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

by Netta Newbound

  Turning the dial several times, the door clunked open. She tore the plastic wrapping from the parcel. Ten thousand pounds. Always the same. No more, no less. She knew Kelly would get much more out of their victims, but that didn't concern her. He were the ones with all the expenses. He did the research, set up the meetings and negotiated the pay-off. Fiona didn't want all that. She was happy with her cut and zero headaches.

  Counting out the individual wads of cash she smiled, and placed today’s wad of top of the pile. One hundred and sixty grand.

  Four more clients and she'd have enough to set herself up in Spain. Maybe she'd buy the bar she had her eye on, but that might be too much of a temptation, considering her current situation. She didn't have to decide right away. She'd enjoy doing nothing for a while.

  Four more.

  She could cope with that. Even though she slept with the men, she didn't class herself as a prostitute. In her eyes, prostitutes were dirty. They walked the streets and performed sex acts on deadbeats and no-hopers. All her clients were well-respected pillars of the community like doctors, lawyers and politicians.

  After a quick shower, she dressed in her comfy flannel pyjamas and climbed onto her bed. She reached for her ereader and trawled through the new releases. An expensive bottle of wine was her usual payday treat, but she was off alcohol once again. Hopefully for good this time, but who could tell? She'd fallen off the wagon so many times, it was a wonder the wagon hadn't reversed and finished her off for good.

  Chapter 10

  Frances and I pored over the evidence, in relative silence. I gathered, from the sound effects and body language, she was having about as much success as I was in finding something, anything, to connect the two victims. The only similarities were they were both respectable married men who seemed to adore their wives.

  Amazingly, Pinevale town CCTV completely missed the Arts Centre. An oversight, the head of the security company had said. Oopsy, we're sorry. We'll rectify the situation immediately. But what good was an apology?

  The Art Centre’s own camera had been located in the entrance, but aimed at the front desk. The shot of the killer was offset and too far away. Even their IT department couldn’t improve the pixelated image.

  Witnesses, from the murder on the Common, positively identified Oliver Bertram as the gunman, which didn't come as a surprise. However, nothing in either of the victims’ emails, diaries or phones suggested anything untoward. Prior to the killings, both men received a phone call lasting five seconds, made from two different burner phones.

  Frances stretched and yawned. "Arrrgghh. This is painful."

  I chucked my pen on top of a pile of paperwork. "Tell me about it."

  "What if they were working together? Oliver could have shot Wayne Houston, and instead of splitting the cash down the middle, the big guy decided to keep it for himself," Frances said.

  "Nice thought, but wrong."

  "How can you be so sure?" She scowled.

  "If you’re right, then why did Bertram withdraw fifty grand of his own?"

  Frances' lip curled up on one side. "Fuck, yeah! It's taken me all day to come up with that. This case is doing my head in. Nothing makes sense."

  "I think you need a break. Go and grab a coffee before you drive yourself, and me, up the wall.”

  She laughed as she slid the chair back from the spare desk we’d dragged through that morning. "Want one?"

  "Why not? Here you are. My shout.” I pulled out a tenner from my trouser pocket. "Grab a couple of sarnies while you're at it."

  "And cake?"

  "Don't push it!" I laughed. "Oh, go on. Get me a cream doughnut."

  When she left, I leaned back in my chair, folding my hands behind my head, and I watched the rest of the team buzzing around on the other side of the glass wall separating the offices. Nine people in total, including Calvin Wade, the admin assistant, had been assigned fulltime to the case, and they were all scratching their arses. The team, usually five strong, already filled the small room before the extra desks and bodies, which is why I suggested Frances squeeze into my office.

  I prayed we’d get a break soon. My boss was getting tetchy because the press were all over the case like flies on shit, and wanted answers. But I had no answers, no real leads, nothing.

  I’d interviewed the bank staff who had dealt with Oliver Bertram’s withdrawal. One of them even knew Oliver on a personal level and said he didn't seem stressed at all. Both he and the bank manager confirmed Oliver showed no signs of duress. I even pored over the bank’s video footage, thinking Oliver may have withdrawn the money for another reason entirely, and some chancer had seen him. But that was impossible. No other customers had been in the bank when Oliver approached the counter, and the cash was handed over behind closed doors.

  Both victims’ friends and family had been interviewed and a search of their homes and businesses turned up nothing.

  We were at a complete dead end.

  Chapter 11

  The workers had hit all their targets with no issues or complaints, since they were allowed to leave early on Monday, which was a first.

  It was Thursday afternoon. Malik stood in his usual spot by the window, dreaming about going home to Sal as he did every day. With one eye on the clock, he counted every single minute.

  There was nothing for him to do. He had most of his paperwork done first thing and could have easily gone home early. Nobody would miss him if he did, but he refused to. When he first took over running the place, he made a deal with himself. If the factory was open, he'd be there. Otherwise he wouldn’t be in control. He knew if he gave in to temptation now, he'd be running home all the time. Fact.

  He decided to treat Sal to a night out. Fletchers, one of the best restaurants in town, offered a fantastic salad bar. They could eat out without breaking his diet. He wanted to show her just how much she meant to him, although he was certain she already knew.

  Malik buzzed down to reception. "Katherine, would you pop across the road and get me a dozen red roses, please?"

  "Certainly, Mr Duvall."

  As he hung up, his mobile rang. He reached into the pocket of the jacket hanging on the back of his chair. "Good afternoon. Malik speaking."

  He got to his feet, grabbed the jacket and headed for the door. He tappetty-tapped his way down the stairs.

  Katherine, who was just leaving the building, saw her boss and turned back. "Is there something else you need, Mr Duvall?"

  "What? No. No thanks." He pushed past her, got in his car and sped from the car park.

  A few minutes later, he pulled his car into the vacant car yard that the late owner, Sonny Langley, had drunk into the ground, right before doing the same to himself. Fact.

  He drove to the centre of the yard and parked his Mercedes.

  Soon after, a little red Mitsubishi turned off the road and passed through the broken barriers, heading straight for him.

  Malik lifted the brown, leather doctor’s bag off the passenger seat.

  ***

  Fiona eased her car to a stop beside the huge, flash Mercedes. She got out.

  The driver of the other car appeared to be fumbling with something on the passenger seat. She walked towards him and he opened the door, turning his bulky body to face her.

  "Pop goes the weasel," she said.

  The fat man nodded, and handed her a case.

  Fiona brought her hand from behind her back and aimed a pistol straight at his chest.

  ***

  After a visit to the burger bar, Fiona went straight to the supermarket, needing to satisfy a sudden sweet craving. She threw two large bars of chocolate, a packet of biscuits and some wine gums into the trolley. A selection of tragic microwave meals for one followed them. In the two years she’d been living in the apartment, she'd never used the oven, not once. She didn’t see the point in cooking for herself.

  She gave the alcohol aisle a wide berth. Proud that she was doing better than ever before, she didn't want to jeop
ardise the progress already made.

  While standing in the queue for the self-serve checkouts, she noticed the woman in front of her scanning a fancy box of sugared almonds, and her heart contracted. Her dear old mum loved sugared almonds. A wave of homesickness washed over her. She had a sudden, intense need to hear the sound of her mother's voice. She hadn’t spoken to her in six, maybe even eight months. Her mother thought she was abroad with the VSO, Voluntary Service Overseas, travelling the world and helping people. She always believed everything her only daughter told her. Fiona felt bad lying to her, but figured it was preferable to the truth—on this occasion, anyway.

  As she packed her shopping bags, two little girls sitting on the pavement outside caught her attention. They looked as though they were melting in the hot August sunshine. It had been an awful summer, apart from a number of warmish weeks at the end of spring, but today they were having a freak heatwave.

  As she walked past the girls, she handed them a pound coin each. "Here you go, young ladies. Go and grab yourselves an ice lolly."

  "Thanks," they squealed together. Then they looked at each other and back to Fiona a couple of times, before they scrambled to their feet and ran inside the store.

  She laughed.

  Her daughter would be twelve now. She may not have set eyes on her baby since the day she was born, but she thought about her every day. She never knew what the child's new family had named her, but to Fiona she was Kaylie.

  Chapter 12

  I waited until Friday evening before calling Amanda. She answered on the second ring.

  "Hi, it's me," I said, holding my breath and waiting for her response.

  After a brief pause she said, "Hi, Adam."

  Although grateful she didn't hang up, I found myself floundering for something to say. I’d never made it this far in my mental rehearsal.

  "Erm ... how's Emma?"

  "She's back to her usual bouncy self, thanks."

  "And you?"

  "I'm good."

  "Have you seen Andrew recently?"

  "Why? What's happened?" Her voice sounded suddenly urgent.

  "Jeez, Mand. Chill out. Nothing’s happened. I was asking, that's all."

  "Oh, sorry. Yeah, I went to visit him on Sunday. He says he’s all right, but I'm not so sure. He's lost heaps of weight and looks like he’s aged overnight."

  "Do you want me to come over?"

  Amanda paused then sighed. "I've already told you how I feel, Adam. This isn't easy for me, but I won't change my mind."

  "I meant as a friend. You sound as though you need to talk."

  "We're talking, aren't we?"

  I took a deep breath before continuing. She was right. We were talking, which was a darn sight better than last week. I needed to take baby steps, and that was fine. I was in no real hurry.

  “Did you speak to any of the staff?" I asked.

  "Yes. The psychiatrist. He said Andrew's reaction is normal. They’ve been doing a lot of delving into his past. Our past."

  "How do you feel about that?"

  "Good. I've been seeing a shrink for years. Good old Doctor Freda always drives me wild with her incessant questions, but without her I'd be a basket case. Andrew's never discussed what happened to us."

  “Maybe he won’t stand trial if they find he’s not in his right mind.”

  “Does that ever actually happen?”

  “Of course it does. I got informed only yesterday that Melissa May, you know, the one who killed all her HIV infected husbands lovers?”

  “Yes.”

  “She’s been judged incompetent to stand trial. She’ll be placed in a mental institution until competence is re-established. Or should I say, if competence is re-established. The woman’s cuckoo, she’s taken on her mother’s personality twenty-four seven.”

  “That would be a dream come true for me, but Andrew’s not that bad. He knows what he did and why he did it. The worst of it is, he shows no remorse whatsoever.”

  "How's Mary? You mentioned the other day that someone told her about Andrew."

  "One of her friends told her he was in prison for killing someone, but she doesn't know the rest. I guess it's just a matter of time though. I’m thinking of telling her myself."

  "Wow! Are you sure? She's already been through so much."

  "I know, but what choice is there?"

  "Dunno, Mand. If you want my opinion, I'd wait and see what happens."

  "And in the meantime? What if someone else tells her?"

  "Cross that bridge then," I said.

  We spoke for a couple of minutes before Amanda said she had to go, blaming one of the children for being out of bed. I suspected it was an excuse, but didn't mind. We’d had a good, long chat. Slowly, slowly, catchy monkey, as my mother always said.

  My phone buzzed.

  "Hey, Frances. What's up?"

  "Another homicide. We're at the old Sonny's Car Yard. You're gonna want to see this."

  "Be right there."

  ***

  Amanda placed the portable handset back onto its base and sighed. She found it too easy to talk to Adam. He really got her, one of the main reasons she needed to avoid him.

  The tiny bump of her stomach fitted into the palm of her hand. It surprised her how much she already adored the little person growing inside her. But she knew once Adam got wind of a baby, there would be no chance of shaking him off.

  During the day, she filled her every moment with the kids. She was either dropping them off or picking them up from day-care or school, washing, ironing, shopping, preparing dinner, and then afterwards there was homework, bath and bed.

  If Adam called at any of those times, she would shrug him off. She was much too busy to sit around gassing on the phone. But, no, he always called her when she was at her lowest, when the long evenings seemed to drag on and on and on.

  Hearing his voice tonight, she’d almost crumbled, especially after such an awful few days. After weeks of feeling human again, her morning sickness had made a reappearance and, like a bad case of thrush, flat out refused to leave. Mary seemed sullen and withdrawn since discovering her dad wasn’t actually working away but in prison for murder. The lovely Emma very generously invited several schoolmates to a party the following week, without asking her permission. To top it all off, Andrew worried the crap out of her.

  During her visit, he was vague and distant. She got up to get him a drink from the vending machine, and maybe it was the protective way she stroked her tummy, but by the time she returned to the table, he'd guessed about the baby.

  Amanda expected him to be furious. After all, if not for Adam, Andrew would still be a free man. In actual fact, he told her not to freeze Adam out, telling her he was a decent man who would care for her and the kids. She didn’t believe a word of it. The telltale muscle in his jaw that tensed whenever he lied was as tight as a bowstring. But why would he lie?

  Amanda wanted to mention the confession he’d made to her regarding Mary, but there were too many people around. He seemed to intuitively understand, however. He leaned towards her and gripped her fingers, causing one of the guards to take a step forward. "Don't worry, Mindy," he said, using the childhood name that only he called her.

  Amanda eyed him, needing more reassurance.

  "Don't worry," he said.

  She did worry, though. Mary needed security and stability, especially after the death of her mum and the disappearance of her dad. Amanda didn’t think the fragile little mite would be able to cope with much more. Andrew was right about one thing, however. Adam would, without a doubt, care for them all, but he was a detective first and foremost. What would he be forced to do if he learned the truth? And where would that leave poor Mary?

  This question went around and around in her mind night after night. She’d even considered telling Adam everything at one point. After all, what could the authorities do? It wasn't as if Andrew had kidnapped a random child. Mary was Amanda's flesh and blood.

  But the chil
d had been legally adopted. What if they sent her back to her adoptive mother? A woman who’d been so wasted while partying, she hadn't even noticed her three-year-old was missing until the following evening. By then, Andrew and Mary, as he called her from that day on, were already in France.

  Amanda switched off the TV and the lamp, checked and double-checked the locks on the doors and windows and then tiptoed up the stairs to bed.

  She looked in on each of the children as part of her evening ritual and found Jacob covered from head to toe in sweat. His bedroom backed onto the hot water cupboard, which made the room like an oven. She pulled off his duvet and left a light cotton sheet draped over him.

  Across the hall, Emma stirred and flipped onto her back as Amanda entered. She bent and kissed her daughter’s beautiful golden curls.

  At almost five years old, Emma was quite the little madam. Stubborn and bloody-minded, she resembled a mini tornado during the day, and was more than ready to join full-time school next week. However, Amanda wasn't ready. She didn't know if she ever would be, but she'd get used to it. What choice did she have?

  She poked her head into the room next door to find the reading lamp still on and Mary snoring softly. A Harry Potter paperback slid from her hand, and Amanda caught it and placed the book on the bedside cabinet. She gazed at Mary's gaunt little face and her heart broke in two.

  Although Mary had been part of the family for only ten months, she couldn’t imagine life without her. Of course things proved difficult at first. They didn’t even know they were related until the very day they moved in together.

  When she found out Mary was her daughter, Amanda had been filled with repulsion and dread. The baby she'd given birth to all those years ago had, in her mind, been born from abuse of the worst kind. Her father and Annie didn’t only molest and rape her and Andrew, but they sold them to their depraved mates and even forced the siblings to have sex with each other.