find Matt Simms.’
No reply.
‘Matt Simms was–’
‘I know who he is.’
‘Okay. Do you know how I can get in touch with him?’
Another pause.
‘Perhaps. What do you want him for?’
‘It’s complicated.’
‘Mate, you’ve called me after midnight. I think the least you owe me is to tell me what this is about.’
‘It’s about Billy Noakes.’
‘What about him?’
‘It’s actually more about Kitty Briscoe.’
More silence.
Not even the sound of breathing.
‘Do you know where she is?’ Cavanagh asked excitedly.
‘No.’
‘Are you sure? My paper would reward you handsomely for dirt on her.’
‘Do you have a number for Simms or not?’
‘Sorry, mate. No can do.’
The line went dead.
‘Shit,’ Charlie cursed under his breath.
He sat staring at his phone for a moment, then hammered a text message into it.
Someone thinks my wife is Kitty Briscoe.
That person is terrorising my family.
She’s innocent. I need to find out what happened to Kieran Taylor. He’s our prime suspect.
Simms is the only one who can help me.
Charlie typed in Tom Cavanagh’s mobile number and hit send.
A few minutes passed, and Charlie had almost given up hope, when three small dots appeared below his message. Cavanagh was replying. A few seconds later a reply buzzed onto his screen. An address in Birmingham, followed by a warning.
Simms was affected hugely by that case. He never really got over it. Raking it up again now will open old wounds for him. Be sure you want to go there.
Charlie was sure.
He didn’t want to cause upset to anyone else, but he had to do this. He had to protect his family.
Tomorrow he would drive to Birmingham.
22
June, 1985, Perry Barr, Birmingham, England.
As the setting sun fell on Kitty Briscoe’s face she inhaled the sweet scents of honeysuckle and jasmine and smiled. She loved summer evenings. Smudge, her kitten, sidled up behind her, rubbing himself against her. His tail swayed above his head as he purred loudly.
Kitty turned and ran her hand across the soft fur of his back. Smudge dribbled as she stroked him.
Kitty’s mother had brought the animal home a few weeks earlier. Her father had been furious, of course. Nothing new there.
She closed her eyes and reclined slowly onto the grass. Resting her fingers on Smudge she lay peacefully, watching the sun set.
She didn’t like it when her mother was out. She tried hard to keep out of her father’s way, but sometimes it didn’t work.
A door slammed inside the house, and Kitty’s eyes sprang open. She sat upright on the lawn.
‘Kitty!’ Her father’s booming voice carried out into the garden and the cat scurried away.
It hadn’t taken him long to learn.
‘Kitty, get in here now!’ her father roared.
He was getting closer.
Kitty jumped up. She didn’t want to see him.
She ran to the fence, slipping through a gap. Crouching on the other side, she held her breath.
Didn’t dare breathe. Didn’t dare move.
‘Kitty, where the hell are you?’
He was outside now.
A bead of sweat trickled down her forehead. She wiped it away carefully.
‘I’m warning you, you little shit. You better get here right now or you’ll bloody well regret it!’
Kitty backed away, the skirt of her pink gingham dress snagged on a rough edge, or a nail, she wasn’t sure which. The fabric ripped.
She held her hand to her mouth, resisting the urge to cry.
Don’t. Get. Caught.
She moved further from the fence, stepping on a twig.
The cracking sound may as well have been a gunshot. She ducked down again, peering through the gap. Her father span around, unsure which direction the noise had come from. Vodka had lessened his ability to think straight. Kitty had learned at a very young age that her father was stupid when he drank.
Stupid, but dangerous.
Kitty watched as his shirtless, fat body wobbled. He swayed back and forth. She hoped he might fall, but he held his balance, taking a step back.
‘Where the hell are you?’ He was furious now.
The kitten ran across the garden, past her father and in through the French doors. He glimpsed the flash of movement out of the corner of his eye and twisted towards the house. He lurched forwards, then half ran, half fell, over the lawn and into the living room.
Kitty took her chance. She stood up and scarpered.
She sprinted as fast as she could and didn’t stop until she got to the tree house that she and Kieran had built in the woods the previous summer. She climbed up the ladder and pushed the hatch open, pulling herself into the safety of their den.
She sat huddled inside, hugging her knees to her chest. As the sun went down, the walls around her turned orange, then deep scarlet. The birds stopped chirping. Something scurried past beneath her in the bushes. She didn’t care. Whatever it was couldn’t be any worse than her pig of a father.
The warmth faded with the light, and as the red changed to black, Kitty shivered. It was a summer evening, but she’d left without a jacket. She didn’t know how long she had been
hiding, but she felt cold. She wanted to go home.
She slowly descended the ladder and made her way back.
Sliding through the gap in her fence, she tiptoed towards the house. The French doors were still wide open. There was a warm orange glow from one solitary lamp inside. The bright moon cast eerie shadows around the garden.
Kitty froze as she saw something lying on the grass midway between where she stood and the house.
She couldn’t make out what it was. A small pile. A rag, perhaps.
As she approached, she saw a clearer shape. The rough outline of fur.
A shaft of moonlight illuminated the animal. Kitty smiled as she edged closer to Smudge.
But something wasn’t right.
He would usually come running to her as soon as she was nearby.
But the kitten didn’t move.
She took a few more tentative steps towards him until she was standing over him.
He looked all wrong. His eyes bulged. His tongue lolled outside his mouth.
Kitty knelt down beside her beloved cat, picking him up gently. She cradled his lifeless body in her arms. But of course, she was too young to understand.
‘Smudge?’ His head fell awkwardly to one side and Kitty gasped. She dropped the cat onto the lawn and screamed.
‘Smudge, wake up!’ she cried. But the kitten didn’t move. He felt cold as she stroked his fur.
Kitty began to cry.
‘Smudge!’ she shouted, over and over again.
She didn’t notice her father until he was almost on top of her.
‘Daddy, something’s wrong with Smudge. He won’t wake up!’ Kitty bellowed through her sobs.
Her father stood staring at her, a sneer on his face.
‘He’s dead.’
‘What?’
‘That’s what you get. That’ll teach you to hide from me. You remember that.’
He turned away from her and wobbled back inside the house, leaving a stench of sweat, cigarettes and alcohol in his wake.
Kitty sat stroking her pet for a few minutes. She knew now that he was dead, but she couldn’t let go of him… not yet.
Eventually, after she had cried herself dry, she crawled to the edge of the garden and dug a hole in the flower bed with her hands. She returned to the cat, picking him up. She placed him into the hole and filled it in, patting it gently.