The Good Samaritan: A heart-stopping and utterly gripping emotional thriller that will keep you hooked

by C J Parsons

  Normally the line – lifted from a favourite story book – would have drawn out a giggle, but Sofia only burrowed deeper under the duvet.

  ‘Please, Mummy, can we just stay here? Please?’

  ‘OK.’ As Carrie caressed the dark, curly hair, she focused her senses outward, reaching into the far corners of the house. She could hear the faint hiss of distant traffic beyond the window; the tick of the water heater; her daughter’s breathing, still quick with remnant fear. But that was all. No creak of a floorboard or rustle of clothes, no swish of a door opening across a carpeted floor. They were alone in the house.

  Which meant Sofia was imagining things. Hardly surprising, given what she’d been through. But as Carrie rearranged the duvet to cover the two of them, her daughter’s words replayed in her memory.

  The fur was really short. Except for circles around its eyes and its mouth.

  And she couldn’t help thinking that, if you swapped ‘fur’ for ‘cloth’, it sounded exactly like a description of someone wearing a balaclava.

  Sofia’s arms were still looped around her neck when she woke in the morning. The sound of slow, even breathing told Carrie that her daughter was deep in sleep. Gently detaching the small hands, she slipped out of bed, stretching and yawning as she stepped out into the hallway. Right. First order of business: coffee.

  But on her way past Sofia’s room, Carrie paused. The door was wide open and she could see the unicorn duvet lying on the floor, where Sofia must have flung it as she’d fled.

  Can you describe the circles?

  They were like normal skin, peeking out through holes in the monster’s fur.

  It was nothing. Of course it was nothing. Sofia had had a nightmare, that was all.

  She went and picked up the duvet, shaking it out across the bed. The room was flooded with morning light, illuminating the red-and-white chest of drawers, the crammed bookcase and the giant wooden box filled with stuffed animals.

  Disquiet needled Carrie, making her feel jumpy. Which was silly. Because there was nothing here except a fallen blanket and an empty bed.

  But just as she was turning to go, something snagged her attention: a scrap of green, lying on the oval rug. It must have been concealed by the duvet. She bent to retrieve it. A piece of leaf.

  The oak trees lining the street in front and the gardens behind had begun shedding in the heatwave – nature’s way of conserving moisture, according to the BBC. Green leaves speckled the roofs of cars and caught on the shoes of pedestrians. Carrie placed the broken leaf on the palm of her hand, conscious of her dry throat and quickening pulse, thinking back to the previous afternoon: the hours she’d spent cleaning the house and the sense of achievement she’d felt as she’d tucked Sofia into bed, looking around at the wiped shelves and freshly laundered bedclothes.

  The vacuumed, spotless floor.

  ‘So you’re saying you believe your daughter actually saw someone standing beside her bed?’

  Juliet made no effort to conceal the scepticism in her voice, because she knew Carrie wouldn’t be able to detect it. Then she realised what she was doing – akin to gawking at a blind person in public – and felt a stab of shame.

  ‘Yes,’ Carrie said. ‘That is what I believe.’

  Juliet gazed across Alistair’s empty desk (he was in Granger Park with the others, trawling for fresh witnesses).

  ‘As I’m sure you’re aware, children have very vivid imaginations. It can be difficult to separate dreams from reality.’

  ‘But the description . . . do you not agree that it sounds like a person in a balaclava?’

  Juliet wondered whether she would ever get used to Carrie Haversen’s voice. The flat tone. The complete lack of emotion.

  ‘I thought she said the monster had fur?’

  ‘That is what it would have looked like to her in the dark, having never seen a balaclava before. And there’s something else.’ The noise level in the station rose suddenly as half a dozen football fans were brought in, wrapped in matching scarves and singing their team song in mutinous tones, lyrics blurry with alcohol. Juliet put a hand over her other ear.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘There is physical evidence to support her claim.’

  Excitement sharpened Juliet’s senses, straightening her spine. She took out her notebook and pen.

  ‘What kind of evidence?’

  ‘A piece of leaf. I found it on the floor.’

  The surge of excitement drained away. She tipped back in her chair, which creaked ominously (the station’s furniture hadn’t been replaced for well over a decade).

  ‘A piece of leaf,’ she repeated dully.

  ‘Yes. An oak leaf. There are oaks along my street and in my back garden.’

  ‘And why do you believe that this leaf was brought in by an intruder?

  ‘Because I vacuumed the floor before Sofia went to bed. It wasn’t there.’

  ‘Perhaps you took the rubbish out and tracked it back in with you . . .’

  ‘No. I didn’t.’

  ‘It could have blown in through an open window.’

  ‘Sofia’s window was shut. I keep it closed now. As a security measure.’

  ‘If you’re taking security measures, how would an intruder have been able to gain entry to your house without breaking in?’

  ‘The kitchen window doesn’t lock. It’s being repaired this afternoon when my new security system is installed. Maybe the intruder discovered the broken latch and opened the window, closing it behind them on the way back out.’

  Juliet’s scepticism deepened as she considered this theory. It didn’t really make sense. People who planned ahead and masked up either intended to smash a window or already knew of a way in: the location of a hidden key or unlocked door. They didn’t risk prowling around a house in the dead of night on the off chance one of the latches might be broken.

  ‘I suppose it’s possible,’ she said slowly. ‘But I wouldn’t call it likely.’

  ‘Will you investigate the incident?’

  Juliet flopped back against the chair, setting off another creak. She stared up at the false ceiling, with its grid of white squares.

  A leaf fragment and a five-year-old’s claim to have seen a monster. It didn’t seem like much: a long shot at best. But long shots seemed to be their stock-in-trade these days. She thought of the officers in the park, trying to prod the memories of park regulars, hoping someone would suddenly recall having seen a random park keeper on the day of Sofia’s disappearance, or a suspicious figure lurking near the storage hut in the days leading up to it. Was this really any more of a wild goose chase?

  ‘OK,’ she relented. ‘I’ll check the CCTV on your street. What time did Sofia come into your room?’

  ‘4.12 a.m.’

  ‘That’s very precise.’

  ‘I looked at the bedside clock. The intruder would have fled during the five minutes prior to that.’

  ‘Fine. Leave it with me. I’ll get back to you when we have a result.’

  ‘Good,’ Carrie said, and the phone went dead. Juliet looked at the silent receiver for a moment, then slowly put it down. She would ask PC Potter to get hold of the CCTV when he got back. Maybe if . . .

  Juliet’s hand was still resting on the phone when it rang.

  ‘DCI Campbell.’

  The familiar flat voice travelled down the line

  ‘Thank you. I forgot to say that before. Goodbye.’ And the phone went dead once more.

  Juliet was shaking her head and smiling as she returned the receiver to its cradle.

  Nineteen

  Josh was about to orgasm. Carrie could tell by the change in his breathing and the arch of his back. She held on to the headboard and moved against him, building friction. His mouth opened and his eyes squeezed shut. Then a deep thrust and a strangled cry.

 
After withdrawing, he rolled onto his back and pulled her against his chest, murmuring into her hair. ‘You got there before me that time.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You usually take longer.’

  ‘Yes.’ The truth was, she was able to orgasm more easily with him now. He had picked up on what she wanted, learned to navigate her body, without needing to be told what to do – reading her responses and adapting to them. And more than that: he made her feel relaxed and unselfconscious. Accepted for who and what she was.

  His fingers skimmed back and forth between her shoulder blades in the pause that followed.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about last night’s break-in.’

  Carrie drew back her head to look at his face. The streetlight coming through the open window gave him a yellowish glow.

  ‘The police don’t believe a break-in actually occurred. They checked the CCTV footage of the street and didn’t find anything.’

  ‘So? The intruder could have come through the back garden to avoid CCTV.’

  ‘That would require crossing the rear neighbour’s garden and climbing a high fence.’

  ‘Which is doable. The fence isn’t that high.’

  ‘The police believe that scenario to be unlikely, since it would have been almost impossible to return the same way while carrying Sofia.’

  ‘“Unlikely” isn’t really good enough, though, is it, where your child’s safety is concerned? Surely you must be worried?’

  ‘I’ve done everything I can. All the locks are now secure and the new alarm system is up and running.’

  ‘OK.’ His arms tightened around her back. ‘What did the security company say their reaction time would be if someone sets off the alarm?’

  ‘Ten minutes or less.’

  ‘Ten minutes,’ he repeated, leaving the words hanging in the air.

  She returned her head to Josh’s chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing. It had been gradually slowing since his orgasm, but now it was picking up speed again. Did that mean he was anxious: afraid for her and Sofia?

  Ten minutes . . .

  More than enough time for someone to snatch Sofia and run.

  She had been so relieved to hear that the CCTV hadn’t shown anyone on the street. Perhaps, in her determination not to let paranoia take root again, she had gone too far the other way, been too quick to dismiss Sofia’s claims . . . and her own suspicions. Carrie’s imagination stirred to life, sending up shadowy images of a masked figure looming over her daughter.

  Josh shuffled beneath her, propping himself up against the pillows.

  ‘Would you like me to stay over tonight, just to be on the safe side? I can go sleep in the spare room.’

  Carrie considered this. The sense of safety that had arrived with the new security system had gone, drained away by the thought of those ten defenceless minutes.

  And having another adult in the house would make her feel better: less alone.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘You can stay here tonight.’

  He smiled then: a nice big, clear one. Textbook happy.

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘And who knows? Maybe you’ll like having me around so much, you won’t want to let me leave.’

  Carrie snuggled against his chest, hearing the beat of his heart: strong and steady.

  ‘Maybe.’

  Twenty

  It was strange, seeing Carrie Haversen at work. Until now, Juliet had only ever viewed her as a crime victim, the shell-shocked mother of a missing girl, stony-faced and bewildered. But within the walls of Wescott Architects, she became a different person. There was a confidence about her, a presence. And although her face was as blank as ever, Juliet could sense the creative current humming behind those expressionless eyes.

  She had arrived just after eleven, flashing her warrant card at reception, mounting the stairs and walking the wide path between desks. She’d pictured white easels tilted towards architects perched on stools. Pencils tucked behind ears. But clearly that was a hopelessly outdated image. Wide-screened computers had replaced drawing boards, making it just another office filled with rows of workers tapping keyboards. The room itself was beautifully designed – vaulted spaces, angled skylights, exposed beams – but, aside from that, this could just as easily have been an accounting firm or marketing company, and Juliet found herself feeling vaguely disappointed, as though something had been lost.

  Carrie’s oversized computer screen was displaying a graphic of an external walkway made of glass. Print-offs of sketches and notes were draped all over her desk, covering everything except the keyboard. Carrie must have been deeply absorbed in her work, because she didn’t sense there was someone standing right behind her until Juliet tapped her shoulder.

  She flinched, then spun the chair to face her.

  ‘DCI Campbell. Hello. Why are you here? Has there been a development in the case?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. I hope you don’t mind my coming by your office like this, but I need to speak to you again about your contacts.’

  Carrie’s neighbour shot them a glare from behind John Lennon-style glasses, clearly displeased by the interruption to his creative flow.

  ‘I’ve already gone over that list. Three times.’

  ‘I know, but I’d like to expand it to include anyone who could have come into contact with Sofia at some point over the last two months. Not just friends and acquaintances, but doctors, dentists, librarians. Couriers or pizza delivery people. Anyone and everyone who has crossed paths with your daughter, however briefly.’

  A blinking pause. ‘You really think it will help?’

  ‘It might.’

  Carrie gave her a single nod.

  ‘All right, then. But I need to leave the office at 12.45 p.m. Sofia asked to return to her school’s Holiday Club today, to see her friends, and I agreed to let her attend the morning session. It ends at 1.30.’

  ‘That’s fine. This won’t take long.’

  Carrie stared up at her without moving. It felt awkward, looming over a woman seated in an office chair. The neighbour in John Lennon glasses was now scowling openly.

  ‘Is there a room where we can speak privately?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Carrie rose quickly enough to send her chair rolling backwards across the carpet and strode off down the path between the desks, leaving Juliet standing next to the abruptly vacated desk, the chair rotating slowly as it coasted to a stop.

  Carrie made it halfway across the room before suddenly registering that Juliet wasn’t with her. She stopped and turned.

  ‘Come with me,’ she said, and walked a few more steps before turning around again. ‘Please.’

  Juliet was smiling to herself as she followed, lengthening her stride to catch up without running. As they passed a small kitchen, Carrie hesitated, gesturing towards it. ‘Can I first offer you a beverage from the kitchen? Tea or coffee?’

  Juliet nodded. ‘Tea would be nice.’ She couldn’t resist letting a few seconds tick by before adding: ‘Please.’

  Whatever creative juices were flowing within the walls of Wescott Architects, none of them had been channelled into designing the staff kitchen: a windowless rectangle containing a fridge, a plug-in kettle and a sink area with coffee mugs drying upside down on a tea towel.

  Carrie filled the kettle before opening one of the cupboards above the counter, taking out a pair of mugs, which showed the company logo incorporated into London’s skyline. As she added teabags, Juliet read the various notices Sellotaped to the cupboard doors: an advert for volunteering days at a local homeless shelter; an angry, hand-written diatribe against dumping coffee grinds down the sink (‘How many times does the kitchen have to flood before people start emptying their French presses into the bin?’) and a poster promoting Wescott Architects’ Bring Your Kid to Work Day (‘Arts and Crafts, Games and More!’)
. Clearly no one was responsible for taking down expired notices, because that one was dated 12 June.

  She leaned closer to the poster, which showed a cartoon toddler drawing a complex building design in blue crayon.

  12 June. Sixteen days before Sofia went missing. She felt the flicker of an idea.

  What if—

  ‘Do you take sugar?’ Carrie’s voice cut into her thoughts.

  ‘No, just milk, thanks.’ Juliet tapped the poster. ‘Did your daughter participate in this?’

  ‘In what?’ She shot a glance at the poster. ‘Oh. Yes. She came for a couple of hours in the afternoon.’

  ‘So Sofia has been to your office.’

  ‘Yes.’ Steam rose from the kettle. Carrie poured hot water into the waiting cups.

  ‘Because, when I interviewed you before, you said she’s never come here.’

  ‘No. I said I had never brought her into work to cover a childcare shortfall and that Simon had never dropped her off here. Or brought her by when he wasn’t feeling well.’

  ‘I only meant those as examples . . .’ She stopped herself. Carrie clearly took things very literally. Juliet would have to watch for that in future. She took out her notebook, flipping it open. ‘OK. So let me get my facts straight: Sofia came here on June twelfth. Was that the only time she ever entered this building?’

  ‘Yes.’ Carrie used a teaspoon to fish out the teabags, dropping them into a bin under the sink.

  ‘So, who would have seen her? People working on your floor and their visiting families?’

  ‘No, there were activity zones throughout the building.’

  Juliet nodded, jotting this down.

  ‘So across all departments on all four floors?’

  Carrie opened the fridge door, momentarily disappearing behind it. ‘Correct.’

  ‘Did you accompany her to these activities?’

  ‘Yes.’ She reappeared with a carton of milk.

  ‘Did she bring a toy with her?’ Juliet looked up from her notebook. ‘A stuffed penguin, for example?’

  ‘No.’ Carrie added milk to both mugs. ‘I told her not to bring one because she was likely to lose it.’