Kill A Stranger: the twisting new thriller from the number one bestseller

by Kernick, Simon

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ I whispered. ‘Please don’t make me torture him.’

  ‘It’ll be the target’s choice to cooperate and your job to convince him that he should do so. All I’m interested in is the master copy.’

  ‘And if he gives it to me, I can let him go?’

  ‘When he gives it to you, finish him off.’

  My heart sank. Not only was this nightmare not ending, it was getting worse. I took a deep breath and told him that I understood, because it was the only way to buy myself some time to think.

  ‘As soon as I have confirmation that he’s dead, we will arrange swapping the master copy for your fiancée. But let me make one thing crystal clear. Do not look at the contents. For your own sake as much as anyone else’s.’

  I had no idea what he meant, but I didn’t like the sound of it. I told him I wouldn’t.

  ‘Now don’t let yourself or your fiancée down,’ he said. ‘And remember, I’ll be watching.’ With that, he ended the call.

  I’ll be watching. What the hell did he mean? Did he have a camera in here that I hadn’t spotted? It was possible. Why not? He had the keys to the place. It stood to reason he’d install a camera. But then why had he asked where I was? If he could see me, he’d know.

  All these questions were flooding through my head, threatening to overwhelm me. Even if there was a camera here, there was nothing I could do about it now. Instead, I walked over to the window and looked out onto the street. The rain had stopped and the sun was attempting to peep out from behind the clouds.

  And as I stood there, the white Fiesta came driving down the road towards me. I moved back from the window, my whole body trembling as I fought to keep control of an escalating, sickening panic.

  My victim was here.

  16

  Matt

  I crouched, dead still, in the darkness of the wardrobe. The air was hot and stifling, and a bead of sweat dripped down my forehead, leaving more of my DNA in what might well become a major crime scene. I’d pulled on the scarf I’d brought with me so that it covered my face beneath the eyes, and in my gloved hand I held the unsheathed knife.

  The panic had stilled now, replaced with clarity-inducing adrenaline. I knew I had to be strong – to act like I never had before, to bend this man to my will. I had a plan. It was basic, but it might just work. Kate’s kidnapper badly wanted the drive or tape or whatever it was. If I could get it, there might be room for manoeuvre. Maybe we could somehow fake this man’s death. It was a solvable situation. I was sure of it.

  Downstairs, I heard the front door opening and then closing with a loud bang, as if he was in a hurry. No matter. He had to come up here if he wanted his suitcase.

  I waited. My knees felt stiff, so I stood up, my head scraping against the rail.

  And then he was moving quickly up the stairs. He went into the toilet and I heard him take a long, loud leak and clear his throat. It was utterly surreal being in someone’s house like this, listening to their most intimate moments. The man didn’t wash his hands but came striding into the bedroom, only feet away from me, and I heard him closing the suitcase with a loud exhalation.

  It was now or never.

  I came out of the wardrobe fast, the adrenaline coursing through me.

  The door only just missed him as it flew open. He had his back to me, leaning over the bed, and was turning around just as I gave him a hard shove.

  It wasn’t hard enough. He fell forward towards the bed but managed to right himself, darting off to one side before I could grab him properly.

  I was now between him and the door. He turned to face me and spotted the knife, taking several steps backwards towards the window before realising he’d trapped himself. His hands were held out in front of him in a defensive posture. Sheer terror was etched across his face.

  I now saw him properly for the first time. He was even thinner up close, with that pinched, haunted look you sometimes see on obsessive middle-aged runners. He also looked older. Mid fifties at least, maybe pushing sixty, skin lined and sallow, his small dark eyes round and sunken. He looked ill.

  I immediately felt both guilty and frightened. My acting skills melted away as I stood rooted to the spot, waving the knife at him. ‘Where’s the master copy? Give me the master copy now!’ I demanded, realising my voice was so badly muffled that it was almost unintelligible.

  I pulled the scarf away from my mouth with my free hand and took a step towards him, trying to stop my knife hand from shaking. ‘Get on the floor!’ I shouted, trying to put some force into my voice.

  But though he was scared, he didn’t look compliant. His eyes were darting all over the place and I could see I was in danger of losing control of the situation.

  I took another step forward, pointing the knife towards his chest, and he stepped back again, closer to the window. ‘Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about. But if you leave now, I won’t call the police.’ His accent was educated, the voice authoritative, though it was still tinged with fear.

  Something switched in me then – maybe it was the knowledge that if I failed even to get him to comply with me, there was no way I was going to get Kate back – and suddenly I was Matt the actor again. DC Jonno Johnson. A man who wasn’t going to stop until he got the answers he needed. ‘I said I want the master copy! Give me it or I will fucking kill you.’ My voice carried weight now. ‘And get down on the floor.’ I took another step forward, more confident this time.

  He retreated round the bed, backing up towards the wall now, still keeping his hands out in front of him, with me matching him step for step.

  Then he stopped. Five feet separated us, maybe less. He was looking me right in the eye now, and I could see he was calculating whether or not to comply.

  I tensed, ready to lunge forward so that he’d know I was serious. ‘Just give me the fucking master copy, that’s all I want,’ I hissed, conscious that sweat was pouring down my forehead and into my eyes. It was stifling in here. I felt sick. And something told me he was going to make a break for it. I had to do something.

  I blinked hard, trying to clear my vision.

  And that was when he made his move. Taking a rapid step back, he reached behind him and grabbed the lamp from the bedside table. For a sick-looking man he moved extremely fast, but that’s what you do when your life depends on it. Before I could react, he’d flung the lamp straight at me, and as I brought up an arm to deflect it, he jumped onto the bed and raced across it, heading for the door.

  By a stroke of luck, he tripped on the suitcase and fell head-first off the other side, smacking into the wall and landing on the floor in a heap. But he was far too close to the door and freedom, and he was already scrambling to his feet.

  I couldn’t let him go. That would have been the end of everything. So I ran after him, grabbing him by the back of the collar as he tried to stand up and yanking him backwards, careful not to catch him with the knife. ‘You’re not going anywhere,’ I grunted.

  Struggling out of my grip, he lashed out, trying to smash an elbow into my face. I dodged the blow, but he kept coming, his face only inches away from mine as if he was going to land a headbutt, his fingers tugging at my scarf, pulling it free so that suddenly my features were exposed.

  ‘You bastard!’ he shouted, his expression furious now, and then with a roar, he did attempt the headbutt.

  I managed to turn my head and the blow was a glancing one, but I stumbled and, realising I was in danger of losing my footing, I started fighting back, and shoved him backwards.

  And then his eyes widened and he let out this weird gasp that seemed to last for several seconds, which was when I realised with a sense of real shock that I’d accidentally stabbed him.

  Pushing him away, I looked down and saw the knife buried deep in his upper thigh.

  ‘Oh Jesus.’ I pulled it out without thinking, looking down at the bloodied blade, then at him, watching frozen to the spot as he staggered backwards, banging against the wall, th
e blood pumping out now in great gouts. I no longer cared about the fact that I’d been unmasked. Right now, that was the least of my problems.

  I couldn’t move. It felt like I was trapped in the middle of a nightmare with a starring role. As I watched, he clutched at the wound with both hands, the blood seeping through the gaps in his fingers in an unstoppable flow.

  Then he slid down the wall, staring at me with wide confused eyes, his face rapidly turning a ghostly white, and I knew that he was dying.

  I wanted to help him, but felt perilously close to throwing up. The sight of blood has always made me queasy, and to see so much of it right in front of me was almost too much. But a little voice in my head – the voice of self-preservation – came out of nowhere and told me I couldn’t afford to throw up. It would leave my DNA all over the place. I had to think like a detective. Jesus, I had to think like a man. The guy in front of me had information I had to get hold of or Kate and my unborn child would die. It was as simple as that. You have to believe me when I tell you I was trying to do the right thing; that I had no choice but to do what I did next.

  As he sat sprawled awkwardly against the wall, making strange little whimpering noises, I crouched in front of him. I was still holding the knife, but now it was down by my side and out of sight, because I knew that it was far too late for any threats to work now. ‘For God’s sake,’ I implored him. ‘Tell me where the master copy is. My fiancée’s life depends on it. She’s pregnant.’

  His eyes flickered. I was losing him. Blood continued to spill down his leg. ‘Help me,’ he whispered, the words little more than a croak.

  ‘I will,’ I said, pushing my gloved hand over his, trying in vain to help stem the blood pouring out of his wound. ‘Just give me the copy. That’s all I need.’

  ‘Can’t help,’ he said faintly, and then his eyes closed and he let out a long, gentle sigh.

  ‘Please, please wake up,’ I begged him, bringing my face close to his.

  Nothing.

  I slapped his cheek. Hard.

  Still nothing. His head drooped to one side. If he wasn’t already dead, he soon would be. There was no way I was getting any answers from him now.

  Even so, I slapped him again, harder this time, the panic tearing through me. I grabbed his collar, shook him, unable to take in what I’d just done. I’d killed a man. Worse, I was assaulting him even as he lay dying in front of me.

  But I had to get that information.

  Without stopping to think what I was doing, I unzipped the top of his coat, looking for the drive that the kidnapper had said he might be wearing on a chain round his neck. It wasn’t there, so I reached into the outer pockets of the jacket, rummaged around, felt keys and a phone. I pulled out the phone, shoved it in my own jacket, somehow managing to compute in all the mayhem that it might come in useful later. I searched his trouser pockets next, my hand feeling the warm wetness of the blood as it soaked through his clothing, realising that I was acting like some sort of ghoul but operating pretty much on autopilot. Still I found nothing. I reached into the pocket on the other side, not sure what I was even looking for now.

  And that was when I heard it.

  A loud, ear-shredding scream.

  17

  Matt

  My head snapped up so fast I almost pulled a muscle in my neck.

  There she was. Just in view round the corner of the bedroom door frame, standing at the top of the stairs, her mouth gaping open. A short-haired woman in her forties, dressed in a shiny black raincoat and leggings and holding a bunch of keys, staring straight at me as I crouched over the body of the man I’d just stabbed while still clutching the knife I’d used on him.

  I stared back at her, during which time three things instantly dawned on me. One: I was no longer wearing the scarf, meaning there was now a witness who could ID me as the man’s killer. Two: I looked exactly like a murderer as I searched the body, not someone who’d killed this man accidentally. And three, and right then most importantly: this woman – whoever she was – might be in possession of the master copy I needed.

  ‘It’s not what it looks like, I promise you,’ I said, putting on my most trustworthy expression and slowly getting to my feet, making sure I placed the bloodied knife on the floor in an effort not to panic her.

  Not surprisingly, the gesture didn’t work. The woman screamed again, just as loudly, and turned and started running down the stairs.

  I couldn’t lose her. She had a key to this place so she obviously knew the target well, meaning right now she was my only hope, so I took off after her, desperation giving me a turn of speed I’d never known I had.

  She was fast too, almost on the last step when I caught up, slamming her in the back and sending her crashing into the front door before yanking her back round and using both hands to hold her up by the collar of her raincoat.

  ‘Don’t even think about screaming!’ I hissed, trying to ignore the terrified look on her face. ‘I’m not going to hurt you. But I need the master copy.’

  She stared back like a rabbit in headlights. ‘You killed Piers.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to. It was an accident. You’ve got to help me. They’re going to kill my fiancée.’

  ‘You liar!’ She suddenly began to struggle hard in my grip and I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t hit her, surely.

  But I couldn’t let her go either. I took a step back, still holding onto her lapels, and slammed her into the door again, my face contorted in anger as I thrust it close to hers. ‘I’ll kill you if you don’t give me the copy, I swear it.’

  ‘I don’t know anything about a master copy, I promise. And please stop. You’re choking me.’

  I realised that I was pushing the balls of my fists against her throat as I clutched at her lapels, and I loosened my grip slightly.

  ‘But you know what this is all about, don’t you? You know Piers was involved in something. Something bad.’

  She hesitated. And that confirmed it. She knew more than she was letting on. I could see it in her eyes.

  And I noticed something else. She was wearing a cheap-looking but thick metal chain round her neck. It looked oddly out of place. I stared at it and knew instinctively that it held the master copy.

  I grabbed hold of it and pulled, thinking the chain would snap. It didn’t, but it did fly upwards from under her clothing, revealing a single black flash drive on the end.

  ‘Give me that,’ I hissed, grabbing the drive in one hand, ready to give the chain another wrench.

  Those were the last words out of my mouth, because the next second I felt an intense, excruciating pain as a knee was launched straight into my groin.

  With a high-pitched gasp, I stumbled backwards onto the staircase, letting go of the drive and landing on my behind, clutching uselessly at the place where my balls used to be, because right now it felt like they were somewhere up around my chest. It had been years since I’d taken a shot to the nuts, but you never forget the all-consuming agony of it – like your insides are being smashed with a jackhammer – and I was forced to watch helplessly as the woman yanked open the front door and ran outside, slamming it shut behind her, still in possession of the flash drive. Already I could hear her screaming at the top of her voice that there’d been a murder, and I knew that she’d be calling the police any moment.

  Even so, it was a real struggle to get up, and when I did manage to, I had to stand there for a few seconds, holding onto the banister like an old man, until the pain finally began to subside enough to be tolerable.

  I had to get out of here. But I had to have that drive too. If I could just catch her . . .

  I staggered over to the window and looked out onto the street, trying to stay out of sight. The woman was still out there on the pavement and her screaming had clearly alerted passers-by, because a man and a woman were running over to her now, and she was pointing back at the house. The woman was on the phone while the man – a big guy in his fifties – looked the type who might try
to stop me if I went out that way, and probably be successful as well. And the last thing I needed was more people getting a look at my face.

  That only left the back way out. Trying to ignore the horrendous throbbing from my groin through my insides, I pulled the scarf back up over my face and took off into the kitchen.

  Even before I got there, I heard loud banging on the front door and the muffled shouting of someone outside. I tried the back door but it was locked, with no key in it. Now I could hear the front door being unlocked and then a man’s voice shouting that the police were on their way. ‘And I’ve got a baseball bat here!’ he added menacingly.

  Almost overdosing on pure adrenaline, I tried the window above the sink. But it too was locked.

  I could hear footsteps coming down the hall towards me. If it was the man I’d just seen outside, I had no idea where he’d got the bat from, but clearly he was confident enough to confront a killer – and that meant trouble for me.

  I looked round wildly and saw the tiny key tucked into the lip of the windowsill. I grabbed it and, with shaking hands, inserted it into the lock, pulling down the handle and throwing the window open.

  ‘Oi!’ came a shout from the doorway. ‘Stay there!’

  I didn’t even look round. Instead I sprang, literally one-handed, onto the sink and dived head-first out of the window and onto the patio outside, landing painfully on my elbow before scrambling to my feet and sprinting up the narrow garden. A rickety wooden fence separated it from the one next door, and when I’d put a few yards between me and the house, I scrambled over it and down the other side. A dog immediately started barking loudly and out of the corner of my eye I saw it come running towards me. But I wasn’t stopping for anyone or anything and I was over the next fence and into the garden beyond before it could reach me. A train was clattering past on the viaduct, its passengers clearly visible inside, safely ensconced in their own little worlds, completely unaware of the situation I was in. I would have given anything to be in their position now.