Perfect Stranger: A gripping psychological thriller with nail-biting suspense

by Jake Cross

  ‘Don’t take that, Chris!’

  Too late. Autopilot threw out his hand and wrapped his fingers around the envelope. It was bloated with something bulky inside.

  ‘Chris, don’t take that. Let’s just go.’

  But it was the biker who left. The big black machine leaped away like a runner off the blocks. He watched it cut a U-turn and race away. He couldn’t avert his eyes until the bike slid around a corner and seemed to slip into a rent in the black blanket of night. He felt a little dazed.

  ‘What is it?’ Rose asked. She tried to take the envelope, but he threw the item into his door pocket and started the engine. There was a knocking noise from the dented front end, but the car seemed to move just fine. He built up speed quickly.

  Rose watched her husband in concern. ‘Chris, what’s going on?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  He could feel her eyes on him, worry radiating out from her in waves. He kept his own eyes locked on the black road, and he drove fast, saying nothing further.

  They got home without another word, except for Rose’s call to the police and announcement that officers would come to the house soon for statements. Even the ever-curious Julia, sensing tension between her parents, knew not to ask questions.

  Chris sat in the car as the girls got out and went up the path. He watched Julia enter the house, but Rose hung back. Then she shut the door and returned to him. She got in but said nothing. Her eyes were on the envelope, now in his lap.

  Subdued, he didn’t even react, and didn’t lift his eyes from the little oblong slip of paper in his hands. She closed the door and waited for him to speak.

  ‘She could have blurted it all out in two seconds.’

  She knew he meant the biker. ‘Who is she, Chris?’

  His eyes stayed on the slip of paper, no bigger than the kind found in a cracker and bearing a joke. But whatever was on it was nothing funny.

  ‘Maybe she opted for a method with maximum shock. Maybe she wanted to… to distance herself from… from the actual act of telling me. But she’s had a long time to think about the best way forward.’

  ‘Who, Chris? Who is she? What are you talking about?’ No answer, so she snatched the slip of paper. It was missing one little corner. It bore a scribbled mobile phone number, nothing more.

  ‘Is this hers? Did you phone her?’

  He shook his head.

  She said, ‘The envelope had something heavier in it.’

  He reached into the door pocket, paused a few seconds, and took out a silver necklace chain, worn with age. No pendant, but a twisted link where one had once hung. Her stiff fingers could barely take it. It was no answer and he knew it.

  ‘It was a week before I met you. The twenty-fourth of September 2000…’

  …in Indianapolis, Indiana, home of the United States Grand Prix. He and some college friends, on a holiday paid for by a pal’s rich mother, had bought tickets from a tout after losing theirs when a bag was stolen. But at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, an ape-like guard had claimed his ticket was fake and refused entry. Lurking outside while his friends went in for the fifteenth race of the 2000 Formula 1 World Championship, he’d met a girl with the same problem. A striking young woman with beautiful big eyes. Two strangers in a foreign place. Of course they would hang out.

  The rain had stopped, so they visited White River State Park, only a few miles away. Walking along the riverside, they chatted like old friends. They ate on a patch of grass by the Medal of Honor Memorial, shoulders touching as they scanned the names of nearly 3,500 recipients of the country’s most prestigious military award. And at the zoo, while he made her laugh with pretty good animal impressions, they had their first kiss.

  Later in the day, runaway emotions had ignited at a hotel. Neither cared that they had missed Michael Schumacher win the Formula 1 World Championship. In the late afternoon they had said their goodbyes in order to locate their friends, but had promised to meet the next day at the location that both felt had been pivotal in their union: Indianapolis City Market. It was where, the day before, Saturday, each had both bought overpriced bogus tickets, thus propelling them towards their fateful encounter…

  ‘But I didn’t turn up. I don’t even know if she did. But I abandoned her. Neither of us had a hotel or number for the other. I didn’t even give her my real name. It was only meant to be a one-day fling, so I just used a fake one. And then the holiday was over and I went home. I never saw her again.’

  Rose hesitated. She’d known about his failed attempt to get in to watch the Formula 1 race. But not that he’d spent the day with a girl. And she had a rising suspicion who that girl had been.

  ‘Eve Levine,’ she said. It wasn’t a question.

  He nodded. ‘I gave her that chain.’

  She looked at it. Plain, no markings, like a thousand others. She had no idea how he could be so sure. ‘There’s no pendant.’

  ‘There was never a pendant, but I’m sure it’s the same one,’ Chris answered. ‘But I think I already knew who she was, even before I saw the chain. I read about a pub her parents owned, The Blue Swan. When I looked at it online, I realised I’d heard of it before. I suspected back then. That necklace was the final piece of proof. I just didn’t remember her name. It was so long ago.’

  ‘The note claimed you did something to her. Eve’s daughter’s not a young child, is she? That woman on the bike… she’s Eve’s daughter, isn’t she?’

  Chris said nothing, but that was answer enough. Rose let the chain slip from her fingers as the horror dawned.

  ‘And she’s about eighteen. You met Eve eighteen years ago…’

  Six

  Chris thumped a fist against the car window.

  ‘It was damn stupid. Didn’t she realise how this was going to affect me? That sending me that damn note would make me panic that I was someone’s target?’

  Rose didn’t know what to say. Her husband, her darling Chris, might have another daughter. By another woman. But if it had sent her mind into a tailspin, Chris’s would be a twisted, fiery wreck on the ground. She knew she had to put him first. A calming hand stroked his arm.

  ‘Imagine that she didn’t know about you until after the murder of the man she thought was her father.’

  ‘Murder?’

  ‘Eve’s boyfriend. Remember? It said in that newspaper article that Eve’s boyfriend had been murdered.’

  ‘Oh. Right. Yes. But I don’t understand.’

  ‘She would have been distraught at losing her father. Picture her mother, who would also be hurt and confused, telling her daughter that her real father might not be dead at all. Maybe Eve hoped her daughter would be happy about it. Then picture Eve dying. That’s three big bombshells in her daughter’s life, one after the other, any one of which is enough to knock the sense out of anyone. She wanted to find you, and somehow she did, but the shock of three big hits means she’s not thinking straight. She’s had no time to adjust because her mother’s suicide was only last week. She was unsure how to proceed and came up with the idea about posting you a note as a way of letting you know her mother had died.’

  His eyes were ahead, remote, away somewhere beyond the windscreen. She used his chin to turn his head her way.

  ‘I saw the surprise in her eyes when she saw your licence. I think she had a plan to post that necklace to us, but by freak luck she found herself face-to-face with the man who could be her real father. She panicked. She didn’t know how to act, so she handed that envelope over and left. That’s the behaviour of someone scared, especially after what she went through today.’

  ‘Today? What do you mean?’

  ‘Ron Hugill’s funeral. The man she thought was her father. His funeral was today, Chris. Her mother’s is on Friday, his was today, so she’s obviously shell-shocked. Don’t you agree?’

  He didn’t answer that. He stared out of the side window, at the black world. ‘But why? What does she want?’

  ‘Don’t try to assume what she�
��s thinking, Chris. Neither one of you is level-headed at the minute, so it would be impossible. Maybe she just wanted you to know the full story. Do you worry that she might want to start a relationship?’

  Chris took a long time before shrugging.

  ‘I know you,’ she said. ‘You don’t like an upset to routines. Like not letting me replace the wallpaper. I swear an assessment would diagnose Asperger’s. I can’t imagine a bigger shift in the balance than a new family member.’

  Chris took a long time before sighing.

  Rose continued, ‘And she’s a grown woman, with a life behind her already. She’ll have friends. Her own likes and dislikes. She’s not necessarily trying to find a new father to fit into all that.’

  Chris took a little time before nodding.

  ‘We can’t know what she wants, Chris. She probably doesn’t even know what she wants. And bear in mind that nothing is concrete yet.’

  He turned to her, puzzled.

  ‘What I mean is this could be a mistake. Your next step is to find out if it’s true. Find out if this young woman really is your daughter. A paternity test. After that, you have a big decision to make. But don’t make it now. You need to put sleep between getting this news and making a decision about it, as hard as that might be. Now, are you okay to go inside?’

  He nodded. ‘Julia needs to know. To know she’s got a sister about the same age.’

  Rose felt a jolt. Julia had been conceived in 2000 at the start of October, their second time sleeping together, just a few days after he and Rose had met… and this meant she would have been pregnant at the same time as Eve Levine. Two mothers, both carrying Chris’s child, both unaware of the other. Two girls, oblivious to their sisterhood. Refocussing on the moment was a struggle.

  ‘Julia doesn’t need to know yet. She needs to be told only if that girl is really your daughter. She won’t hear a word of this otherwise. The same for the rest of our family.’

  Not conversations he would enjoy, she knew. She would tell Julia, though, because that had to be done correctly and she wasn’t sure he could manage that. The rest of their small family was scattered, so he could deal with them in his own time. It made her think of Chris’s father and she had to stop herself from bringing that subject up.

  He rubbed his face with both hands.

  ‘I’m sorry I lied to you. I know you doubted me when I said I didn’t know the name Eve Levine. I mean, I suspected, but I didn’t know for sure. But I wasn’t upfront with you. I didn’t admit the truth, because…’ Here he fell short of words.

  ‘Because you wanted it to not be real. You wanted this problem to just go away.’

  He gave no answer. But he didn’t need to.

  ‘We won’t get any more answers tonight, Chris, so you have to try to put this a little bit further back in your mind. It could take a while, and you can’t wander about in a daze like a zombie until then.’

  He gave a bizarre cackle and she knew why. Put it to the back of his mind? She knew her husband and tonight’s bombshell would stay dead centre, in the limelight, perhaps for ever. For her, too.

  TUESDAY

  Seven

  Rose woke from a wild dream to find Chris sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to her. It was still midnight-black outside, the room cloaked in shadow. She reached towards her husband, laid a hand softly on his shoulder. He took her hand in his and kissed her fingers.

  Rose spotted a rectangle of white brightness in his lap. His phone.

  ‘Call her,’ she said.

  But he shook his head.

  ‘It’s not about the girl.’

  She twisted his wrist so the phone washed her in light. On the screen, a newspaper article. She squinted. By the third word – MURDERED – she forgot all about the pain in her shoulder from having slept on one side too long.

  Monday, 11 November

  * * *

  Local father found murdered at workplace

  * * *

  Ron Hugill, 48, has been found dead at MuscleBound, where he taught boxing classes. The attack is thought to have happened late Saturday night, after Hugill had locked up. A witness reports hearing screams and then calling the police, who found the cash register empty and Hugill unresponsive on the scene.

  * * *

  While no one has yet been taken into custody, police are seeking the whereabouts of a prolific lawbreaker called Dominic Everton, who has prior convictions for robbery and assault. It is believed that Hugill returned to the gym to fetch his laptop, interrupted the burglar and paid the ultimate price. Everton is presently missing from his home, believed to be on the run in Sheffield or Newcastle, where he has contacts. News of the brutal murder has been delivered to Hugill’s long-term girlfriend and daughter.

  * * *

  Rose had remembered the mention of a murdered boyfriend from the suicide article, but hadn’t thought to look into it. But Chris had. And now she had. And she wished they hadn’t. Reading the word ‘murdered’ was one thing, but knowing the whole story was so much worse. And this gruesome story would have been relayed to Eve, fresh and right to her face, while she lay dying of cancer. It explained Eve’s suicide, although Rose couldn’t fathom the selfishness required to heap even more tragedy upon a daughter.

  ‘Too late,’ she said.

  ‘I know,’ Chris replied.

  ‘No, I mean… too early. It’s too early in the morning to worry about this.’

  She pulled, and he moved. Back into his space in the bed, cold now. She flipped the quilt over him. Then turned him away so she could mould herself to his warm back, legs against his own. Her weight upon her shoulder hurt like hell, but the warm embrace was preferable.

  ‘Eve’s daughter is asleep now. She’s not worrying about Ron Hugill right now, so don’t worry about her. You have to try to sleep.’

  ‘It explains why Eve killed herself. Does it explain why her daughter came to me? She lost her father; is she trying to replace him?’

  ‘All you can do is contact her tomorrow. When the sun is up. Now you have to do nothing but sleep.’

  The correct advice, but she didn’t doubt they were wasted words.

  Once more cast out of a strange dream, Rose woke to find Chris again sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to her. The curtains were drawn, but their thin texture glowed with sunlight. She reached out to him. Pain cruised circuits in her left shoulder and she loosed a moan.

  ‘Oh, God, sorry,’ he said. ‘I forgot to turn you.’

  His phone was in his lap again. She had managed to put this mess aside to sleep. Chris hadn’t. Now, with the sun up and sleep gone, she twisted his wrist so she could see the device. On the screen, a recently sent text message to: ‘EVE DAUGHTER’. She read the text:

  ‘We should meet for a chat.’

  She pulled, and he moved, but not back into his sun-warmed space in the bed. He got up and went into the en-suite bathroom. His agitation kindled pity and she threw off the covers.

  Standing naked behind him, she watched him shave. ‘You’ve had time to think.’

  ‘Parents have a bond with children. It’s ingrained. Biology. You have this weak little human that’ll die without your care.’

  She considered this. ‘You’re saying that kind of bond can’t exist with a child that’s already fully grown? People take on other people’s children all the time.’

  ‘Below adult age, maybe it’s different. They still need care. There’s still a sort of child and adult relationship. What if I’m too late? Christ, she’s already almost as tall as me.’

  ‘By sixteen I was taller than my mother. From that point we became more like sisters. When my dad died a few months later and Mum lost her job, I got one. I provided for us. It was almost as if our roles reversed. It didn’t affect us. In fact, the changing relationship made us happier. It was new and different. Like a change of scenery. Or like a holiday.’

  ‘But you already had that bond. You had the… I don’t know… roots. You weren’t strang
ers. And maybe it’s different for mothers than it is for fathers.’

  She took his wrist in one hand and pulled the razor from his grip with her other. ‘The girl is only a stranger to you because we don’t have the results yet. We don’t know for sure. Wait and see. And the fact that she’s fully grown already can be a good thing. You skipped all the hard baby and toddler work.’

  He grunted. ‘You think I’ll be sad that I missed her firsts, like first bike ride, first day at school, losing her first tooth?’

  She started to shave him. Her frozen wrist made it awkward for her, but she ignored the pain enough to be careful with the tool. ‘It’s a thought. I’d hate to have missed any of that with Julia. Normally I can read you, Chris, but you have me stumped here.’

  Finished, she lay down the razor while he stripped off his boxer shorts and turned on the shower. ‘I have me stumped, too. But that says something, doesn’t it? That I’m not jumping for joy after what I just found out.’

  ‘What does it say? That you don’t want the girl to be your daughter? I don’t see it saying anything other than your mind is still scrambled. Which I understand. You just got hit with a haymaker. It’s a form of concussion. Give it time. Besides, none of this means anything. Like I said before, it doesn’t mean Eve’s daughter wants to enter our lives.’

  ‘Oh, but it does,’ he blurted. ‘She wants me to be her father. She wants to come right on into our life—’

  ‘No, you don’t know that. The girl heard a story and now she’s told it to you – in her own way. That could be the end of it.’

  He shook his head. ‘No, no. That’s why she came, Rose. Why else? Her other dad’s dead, so she wants a new one. Like you replacing your broken phone charger. I’m her new phone charger.’

  He looked ready to shed tears, so she took his hand. ‘Well, that’s just silly, Chris. But do you remember the charger you bought? Didn’t fit, did it? Wrong one. You assumed and got it wrong. You just remember that until you know for sure. You might be the wrong charger.’