The Stranger in My Bed: An utterly gripping psychological thriller

by Karen King

  He finished his coffee, went for a quick shower and got dressed. The holiday booking was still bothering him. Yes, as Freya had pointed out, they had plenty of time to claim on the insurance and get their money back, but it was this holiday that had caused the big argument that had resulted in the car accident and him losing his memory. It was important to him that he find some details of it, something concrete that he could see for himself instead of having to take Freya’s word for it. Even if, as Freya had theorised, he’d had the details with him in the car and they’d got damaged or lost in the accident, there should still be some trace of the booking somewhere. He’d have kept details of the travel insurance – he always made a photocopy of documents like that in case he lost the original. He liked to be prepared. Did his bank or home insurance provide travel cover too? he wondered. If so, it would be easier to track down. He’d start with them first.

  Feeling more positive now, he picked up his empty cup, ready for a refill before going down to search his office again, intending to go through it methodically, one drawer, one file at a time. As he passed the spare bedroom, he heard Freya on the phone; she sounded bright and businesslike. ‘That’s ten thirty on Friday then,’ he heard her say. He guessed it was something to do with this new account she’d taken on. She was working in the office Mondays and Fridays, she’d told him; she must have been arranging a meeting. Not wanting to disturb her to ask if she wanted a drink too, he carried on down into the kitchen, made himself a strong, black coffee and took it to his study.

  He pushed open the door and headed straight for his desk, spotting his black planner in the right corner. Why hadn’t he checked that before? He might have written some details in that. He reached for the planner and a piece of paper fell out, floating to the floor. That could be what he was looking for. Maybe he’d scribbled a reference number on it, some details of the holiday. He bent down, picked it up and froze. It was a short, typed note that said in bold black letters:

  I’M WATCHING YOU. YOU WON’T GET AWAY WITH IT.

  He suddenly remembered what Freya had said about the back door being open again when she got up. Had someone been in, left this note for him?

  He scanned the study. Nothing seemed to be missing. The laptop would have been the obvious thing to take but it was still there. He hurried out into the hall, checked the lounge. Nothing missing. Freya surely would have checked when she noticed that the back door was open anyway.

  What did it mean? Who had written it and put it on his desk? What wouldn’t he get away with?

  His first instinct was to tell Freya about the note but he thought better of it. She would want to tell the police. He had to be careful about involving them, or Freya before he knew exactly what was going on. He had to find out why someone had broken into their house and left him a note. What had he done?

  Then he remembered Daisy’s parting words: ‘I’ll be watching you.’

  20

  Freya looked up from the computer screen as Phil opened the door. She swivelled her chair around to face him when she saw his expression. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘It’s this bloody holiday! I can’t understand why I can’t find anything about it.’

  ‘I wish you’d stop fretting over this, Phil. I’ve told you we’ve got plenty of time to sort out the travel insurance. Give yourself time to recover first.’

  ‘I need to find it, Freya! It’s important!’

  He hadn’t meant to sound so agitated. She shot him a surprised look. ‘Remember I suggested that you might have had it in the car and it got lost in the crash? It’s the only logical explanation. You hadn’t been in the house long enough to put the details away anywhere.’

  ‘What about the travel insurance, though? I always buy travel insurance and always make a photocopy and I would have left it on my desk. There’s no sign of that either. It’s almost as if I never booked a holiday.’

  Freya sighed. ‘I think you only booked the holiday the afternoon of the accident, Phil – you didn’t tell me about it until you came home that night. I doubt you would have had time to make a photocopy of anything.’

  ‘It doesn’t make sense. There must be some kind of record somewhere. How did I pay for it?’

  ‘You usually put holidays on the credit card, as extra protection if something goes wrong,’ she told him. ‘Have you checked your bank and credit card statements? They will show who the payment was to, then you can phone the insurance company and explain what’s happened.’

  Phil slapped his forehead. ‘Why didn’t I think of that? I still have the same bank account, don’t I? Halifax? Is my credit card with them?’

  ‘Yes, I think so. We both have our own accounts and credit cards. I know that you bank online, though, so you should be able to get the details up. Actually, you bought me some new underwear too, and some roses. Have you found the receipts for those?’

  ‘Did I? Good to know that I’m not all bad.’ She could have told him this before. He’d spent the last few days thinking what a total bastard he was.

  ‘Of course you aren’t. We haven’t really discussed that evening much, have we? So it slipped my mind. Anyway, I’m not sure it will be of any help if you do find the receipts, apart from telling you what shopping centre you were in. I think the best course of action is to check your credit card statement. I just need to send an email then I’ll come and see how you’re getting on. Okay?’

  ‘Sure. I don’t want to interrupt you while you’re working.’ It was obvious she was low on his list of priorities right now.

  Freya had clearly picked up on the peeved undercurrent in his voice because she shot him another look and turned back to the screen. He had to stop being so snappy. It was just so frustrating to not be able to remember anything.

  Shortly after, Freya brought two mugs of coffee into the garage, where Phil was bent over his laptop. He looked up as she came in and saw her glance at the mess around him. Various papers and files had been strewn over the floor as he’d searched in frustration for any documentation connected to the holiday.

  ‘I can’t find my bloody banking password,’ he groaned. ‘I was hoping I’d written it down but I’ve looked everywhere and I can’t find it. Do you know it?’

  She shook her head. ‘Sorry, but we each have our own bank accounts and we don’t go onto each other’s computers. We respect each other’s privacy.’ She passed over his mug of coffee. ‘I’ve been thinking – once we get our money back from the insurers, why don’t we rebook the holiday for a bit later, a couple of weeks before you go back to teaching at the university perhaps? Give you time to recover and I can give work enough notice for someone to fill in for me.’

  He took a long sip of his coffee. ‘Yeah, that sounds good. I just need to find the perishing holiday details. I wish I could remember my password.’

  ‘Why don’t you click the “forgotten your sign-in details”? They’ll go through some security with you, but they’ll get you back online.’

  ‘I was worried that I might not remember the security details, that’s why. It was bad enough logging onto my computer when I couldn’t remember the password.’

  ‘Well, I’ll stay here while you do it, then I might be able to help if you can’t remember. If you can’t get on, I’ll phone up and explain to them what’s happened.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll give it a go.’ Phil put his mug down and clicked the link. Luckily the security questions were ones he remembered and he was soon back online. As he signed into his bank account with his new log-in and password, Freya peered over his shoulder, which made him feel a bit uncomfortable. She’d said they valued each other’s privacy and now she was looking at his bank account; it felt as if she was spying on him. He was glad when her phone rang and she turned away to answer it. ‘I’m sorry, Phil, I have to take this, it’s Stefan. Will you be okay now?’

  He nodded. ‘Sure, all I have to do now is check the bank and credit card statements for any payments to a holiday or insurance firm.’

 
Phil stared at the screen. There was no record of a payment to a holiday company over the past couple of weeks – Freya had said that it was a last-minute booking but the accident was over a week ago, so the transaction should be showing now. He went back over the last couple of months in case he had booked it earlier and only just told Freya – although God knows why he would do that! There were some cash withdrawals of a few hundred pounds but he was sure a holiday for two to Dubai would be a couple of thousand pounds, so he couldn’t even explain it away by saying he’d paid cash. He signed out, sat back in the soft black leather desk chair and closed his eyes wearily. What was going on? If only he could remember.

  He thought back to the strange conversation with Daisy, when she’d said that Phil had told her Freya was abusing him. Could he have been telling Daisy the truth? Was this part of Freya’s act? Pretending that he’d told her he’d booked a last-minute holiday, then got angry because she couldn’t take time off work and stormed out, almost getting killed. When actually she had caused a massive row over something and thrown the vase against the wall, cutting his forehead in the process?

  He tried to probe back into his mind for the memories buried deep in there but they eluded him. There was nothing. Not even the whisper of a half-memory.

  Freya didn’t seem that bothered about finding the holiday details either. She hadn’t bothered to look for them all the time he was in hospital. Was that because she hadn’t left his bedside? Or because there had never been a holiday at all?

  21

  The ringing of the doorbell interrupted his thoughts. Who was that now? He was tempted to leave Freya to answer it, then decided against it in case it was bloody Daisy again. He had to deal with it, whatever it was. He couldn’t stand being weak, having no control over his life.

  He opened the door and caught his breath when he saw the two police officers who had visited him in hospital standing on the doorstep.

  ‘Sorry to trouble you, Mr Keegan, but we’d like to talk to you about the accident again, if you have a few moments to spare,’ the female office said.

  ‘Of course. Come in.’ Phil heard Freya’s footsteps on the stairs as he stepped aside to let the police officers in.

  They all walked into the lounge, Freya and Phil taking seats on the sofa, together but not touching, while the officers remained standing.

  ‘The insurance company have conducted further investigations and have reported to us that there is no doubt that the brakes of your vehicle were tampered with, Mr Keegan.’ It was the male officer who spoke now.

  A band of tension started to form around Phil’s head. So it was true. Someone had tampered with his brakes. Someone wanted him dead. He’d thought he’d caused the accident by driving too fast. That he’d stormed out, got into his car and sped off, consumed – if Freya’s account was true – with red rage, without a thought for his or anyone else’s safety. But he hadn’t. Someone had sneaked up to his car and made sure that the next time he drove it he wouldn’t be able to stop. He couldn’t take it in. Who would want him dead? It couldn’t be true.

  The policeman’s eyes rested on Freya’s face. ‘Did you ever drive the car, Mrs Keegan?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes, we both share the cars. I have a Ford Fiesta and use that for work, while Phil uses the BMW, but if we’re nipping out, we’ll use whatever car is parked first in the drive.’

  ‘In that case we can’t presume that whoever tampered with the brakes intended to cause harm to Mr Keegan. They could equally have intended to harm you. But let’s go with that premise for now. Do you know anyone who would want to harm you, sir? Do you have any enemies?’

  Phil stared at them, the band of tension tightening so much that he felt like his brain would pop out of his head. Obviously he did have an enemy, a dangerous enemy, the threatening note proved that but he had no idea who it could be. He couldn’t bloody remember. He shook his head wordlessly.

  ‘I’m afraid that Phil has amnesia as a result of the accident and can’t remember the past two years so would have no idea if someone had a grudge against him.’ Freya reached out for Phil’s hand. ‘But to my knowledge there is no one who would want to harm Phil. Are you sure that the brakes didn’t simply fail?’

  ‘The insurance company are certain,’ the officer told her. ‘Their investigation showed that the nuts to the brake fluid pipes had definitely been loosened, causing a leak of the brake fluids resulting in brake failure. Someone wanted to injure or kill whoever drove that car next.’

  22

  ‘I don’t understand it, Freya. Why would anyone want to kill me?’ Phil said when the police officers had left after warning them both to be careful and to let them know if they remembered anything or if anything suspicious happened.

  ‘Neither do I.’ Freya looked worried. ‘Remember I said that I found the back door open on Saturday and this morning?’ She swallowed then continued. ‘What if it wasn’t you? What if someone broke in? If they’re watching you… us. Maybe we should have told the police about that?’

  He thought of the note and felt sick with fear. He didn’t want to tell the police; he was scared what he’d done to make someone hate him like this. It must be bad if someone wanted him dead. ‘I don’t understand what’s happening, Freya. I feel like I’m in some sort of bloody nightmare.’ He thumped the side of his forehead with his balled fist. ‘I wish I could remember. I hate not knowing what’s happened. It’s doing my head in. Why would someone want to kill me?’

  Freya touched his arm gently. ‘Let’s try and think about this logically. Do you think you would remember if you got out of bed in the middle of the night and went out into the garden?’

  He massaged the base of his neck with his hand. He was sure he would remember but he had to convince Freya he had left the back door open or she’d be phoning the police. ‘I don’t know. Maybe not if I was fast asleep. I used to sleepwalk when I was a kid.’

  ‘You’ve sleepwalked a few times since we’ve been married, Phil, but I usually hear you get up.’

  ‘But nothing’s been taken. There’s no sign that anyone has been in the house.’ Apart from the note on my desk.

  ‘I know – but the back door was left open. What if that was done deliberately because someone wants us to know that they can get into the house? That they can get to us whenever they want?’ She looked shaken.

  ‘I don’t see why anyone would want to do that.’

  ‘Neither do I but we can’t get away from the fact that the police are sure the brakes of the BMW were tampered with. Knowing that someone might have sneaked into our house while we were sleeping makes me really nervous. I think we should tell the police about the break-ins.’

  Phil shook his head adamantly. ‘But they’re not break-ins, are they? There was no forced entry and nothing got taken.’

  Freya looked at him incredulously. ‘Phil, we could both be in danger.’

  ‘I’m sure it was me sleepwalking. Who would bother to break into a house and not take anything? We’d just be wasting the police’s time.’

  ‘I guess you’re right, but if it happens again, we’ll tell them. Okay? We can’t risk it, Phil – whoever tampered with the brakes of your car is dangerous.’

  ‘I know. I still can’t get my head around it. I’m going out for a cigarette – and don’t remind me I shouldn’t smoke with my ribs like this!’ he retorted as he walked out into the hall. He needed something to de-stress; he felt like his head would explode.

  He paced around the garden, puffing on his cigarette. Someone was trying to mess with his mind and he was determined to find out who it was.

  23

  Wednesday

  Someone wanted him dead.

  The knowledge ate away at him like a rat gnawing at his brain, preventing him from sleeping. Someone had tampered with the brakes of his car. The crash wasn’t an accident. Someone had wanted to kill him. And someone was creeping into his house late at night, had left him a note saying they were watching him. Was it the same
person? Were they waiting for another chance to kill him?

  It was still dark and the glowing numbers on the clock told him that it was just gone three. He was too restless to try to go back to sleep now. Freya was still sleeping soundly beside him so he carefully got out of bed so as not to disturb her, grabbed his jeans and went downstairs for a drink and a cigarette.

  He pulled on his jeans when he reached the bottom of the stairs and went into the lounge, poured himself a small tumbler of whisky, picked up his packet of cigarettes and quietly opened the back door then stepped out into the garden. He didn’t want to wake Freya, and he needed time to think. Alone. He sat down at the table, took a cigarette out of the packet, lit it and inhaled slowly. He had to try and make sense of what was happening. If only he could remember the events of the evening he’d had the accident.

  He took another drag of his cigarette and closed his eyes, trying to remember. Where was he planning on going when he’d got in the car? A car screeched in the distance as it took the corner too fast and suddenly an image flashed across Phil’s mind, hazy around the edges at first as if it was out of focus then zooming in sharper. It was as if he was watching it on a TV screen in his head. He was in his car, speeding down the hill towards the crossroads at the bottom; a lorry was coming out of the side road so he pressed the brake pedal. Nothing happened. Fuck! He blasted his horn, practically stood on his brakes but he couldn’t slow down. He was nearly on top of the lorry. Crash! Then darkness.