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

by Jake Cross

  ‘What speech?’

  ‘Ah, yes. Katie mentioned something about wanting you to say a few words at the funeral. I said you’d be happy to.’

  ‘Please tell me that’s a joke.’

  She calmed him and explained. He wouldn’t have to stand before a sorrowful crowd, all looking at him and wondering who the hell he was. Katie would be reading notes from those who knew and loved her mother, and Chris’s would be one of those. He would cover Eve as a young woman. Relax, man.

  Relaxation was impossible. ‘But I didn’t really know her. Surely there’s some old friend who could do a better job?’

  ‘I don’t doubt it. But Katie wants you. You might be her dad, remember. It means a lot.’

  ‘I haven’t got a clue what to say, Rose. I knew her for one day.’

  ‘If people always knew what to say, there would be no such thing as speechwriting. You’ve got a day.’

  He didn’t really know what he was worried about the family thinking of him. Rose had an idea, though, and it was worse than anything he could have dreamed up: ‘That you’re back after all these years and trying to worm your way into her will?’

  A will. He hadn’t thought of that. Suicides often planned their deaths and considered their family. Jesus Christ. ‘That’s exactly what they’ll think, Rose. That I’m after bleeding her dry. This is just great.’

  ‘Relax. Look on the bright side. She might be rich. Katie might have been left millions. She can be my long-lost daughter for that much money.’

  She was winding him up, he realised. Somewhat childishly, he told her that he’d seen The Blue Swan pub and it was a decrepit wreck, so sod you.

  ‘Oh, I didn’t think about that place,’ Rose said. ‘I wonder why Katie couldn’t stay there? What do you mean by a wreck?’

  ‘Katie told me she moved out at sixteen. Eve put it up for sale when she got ill. But it’s run down and I think there’s a squatter. She seemed like she didn’t really want to talk about it.’

  Rose rubbed her chin, thinking. ‘Where did she go at sixteen?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ And right now he didn’t care because of something far more pressing. ‘I can’t do it. I didn’t know her. I can’t write a bloody speech, Rose.’

  ‘Well, consider this…’ She insisted that he would appear uncaring if, after discovering she gave birth to his child – possibly, calm down, just possibly! – he didn’t say something respectful about Eve now that she was gone. So man up. ‘Now why don’t you go outside and congratulate Katie on the fine job she’s doing out in the cold with a tree root that you’ve spent the last six months giving idle threats to?’

  There was no fight left in him. He shuffled back into the kitchen. The thudding from outside drew him to the window. Now Katie had a sledgehammer and was dropping it hard onto the tree stump, and doing it right by raising the hammer with a hand at each end for stability before bending her torso to aid dragging the heavy end downwards. Girl had some power, despite her frail frame.

  ‘Eat,’ Julia told him. As he sat, she ripped a page from her notebook and slapped it and her pen in front of him. ‘Write.’

  He took it like a condemned man being handed his own rope.

  Rose wanted the satnav because she was getting her eyebrows done ready for their party on Saturday, so he swapped the device into her car while she watched from the doorstep. When he returned, she handed him his healthy and tasteless lunch. ‘Maybe we could invite Katie to our bowling tonight.’

  He dismissed that idea instantly. People would ask—

  Julia appeared at the kitchen doorway, nose deep in her notebook and giggling to herself. She pushed between her parents, felt in a pocket of her coat, and then walked away with a folded sheet of paper, back towards the kitchen.

  Rose must have shared his thought because she did some editing. ‘Perhaps not bowling. People will ask who she is. We can’t tell them before the test result and I don’t want to lie to our friends. Friday. Go out to the pub with her on Friday night. She’ll need cheering up after her mother’s funeral. Ask her about it.’

  A better idea, but a concern occurred: surely, if Katie wanted a bonding night, she would have offered—

  ‘And don’t be thinking Katie would have invited you for a drink if it was what she wanted. It took me to push you. There’s no one to push her. She’s probably too nervous to ask in case you say no. Easier to stay in the dark about whether or not you like her. I’m not sure myself on that one.’

  He’d sworn to make more of an effort, so, yes, he’d ask Katie today. He promised it aloud to Rose, which made backing out no option. ‘And I think she’s okay. Early days still.’

  ‘Spectacular.’ She opened the front door and handed him his car keys. ‘Have a good day at work. And if you decide to give your lunch away to someone else again, tell them not to post a picture of it on Facebook.’

  He grinned and turned to go, but she grabbed his arm.

  ‘Do you remember my toothbrush? How that was when you said you knew we were going to be together for a long time? My toothbrush appearing in your bathroom?’

  He did. He recalled seeing the toothbrush there in his bathroom and punching the air in triumph, because she was his now. ‘Why?’

  ‘Katie told me her go-karting trophy was in her bike pannier from when she’d shown you. So it was the only thing she managed to save from her flat. She brought it in and now it’s on the fireplace for all to see.’

  She was waiting for his reaction. There was no air-punch. He gave her a nod, and a kiss, and the back of his head as he walked down the path.

  As he was about to drive away, the front door opened and Katie jogged down the path. Now out of his jacket and Rose’s jeans, she wore jeggings and another tight pullover. If she’d bought them yesterday evening when she went out, she’d used a late-night charity shop because they didn’t look brand new. Chris buzzed the window down, expecting to be told or handed something he’d forgotten. But no.

  ‘Can I come with you?’

  ‘Where? I’m going to work.’

  ‘That’s what I mean. To your work. I know I can’t come inside the lab. I thought we could just have a chat on the way.’

  ‘How will you get back? It’s three buses.’

  ‘I don’t mind.’

  Awkward travel had been his only defence, so a minute later he was driving away with a passenger. Fast, to get there as quickly as possible. But the journey dragged. Every red light seemed twice as long and everyone at zebra crossings sauntered nice and slow. At the hospital car park, Chris chose the nearest free space and shut the engine off. At first, he’d been happy that Katie hadn’t spoken, instead had watched the world slip by with her forehead on the window. Now, he worried that there was something wrong.

  ‘Have you got change for the buses?’

  She kept her head on the glass, as if transfixed by a sight beyond. But the flank of an old Vauxhall Corsa wasn’t that intriguing. ‘I thought I’d wait. I don’t get bored. I could wait and drive home with you.’

  Wait? All day? ‘Walk around the hospital too much and security will want a word.’

  ‘I’ll think of something to do. I can play on my phone, maybe take a stroll.’

  Figuring Katie would regret her plan within a couple of hours, Chris said, ‘Okay. I’ll be back about ten past five. Gotta rush now.’

  ‘Wait. You always have lunch at the Pitstop, don’t you? How about I meet you there?’

  ‘Yes, okay.’ He opened his door. She didn’t move. It was becoming unnerving. At the Pitstop, he would have to bring up last night, just in case today’s attitude was because of things she might wish she’d left unsaid.

  He got out. ‘See you later.’

  She raised a thumb. Said nothing.

  Julia called as he was dodging ambulances and taxis while crossing the drop-off zone outside the main entrance.

  ‘I’ve told Mum already,’ she said, her voice husky. ‘I’ve been offered a gig tonight. A birthday p
arty in Dinnington. Can I go? It’s two hundred pounds.’

  ‘Video,’ he said. Julia had been doing stand-up at kids’ parties for a year now, eight or nine gigs, and not once had she provided her parents with a recording. Chris had never even heard her practise a routine because it was shrouded in secrecy. ‘But only if your grandmother doesn’t cancel again.’

  ‘Thanks, Dad. Sure you’re okay with me earning twice what you get and being half your age?’

  She still had that breathy voice. ‘What’s wrong with your croaky throat? And is this why you never show us a video? Because you get the Vaudeville Hook?’

  Her voice was back to normal suddenly. ‘Funny. Hey, Simone is allowed visitors now. Want to meet for lunch before I go?’

  ‘I’m supposed to meet Katie for lunch.’

  ‘That’s fine. Maybe we can all visit her. She’ll like Katie. I’ll see you later, old one.’

  She hung up before he could object.

  There was no way he was going to visit Simone.

  As he walked into the lab, Lionel Parrot held up his phone in one hand, waving it like a treasure.

  ‘Oh yes. Cops just released Meadow Moll’s boyfriend. Lack of evidence. Wasn’t him. Told you all. This is the start of something big.’

  Someone said, ‘No, they have to charge or release after twenty-four hours. That proves nothing.’

  ‘Actually, it does,’ Lionel said. ‘It’s morning. I heard he was arrested about 7 a.m. yesterday morning, so it’s been over twenty-four hours. They’d go for an extension if they thought he was guilty. Wasn’t him. Told you, it was the Meadow Murderer.’

  Another voice chimed in. ‘What about what Moll said he said? That stuff about her cutting him out of her life. She’d just dumped the boyfriend. Explain that.’

  ‘Could have been a chap she turned down at college, or in a club. Sometimes serial killers stalk people and they don’t know they’re being stalked. He could have held a grudge for ages. Think she’ll remember every date she turned down over the years?’

  ‘No one gives a toss, Lionel,’ someone else barked. That did it. All eyes went back onto benches. But Lionel was rolling his shoulders like a man who’d just won the lottery.

  Five minutes later, Alan stuck his head out of the office and called for Louise. When their meeting was done, she stomped back to her bench and gave Chris a withering look. Alan’s head was again floating in the doorway.

  ‘Redfern.’

  When Chris dragged himself in, Alan was on the PC. He didn’t look up. ‘I’ve got this action on an E. coli 0157 for a chap called Raymond Monroe. I just called downstairs. The patient is still ill, not responding to treatment. He’s getting worse. I wasn’t happy sending out this manual negative result Louise did until I could get it in the machine.’

  He paused here and Chris knew exactly why. But he said nothing. He looked at Alan’s telescope on the windowsill.

  ‘So I just told Louise to run it,’ Alan continued. ‘But Louise said the Enterics kits are out. She asked you to order some and you forgot. There’s an ill patient downstairs who’s had to wait longer because we did the test manually.’

  And there it was. Alan was trying to pass the buck. Chris wasn’t having it. ‘But you’re the manager and you’re supposed to order the kits. Maybe you should have done it instead of dumping it on Louise.’

  As far back as the word ‘but’ Chris knew he was going to say something he’d regret. The brakes were on by the word ‘manager’ but his anger had greased the road and this juggernaut couldn’t stop. By the time ‘Louise’ had exited his mouth, he was fully aware that irrecoverable injuries might result from this crash.

  But Alan didn’t explode. ‘Louise shouldn’t have passed the buck, I agree. But now your manager is telling a member of his team to call and get an ETA on the Enterics kits. That member would be you. There, now we’ll have no confusion, will we?’

  Chris moved towards the telescope at the window. Some said Alan used it to spy on the girls working the burger van operating in the hospital grounds. When he peeked through the eyepiece, he couldn’t help but grin.

  ‘Help yourself to my private property, why don’t you?’

  Chris turned the telescope, skimming it away from the burger van and over the car park. He found his own vehicle. He refocussed and there was Katie, nice and crisp. Just sitting there in the Mondeo. Her eyes weren’t downcast, though, which Chris would have expected if the kid was playing on her phone. In fact, she cracked her wrists, proving both hands were empty. Her eyes were ahead, somewhat glazed, as if transfixed by something beyond the windscreen. But there was nothing out there except more cars.

  ‘Redfern…’

  ‘I’ll do it now,’ Chris said, and turned to go. As he left the office, he wondered why Katie was willing to just sit in his car all day.

  A porter brought supplies, including the Enterics kits, as Chris was about to phone for an ETA. As Louise grabbed the box and set the BDMAX machine running on Raymond Monroe’s sample, he got his coat. She ignored him as he left the lab, but less care on his part was impossible.

  Katie was already in the Pitstop, which annoyed him. Not even five minutes to himself. The kid had a slice of cake awaiting Chris, though. Small graces. He took a seat and a bite. That was when Julia walked in.

  Chris noticed she looked a little dazed and perturbed, dancing from foot to foot like someone needing the toilet. Everyone said hi.

  ‘Simone’s ready for me. I won’t tell Mum you’ve got cake, by the way.’

  ‘I can’t come in with you,’ he said, then added his new plan to appease her. ‘But Katie might.’

  ‘I don’t want to intrude,’ Katie said. ‘I mean, Simone won’t want strangers around.’

  ‘No, no, it’s fine,’ Julia said. ‘Simone already texted to say just me. But I’m nervous for some reason.’

  ‘BVT heal that fractured mind,’ Katie told her with a thumbs up.

  ‘What?’ Chris said.

  Julia gave a snort-like laugh and sat. She slid Chris’s cake her way. ‘Sugar rush will help me.’

  Chris looked up as he saw his colleagues flocking towards the Pitstop. He got up.

  ‘I’m sorry to cut this short, guys, but I need to get back for an important result. I’ll see you both later.’

  Julia waved and didn’t even look up from her cake. Katie looked a little hurt, but he left her that way in order to be far from the table before his work pals saw him with a woman they didn’t know. Especially a young, pretty one.

  Back in the lab, alone, Rose called and didn’t even let him say hello. ‘Did you tell anyone about Katie yet?’

  ‘At work? No, what’s the point of—’

  ‘I mean your grandparents, Chris. And your sister.’

  ‘I don’t know where Lindsay is, do I? My grandparents are too senile to register what I say. And I don’t want to tell anyone until we know. I already said that.’

  There was a pause. He knew he wouldn’t like what Rose said next. He expected her to again bring up his father, but her words were far more shocking.

  ‘I looked Lindsay up for you. She’s on Facebook.’ She paused there. He waited. ‘It took some time because there’s so many. But I think I found her. But it… she was called Lindsay Masseuse Redfern.’

  ‘Masseuse?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  He paused. ‘Leave it with me, Rose. I’ll call her or I won’t. Don’t bring it up again, please.’

  ‘Okay. I’m sorry. Leave your head in the sand.’

  Rose all over: an insult and an apology hand-in-hand. As he nervously paced past the BDMAX machine, he spotted something on the digital readout that made him wobble. He hung up the phone even though Rose was still talking. Unwilling to wait for Alan to return, he rushed for the wall phone and dialled the Emergency Medical Unit extension.

  Shiga toxin Pos., the BDMAX’s readout had said.

  A man answered, professional tone atop a bored base. Chris cut into his well-pra
ctised opening. ‘This is microbiology. Stop treatment on Raymond Monroe immediately.’ He gave the patient’s number. The man told him that Raymond Monroe’s condition had slipped and he’d been moved to the Intensive Care Unit. Chris hung up, called that ward and repeated his warning. The nurse asked his reason, and he told her:

  Shiga Toxin Positive – something nasty confirmed in Raymond Monroe’s stool, likely E. coli 0157, which would respond to an ass-kicking from antibiotics by detonating a toxin landmine.

  ‘Stop treatment now. We’ll run the stool again to be certain. But stop any antibiotics.’

  ‘Toxins in the head,’ he thought the woman said in reply. But that was because the line was crackly. Another phone that Alan had smacked. He got her to repeat it. Toxins in the head sounded bad, if a little strange. The truth was worse.

  Toxic shock, she’d said. And: The patient is dead.

  Nineteen

  Chris was ten feet from his car, key in hand, when he saw Katie’s smile vanish. A moment later, someone grabbed his shoulder. He jumped and there was sharp pain as fingers dug sharply into him, a nail grazing his neck. He spun, angry.

  ‘What the hell?’

  He’d expected Alan. The brass knew about Raymond Monroe’s avoidable death and heads would have to roll. The lab had cleared in a flash at home time because nobody wanted to be in the blast radius when the shitstorm exploded.

  But it was Louise. And she was enraged.

  ‘It’s your own fault for not hearing me shout,’ she said.

  ‘So you stick your nails in my flesh? What the hell’s going on?’

  ‘You’ve got to get back in there and tell Alan that you messed up.’

  He rubbed his shoulder, skin still burning from the aggressive grab. Any sympathy he might have had for Louise because of the Raymond Monroe fiasco dropped through a trapdoor.

  ‘Tell Alan that I messed up? You better not mean that Enterics kit. You missed the E. coli. How’s that my fault again?’