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

by Netta Newbound

  “What is it about them you don’t like?”

  “Everything!”

  “Try to be more specific, Holly. Is it their eyes for example?”

  She shrugged. “I guess.”

  “How about their fur?”

  She nodded.

  “What about the sound they make? Purring? Meowing?”

  “Everything!” She shuddered. “I can’t stand anything about them.” She held her hands up as though demanding he stop.

  “And you don’t remember a particular occasion with a cat that triggered this fear?”

  “No. Nothing.”

  “How about dogs?”

  “They’re okay.”

  “Do you own a dog?”

  “No. But they don’t bother me.”

  “Did you ever own any pets growing up?”

  “A tortoise.”

  His eyes twinkled as though amused. “A tortoise?”

  “Yes!”

  “Any furry animals? Rabbits? Hamsters?”

  “No.”

  “How is your phobia affecting you?”

  “Well, obviously I go into a lot of houses. If there’s a cat, I seem to freeze. It’s getting worse, too.”

  “That won’t do.”

  “No. And my boss is getting irritated with me.”

  “I understand.” He sighed and moved the computer mouse on the desk, and the screen lit up.

  From her position, she wasn’t able to see what he was looking at.

  “We can offer you a number of treatments, Holly, but I would prefer to begin with the simplest and least invasive methods.”

  “Okay.”

  “At this clinic, we offer a range of therapies.”

  Frances nodded.

  “But, I suggest we start with the counselling. We can work on educating you about cats and their behaviours. Show you there’s no need to fear them. Most cats will avoid you. They’re solitary creatures and want to be left alone.”

  “The one the other night didn’t. He came straight up to me as bold as brass.”

  “Yes, there are some more friendly and curious cats, but on the whole, once they check you out and realise they aren’t getting any attention or food from you, they’ll be on their way. They will establish bonds with their owners, but dislike being pestered by strangers.”

  “I think I was a cat in my last life,” she laughed.

  “There you go then—already you have a mutual understanding.”

  “I don’t know about that, but I get what you mean.”

  He fiddled about with his mouse and began typing something into the computer. “I won’t bombard you with too much information on this first visit, but I’ll print off some reading material about cats and their behaviour. Maybe something in your past was the trigger and caused you to develop an unreasonable fear, due to misunderstanding information. Sometimes, just understanding the object of the phobia could help it to lessen or even vanish over time.” He stood up and retrieved several pages from the printer behind him.

  “What if it doesn’t help?”

  “I suggest you read the information several times over in the course of the next seven days. Make an appointment for next week, and we’ll see how you’re feeling. Eventually we’ll have you visiting an animal shelter and viewing the cats through the cages.”

  A sharp intake of breath made him look at her quickly.

  “Not yet. Don’t worry. But one day, perhaps?”

  “I don’t know about that, but thanks, Doctor. I feel a little better already. I’d convinced myself you’d have a huge cat in here ready to thrust into my arms as soon as I came through the door.” She smiled as she got to her feet, and they shook hands.

  “We’re not that cruel, Holly,” he said, good-naturedly. “Here, let me walk you out.”

  ***

  Three hours later, exhausted from traipsing around every shoe shop in London, Amanda and Sandra headed back. The rear seat of Sandra’s tiny Toyota was piled high with boxes and bags. Not only had Sandra bought boots for herself, but two pairs each for Mary and Emma, girly ballet-style pumps and a cutesy pair of pink ugg boots. She also bought a pair of black slip-on boots for Jacob, and insisted Amanda replace her old, favourite leather ankle boots.

  Amanda didn’t want any more boots, but found it easier to go along with her than to argue. Although exhausted, she was glad she’d gone in the end. It had been ages since she’d had a shopping spree with Sandra.

  “If you drop me back home, I might have chance a to wash up the breakfast dishes and make the beds before heading back to the school.”

  “No problem, love. Do you want me to come to the school with you?”

  “No, you get off. And thanks for today. It was just what I needed.”

  Sandra parked on the road outside Amanda’s house, and they carried the bags up the path between them.

  “Is that your phone I can hear?” Sandra asked.

  Amanda, filled with panic, shoved the key in the door, dropped the bags just inside, and raced to the kitchen for the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Could I speak to Amanda Flynn,” said a female voice she didn’t recognise.

  “Speaking?” Her voice was breathless. She cocked a confused expression at Sandra who had come in behind her carrying the bags.

  “It’s about your brother, Andrew.”

  Chapter 28

  As a mere spectator, I watched Frances interview the fourth sleazy businessman Fiona had blackmailed, who, as all the others, could give us no real details. The pickup had been made in a public place, and once again a homeless man made off with the cash. I couldn’t help but feel we were only just treading water.

  A search of the hotel room and bathroom unearthed a sophisticated hidden camera setup. But we could do no more until James Cassidy landed back in the country.

  We still had nothing to go on regarding any of the murders and seemed to be getting further and further away from the main investigation.

  A vibration in my pocket brought my thoughts back into the room. I slid my phone from my pocket trying to be discreet. Three missed calls—all from Amanda. Plus three voicemail messages. Something was wrong.

  “Well, that’ll be all for now, Mr Sainsbury. If we have any further questions, we’ll be in touch,” I said, getting to my feet.

  The short, balding man’s whole posture relaxed making him appear suddenly shorter.

  Frances shot me a filthy look as she stood up. I knew why—she hadn’t finished making the man feel utterly disgusted in himself, yet.

  Out on the road, she turned to me. “What the hell was that all about? I’d only just got started.”

  “Something’s happened.” I took my phone from my pocket and hit the call button.

  “Another murder?” she asked.

  “No. Amanda’s been...” I held one finger up to her as I listened to the person on the other end of the phone. “Calm down. I’m on my way.” I hung up and began jogging to the car.

  “What’s happened?” Frances asked, running behind me.

  “Amanda’s had a call from the prison. Andrew’s been rushed to hospital. He’s only gone and done a hatchet job on his own wrists.”

  “Fuck!”

  I dropped Frances off at the station before heading to Amanda’s. In the car I made a call to the prison for more information.

  Amanda was standing at the garden gate hopping from foot to foot. Her appearance made me gasp. Her pale complexion rarely had any colour to her cheeks, but today she looked drained, and the dark circles under her eyes seemed darker and more pronounced.

  I’d barely stopped the car when she jumped in beside me.

  “Any more news?” I asked, as I did a U-turn and drove off.

  She shook her head and huge tears ran down her gaunt cheeks.

  “I called the prison myself. Andrew was found in his cell early this afternoon with lacerations to his wrists. They don’t know how long he’d been there and there was a lot of blood. So, best p
repare yourself for the worst I’m afraid.”

  She held her body upright and stiff, wrapping her arms around herself, obviously distraught, but she made no sound.

  “Have you organised someone to collect the kids?”

  She nodded. “Sandra was with me when I got the call. She’s going to take them back to her place for the night.”

  “Good.”

  “I don’t understand, Adam. Why would he do something like this? He knows how much we love him.”

  The desperation in her voice tore at my heart. I wanted nothing more than to stop the car and pull her into my arms, but I knew she’d have a fit. Every second would count if Andrew was indeed at death’s door.

  “All I can say is, people who attempt to take their own life have often passed the point of thinking of the consequences and how their actions will affect other people. They only want to escape.”

  “He wouldn’t have needed to fucking escape if you hadn’t locked him up in the first place,” she spat, her eyes screwed up with a sudden hatred as she glared at me.

  I didn’t respond. She was upset—I got that.

  After a few minutes, I glanced at her and caught her looking at me.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “But what if he dies? I’ve only just got him back in my life. And then there’s Mary, she’s just recovering from the death of her mother. What will something like this do to her?”

  “Let’s not jump the gun, Amanda. He still may be okay.”

  We drove the next thirty minutes in silence, each absorbed in our own thoughts. I occasionally glanced over at her and noticed she’d slouched in her seat, but was still awake—her eyes fixed on the road straight ahead.

  I heard sirens as we approached the hospital, which isn’t unusual, but the hairs stood up on my neck. As we turned into the drive I noticed an ambulance had crashed into the central rockery of the roundabout in front of the Accident and Emergency doors. Several police cars were pulled up at odd angles around it.

  I parked as close as I could. “Wait here,” I said, before darting from the car. I had an awful feeling it had something to do with Andrew, and when I saw the female prison officer sporting a doozy of a broken nose, my fears were confirmed.

  I showed my badge to a young, and obviously inexperienced, police officer. “What’s happened?”

  “An escaped prisoner, sir,” the young man explained. “He attacked a guard in the back of the ambulance, and the commotion caused the driver to crash. He escaped on foot, covered in blood by all accounts, so I can’t see he’ll get very far.”

  *

  Within the hour, a massive manhunt was underway. Reports were in that someone fitting Andrew’s description had hijacked a beaten old work truck off an elderly gentleman. The man hadn’t been hurt in any way, which was a bonus.

  Amanda was beside herself. She’d expected to find her only brother at death’s door, and when she saw all the police cars surrounding the ambulance, she presumed I’d return confirming her worst fears.

  It took me a good while to get through to her. I’d been concerned she might go into shock, as had happened several times before, but she managed to hold it all together.

  I was able to talk to the prison guard, whose face was a complete mess and her eyes practically shut tight. She told me how she’d been surprised by the unconscious prisoner, who had been found with lacerations to his wrists, covered in a lot of blood. As it happened during visiting hours, one of their busiest times, they were short staffed. She had no choice but to accompany the prisoner alone. Obviously, with the severe cuts, she hadn’t cuffed him. The last thing she expected was for the prisoner to attack her, considering the state he was in. But the mystery had soon been solved.

  A sweep of Andrew’s cell found evidence pointing to the fact that he’d collected a large amount of blood to assist with his escape.

  Frances had kept in contact with updates of the case, not that there was too much to report, especially now they had the extra team cluttering up the place and twiddling their thumbs. She said she and Cal would spend the rest of the day going through the list of Alfa Romeo owners in the area.

  Realising there was nothing I could do to assist, I drove Amanda home. I didn’t intend leaving her side for the rest of the evening. Pete Miller, the officer in charge of the case promised to keep me updated of any developments, and that would have to be enough. With me being in homicide, this case was out of my jurisdiction.

  Amanda was withdrawn and distant. She spent the entire journey home with her eyes shut tight, but I knew she wasn’t sleeping. I called Sandra, and she agreed to keep the children with her for the night.

  When we arrived at the house, I almost had to carry Amanda inside.

  “Why don’t you try to get some sleep, babe?” I asked, keeping my voice gentle.

  She headed for the lounge and dropped to the sofa, curling her legs underneath her. “I don’t want to.”

  “But you look exhausted. I’ll let you know if anything happens.”

  She shook her head, clutching a cushion to her middle. “I can’t sleep while Andrew’s missing. He could be dead in a ditch somewhere. The woman on the phone said he was badly injured.”

  “Yes, but he hadn’t been examined at that stage. The blood was enough to create panic with the staff. My guess is the cuts are superficial.”

  “But why would he do this? He seemed fine when I saw him last.”

  “Who knows what’s going on in his head?”

  She reached for her phone on the coffee table and glanced at the screen before placing it back down.

  “I don’t think he’ll call here. Do you?” he asked.

  “He’s got nobody else. He’ll need money and clothes, so he’ll have to contact somebody.”

  “With the type of training Andrew got in the Foreign Legion, he probably needs nobody. And don’t forget, being on the run is second nature to him. He’s done it most of his life.”

  “I couldn’t bear losing him again,” she whispered. “I know him being in prison wasn’t ideal, but at least I could see him.” Tears were flowing freely down her cheeks. “Mary could write and would eventually be old enough to visit. For the first time in years I was able to care for him, knowing he was safe and well.”

  “Come here.” I pulled her towards me, and she didn’t fight it this time.

  As I stroked her hair, I sensed her relax, and her breathing deepened.

  The shrill peal of the phone caused us both to leap to our feet in an instant. Amanda pounced on the handset before I had the chance.

  “Andrew?”

  Adam could hear Sandra’s irate voice from where he was standing, three feet away.

  “It’s Mary. She’s gone!”

  Chapter 29

  Everything went like clockwork at the prison, as Andrew predicted. He’d watched them for long enough and taken note of each meticulous detail. The guards always complained about being short staffed at visiting times, and then, just by chance, he discovered that ditzy Deirdre, the female screw, hated the sight of blood. They even joked about it a few times.

  Of course he didn’t mean to hit her so hard, but the adrenalin kicked in causing him to lose all control, knowing he couldn’t fuck up his one and only chance to escape.

  The first ten minutes were the most crucial. He needed to get as far away as possible before the pigs arrived at the scene, which was no mean feat while covered from head to toe in blood.

  He didn’t need to go far before he spotted an elderly bloke, wearing a muddy brown overcoat and cap, about to climb into a well-used truck. Andrew ran up behind him.

  “Step back, old man, and give me the keys. I don’t want to have to hurt you,” he said.

  The man staggered backwards, holding the keys out towards him. “Take it easy, son. I won’t put up a fight,” he said, in a gentle voice.

  Andrew snatched the keys. He didn’t mean to be nasty, but he didn’t have time for niceties.

  The man began to back up, his
cap now off and screwed up in one hand and held out in front of him as though wielding a knife.

  Andrew jumped into the front of the cab and fumbled with the huge bunch of keys before starting the engine.

  He drove a short distance before pulling into a layby. Rummaging about in the back of the truck, he found a pair of ratty, old blue overalls and a green woollen cardigan that was riddled with massive holes, but they were better than nothing. He slipped off his bloody jeans and shirt. Being on remand he didn’t need to wear a prison uniform, and he replaced them with the clothing before continuing on his journey.

  A few minutes out of town, he pulled up next to a red Vauxhall Nova in a school carpark. After glancing around, he popped the door of the Nova and drove away in it moments later.

  He didn’t have far to go. The last time he was on the run he changed his name to Peter Edwards and bought a small terraced house on the outskirts of Pinevale. The neighbours were all deadbeats and the area run down, so he didn’t expect any neighbourly concern that he hadn’t been home for months. He’d set up direct debits for the utility bills and council tax to come out of the bank account he’d also set up in his fake name.

  A short time later he parked the car at the back of a disused factory building and walked the rest of the way.

  The house was just as he’d left it, no doubt thanks to the iron shutters fitted to the windows and doors, and the monitored alarm system.

  Just inside the gate, he bent and scrambled around the base of one of the bushes that grew alongside the low brick wall and bordered the metre-wide front garden. He was looking for the key he’d hidden in the fake rock. At first his stomach dropped, thinking it was gone, but then his fingers closed around the plastic object.

  Once inside, with the door shut firmly behind him, he finally allowed himself to breathe. What a stroke of genius to keep this place from them. They tried every trick in the book to get him to say where he’d been hiding, but he wouldn’t, knowing it would come in handy one day.

  The minimally furnished house was as he’d left it, apart from the layer of dust over everything. A number of free local newspapers jammed up the catcher cage behind the door. In the kitchen, an empty baked bean can, and half a loaf in wax paper packaging, sat on the side, and a dirty plate, now filled with green and black mould, lay in the sink.