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

by Jake Cross

  ‘I told you to order the kits.’

  And no doubt she’d told Alan exactly that when he’d pulled her into the office.

  ‘You did a manual and messed it up. I’m not to blame.’ He mellowed a little now the initial flash of pain had subsided. ‘Look, we miss things now and then. It happens.’

  ‘It happens? That guy’s dead because of you and that’s all you can say?’

  ‘Because of me? Piss off,’ he shouted.

  Other people in the car park were watching them, although pretending not to. He was too angry to care.

  ‘I only said that to try to make you feel better,’ Chris said. ‘But you can bollocks, Louise. You missed it, not me. Now go away.’

  She didn’t move. ‘You’ll tell Alan you messed up that poor man’s life, or else.’

  He was certain that Alan didn’t blame him, else he would have had his own office visit.

  ‘That poor man? What’s his name, Louise? Do you know it?’

  ‘His name’s Raymond Monroe, you obtuse dickhead. Now get walking back there. Don’t you dare make me ask you again.’

  He looked around. A scattering of people coming and going, and Katie just sitting in the car, watching. Nobody wanted to intrude into what might be a lovers’ quarrel. But it would be a different story if things escalated. Louise looked like she really might swing for him, and if he defended himself, who knows how onlookers would interpret the situation?

  ‘That’s right,’ she said, as if reading his mind. ‘You don’t want me to make a scene, do you?’

  He could see a pair of guys who looked ready to rush at him if he made a move, if only to play hero and impress a lady. They would subdue him and the police would come, and it would be his word against three. He started to back off.

  ‘You’re losing your mind, Louise.’

  She took a step forward. ‘I will in a minute, so help me God. I know about your record, too.’

  Chris flinched.

  ‘With your history, I could smack you right now and the police will believe me when I say it was self-defence.’

  He didn’t doubt an ounce of that. She stepped forward, as if actually about to hit him. He had no choice but to step back, but he also put up a hand to push her away. It got her in the chin and jerked her head.

  She stumbled backwards, but only out of surprise. It was a simple touch, no power, nowhere near enough to put her down. But when she heard a close yell from one of the have-a-go-heroes, down she went like a tackled footballer. It was such a supreme piece of bad acting that he actually let out a laugh, couldn’t help it.

  In the next moment the two guys were in his space, crowding him. One turned to help Louise up. The other guy yelled right into his face: who the hell did he think he was, hitting a girl?

  ‘I didn’t touch her,’ he yelled back. The man grabbed his arm, so Chris pushed him away, hard. The guy stumbled, regained his footing, and bellowed, ‘Keep your hands off me.’ Chris became aware of a growing audience and how bad this all looked for him: two guys had come to the aid of a woman knocked to the ground, and now Chris, a man with a record he liked to keep secret, had manhandled one of the saviours. He knew he’d have a problem convincing the police that he hadn’t started a whole heap of trouble.

  Chris launched himself at his car. The wheels were spinning seconds later. When the car blew past the two saviours, one gave the finger. The other waited until the vehicle was beyond a stone’s throw – then threw a stone.

  Chris was still shaking. He looked at Katie, who remained silent. ‘Are you okay?’

  She nodded, but her eyes remained locked on the route ahead. ‘That woman said you had a record.’

  He took a turn out of the hospital grounds without slowing, which forced an ambulance that was turning in to do the braking instead. It made him swear, which he immediately regretted. He put a hand on her shoulder. ‘It was two years ago, and—’

  ‘Don’t explain. It doesn’t matter. I just didn’t like seeing you so angry. But it’s okay. Let’s forget all that just happened.’

  He wanted to, but he also wanted to explain. Torn between the two, he simply apologised. ‘I get angry sometimes. You shouldn’t have had to see that.’

  She nodded, eyes ahead. ‘There was a CCTV camera. It will back you up, prove you didn’t do anything. So will I.’

  He was more worried about the long-term effects of now having an enemy in the same room for the rest of his working life. An upset to the balance he craved. That annoying bitch Louise.

  Partway home, Chris jerked the wheel and pulled to the kerb. He hauled out his phone.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Katie said.

  ‘Just wait a mo. I have to text work.’

  He bent his wrist so Katie couldn’t see, because he wasn’t texting work at all. He loaded Facebook and typed ‘LINDSAY MASSEUSE REDFERN’. It got one hit. The profile picture was of a candle burning next to a bottle of scented massage oil, which seemed innocent enough. Except it wasn’t a business page and the account owner listed no details except a brief bio under the picture, and that only said ‘RELAXING FUN CHIGWELL’ and a mobile number. He captured a screenshot then put the phone away.

  It didn’t have to be his sister, of course. Last he’d known, about five years ago now, she had relocated to Chigwell in Essex, but that place might have a number of women with that name. But his hands shook at the memory of that profile page. The lack of professionalism reeked of sordidness. And there were rumours of prostitution…

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  He didn’t answer. With Facebook loaded, something occurred to him. Previously, he’d found no Facebook profile for Katherine – but she didn’t use that name. Shielding the mobile, he did another search of the social media service, this time for ‘KATIE LEVINE’. There were a number of Katie Levines and he scrolled past those with photos that clearly weren’t her. On the third profile with no picture, he got lucky. Katie just waited.

  It was a skeleton with no details except one. No friends, no photos, no posts. Nothing listed for birthdate, job, likes. Nothing but a little bio snippet under that blank profile picture:

  Conceived during Michael Schumacher’s 2000 Formula 1 World Championship win!!

  The exclamation marks suggested Katie liked this fact, so maybe that was why it had been the first piece of information listed when she set up the profile, especially if Facebook was something new and intriguing and daunting at the same time. Julia’s profile bio said: ‘Arrived in the world late and kept up the habit ever since.’ So talking about when or where you were born, no problem. But where you were conceived? Strange.

  He froze as something hit him. Something from that bio snippet. A snake of fear writhed down his spine.

  ‘Chris, what’s wrong?’ Katie asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ Chris snapped, loud enough to make Katie wide-eyed in surprise. He said nothing further and pulled into traffic, sparking a horn blast from someone unimpressed by his impatience. But just a few seconds later, he once more pulled into the side of the road.

  ‘You’ve never asked about the rest of my family. So I want to tell you about my own father. He walked out when I was ten. The marriage had been failing, but I was unaware of that. Until my mum and dad sat me down one day and explained. My dad was leaving. From that point on, he would see me only at Christmases and birthdays. But I never saw him again. I got a letter from him congratulating me when Julia was born, and a condolence card years later when my mother died. Nothing since. I don’t know where he is or even if he’s alive.’

  Katie was looking at her lap. ‘I had no idea. I’m sorry for your loss.’

  ‘Your finding me has made me think about him. Rose thinks that my father keeps tabs on me through an old army buddy of his who lives just a couple of miles away. I think Rose wants me to reach out to this guy, so I can reconnect with my father. You did the very same thing. I want to know what you think I should do.’

  Katie looked at him, but her scrutiny forced his o
wn eyes away. ‘Is this why you were so ready to accept me? Because of what happened to you? Is it because you feel sorry for me?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said, but was that true? In the two letters he’d had over the last twenty-eight years, his father had spoken of guilt and self-loathing. By attempting to do the right thing by Katie, was Chris simply erecting defences against those same emotions?

  ‘I think you need more time to think,’ Katie said. He nodded, but not because he agreed; he just wanted to end this awkward conversation. Katie didn’t press the matter, so he put his father out of his mind and started driving.

  Twenty

  On the corner of Chris’s street, the Swift sons were at their garden fence, which was up and good and painted. But they weren’t admiring their handiwork, they were talking to a police officer. A patrol car was parked at the kerb and a second cop was between it and his open door, talking on his radio. Chris stopped his car, passenger side against the kerb.

  ‘Don’t stop, I want to get home,’ Katie said.

  ‘I’m just being nosy.’

  He put Katie’s window down.

  The taller Swift, a tattooed monster, peeled away from his brother and the cop and stepped up. He gave Katie a long, hot-blooded male glare that Chris didn’t like, then found the will to drag his eyes to Chris. Katie barely acknowledged the guy existed.

  ‘All right, Mr Redfern?’

  ‘What’s with the police? This is my friend, Katie.’ He prayed that Katie wouldn’t blurt the truth, but Katie didn’t blurt anything. She just stared out the windscreen.

  Swift said, ‘We found something.’

  While sowing grass seeds this morning to repair damage from the car that had smashed the fence, he and his brother had found a knife in a corner of their lawn. Already believing the car to be stolen, the police now suspected the driver had tossed the knife while abandoning the scene. They’d collected it with thanks and smiles, but now they were back and suspicious. Prints on the weapon belonged to a man dearly wanted and they suspected he might have friends living nearby.

  ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Can we just get home?’ Katie said. ‘Who cares about some car thief? I feel ill.’

  Katie buzzed her window up, which nearly took off the Swift boy’s nose. Chris and his neighbour exchanged a farewell thumbs up.

  Soon, they were outside Casa Redfern. Katie kicked open her door before the engine was off. Chris sat and watched a second patrol car cruise down the street. His rear-view mirror showed it pull up in front of the other. Two more cops got out, a man and a woman.

  Inside, Rose called him from upstairs.

  Katie said she’d put the kettle on. Very make-your-self-at-home.

  He found Rose at their bedroom window, peeking out.

  ‘Where’s Julia?’ he asked.

  ‘Out with a friend somewhere. You see these police on the street?’

  She seemed enthralled enough that he might get away with a sarcastic joke. ‘No, we teleported into the house from the Starship Enterprise.’ The joke didn’t register, so he got little satisfaction.

  She told him to come look. They stood side by side, faces against the glass so they could see down the street to the corner.

  ‘What did the police say to you?’ she asked.

  She must have been at the window long enough to see his car stop at the Swift house. Minus the swearing, he repeated the Swift boy’s story: cops took away a knife the brothers found in the garden; cops found a wanted man’s prints on the weapon; cops came back because wanted men needed places to hide, people to help them, and either or both could be why the car thief had been in the area late at night.

  ‘So they think the Swift boys, they were hiding this fellow? Wow.’

  ‘I don’t know. They don’t seem the sort. Besides, why would they call in about the knife if their pal owned it?’

  They watched one of the police cars turn in the road and head this way. And past. It stopped at the other end, near the shops. Their heads turned left and right, like tennis fans watching a ball thunked back and forth. Two cop cars, two cops to each. Four police officers to cover both sides and both ends of the street. Chris realised what was going on at the same time Rose got it.

  ‘Wow. They’re knocking on doors. So it might not be the Swift boys. They’re going to work their way towards the middle, to us. Look, look.’

  ‘I am, I am.’

  ‘I bet the police think this car thief knows someone else here. He must have crashed on his way to another house here. Wow.’ She slapped his arm. ‘What about that Lassiter girl, always has those strange men around?’

  Her mobile rang.

  ‘Mrs Smith,’ she said, reading the screen. She answered the call and immediately waved out the window. Chris saw a woman at a bedroom window across the road, also watching the action. The two women started to natter about possible criminals on the street, and Chris left them to it.

  Katie was in the living room, watching cartoons.

  He asked if she was okay. ‘You staying for dinner?’

  Katie nodded. ‘Sorry about wanting to run off like that. My belly is aching. Can I use your bathroom?’

  Me casa su casa.

  Katie went upstairs and Rose came down.

  ‘I called Yvonne down at forty-two,’ she said. ‘Silly mare. Know what she said to me?’

  ‘How could I?’

  ‘They’d just been to her house. I asked her who the fugitive was. Know what she said? “Like you don’t know. You know everyone that Julia of yours hangs about with, do you?” How cheeky is that?’

  Cheeky, yes, but it made Chris wonder.

  Twenty-One

  The police’s door-to-door was ongoing, but slowly, and Julia had returned so Rose had started dinner. Even so, she kept coming through from the kitchen to peek out of the living room window, always announcing: ‘Not here yet.’

  Even Julia, the constantly curious one, got bored of the wait and turned her attention elsewhere. She was texting friends about Simone, who had been buoyant and talkative during their meeting but a little scared of re-entering the big wide world. Katie was still upstairs, lying down on Julia’s floor in the sleeping bag because her stomach was playing up.

  And then it was their turn.

  It was the female cop at the door. Julia and Rose saw her through the window, and then both went to answer the knock. Then they returned. Three of them. Seeing the officer made Chris sit up straight, like a schoolkid caught slouching.

  Julia offered the officer a drink, which she refused. Then Julia said, ‘We know why you’re here,’ as if proud of her detective skills.

  The officer started with a standard line: in the area making enquiries, wonder if you’d mind answering a few questions.

  They didn’t.

  She asked if they were aware of the events of two Saturdays ago, when a stolen car smashed a fence down on the corner and was abandoned by the thief.

  They were.

  She said the police now believed that the man driving the stolen car might have had business here on this street – would any of you know why?

  They didn’t.

  She asked if any of them knew, or knew anyone who knew, a twenty-eight-year-old man called Dominic Everton.

  They didn’t—

  ‘Yes,’ Chris said. Everyone looked at him, but he saw only the female cop, intent on her as she got on her radio to basically call in a jackpot hit. His gut was turning. Everton, the man who had killed Ron Hugill, had been watching the family, and almost two weeks ago he had driven here late at night, and crashed, and whatever he’d had planned had been thwarted. A plan possibly involving a knife.

  A plan to hurt Chris’s family. His eyes darted from Julia to Rose. And then to the ceiling. To Katie.

  His phone beeped and he pulled it out for a quick glance, because he didn’t want to return the officer’s stare.

  ‘Mr Redfern, how do you know Dominic Everton? And did he come here to see you on that Satu
rday?’

  His brain raced. Slotting away the phone, he said, ‘He works at my hospital.’

  He could feel the shock pulsing off Rose, who had read all about Everton.

  ‘Works with you?’ the officer said.

  He pulled a bogus puzzled face. ‘But surely you don’t think an eighty-year-old man drove a stolen car.’

  Now Rose looked puzzled. The officer said, ‘He’s twenty-eight, and—’

  A fake laugh. ‘Darren Enderton isn’t twenty-eight.’

  ‘Enderton? Who is that? I’m here about Dominic Everton.’

  Now forged embarrassment. ‘I thought you said Darren Enderton. I work with a guy called that. He should have retired, but he does it voluntary now. That’s not who you meant?’

  ‘No. No, sir, Dominic Everton.’ Still suspicious, she asked twice more if anyone knew the wanted man. Twice more Chris had to summon up every ounce of composure and give the lie. The officer didn’t fully look convinced and told him to call the station if he remembered anything, saw anyone, or changed his mind. But finally, she left. The pressure wasn’t off him yet, he knew. Julia was giving him a curious glare. And then Rose pulled him aside for one of her terrifying private chats.

  ‘What’s going on, Chris? Why would this Everton guy be coming here? Is this about Katie?’

  ‘I doubt it. Coincidence. The guy’s on the run and he was probably driving all over and just happened to crash here. Let me go tell Katie.’

  ‘Is this man after Katie? Does she know him because of Ron Hugill? Chris, is Katie in danger? Are we in danger?’

  ‘No, no. It’s just a coincidence. Everton is in the news and people will be thinking they’ve spotted him all over the place. I bet the police get calls all the time. It looks bad because he’s been to this street and Katie has a connection to him, but it’s only a freak bit of luck.’

  ‘Freak bit of luck? What about this man Enderton you mentioned? What was that? Is there even such a person? Do eighty-year-olds work in hospitals? I think you just lied to that police officer. Somehow to protect this Everton criminal.’