*
Amanda opened the front door and then made to shut it again.
I stupidly shoved my arm in the gap, holding out the medicine. The door slammed into my arm and bounced back.
"Arrgghh!" I yelled, mostly exaggerated for effect, but it did hurt.
She pulled the door wide open. “Stupid idiot. Why would you do that?"
I rubbed at my sore arm. "Sandra said you needed some cough syrup for Em."
She scowled. "Wait until I see her. No wonder she scarpered so quick."
"Can I come in? I have pizza ..."
She cocked her head to one side as though to say, go on then.
I rushed to the car to grab the pizza. I hadn’t wanted to appear presumptuous by taking it with me, but I could’ve kicked myself for giving her time to change her mind.
She was inside when I arrived back, the door slightly ajar.
I entered, closing the door behind me, and found Amanda in the lounge. I'd only been in there a couple of times because when the kids were about they used the kitchen-dining room.
"This is cosy," I said, handing her the pizza box. I sat at the opposite end of the sofa.
She raised the lid. "Pepperoni?" she asked.
I nodded, not knowing if that was good or bad and sighed when Amanda lifted a large piece to her pretty mouth.
She placed the box between us on a cushion.
We ate in silence.
"How've you been?" I asked, once a few chewed crusts were all that remained in the box.
"Okay. You?"
"Yeah, so-so." Fuck, this was painful. "You look well." I actually thought her face looked gaunt, but how could I say that? I was trying to appease her, not piss her off.
"So do you."
"Listen, Mand, about what happened with Andrew. I told you from the start where I stood, although what he did was understandable, even applaudable. But no matter which way you paint it, your brother’s a murderer."
"I’m well aware of that."
"Then why the cold shoulder?"
"It’ll never work, Adam. There's too much going against us."
"Like what?"
"Like my kids. Like my brother's daughter, who knows you put her daddy in prison, by the way." She flashed me her best try-and-get-out-of-that-one, matey, face.
I groaned. "And what else?"
"My brother is standing trial for killing my father, my stepmother and another fucking paedophile. He's gonna stand up in court and describe every sick and sordid detail of our abusive childhood, which you've probably heard already, seeing as you were the arresting officer."
"I didn't sit in on the interviews. I'm not completely without ethics."
"Either way, he will tell everybody how my father made us do things to him, his friends and each other, just for kicks. I won't be able to walk down the street without someone pointing and whispering."
"But why should what he says affect us? I won't judge you, I swear. You know you mean the world to me."
"As you do to me, but it's not going to happen, Adam. Sorry, my mind’s made up."
"If you change your mind, or even if you just need more pizza, give me a call. I love you," I added softly. I got to my feet. “I don't intend to throw in the towel just yet, but I won't stalk you either."
Amanda followed me to the front door.
"Thanks for the cough syrup, and for feeding me." She smiled.
"You're welcome."
"Are you working on those two murders?"
I stepped onto the path and turned back to face her, nodding.
"I saw the news. I can't believe something like this could happen in broad daylight, with all those little kiddies around.”
"It did though. Luckily no-one else was hurt."
"Are you okay? Did something else happen?"
I shrugged. "Not really. Nothing to do with the case, anyway."
"What then?"
"Telling that woman today her husband was dead, brought it all back to me."
"Sarah?"
I nodded.
She reached for my hand.
"I needed to see you. I had no say in losing Sarah, but with you it's different. If you didn’t love me, I'd walk away—move on, but you do. Even Sandra said as much tonight."
"I've made my mind up, Adam. I'm sorry." Her eyes filled with tears as she stepped backwards and closed the door.
Chapter 7
Amanda’s heart hammered in her chest as she spied through a chink in the curtains. She watched as a dejected Adam walked down the path to his car.
Letting him in had achieved nothing but give him false hope, and she would bloody strangle Sandra for encouraging him.
She took the pizza box through to the kitchen and stuffed it into the recycling bin. Then she filled the kettle. She needed something stronger than a cup of tea, but she wouldn’t give in to temptation.
Sandra suggested Amanda take the kids and go away for a while. She couldn’t see the point. The problems would still be waiting for her when she got home, unless, of course, she didn't come home.
She could easily afford to move away. Andrew made sure they wouldn’t want for anything by arranging for her and Mary to inherit most of the estate of his deceased wife, Judy.
After buying her ex, Michael, out of the house, and also paying off the small mortgage, the rest of the money sat in the bank accruing a lot of interest. She no longer needed to work, opting instead to spend more time with her family.
As well as the cash, Mary inherited her mother’s country estate, which brought in an extortionate weekly rent. Amanda was left the other house in Knightsbridge, a property she’d refused to step foot inside since finding the rotting corpse of her father stuck in a cupboard. She would sell it as soon as she mustered enough energy.
She toyed with the idea of taking the kids and setting up elsewhere. A new start where nobody knew her and this mess she called her life, but how could she? The kids were settled in daycare and Mary in her new school. And, of course, she wouldn’t leave Sandra. After being estranged for years, Amanda didn’t know how she ever managed without her.
Since splitting with Michael, he’d proved useless with maintaining access. Although a fantastic father when they lived together, which was one of the reasons their relationship had lasted so long, the kids were lucky if he visited more than once a month nowadays.
He initially arranged to have them every second weekend, insisting the kids wouldn't suffer because of their failed marriage. But that soon changed. Weekend stays turned to overnight. Overnight turned to Saturday day. Saturday day became the odd trip to McDonald’s and maybe a run around the park if they were lucky.
She suspected he'd met somebody else. Then, the last time a shifty-looking Michael dropped the kids off home, Amanda made a point of walking him to his car, and, sure enough, there sat a cutesy brunette in the passenger seat.
Amanda didn't care. She just didn't want him flaunting his floozy in front of the kids. But she was a fine one to talk, given that she'd taken the kids on a picnic with Adam months ago.
Thinking about Adam made her stomach flip. They had something special until her bother, Andrew, showed up that night and ruined everything.
The reasons she gave to Adam were true. However, that was only the start of it. How could she have a serious relationship with a man she’d lied to? And not just a little white lie. Oh, no. It was a fucking great big doozie of a lie. And now, with Andrew back on the scene, she worried he might let their secret slip.
Nobody knew for sure who Mary’s birth father was. But she was Amanda's child. Mary was born during the years of abuse she'd endured, and given up for adoption immediately after birth. Amanda had never laid eyes on the baby, she hadn’t even known the sex. When Andrew confessed to kidnapping Mary, at just two-years-old, from her potentially abusive adopted mother, Amanda almost died of shock.
Adam had worked out who the killer was soon after, and Amanda kept Andrew’s confession about Mary close to her chest. As far
as anybody else knew, she was Mary's aunt and only other living relation.
Amanda vowed to protect Mary. Her own childhood had been ruined by the paedophile ring fronted by her own father, so she was damned if she would allow Mary to be affected by it. How could she tell a child she was the product of such hate and repulsion?
But, on the other hand, she couldn't give her heart to Adam while keeping a huge secret from him. Especially with him being a trained detective. So, she decided they would be better off alone. Sandra offered to help her once the baby came. Together they would cope.
She stroked her tiny baby bump. This secret wouldn't stay that way for much longer, she was certain of that.
Chapter 8
Once news of another murder began buzzing through the factory, the workers were in uproar. All they had been told was another local man had been gunned down.
Malik watched from his usual position at the window as, one by one, the women fumbled in their handbags for their phones before making their excuses and running to the toilet. They were obviously checking their husbands and family members were safe.
"They must think I'm bloody stupid," he said under his breath as he glanced at his watch. 3.45pm. He walked to his desk and buzzed down to reception. "You may as well let them go home early, Katherine."
"Really, sir?"
"Yes. You, too. Finish what you're doing and get off home."
"Yes, Mr Duvall."
The squealing and commotion moments later reminded him of playtime at the local primary school.
When everyone had left, Malik backed the computer system up to the cloud and headed off himself. On the factory floor he heard a strange knocking coming from somewhere towards the back of the building. Puzzled, he followed the sound, holding his breath.
The banging came from the staff canteen.
He stopped outside and braced himself before opening the door.
A grey-haired man in a long brown overall lay twisted in an unnatural position underneath the sink.
Malik released a long sigh as he walked into the room. His shoes resumed their normal tappetty-tap now he was no longer tiptoeing.
The caretaker whizzed his head around as he heard him enter.
"I thought you’d gone, Dan," Malik said.
"Where would I go, Mr Duvall? And besides, I needed to finish fixing this leak. I'd already uncoupled the pipe."
Dan lived in a trailer on the factory grounds, which did them both a favour. The older man had a place to live, and Malik had peace of mind knowing there was someone on site at all times.
"Well, suit yourself, but I don't expect you to stay and work when everyone else has left."
After several turns of a spanner, Dan threw the last of his tools in the battered old toolbox. "Finished," he said, getting to his feet. "I'll just clear all this mess up and knock off then, if you're sure."
"Good. I'm also leaving. Sal will be pleased to have me home early for a change." Malik headed out the door.
"They appreciate it, you know," Dan said.
He stepped back into the room. "Sorry?"
"Letting them go like that. You're good to them, and they appreciate it."
"Well, everyone’s worked their socks off recently. Appreciation works two ways, Dan. Fact."
"A lot of bosses should take a leaf out of your book, sir. You certainly know how to boost staff morale. That nasty business with the murders has got them all twitchy."
"It would do. It’s bloody awful, all right, and on our doorstep, too. Hopefully they'll catch the person responsible soon. See you tomorrow, Dan. I'll leave you to set the alarm."
Moments later, he drove out of the carpark heading for home. He always enjoyed this part of the day. Most days he thought of nothing else from lunchtime onwards. It was good to get away early.
Malik pulled his Merc onto the drive and pressed a button on his sun visor. A roller door grumbled to life on the garage, attached to the three-storey Victorian home.
The house, also inherited from his father, had belonged to his grandparents once upon a time. Certain parts of the property still showed the old decor. He considered asking Sal to plan the colour schemes for each of the rooms, but he had an inkling she didn’t give a stuff about interior design.
After parking his pride and joy, he stepped through the internal door into the large, grand entranceway. Malik groaned as his ears were assaulted by a warbling cacophony coming from upstairs.
Sal’s singing was atrocious, the only thing about her he couldn’t stand. Fact. Not that he told her how he felt. He'd never hurt her feelings on purpose. She lived for her singing and constantly told him of her dream to appear on The X-Factor. Malik hoped and prayed it would never happen.
He could imagine it now; he'd be the sad sack standing on the side lines, while Simon Cowell ripped his fiancée a new arsehole. Malik couldn't remember how many times he'd watched that show before meeting Sal, and he couldn’t get over how some contestants managed to get that far. He thought their friends and family must be cruel allowing them to be humiliated like that. Yet here he was, not wanting to burst her bubble, so he just nodded politely and agreed.
He even suggested singing lessons for her birthday, but the look she gave him could have soured milk. He didn't mention it again.
"Sal?" he called.
The warbling stopped, and moments later Sally appeared on the landing.
"Malli! I didn't expect you home for ages yet." She bounced down the stairs, her boobs jiggling deliciously with every step.
Malik couldn’t tear his eyes away from her ginormous breasts. They mesmerised him. She'd had a boob job before they met, and he loved them.
She stopped on the bottom step and reached out, placing her hands on his shoulders, a concerned expression on her face. "Is something wrong?"
"No. I just decided to shut the factory early. Everyone was too busy gossiping about the murder." He grabbed her tiny waist and kissed her lips.
"Still?"
"Oh, no. There's been another."
"Another murder?"
"Yes. This afternoon in town."
"Was anybody hurt?"
Malik glanced at her sideways. Was she having him on? Surely no-one was that stupid. "Erm ... the clue is in the statement. Another murder. A man was killed."
"Oh, yes." She giggled. "Oops, sorry."
He pulled her in for another kiss.
"Was it someone from the factory?" she asked, as he moved his lips down and nuzzled her neck.
"No. Why do you think that?"
"With you closing early."
"It was only an hour early. I figured if they go then I can, too." As he lifted her into his arms and carried her back up the stairs, her saucy giggles made his hard-on throb.
Chapter 9
Fiona Mills stuffed the manila envelope in the post box and proceeded at a brisk pace along the street to the intersection. Then, dodging a number of cars, she crossed the main road.
Although the temperature had dropped when the last of the sun vanished, she didn't feel cold—quite the opposite, in fact. She pulled the neck of her T-shirt forwards and began flapping the fabric in and out to create a tiny breeze.
She stopped walking and glanced about. The road was surprisingly full of traffic for this time of night.
Satisfied no-one was watching, she ducked into an alleyway between two buildings. As it did every time she came here, the sound of her heartbeat thudded in her ears.
After a few hundred metres in the semi-darkness, she reached her destination. She put her hand on top of the high, rickety wooden gate and took a deep breath before pushing it open.
She could smell him before she saw him.
"You need a fucking bath," she said into the darkness.
Boris stepped from the shadows.
"Did you do it?” His gravelly voice was enough to terrify the hardest of criminals.
"Of course, I did it. Where's my money?" She held another envelope out for him.
He mov
ed forwards, suddenly grabbing her wrist, before taking the offered package.
A squeal escaped her mouth, and she snatched her arm away. "Get your grubby fucking mitts off me." Her top lip curled showing even, white teeth.
A sadistic smile crossed his face.
"The money?"
Boris disappeared again. She heard him in the shadows but couldn't see a thing.
When he reappeared, she gasped and recoiled.
He lifted his arm towards her, and Fiona batted it away again before noticing the plastic package in his hand.
"It's all there. Kelly said he'll be in touch next week."
She took the package, stuffed it into her large black bag and turned away. She paused at the gate, looking back over her shoulder.
"Why do you do it, Boris? Why do you live like this?"
"I'm paid to be invisible. Nobody notices the homeless."
Fiona shuddered. "You still need a bath."
*
She let herself into the apartment provided as part of her salary package. She didn't know if her boss, Kelly, was a man or a woman, as she only ever corresponded with Boris. He gave her the target information and her money.
The initial meetings with the clients were always set up. The rest was up to her. At first she would keep things discreet. A meal, a grope through her clothing, but nothing more. Once they seemed relaxed enough in her company, and only then, she would make her move.
Kelly hired a hotel room on a long term basis and fitted it out with state of the art camera equipment that could be activated at the push of a button. Once Fiona had collated all the evidence, she would edit the footage and make two copies. Then she would post one copy to the victim, and the other was given to Boris in exchange for her pay.
Kicking off her high heels, she sat on the sofa rubbing her tired feet.
She was over this life, but it wouldn't be for much longer.
After stripping to her underwear, she took the parcel from her bag and padded through to the bedroom. In the wardrobe, she swished the clothing aside exposing a large built-in safe.
Psychological Thriller Series: Adam Stanley Boxed Set: Behind Shadows, Positively Murder and Mind Bender Page 44