Psychological Thriller Series: Adam Stanley Boxed Set: Behind Shadows, Positively Murder and Mind Bender

by Netta Newbound

  I stared at the machine and then deleted the message. How nice for him. He'd had his leg over and then gone off to bed for a good night's sleep, oblivious of the trouble his indiscretion had caused. I was beginning to hate him.

  I crawled into bed well after 1am, aching from head to toe. I knew I'd feel even worse in the morning. I guessed it was bruising from the guy throwing me against the side of the van. My neck had stiffened and I couldn't turn to the right without pain shooting through me.

  By the time the bright green numbers rolled over to 3am I wanted to scream. Each time sleep came close, I suddenly saw the man’s staring eyes, life fading from them and the steady pool of blood spreading beneath his head.

  I needed to get away from the visions and memories, but how? I couldn't escape from myself. I slid from the mattress taking the duvet with me and crawled underneath the bed—something I used to do as a child when things got too bad at home. I hadn't done it for years. I hadn’t vacuumed under there for a while. It smelled musty and the thought of spiders made me shudder a little, but the closeness of the tiny confined space comforted me somehow. I fell into a strange and fitful sleep.

  Startled by the sound of the mailman I jumped up, catching my hair in the springs of the bed. It wasn't as hard to release the strands as it had been as a child—I'd had long hair back then. Now I kept my hair pretty close cropped and I managed to extricate myself without much trouble. I crawled from under the bed feeling quite silly.

  After making the bed, I headed to the bathroom. Looking at my reflection in the mirror as I brushed my teeth, I noticed my eyes were dark and puffy. Suddenly my grey eyes were replaced by cold pale blue, dead ones and I screamed and dropped the toothbrush into the sink.

  You murdered a man last night. The words came into my head as a thought would, except the calm voice wasn't my own.

  Was I going mad like my mum had? She would talk to invisible strangers. After years of battling with depression and bi-polar disorder, she died in a mental hospital when I was nineteen years old. As a teenager, I'd shown signs I might follow in her footsteps, but years of therapy and medication had put an end to that.

  But, this morning, I couldn’t be sure. My therapist had told me trauma can cause mental illness to re-occur. I didn't feel mad, just in shock. I guess I'd be classed as cuckoo if I didn't feel anything after recent events.

  I rinsed my toothbrush and wiped down the sink, all the time telling myself to stay calm. Nothing linked me to the dead man. Nobody saw me and as far as anybody knew, I had spent the evening at home, miles away. The only discrepancy with that would be Gavin's phone call, but I could always say I'd had an early night.

  I made myself a coffee and checked the mail. The newspaper headlines made me gasp. My heart stopped.

  The article read:

  LOCAL PLUMBER KILLED

  Police were called to a quiet suburb of Pinevale last night, when a local man was found dead by a neighbour out walking his dog. The dead man's van had been parked in a lay-by bordering a copse of trees notoriously frequented by lovers.

  The police hadn't issued a statement by the time we went to print, but sources say they suspect foul play. More details will be released once a post-mortem has been carried out and forensics has completed their search of the area.

  I clutched my throat, gasping for air. I knew it would make the news but hadn't expected it quite so soon.

  They suspected foul play. I wondered if I'd left anything behind for forensics to find.

  I hadn’t been wearing the cap when he bundled me into the van. What if I'd left some DNA behind? I knew how it worked, had watched enough CSI. Maybe they were already on their way to arrest me. My legs buckled and I grabbed at the table, lowering myself into a chair, trying to get my thoughts in order.

  If you'd left any DNA behind they'd need to test it. That would take a few days. Plus they would need something to match it with. You've not got your DNA on file, so relax.

  The strange voice filled my head again, but this time it had a more calming effect on me. I needed to stay focused. Nothing connected me with the dead man, except for my husband's connections to him of course.

  I suddenly remembered the call I'd made to the dead man's wife. Fear gripped my core.

  Replace the SIM card and you'll be okay.

  I hadn't a clue where the voice came from, yet it seemed to have all the answers. The SIM card in my phone had been bought from the supermarket on prepay, no contract and nothing to connect me to the number. Only the girls and Gavin called me on it, no one else.

  I walked out to the car and found my phone still in the tray of the dashboard. There hadn't been any calls or messages. Taking the back off the phone, I removed the tricky little SIM and dropped it down the drain next to the driveway on the street.

  Good girl.

  I figured the voice must be the logical part of my brain trying to take control, as the rest of it had gone to absolute mush, and I kind of liked being told what to do.

  I glanced at the clock as I walked back through to the kitchen and realised that I needed to be at work in less than an hour. The supermarket was the last place I wanted to be, but I couldn't let Gabby down at such short notice.

  Best to keep things as normal as possible.

  I nodded. I'd draw less attention to myself that way.

  I grabbed a coffee and a slice of toast, changed and headed out the door.

  ***

  I struggled to concentrate during the first part of my shift. In the staff room, while on my break, Gabby moaned about the store owners impending visit. She worried they would make staff cuts like they had at their Leeds and Birmingham stores.

  Not in the least interested in Gabby’s moans, I flicked through a magazine, letting her waffle on uninterrupted. I was relieved when my break ended so I could get back to the checkout.

  Chantelle, a local girl with two young children and no man in her life, stood in my queue when I returned. She was the same age as Stella, though you wouldn’t think it to look at them, but they’d been close growing up.

  It was common knowledge her parents despaired of the choices she'd made. However, they were both screaming drunks and did very little to help her.

  Chantelle rented a flat in a converted Victorian house on the old road. It was no secret she struggled to make ends meet. Rumour had it, when she got desperate, she was known to offer herself to locals for the price of a pint of milk and loaf of bread.

  It broke my heart to think of the poor girl having to do such things just to put food in her babies’ mouths. I often considered helping her, but Gavin always put his foot down telling me to mind my own business.

  Well, Gavin wasn't the boss of me anymore. And now I knew his dirty secret, I'd remind him he couldn’t judge how people chose to live their lives.

  Chantelle stood before me, totting up the cost of the items she had in her basket. Her eyebrows furrowed when she added up the coins in her hand. She didn't have much—a packet of nappies, half a dozen eggs and tray of sausages.

  My heart broke for her. The little girl at her side asked her mummy for a chocolate bar.

  "No, Brittany, I've got no money, baby," Chantelle said.

  I scanned the eggs and sausages and lifted the nappies over to the packing bay without scanning them.

  Chantelle looked at me in confusion and I smiled and nodded. She paid me with a handful of coins and I gave her change as if she’d given me a twenty pound note, counting the money out into her hand.

  Her eyes bulged as she stared from me to the money then, shoving the cash into her coat pocket, she hurried the little girl through the checkout.

  "Oh, Chantelle," I said as she made her way to the door. "You forgot something."

  She turned to face me, terror clouding her tired brown eyes.

  I handed her a chocolate bar.

  Her fingers slowly wrapped around it and our eyes held for a second before she took it from me, smiled and raced from the store.

  For a
brief moment, I felt immense relief. How nice to be able to make a difference to somebody's life.

  I'd always followed the law to the very letter, but where had that got me? I made myself a vow. If I could help another person, then that's what I'd do from now on. Besides, the only people to suffer here were the rich, fat-cat owners who, according to Gabby, were going to rob us of our jobs anyway.

  I chuckled to myself. How my life had taken a ginormous somersault. Goodbye, the meek and mild little goody-two-shoes, and hello, criminal.

  ***

  I arrived home a little after six. Gavin stood in the kitchen cutting chunks off a block of cheese.

  "Hi, love," he said. "I'm making some cheese on toast. Do you want some?"

  I shrugged. "Go on then."

  In all our married life, I'd never seen Gavin so much as boil an egg. In the past, when working late, I'd have prepared something in the morning and left it in the slow cooker for when he arrived home. However, since this whole mess began, I hadn’t cooked a thing, except when Yvonne and Keith stayed.

  I left him to it, using the excuse of changing into my pyjamas. The thought of spending the whole evening with him as though nothing had happened filled my throat with a silent scream.

  When I returned to the kitchen, Gavin presented me with a plate of chargrilled cheese and a cup of coffee.

  "It's a bit burnt, I'm sorry. Just pick the black bits off," he said.

  "Thank you." I didn’t complain. My eyelids threatened to close from lack of sleep. I took the food gratefully, surprised at my sudden hunger. I hadn't eaten a thing since this morning’s toast.

  I took the cup and plate through to the lounge and switched on the TV.

  Gavin joined me a few minutes later.

  "You've had a call from Doctor Morgan. She left a message on the machine."

  I shrugged. "I'll call her tomorrow."

  I'd avoided several calls from her already, but I couldn't tell Gavin that. I couldn't deal with any more details of the illness right now; self-denial ruled.

  If I tried hard enough, I managed to put it out of my mind. I didn't feel sick, didn't look any different, had no intention of spreading it to anyone, so why worry? I'd deal with it in my own good time.

  "So how was your day?" he asked.

  "Fine." My eyes were glued to the screen. I might be sitting with him, but drew the line at chitchat. I wanted to scream at him and tell him what his selfish, extra-marital dalliances had turned me into. I wondered what he'd say if I asked him what he'd done last night—if he'd confess. But I knew I couldn't. I had to act as normal as possible and it was going to be a long, hard night.

  We ate in silence. Gavin changed the channel to the end of the six o'clock news. The droning voice of the newsreader barely penetrated my distracted thoughts.

  Gavin began to choke and his empty plate fell to the carpet. He startled me from my daydream.

  An image of the dead man covered the screen. I shuddered, holding my breath.

  Stay calm—remember.

  I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

  Gavin, still choking, slammed his chest with the side of his fist, staring at the TV.

  The newsreader didn't say much more than the newspaper had this morning.

  He stopped choking and picked up his plate.

  "What's wrong, Gavin. Did you know him?"

  When he didn't respond right away, I thought he might tell me, but he shook his head instead.

  “Wha …? Oh no. He just reminded me of someone that's all," he said. He gave a shaky smile.

  I nodded, feeling my lip curl as I glared at the lying bastard. Apart from his initial shock, he seemed back in total control. I realised I didn't know this man at all.

  Since his choking episode, Gavin had developed an annoying cough. I figured he must have scratched his throat on the burnt toast. My nerves were jangling by 9pm.

  Sitting in the same room as him all evening, pretending to watch TV, my performance deserved an Oscar almost as much as his did.

  I said goodnight and went to bed. But lay tossing and turning. When Gavin came in two hours later, I stilled and pretended to sleep.

  Midnight came and went. Gavin lay at the side of me, sweating like a pig, and his incessant cough drove me insane.

  I sat up irritably, unable to take it anymore and I nudged him. The sheets were sopping wet. I’d never seen him sweat like that before. I shuddered. My pyjamas felt damp where we had been touching and it disgusted me.

  I got out of bed, unable to stay in there with him like that. I couldn’t bear it and not just because of the dank wetness of his skin.

  You could always kill him.

  I squealed at the suggestion and spun across the room to the window, sitting on the cutesy window seat.

  All the houses opposite were in darkness, all except the bedroom light of our good friends Ken and Liz. They were usually asleep well before now. I hoped they were okay. Liz had been sick of late and hadn’t been popping in for her usual morning coffee. I must make an effort to call in on them soon.

  More coughing came from Gavin and I walked back to the side of the bed. It would make sense to kill him. It would solve a lot of problems. But my heart contracted as I looked at his face. I could see both my daughters in him, Vonny around the eyes and in her colouring, and Stella had his nose and mouth.

  This man had been part of every major event in my life. All my memories included him by my side. For all I wished I could strangle him right now for the situation he'd put us in, I knew I couldn't. I was stuck with him whether I liked it or not.

  Chapter 9

  In his office on the first floor of the police station, Adam sifted through the evidence.

  The first twenty-four hours of a murder investigation were the most crucial, but there wasn't much to go on as yet. The initial forensic report confirmed the footprints more than likely belonged to a female, size five—which happened to be the most common women's shoe size in the UK.

  All but one partial fingerprint belonged to the victim, but it didn't match anything in the database. No more evidence presented itself at the crime scene.

  The medical examiner's report showed the victim had sexual intercourse not long before he died, but then it got confusing. They found semen on his back and inside his rectum, ruling out the mystery woman.

  Sandy Pilkington screamed the place down at the suggestion her husband had been having gay sex. Inconsolable, she'd kicked him and Frances out of her house and they could still hear her screams as they drove from the street.

  A teenage girl, the Pilkington's next door neighbour, provided one further piece of information. When returning home on Thursday evening, a few minutes late for her 9pm curfew, she'd noticed a light-coloured car parked outside her house. It struck her as odd because the driver's door was wide open and nobody was about.

  Adam glanced at the clock and began to tidy his desk. He needed to get home and spruce himself up for his dinner date with Amanda. He didn't think she'd appreciate him turning up in the same clothes he'd worn since 6am, and unshaven to boot.

  His stomach did a somersault at the thought of going on a date. Maybe he wasn't ready after all. But there would be no pressure with Amanda.

  He'd known her for a few months now. She'd been the prime suspect in a serial homicide enquiry, and Adam had felt an immediate connection to her. He knew she wasn't guilty, even though the evidence and her own husband said otherwise.

  It soon came to light her estranged brother, Andrew, had committed the murders. However, Andrew managed to escape capture and still evaded them four months later.

  Seven o'clock on the dot, he pulled up outside Amanda's semi-detached house. The curtain twitched in the upstairs bedroom before the light went out.

  Moments later, the front door opened as he strode down the path.

  "Hi, Adam." Amanda smiled, shyly.

  "You look stunning." He held her hand, appraising her up and down before kissing her on the cheek.

/>   He'd only ever seen her in jeans and casual clothing before. Tonight she wore a beautiful, calf length, emerald green dress, deliciously cinched in at the waist, showing her feminine curves off to perfection. Her hair, instead of being tied in a knot on the top of her head, hung loose and shone like spun gold.

  She blushed. Standing to the side, she invited him in with a nod of her head.

  In the kitchen-dining room, Sandra, Amanda's foster mother, sat on the rug by the fire, reading to Amanda's children, two-year-old Jacob and four-year-old Emma. Mary, Amanda's twelve-year-old niece, lay curled up on the sofa engrossed in some boy band on the TV.

  Emma and Jacob got to their feet and ran to him, their arms held out as if he were a long lost friend.

  Amanda shrugged into a black jacket and then wrapped a cream-coloured, lace scarf around her neck. "Okay, you lot. Be good for Grandma and straight to bed when she tells you. Are you listening, Em?"

  "Yes, Mummy." Emma nodded, her delightful blond curls bouncing.

  Amanda bent and kissed each child on the top of the head and turned to leave.

  ***

  Adam had booked a table at his favourite Italian restaurant. Not that he'd eaten in there before, but he'd had plenty of takeaways and could vouch for the food.

  The waiter introduced himself as Mario. A tall, slim Italian man in his twenties, he had jet black hair and dark, shifty eyes.

  "How original," Adam whispered to Amanda as they followed him to their table, and she giggled.

  Mario rushed up behind Amanda and began to slip her jacket off her shoulders.

  Adam could tell how uncomfortable she felt. He knew she had issues with strangers getting into her personal space; however, she dealt with it admirably.

  Once seated, her shoulders dropped and her hands relaxed in her lap. She tossed her long hair over her shoulder, the strands shone under the lights.

  Mario whisked the jacket away and hung it on a coat hook at the back of the room. He then returned and took their wine order. His olive skin perspired in the heat of the room.