A Face in the Crowd: An absolutely unputdownable psychological thriller

by Kerry Wilkinson

  I try to place Gloria, but there’s nothing. If I know her, then it’ll be by looks, not by name. She will be online, of course. We all are. Look for my name and Ben automatically appears alongside me. We’re forever entwined.

  ‘I’ll be there,’ I say. I’d tried to forget the memorial service, I always do, but it creeps up on me.

  ‘Great,’ Gloria replies. ‘I was hoping you’d say that.’ She’s speaking quickly, as if this is precisely what she thought I’d say. There’s a moment in which it sounds like she’s typing something on a keyboard and then: ‘Can we talk about money?’

  I glance across towards my bag and the envelope within. ‘Money?’ I stumble.

  ‘Perhaps it’s best if we talk tomorrow?’ she says.

  ‘But—’

  ‘I’ll find you and we’ll talk after the service itself.’

  ‘Can you—?’

  Gloria isn’t listening. She cuts across me with ‘Safe journey. We’ll talk soon’ – and then, like that, she’s gone.

  I’m staring at the blank screen and, when I press to look at previous callers, all I see is ‘unknown’.

  She wants to talk about money, except the only money I have is that which is sitting in the envelope that’s still in my bag. Perhaps it’s me, but perhaps it’s her, because, for whatever reason, it sounded as if she already knew that.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I get back to what I’ve spent so many hours doing – googling to see if anyone has reported missing or stolen money in the area. It’s reached the point where I’m hoping there is something. Perhaps a robbery in which the perpetrator had to dump the money? It would be an answer – and yet there’s nothing.

  Billy has gone to sleep and I’m not used to being at home during the day. I’d usually be an hour and bit into a stint behind a checkout and, even though the end of my shift can never come quickly enough, I now want to be at work. I sign up for overtime on my days off; I give up holidays because the money is more important. I spend so much of my time wishing I didn’t have to do such a job and, now I’ve been fired, I want it back.

  I continue searching for jobs and find a posting that someone has linked to on Facebook where a sandwich shop is looking for a person to do early morning to lunchtime shifts during the week. It’s minimum wage, less than I was making, but the hours mean I’ll be home for Billy by mid-afternoon. I look the place up and realise it’s closer than the supermarket. It would be simple enough to keep my bus pass and use the same route. On nice mornings in the summer, I could walk. If anything, although the pay is worse, the hours are a little better. There are no weekends and I’d be home earlier.

  I send the woman a message and then allow myself a little self-indulgence by making a cup of tea. It’s only as I’m picking out a teabag that I realise I’m not going to have my five per cent staff discount at Crosstown. It doesn’t sound like much – it’s not much – and yet it has totalled a lot of money over the years. Everything comes back to money in the end.

  By the time I get back to the sofa, I already have a reply from the sandwich shop owner.

  Hi Lucy.

  Thanks for your interest. Can I ask what experience you have in the food industry and also what your current job is?

  Thanks.

  I read the short message three times over. The answers are simple enough. I have no experience and I am currently unemployed after stealing from my previous job.

  I think about lying, replying to say something like I’m ‘between jobs’ because I’m also studying – but there are already too many holes in my life history for someone who is thirty.

  Instead, I return to the websites for the pair of job agencies. I fill in forms to say that I am, essentially, looking for anything. It reeks of desperation, but it’s not the first time I’ve debased myself today. I have rent to pay and debts that were never mine to clear.

  When that’s done, I remove the remaining cash from the envelope and stack it on the table in piles of £200. I’m going mad, I know. This is surely not the way normal people behave. I count it all five times in a row and there’s a little under £3,000. It’s a huge amount, but it won’t last long if I have to start paying rent and bills from it.

  So much for handing it in.

  Billy is pawing at the door, so I let him out to go wandering the halls and then return to the sofa. With all the free time I suddenly have, I can catch back up on my university work.

  I don’t, of course. I sit in front of the laptop, occupying myself with nothing of note. I can’t even make myself log onto the site. Even Billy’s return doesn’t raise me. It’s worse that he seems to sense it, too. He clambers onto the sofa and rests his head on my knee, wanting to be of comfort. I count the money over and over until I get so frustrated with myself, that I pack it all back into the envelope. The afternoon is largely wasted by thinking about the things I could buy with it.

  It’s almost a relief when there’s a chatter from the corridor to signal that Karen and the boys are home. I shoot off the sofa, startling poor Billy, and then catch Karen just as she was about to close her door. We do the faux ‘fancy seeing you here’ thing and then she invites me in.

  ‘I was thinking about trying that new takeaway pizza place,’ I say. ‘Do you think the boys would like a treat? On me.’

  Karen wavers in the doorway. ‘I’d already taken their tea out of the freezer,’ she says. ‘I can’t ask you to do that.’

  ‘I want to,’ I insist. A pause and then: ‘I think the pizza place does ice cream, too.’

  Tyler is close enough to hear. He spins on his heels and looks up to his mum – and that’s enough to sway it. Bully for me: I’ve guilt-tripped a mother into feeding her kids junk because I’m desperate for company.

  The four of us and Billy head out of Hamilton House and along the street. The boys speed ahead, setting themselves short races from lamp post to lamp post that Tyler always seems to win. Karen and I talk about the same kind of nothing we often do: weather, the state of parking at the front of our building, how the nights are drawing in, and so on. It’s meaningless, but the comfort of having somebody by my side outweighs all of that.

  You Wanna Pizza Me? is one of those shops that are constantly opening and closing in different guises. It was a coffee shop a year ago and then sat empty as the graffiti mounted on the shutters outside. It’s on a small rank of shops, along with a betting place, a newsagent and a launderette.

  The kids are still ahead but wait outside, checking to see that this is definitely where they’re allowed to eat tonight. When Karen nods, they whoop with joy and jump up the step to get inside. I tie Billy outside and head after them.

  When they ask what they can order, I tell them whatever they want, and they start to plan a pair of created feasts.

  We watch as they relay their order and Karen leans closer to me: ‘Thank you,’ she whispers.

  It’s a struggle but I manage, ‘Don’t worry about it.’

  ‘You deserve this,’ she adds.

  It takes me a second to remember the lie about a scratch card.

  ‘This bit of money could turn things around for you,’ she adds. ‘I know it’s been hard after everything with Ben, but this is going to change it all.’

  She nudges her shoulder into mine and there’s such care in her tone that it’s hard to bite away the tears. I’m using money that isn’t mine to pay for everything. I’ve lied about where it came from – and all this on the day I was sacked for theft. If only she knew the truth.

  I pay for the order but can barely eat more than a few bites of my own food and end up carrying the box home. It turns out the pizza place doesn’t do ice cream – but a bribe is a bribe, so we take the kids into the newsagent, where they raid the freezer at the back. I pay for the Magnums, too – no ten-pence Mini Milks here – and Karen is so overwhelmed that she’s almost in tears. It will have been a fair while since Tyler and Quinn have been able to have such an indulgent treat. They’ll remember today because small g
estures mean a lot when a person has so little.

  We amble back to Hamilton House and each step along the pavement gives me a growing dread that I’m going to be alone. I’m not usually like this; the opposite is true. It’s Billy and me versus the world and I’m fine with that. But now, after today, I need people around me.

  I trail after Karen until we get to her door, as if there’s no question of me returning to my own flat. She doesn’t seem to mind, unlocking it and waiting for Billy, Tyler and Quinn to head inside before we follow. She kicks off her shoes and mentions the kettle, so I say I’ll do it. The layout of our apartments is identical – except that Karen has two bedrooms tagged onto the main area. I have a bed hidden in a wall, but she has the equivalent of the penthouse suite.

  Karen relaxes on the sofa as Tyler and Quinn head off to their room. After flicking the kettle on, I hunt through the cupboard above for the box of teabags, but the results are catastrophic.

  I hold up the single teabag for Karen to see. ‘Tragedy has struck,’ I say.

  She looks up from her phone and laughs. ‘There’s more somewhere around there.’ She presses down on her arms but doesn’t actually move. It’s the half-hearted motion people do when they’re already sitting and don’t want to get up. I don’t blame her.

  ‘I’ll find them,’ I say.

  A new box is not in the cupboard with the others, so I open a few doors and start looking. My kitchen is largely barren – a testament of only buying the things I need – but Karen’s is full of food for the boys. There are cereals and packets of biscuits; plus a cupboard seemingly devoted to sandwich fillings. No sign of teabags.

  I start opening and closing drawers and am moving so quickly that I almost miss it. I’ve already moved on and have to backtrack to make sure my eyes weren’t lying. Sitting in the drawer next to the fridge is a taupe envelope. I glance to Karen, who is busy tapping away on her phone, so I turn my back, blocking her view as I remove the envelope from the drawer. I flip it over, but there is no writing on the front or back. It’s padded but squishy, with the tab loosely held in place by a thin strip of tape.

  It’s all horribly familiar…

  I risk a glance over my shoulder to Karen, but she is still not paying attention. The tape comes away under my nail and then I raise the flap to peer inside.

  I’d been expecting it from the moment I saw the envelope – but it’s still a shock. Still inexplicable. There’s money inside – scruffy ten-pound notes bundled in haphazardly and shoved to the bottom. I hold the notes for a moment, running my fingers over the smooth plastic.

  There are hundreds of pounds packed into the envelope, perhaps more than a thousand. I have an almost unescapable urge to tip it onto the side and count it all.

  Then there’s a knock at the door.

  I’m not sure if I’ve ever moved so quickly, but, within a flicker of a second, I’ve crammed the money back into the envelope and dropped it into the drawer. By the time Karen has made a token gesture of getting up, I’ve called ‘I’ll get it’ across to her.

  I want to ask where the money came from; if she somehow had it drop into her life in the way I did… but there’s no time for that because it’s one surprise after another.

  Standing in the doorway are a pair of police officers.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The officers are both in uniform. The taller of the two is cradling his hat in his arm and stoops to look down at me. Jonathan must have changed his mind and they’re here to talk to me about what happened at the supermarket. If not that, they know about the money that was dropped into my bag. They want it back and I’m going to have to somehow explain why I’ve spent so much and why I never handed it in.

  ‘Miss Atkinson?’ he asks.

  I turn towards the inside of the flat, where Karen is on her feet. ‘That’s me,’ she says.

  ‘Karen Atkinson?’ he presses.

  ‘Right.’

  She moves across to me and opens the front door wider, but the four of us remain on the cusp; the officers a little outside, us a little in. The second of the two officers gives a weak smile but stays mute, standing rigidly with her arms at her side.

  ‘I’m Constable Beaman and this is Constable Grant,’ he says, indicating the woman at his side. ‘Do you know a Jade Johansson?’ he adds.

  Karen looks to me and then nods. She points towards the door opposite mine. ‘She lived there,’ Karen replies, before touching my arm. ‘This is Lucy. She lives opposite.’

  Beaman checks something on a notepad and flips a page before focusing back on me. ‘Miss Denman?’ he asks, with a nod.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can we come in?’

  Karen steps backwards to allow them in and then lowers her voice. ‘I’ve got two sons,’ she says. ‘They’re in the back room. Is that okay…?’

  The officers exchange a glance and, in that moment, I know what’s coming. There’s a grim finality about it all.

  ‘Perhaps we’re better here,’ the officer says.

  We step out and Karen pulls the door almost closed behind us. The hallway isn’t overly wide and the four of us huddle awkwardly as a breeze billows up from below. Someone’s left a door open.

  Beaman turns between the two of us: ‘I’m sorry to inform you that we found the body of Jade Johansson forty-eight hours ago,’ he says.

  Karen gasps and grips my arm. She’s so unsteady that she almost topples back into the door. There’s a moment, a fraction of a second, in which it feels like it’s too dramatic. Like someone in panto faking a heart attack.

  ‘She’s dead?’ Karen says.

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  When Karen turns to me, I’m ashamed at ever doubting her. Her eyes are wide with shock. I wonder what it says about me in that I thought her compassionate reaction was over the top, while my solemn acceptance was normal. I’ve been finding out a lot about myself in recent days and I’m not sure if much of it is good.

  Beaman focuses on me. ‘We’re going to need time to sit with each of you at some point. That’s not necessarily today because this is all very recent.’

  Karen and I nod along, but I can’t stop myself from looking past the police towards the door opposite mine. I can picture Jade on her way to classes with a tatty badge-covered bag over her back. She always seemed to be cold and would be layered up, regardless of the time of year. In the winter, she had a coat that was like a converted sleeping bag. She would sometimes buy doggy biscuits as a treat for Billy.

  ‘What happened?’ Karen asks.

  The officers exchange another glance. ‘It’s early days,’ Grant replies. It’s the first thing she’s said. ‘But we’ve confirmed it’s definitely her.’

  ‘Where did you find her?’

  Constable Grant shakes her head. ‘We’re not ready to confirm that for the moment, I’m afraid.’

  She flips open the page of her notebook and then Karen interrupts by saying, ‘Perhaps we can go to Lucy’s?’

  The officers glance to my door and then turn to me.

  ‘It’d be a bit more private,’ Karen adds. ‘The boys will be okay for a couple of minutes.’

  There isn’t actually a moment in which I agree to this, but there’s an inevitability to it. I can hardly tell the police that they’re not welcome.

  As Karen nips back inside to tell Tyler and Quinn she has to head out, Billy follows me to the apartment, while having a good sniff of the officers to make sure they’re up to his high standards. They both crouch to show him some attention as I unlock my door and head inside. I leave them in the hall, telling them I need a moment to clean up and then I hastily make sure the envelope of money is still in the drawer underneath the television. I think about moving it, perhaps hiding it under my mattress again, but it will take too long. I have to tell myself that they don’t know I have it and this is not why they’re here. Then I remember the money that Karen had. It’s all a confusing mess.

  It’s not long before Karen, myself and both
officers are crammed onto the sofa and single chair. Much of the furniture was left by the previous tenant, which was a good thing, considering I’m not sure how I would have been able to afford my own. Billy is pacing, unhappy at having such a full apartment and strangers in his space. Constable Grant offers him her hand, but he ignores it and trots over to the corner instead.

  ‘I do have that effect on men,’ Grant jokes, though nobody laughs.

  Beaman is flipping through his notepad. ‘I know somebody spoke to you when Ms Johansson first disappeared,’ he says, ‘but I’d like to ask if you know of any reason that someone might have harmed her.’

  Karen and I look to one another blankly and I can’t help but wonder if this is how police do things. On television, it’s all metal walls, bolted-down tables and two-way mirrors. After Ben died, someone knocked on the door of the house, even though I’d already heard about the crash on the news. The officer asked a few basic questions, but that was more or less it. I’ve not had much contact with the police in my life.

  ‘I can’t think of anyone,’ Karen says.

  I shake my head. ‘I don’t remember ever seeing her with anyone,’ I say. ‘I’d catch her on the way out or back quite often. She’d be off to class, or the gym, something like that – but always by herself.’

  ‘Were you friends?’

  ‘Not as such,’ I say. ‘We would always say hello, but that’s about it. We didn’t spend any time together.’

  Karen confirms the same, but we seem only to be ratifying what the officers expected.

  Beaman finishes whatever he’s writing and then looks up. ‘Are there ever any problems in the building?’

  ‘Like what?’ I ask.