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

by Kernick, Simon

  By now, though, the police knew about my involvement, thanks to the undercover officer I’d inadvertently confessed to. They were probably dredging the river too, looking for the woman with the glasses. Either way, I was finished. It was just a matter of how long I could drag things out for.

  It’s not over till it’s over, I kept telling myself as I walked down the street, head down and collar turned up against the driving rain. But I didn’t believe that. Maybe, with hindsight, I should have just given myself up. My kidnapper wouldn’t necessarily have known, and it would have been much easier to hand responsibility over to those with experience of this sort of thing. Perhaps my confession to the undercover cop – arguably given under duress – would prove inadmissible, and a decent lawyer might still get me out of this.

  I told myself all these things as I walked past the pub, looking through the brightly lit windows at the small clusters of late-afternoon drinkers inside. A TV was on showing the football and, even from the street, I could hear their laughter, the clink of glasses, the sounds of normality. The contrast with my own situation made me feel nauseous.

  Geeta lived in a third-floor flat above a Thai restaurant another hundred metres down the road. As I came close, I could see the light in her living room was on.

  She was in.

  Taking a deep breath, I silently apologised to her for what I was about to do, then called her number.

  She answered quickly. ‘Matt? I wasn’t expecting to hear from you today. Is everything okay?’

  ‘Not really. Are you on your own? Can I come round?’

  ‘Sure,’ she said, uncertainly. ‘When were you thinking?’

  ‘Now. I’m right outside your front door.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said, stretching out the word, clearly not entirely comfortable with my appearance, which didn’t really surprise me. Because – another confession here – we might not have been lovers for close to two years, but there was still something of a frisson between us.

  I should never have gone to meet her the previous night. It was just putting temptation in the way of both of us, and yet, in truth, I didn’t have many friends left in London. I’d wanted to see her if only to tell her how well things were finally going for me. And it had been a good evening, full of easy chat. She’d seemed happy for me, right up until she asked me back to her flat for coffee and I’d said no. I knew what would happen – I could see the glint in her eye – and I didn’t want to put myself in that situation, because maybe I’m not a total angel. Geeta had nodded, smiled, said she’d understood and wished me luck for the future

  But then, as we’d gone in for the final goodbye peck on the cheek, she’d kissed me on the mouth. Hard. Her scent was heady, and I felt something rising within me. I kissed her back, just as passionately, already beginning to get lost in the moment . . .

  And then I’d thought about Kate. The life we had. The future in front of us. The guilt I knew would haunt me if I went ahead, and I pulled back.

  ‘I’ve still got feelings for you,’ Geeta had said quickly, going to kiss me again, but this time I gently pushed her away and told her that I was sorry but I couldn’t do this.

  The whole thing suddenly felt strange and awkward, and I thought I even detected relief in her eyes as she realised this was a bad idea too. Then I’d turned and walked away to the car, and in that moment, I’d known that we’d probably never see each other again.

  And now, less than twenty-four hours later, here I was.

  The buzzer sounded and I stepped inside, closing the door behind me to shut out the wintry cold. Climbing the narrow, winding staircase up to the third floor, it struck me that Geeta lived in fairly chastened circumstances for a woman who’d risen as high as she had in the Met and now worked as a consultant for TV programmes. But that’s London for you. A spacious one-bedroom flat this close to the centre was probably worth the same as our ten-acre Sri Lankan hotel, with its infinity pool and glorious views across a peaceful forested valley. I knew where I’d rather be, though whether I ever saw it again was anyone’s guess.

  Geeta was already standing in the doorway as I mounted the last steps. She was dressed in a black T-shirt and garishly coloured leggings – like she’d just been doing yoga – and her feet were bare, the toenails painted bright red. She was good-looking, slim and gym-fit, her hair cut in a short, spiky bob that somehow made her look far younger than forty-two. Once again, I was amazed that she was single.

  ‘My God, Matt,’ she said. ‘You look like shit.’

  I’d checked myself in the car’s rear-view mirror on the drive here and could attest to the fact that she was right. I’d already developed the haunted look of the fugitive and seemed to have dropped half a stone since I’d got home last night. There were exaggerated bags under my eyes, and a big red mark on my cheek where I’d been struck earlier. ‘I know,’ I said wearily. ‘It’s a long story.’

  ‘Is it anything to do with last night?’ she asked, ushering me inside and shutting the door.

  That caught me off guard. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, is it anything to do with you meeting me last night?’

  Geeta’s front door led directly into her small open-plan living area, and I stood there now staring at her, getting a feeling that something was off here. ‘Why would it be anything to do with that?’

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t know, I just wondered.’ She was trying to act casual, but she looked uncomfortable.

  ‘Is there something you’re not telling me, Geeta?’ I asked.

  She didn’t say anything.

  I waited. Staring at her. Knowing that she was going to admit to something, but with no idea what it was.

  And then she said it, and my whole world took yet another blow.

  35

  Matt

  I stared at her aghast, unable to take it in, and when I finally spoke, my voice was little more than a croak. ‘You were paid to meet me? By whom?’

  Geeta sighed and turned away, no longer able to meet my eye. ‘I don’t know his identity,’ she said quietly. ‘I was contacted via email by a man claiming to be from a TV production company. He said they were looking for someone who was ex-police to front one of those real-life cop shows. I always need the work and I liked the sound of it, so we agreed to meet for coffee at the Landmark Hotel in Marylebone. This older man turned up – well dressed in a suit and tie, white, probably early sixties – and before we’d even sat down, he told me he’d got me there under false pretences. He said he was offering me five thousand pounds in cash for a one-off job. To set you up in a honey trap.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes, Matt. You.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘About three weeks ago.’

  I thought about it for a moment. Three weeks ago, I’d only just found out about the baby. We hadn’t even decided to come back to the UK. And yet it seemed I was being set up from thousands of miles away.

  ‘So, right about the time you got in touch?’ I said, remembering the WhatsApp message Geeta had sent me, seemingly out of the blue, and how pleasantly surprised I’d been to hear from her after all this time. Yes, I was happily in a relationship with Kate, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want to remain friends with Geeta.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Look, I’m not proud of doing it, and if it’s any consolation, I wanted to see you anyway.’

  ‘It’s not a consolation,’ I said. ‘So, how did it work exactly?’

  Geeta turned away again and began pacing the room. I remembered this was a habit of hers when she was confronted by things she didn’t want to discuss.

  ‘He told me to get in contact with you. He said you’d be coming to the UK soon and would have some time on your hands. He wanted me to set up a lunch or a drink. I was to ask how you were, to find out whether you were in love with your current girlfriend, and then at the end of our date—’

  ‘It wasn’t a date, Geeta. It was a drink between old friends.’

  ‘Okay. At
the end of our drink, I was to tell you I still had feelings for you, and to see how you reacted.’

  ‘Were we being watched the whole time?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. I was recording everything on a miniature camera. As far as I know, it was being fed back live to the man who hired me.’

  I felt physically sick. ‘You know, I really wanted to see you.’

  ‘And I genuinely wanted to see you too.’

  ‘But you had to be paid to do it. And you tried to set me up. I can’t believe you’d do that to me.’

  ‘Come on, Matt. You’ve got form. You were unfaithful to me, for Christ’s sake.’

  ‘Once. Just once.’

  ‘It only needed to be once to destroy everything we had.’

  I lowered my head in shame. ‘It was a stupid mistake. I regret it.’ And I did. Bitterly. A drunken one-night stand with a radio producer I was doing some voice-over work for. It should never have happened, and I ought to have known that Geeta was always going to find out about it.

  We were both silent. She’d stopped pacing now and she put her hands on her hips and sighed. ‘It seems your fiancée doesn’t trust you either. Oh, and you neglected to mention that she was your fiancée when we were chatting last night. You kept referring to her as your girlfriend.’

  It was true. I hadn’t mentioned it. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe because I hadn’t wanted to upset Geeta, given that I’d never asked her to marry me, even though we’d lived together for the best part of two years. I hadn’t said anything about the pregnancy either. I knew that Geeta had wanted children and it had always been me who’d demurred. And at forty-two, her window of opportunity had probably passed.

  ‘We only just got engaged,’ I said by way of explanation.

  ‘Ah, that’s interesting,’ said Geeta.

  I didn’t like the tone of her voice. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, your girlfriend – sorry, fiancée – has obviously got very deep pockets to set up a honey trap like that. Not only hiring me, but hiring someone else to hire me. If she’s just a part-owner of a small hotel halfway round the world, it suggests she’s got family money behind her – and perhaps they’re not that keen on you.’

  That was why Geeta had risen so fast through the ranks. She had a detective’s brain, which was what I needed right now. I’d have been a lot better off if I’d come to her earlier. But it worried me to think that Kate might have been the one who’d set this up. Did she trust me that little?

  ‘So what happened?’ asked Geeta. ‘And why are you here? It’s not like you wrecked your relationship by begging to sleep with me. You were remarkably well behaved.’

  I sighed. ‘I don’t even know where to start.’

  She sat down in one of the room’s two armchairs. ‘Try the beginning.’

  So I told her, everything, and when I finished, she was back on her feet, staring at me with a mixture of anger and bewilderment.

  ‘This is insane,’ she said, resuming her pacing. ‘I can’t believe you’ve killed a man.’

  ‘It was an accident,’ I told her, desperately.

  ‘Matt. Please. You were threatening him with a knife. I know you were operating under duress, but even so, calling it an accident won’t wash. You’ve got to give yourself up before this gets any more out of hand.’

  ‘I know. I know, and I will. But I don’t trust the police to find Kate before the deadline. You said yourself that they don’t move anything like as fast as they do on TV.’

  Geeta stared at me aghast. ‘But how the hell are you going to find her, Matt?’

  ‘The man this morning. The one I killed. I took his phone. If I can use it to trace his girlfriend,’ I continued, ignoring her disgusted look, ‘then I can get the flash drive from her and exchange it for Kate.’

  ‘Even if you do manage to trace her, what makes you think this woman will talk to you after what you did to her boyfriend?’

  ‘Precisely because of that. She’ll be scared. I’ll make her hand over the drive, then I’ll leave.’

  ‘You know how that makes you sound? Like a predator.’

  I took a deep breath and ran a hand down my face, removing a thin sheen of sweat. ‘I’m not a predator, you know that. But I’ve got no choice.’

  ‘You know, don’t take this the wrong way, Matt, but I’ve always thought that the most important person in your life was you. I didn’t know you could love anyone so much that you’d risk everything for them like this. You certainly wouldn’t have done it for me.’

  She was right. I wouldn’t have. But I didn’t say that. How could I? I needed her help desperately, and desperation can make you do some awful things. ‘I like to think I’d have done it for you, Geeta. I really do.’

  ‘Sure you would,’ she said dismissively.

  I didn’t say anything, and she stared at me appraisingly. ‘Are you really telling me the truth?’

  ‘I wouldn’t lie about something like this.’

  ‘I don’t understand it. Why would someone kidnap your fiancée, then blackmail you to commit murder? It just doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘She comes from money, that’s what the undercover guy told me. Big money. He said her father’s name is Sir Hugh Roper.’

  ‘I know that name,’ said Geeta. She grabbed her laptop from the coffee table, and a few seconds later she was nodding sagely. ‘Just as I thought. I had the dubious pleasure of meeting him at a charity bash about ten years ago. He was a lech and an arsehole. He asked for my number, and when I wouldn’t give it to him, he tried to grope me, and called me a stuck-up bitch when I threatened to floor him.’

  She scrolled down the page she was reading. ‘It seems he’s a major-league property developer and CEO of a big house-building company. Estimated seven hundred and ninety-second richest person in the UK according to the Sunday Times Rich List.’ She whistled through her teeth and looked at me. ‘Maybe he was the one who wanted to check you out and make sure you were good enough for his daughter, although it’s ironic that he hired me after what happened between us. Either way, it looks like you could end up being a rich man, Matt, if you ever get out of this.’ There was a sarcastic edge to her voice, but also something else. Excitement. She’d suddenly been presented with a mystery to solve.

  ‘I don’t want any money,’ I said. ‘I was happy before all this began.’ I looked at her. ‘I’m out of my depth, and I need your help. Just to track down the man’s girlfriend. Would you do that for me? Please.’

  Geeta didn’t say anything, but I could tell she was contemplating it.

  I pushed my advantage. ‘Last night you said you were planning on writing a book. A crime thriller. Well, now you’ve got an idea and I’ll help with it.’ Geeta had told me she’d been approached by a literary agent to write a fictional crime series on the back of several articles she’d written for various newspapers and magazines, so I was hoping I could tempt her.

  She looked at me sadly. ‘This is a lot more important than writing a book, Matt. Hand yourself in.’

  I shook my head. ‘Not until I know Kate’s safe. Then I’ll gladly hand myself in.’

  Her expression softened, and I knew then – just as I think I’d always known – that she still had strong feelings for me. ‘God, you always manage to complicate my life.’

  I looked straight back at her and realised I still had feelings for her too, and that I probably always would.

  She took a deep breath. ‘Okay. I’ll help you.’

  36

  Sir Hugh Roper

  I was travelling in the back of my chauffeur-driven Tesla on a visit I’d hoped I would never have to make when I had an idea where Kate’s errant fiancé might be. Matt Walters was the key to finding Kate. Even if he hadn’t killed her, I had no doubt the bastard knew what had happened to her and who was responsible.

  As soon as I’d found out about his background and circumstances, I hadn’t trusted him an inch, which was why I’d paid Burns to set him up using his old girlf
riend, the glamorous Asian ex-Met detective. I knew that if he was given a chance to get back in her knickers, he would, and the photos Burns had shown me this morning of the two of them kissing had proved me absolutely right. Those photos had been taken last night. That was when Kate had gone missing.

  It was possible that Walters was still with my erstwhile employee Obote, but if he wasn’t, there would be very limited places he could run to. Thanks to Burns’s research, I knew he had a mother and sister up north somewhere, but if I’d been in his shoes, I’d have gone to my ex’s. She was closer, and if the photos were anything to go by, he was still very keen on her.

  I sat back in my seat and called Thomson. It was time he made up for his earlier mistake.

  ‘Where are you?’ I demanded.

  ‘I’m watching the cottage,’ he told me. ‘Waiting to see if Walters comes back.’

  This is what I meant about Thomson not being the brightest of sparks. ‘He’s not going to come back,’ I told him, ‘but luckily for you, I think I know where he is.’

  I gave him the ex-girlfriend’s address and told him to do whatever he needed to.

  A few minutes later, Jonathan, my chauffeur of fifteen years, pulled up opposite the expensive chrome and glass apartment block in Kensington that my son Tom called home.

  Tom. I’ll be blunt. What a fuck-up. I’d fallen out with him years ago, and although the prospect of imminent death has taught me that I’m not infallible, and that some of the decisions I’ve made in this life might possibly have been questionable, I wasn’t to blame for what happened between us.

  Tom was handsome and headstrong, always had been. A lot like me at his age, except he’d never had any of my determination. His mother had always spoiled him, and I hadn’t been around enough in his formative years to act as a counter-balance and instil some values in the boy. The results had been predictable. He went off the rails as a teenager (expulsion from school and drugs at university, just like his sister), and in the end, he never got back on them. Against my better judgement, I’d tried him briefly in the family business, but that hadn’t worked out. Career-wise, nothing much else had worked out for him either. I’ve fought for every penny I’ve earned, so I thought that if I stopped giving him money, things might change. Unfortunately, Diana – indulgent to the last, especially after the loss of Alana – had continued to give him an allowance, indulging his pointless and hedonistic lifestyle.