The Good Samaritan: A heart-stopping and utterly gripping emotional thriller that will keep you hooked

by C J Parsons

  The raw honesty of this assessment must have softened Alistair a little, because the edge had left his voice when he asked: ‘So I take it that, given the choice, you’d still be living with the two of them?’

  ‘Of course.’ Simon threw out his palms in exasperation. ‘I’d do anything to be there right now. Not just because I miss them, which I do, more than anything, but because of my theory.’ The dark eyes moved to Juliet’s and stayed there: a steady, measuring gaze. ‘The theory which you’ve promised to take on board. I want to be there with them because I’m scared this isn’t over. That something bad is going to happen. And I won’t be around to stop it.’

  The words were still hanging in the air when the door to the interview room flew open and DS Hiranand leaned through.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt. Can I just have a quick word?’

  Juliet joined him in the corridor outside the interview room.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I just had a call from the park manager’s office at Granger Park. They’ve found something – and I think you might want to go see it for yourself.’

  The park vehicle had left tracks in the soft earth, smashed wildflowers and grass embedded in the grooves. It was parked diagonally, at the base of an oak in a small clearing, right beside a padlocked gate leading out of the park.

  Juliet’s eyes travelled along the tread marks, stopping when they reached the vehicle. The Granger keepers called it an ‘electric cart’, but it looked more like a miniature jeep – park-issue white, with just enough room for a driver and a passenger squeezed together in front and a bit of cargo space behind for hauling bags of soil, plants and gardening tools.

  She heard twigs snapping behind her: Alistair, returning from the park keepers’ office.

  She turned to see him wading through the tangle of brambles and vines on the edge of the clearing, notebook in hand.

  ‘Mission accomplished,’ he called across to her. ‘The sign-in sheet shows . . . Ow! You bloody bastard!’ He hopped the last few steps, pulling up his trouser leg to display the deep scratch now striping his pale shin, a bead of blood welled at one end. ‘Will you look at what that bramble just did to me?’

  ‘Yes, it’s practically a knife crime. But returning to the business at hand . . .’ She gestured towards the cart. ‘Did you confirm that this thing was last seen on the day of the abduction?’

  ‘Yes indeed.’ Alistair dragged a sleeve across his shiny forehead, looking down at his notebook. ‘Signed out at 2.50 p.m. by a park keeper named Nick Laude.’ He flipped the book shut, one-handed. ‘He never signed it back in.’

  The two of them stood looking at the cart for a moment. The noonday sun clubbed them, sending a trickle of perspiration down Juliet’s spine.

  ‘So what’s your take?’ Alistair asked.

  Her eyes moved to the twin furrows in front of the cart. They passed beneath the now locked gate, where they became dried-out trails of mud on the strip of road beyond. A second set of tracks was superimposed over the first. It had rained heavily the night before Sofia’s abduction, but there hadn’t been a drop since. Luckily.

  She pointed to the cart.

  ‘Sofia is drugged, then this vehicle is used to transport her here from the children’s woods.’ Her finger moved to the gate. ‘The abductor unlocks the gate and drives her out.’ She strode up to the gate and leaned against it, gesturing towards the place where the mud trails ended abruptly. ‘Sofia is transferred into another vehicle parked over there. Then the cart is reversed back through the gate and abandoned. The abductor locks the gate and drives away.’ She looked up and down the narrow, silent strip of road. ‘No CCTV.’

  ‘Yeah, I noticed that too.’

  The heat was making Juliet feel lightheaded and she flapped the fabric of her blouse, trying to move the air against her skin.

  ‘There’s something I don’t get, though: why has this cart only now been discovered? Didn’t anyone flag it up during the initial police search?’

  ‘Yeah, well, about that.’ Alistair’s mouth twisted into a grimace. ‘Turns out there was a bit of a . . . a misunderstanding.’

  Juliet’s heart sank, her imagination already churning up headlines thundering with police incompetence.

  ‘What kind of misunderstanding?’

  Alistair pulled a square of paper from his trouser pocket, unfolding it to reveal an A3-sized map labelled ‘Granger Park’. He held it by the edges, angled towards her. The first thing that struck her was the shape: the park’s outline was more or less rectangular, but with a large chunk missing from the top-left corner so, it resembled a fat letter L lying on its back. The area within the park’s border had been coloured green, blue and grey to denote trees, water and concrete. Everything outside it had been left white.

  ‘Where did you get this from?’

  ‘The park office. It’s the same map that was used to divide the search area into quadrants.’

  Juliet placed a fingertip on the children’s woods, skimming north, past the Japanese garden, following the path that had brought them here, frowning as the trail dead-ended at the park’s northern border. Weird. Had she somehow picked the wrong path?

  ‘I’m confused. Where exactly are we?’

  ‘That’s the problem.’ He tapped the missing chunk of rectangle. ‘We’re here. This area was never assigned a team because it doesn’t appear on the map.’

  Juliet stared at the white space in disbelief.

  ‘Why the hell not?’

  Before Alistair could reply, a gravelly voice spoke behind them.

  ‘I can tell you that.’

  They turned to see a white-haired man with a walrus moustache emerging from the thicket of trees they’d arrived through, wearing a pair of park-issue overalls with ‘Daniel’ machine-stitched on to the breast pocket.

  He strode up and shook Juliet’s hand, then Alistair’s, using a firm grip.

  ‘Daniel Cookson. Senior Park Keeper.’

  Juliet introduced herself then gestured towards the map.

  ‘If you’re able to explain why this section of the park isn’t on the map, please do.’

  Daniel Cookson took a pair of reading glasses from the pocket of his overalls and slowly unfolded them, one arm at a time, before putting them on. He tapped the top left corner of the page.

  ‘Leaving this part out was Steve’s idea, when the new maps came out last year.’

  ‘Steve?’ Alistair echoed, then slapped the side of his neck. Juliet watched as he inspected the contents of his palm, pulling a face.

  ‘Steve’s the new park manager,’ Daniel explained. ‘He thought it would be best not to draw attention to these woods, since they’re closed to the public anyway. We opened the internal gate today for your lot, but normally it’s kept locked with a big “Private: Keep Out” sign. Steve was worried people might be tempted to sneak in and explore if they spotted it on the map.’

  ‘Why is it closed off?’ Alistair asked, swatting at the air right in front of him.

  Daniel chuckled. ‘That’s why. Mosquitos. There used to be a tadpole pond over there.’ He gestured vaguely towards a trail veiled with branches. ‘It was a big hit with the little ones. And it wasn’t just tadpoles: all sorts of mini-beasts lived there – a thriving ecosystem. We would bring groups of children, class trips and such, to learn about the life cycle. But the whole thing dried up in a drought, oh, must be five, six years ago now. When we tried to resuscitate it the following year, all we got for our troubles was a plague of mosquitos. Strangest thing. We kept trying to get rid of them, but no matter what we did, they always came back. There were loads of complaints. An American tour group even threatened to sue.’ He took a cloth handkerchief out of his overalls and blew his nose into it. ‘So we locked the gate, put up the sign, and haven’t used it since.’

  Juliet looked around the little glade, wi
th its wildflowers and nodding trees.

  ‘Shame.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Daniel Cookson tucked the handkerchief back in his pocket. ‘It is.’

  Her eyes returned to the abandoned cart. A robin landed briefly on the roof before flitting off again. A breeze rode past, bending the wildflowers. Hard to believe they were only a short drive from central London.

  ‘We’d like to speak to your colleague, the one who signed out this cart. Nick Laude. Is he in today?’

  A nod. ‘He’s on the afternoon shift.’ Daniel glanced at his watch. ‘Should be arriving in about half an hour.’ His lips tightened disapprovingly beneath the moustache. ‘Actually, better make that an hour. He’s not the most punctual lad.’

  ‘Can you think of a—’ Alistair began, then his head flinched back and he clapped his hands in the air – ‘Oh for f— why are they only going after me?’ He glared at Juliet, as though she were somehow to blame.

  ‘Maybe they’re racist,’ she deadpanned.

  He gave her a withering look before returning his attention to Daniel. ‘Can you think of a reason for bringing a park vehicle here? Is there any work being done in this area?’

  A firm headshake. ‘No. Nothing.’

  ‘Why wasn’t the cart reported missing?’ Juliet asked, eyes tracking a particularly large mosquito as it buzzed past her without interest. ‘Doesn’t anyone check at the end of the day to make sure they’re all accounted for?’

  ‘Yes, theoretically. But there’s been so much hoo-ha lately, what with the girl disappearing, police everywhere, people being questioned. Coppers crawling around on the grass looking for God knows what. It’s hardly a shock the park’s been thrown off its routine. And anyway, if there’s an emergency, it’s not uncommon for people to take the carts at odd hours without bothering to sign for them.’

  Alistair lifted an eyebrow. ‘Emergency? What sort of emergencies do you get here?’

  ‘Visitors getting hurt. Peacocks getting out. Hooligans sneaking in after hours. All sorts.’

  Juliet glanced towards the gate, smiling as she pictured rogue peacocks escaping over it, tails spread into opulent fans. Then her eyes dropped to the closed padlock and her smile faded.

  ‘Who has the key to this gate?’

  ‘No one. It’s kept with all the other keys, on a hook in the storage hut.’

  ‘Can you take us there?’

  ‘Sure. Follow me.’ And he turned and strode back towards the trail that had brought them here.

  She heard another slap and turned to see Alistair flicking away an insect corpse with a look of disgust.

  ‘Come on,’ Juliet said, carefully sidestepping a nest of blackberry thorns, which Alistair promptly trod in.

  ‘I hate bloody nature,’ he muttered.

  Nine

  The girl with the rainbow hairband was screaming. Sofia stared at the girl’s arm, at the tooth marks that had turned her skin the same colour as the floor.

  Everything was red on this level. There was a yellow level at the bottom where the ball pit was and the top level was all blue. But Sofia liked the red level best because it had long tunnels and a swinging rope ladder and a curly slide that went all the way back to the bottom. So she had gone straight up to red as soon as she’d arrived at Bundy’s Indoor Play Centre. But when she went through the tunnel, the rainbow hairband girl was on the other side, shouting at a boy with blond hair.

  ‘‘Look what you did!’ she screamed, holding up her arm. ‘My mummy says only animals bite! So you’re not even a human being! I’m going to tell!’ Then she pushed past and fled back through the tunnel, wailing loudly. Sofia stared at the blond boy. He was older than her. Maybe six or seven.

  ‘What are you looking at?’ There was a snarl inside his voice.

  ‘Nothing.’ Sofia sat down cross-legged on the edge of the padded floor, out of the path of the children running in and out of the tunnel. ‘Why did you bite that girl?’

  He looked at her with his face moving around a lot, like he was trying to decide whether or not to tell her to mind her own beeswax. But then he sat down next to her on the floor, pulling up his knees.

  ‘She pushed me.’

  Sofia shrugged. ‘So?’

  Children were always pushing each other in Bundy’s because it was crowded and everyone wanted to go first on the slide. It was annoying, but not super annoying.

  ‘So . . . it made me mad.’

  ‘I get mad sometimes too. But I don’t bite. Mostly I just shout. Sometimes I kick things that are on the ground, but not people.’

  He picked at a spot on the floor where the red stuff was broken and a bit of foam was poking out.

  ‘Mrs Daniels from down the road says I’m a monster.’

  ‘She sounds mean.’

  ‘She said it because I chased her cat one time with a stick and scared it.’

  ‘Why did you do that? I like cats.’

  ‘Me too. I don’t know why I did it.’ He pulled out a bit of foam and threw it away, looking sad. ‘Sometimes I think she’s right and there’s a monster inside my head that jumps out whenever I get mad and makes me do bad things.’

  Sofia considered this for a moment.

  ‘Can’t you put it in a cage?’

  He looked up. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, the monster must be maginary, if it lives inside your head. So can’t you make a maginary cage and lock it up inside?’

  He considered this for a moment, frowning. Then he smiled, a big, proper smile that changed his face.

  ‘That’s a good idea. I’m going to try it.’ He gave her arm a soft punch. ‘Thanks.’

  Sofia smiled back, feeling a glow of pride at having helped. He was OK, this blond boy, now that he wasn’t biting.

  ‘Want to go play in the ball pit?’ she suggested.

  ‘Sure!’

  He jumped up. But then the smile fell off his face. He was looking at something behind Sofia. She turned around and saw a skinny man in a Bundy’s T-shirt squeezing his way through the square gap at the top of the ladder leading up from the yellow level. It looked weird, seeing a grown up in here. The spaces weren’t big enough.

  The man ignored Sofia, pointing a finger (which was rude) right at the boy. ‘You need to come with me,’ he said. ‘We’re going to find your parent or carer and discuss the rules about biting.’ He held out a hand. ‘Let’s go.’

  But the boy shook his head, features twisting, turning red.

  ‘No! I won’t and you can’t make me! You . . . you . . .’ He went from red to purple, clearly struggling to think of a word bad enough. ‘. . . bucken-head!’

  The man frowned and came all the way up through the gap, moving quickly towards the boy, bent over at the waist to keep from bumping his head on the low, padded ceiling.

  ‘Run!’ Sophia shouted.

  And the blond boy scrambled off through the red tunnel with the Bundy’s man lumbering after him.

  ‘Children and parents are reminded that Bundy’s has a zero-tolerance policy on biting.’ The tannoy announcement was only just audible above the background roar of children.

  It was too hot outside for the park, so Bundy’s was packed. Children shrieked, climbed and slid through the three levels of the soft play area, crossing rope bridges and ducking through tunnels, scaling red or blue padded walls and zipping down slides. To Carrie, seated at one of the tables in front of it, the play structure looked like a giant, three-dimensional game of snakes and ladders encased in rope webbing. She fished a teabag out of her cardboard cup as she scanned the front of the red level. But Sofia must have been further back, hidden from view.

  The light in the cafe area was headache-bright, casting harsh judgement on the tired parents slouched at the litter-strewn tables around her. Bundy’s was well known for its terrible atmosphere and equally terrible menu.
But on days when the park was ruled out by the weather, it could be a godsend. Carrie took a sip of camomile tea, which tasted of dust. Her eyes kept returning to the three layers of darting children. It was unnerving, not being able to keep a proper eye on Sofia, and she felt her stomach twist. Irrational, of course. Security was tight here; there was only one way in and out, through a locked gate policed by staff whose job it was to ensure that each child came and went with the same adult. But Carrie was taking no chances and had selected a table near the gate, so that she could monitor the comings and goings herself. So she knew her daughter was still here, somewhere among the rush and roar of children. There was nothing to worry about, nothing at all.

  Are you afraid Sofia’s abductor might come for her again?

  The words seeped through her mind like acid, eating through the protective layer of logic.

  Carrie stood up quickly, the plastic chair squeaking against the linoleum. She had to find her daughter. Now.

  ‘She’s right there.’ The voice came from just behind Carrie’s left shoulder, startling her. She turned to find herself looking into a familiar face. Dark, wavy hair, pale skin and blue-green eyes. Tara: the woman from the park. She stood holding a cardboard cup in one hand and pointing at the bottom level of the play structure with the other. ‘If you’re looking for Sofia, she’s in the ball pit.’

  Carrie felt herself unclench as she spotted her daughter, hip deep in multi-coloured plastic balls, giggling with another little girl as the two of them spun in circles, then fell over backwards. The balls closed briefly over their heads before they popped back up again in fresh fits of giggles.

  Carrie drew in a long breath, expelling it slowly, feeling her fear leave with it.

  Tara was watching her over the rim of her cup. She must have slept badly because there were grey shadows under her eyes.

  ‘We meet again.’ She smiled. ‘At least this time I was actually able to find Sofia.’

  ‘Yes.’ Carrie stood looking at Tara. It felt strange, seeing her in Bundy’s, casually holding a drink. Out of context. ‘Thank you.’