by James, Peter
LEFT YOU DEAD
PETER JAMES
Contents
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GLOSSARY
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
In memory of our beloved Oscar, and to all pets everywhere, thank you for the unconditional love you bring your humans. And a special shout-out to Spooky, Wally, Willy and Woo, and all the rest of our furry and feathered gang!
1
Sunday 1 September
Most Sundays, at some point, they bickered over something. Mostly about nothing important. And mostly it blew over quickly when they just looked at each other and laughed it off. And this Sunday afternoon, coming up to their fourth wedding anniversary in just a few weeks’ time, was no exception. Today’s bickering had been about cat litter.
Niall’s driving scared Eden at the best of times, although he’d only had the one accident. A few years ago, he was driving them home from a date and had rolled their car. He had been showing off, stupidly, he confessed. They’d just bought a new – well, second-hand – Golf GTI and he was demonstrating how quick it was when, in the murmured words of one of the traffic cops to colleagues attending the scene, he’d run out of talent.
Today they’d been arguing for the past half-hour as they headed home. And, as ever when Niall was annoyed, he drove their BMW faster than normal. They’d already had one near miss as he’d passed a car towing a caravan, pulling in just feet in front of an oncoming Land Rover.
Great, Eden thought, I’m going to die any minute and my last words on earth will have been ‘cat litter’.
‘Look, do we really need to get it now, darling?’ Niall said, calming a little. ‘I want to try to catch the end of the Grand Prix.’
‘You can watch it on catch-up.’
‘Not the same.’ He wound down his window and chucked a tired piece of gum out, fished in his pocket and chewed on a fresh tab.
‘I wish you wouldn’t do that – wrap it up and put it in a bin,’ she tutted. ‘We do need to get it now, you were going to pick it up on Friday and you forgot,’ she reminded him. ‘And you were going to pick it up yesterday and you forgot again.’
‘I know, but I was busy – trying to earn money. Three airport runs and only one stingy tip.’
‘You should think about working for Uber. You can rate your passengers, give them one star if they don’t tip.’
‘The day I work for Uber,’ he replied, ‘will be the day I own it.’
She let that go, Niall and his big dreams, not wanting their row to flare up again. ‘It’ll take me just five minutes to dash in and get it.’
He grunted.
She leaned forward and picked his iPhone up. ‘Just going to look at the photos you took today.’
‘Can’t believe you let your phone battery run so low, it has a much better camera.’
‘I would have charged it in the car if you’d remember to get a new cable that actually works. I’ve turned it off to conserve what’s left,’ she said, flicking through the maze of apps.
‘You should have charged it last night.’
She shook her head. ‘Well I didn’t.’
He grunted again.
‘Christ,’ she said, continuing to look through his apps. ‘How many apps do you have on here? You must have over a hundred! Bet you don’t even remember what half of them are. You said you were going to get rid of the ones you never use.’
‘I will when I have time.’
She shook her head, grinning. ‘If it makes you happy to have them . . .’
He grinned back. ‘Actually, it makes me ’appy.’
‘That’s terrible!’ She found a folder labelled Photography, which contained the camera and albums, and tapped on Photos. There were several, taken earlier this afternoon, of the beautiful exterior of a grand Elizabethan mansion and its magnificently kept grounds looking their best in the late summer sun. The lake. The views across the South Downs. Then several of her, in tight white shorts and a pink top, leaning against a wooden railed fence, with the lake behind.
‘Wow! You’ve taken some great ones of me!’ she said. ‘Love them. Well, some of them.’
‘They’d have been even better on your phone.’
Surreptitiously, she deleted the ones she liked the least, leaving just one that she was really happy with, the one of her standing with the lake in the background. Then she went back to going through the apps. ‘What’s this one – MindNode?’
‘No idea.’
‘I’ll delete it for you, shall I?’
‘Go ahead,’ he said, with faint irritation in his voice.
She continued through, deleting a couple more after questioning him on them.
As they entered the 40 mph limit on the Upper Shoreham Road, he pointed through the windscreen at the thickening clouds. ‘Rain’s forecast in two hours. I’ve got to do a Heathrow pickup tonight and I really want to do a bike ride after the Grand Prix, get in some cardio before I have to go. Can it wait until tomorrow?’
‘The cat won’t know to cross its legs, darling,’ she said. ‘Just pull up outside, I can run into the store, grab some and be straight out again. I’ll be five minutes.’
‘Promise? I know what you’re like when you get into a store – you just start buying everything else you think you need.’
She grinned at him and touched his thigh suggestively. ‘You’re all I need.’
‘Yeah yeah!’
She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. And immediately saw that strange, unsettling look in his eyes. So different to when they had first got together, when she s
aw only deep love. ‘I promise,’ she said.
Niall’s mother was Spanish. He had a shock of dark-brown curls and a face that had reminded her, the first time she saw him, of a younger version of the actor Dominic West. When he smiled, he was the handsomest man on earth. When he was angry, he looked almost Neanderthal.
Their regular Sunday pastime was visiting National Trust properties whenever possible, which were free on their membership card. But this afternoon they’d been to Parham House, owned by a different trust, wandering around its glorious deer park.
Niall drove into the car park of the huge Tesco superstore, three miles to the west of their home in Brighton. And was immediately annoyed by the queue of cars in front of them. ‘Look at this – shit, baby – this is going to take ages.’
‘Just stop the car and I’ll jump out and run in while you park. Then I’ll come and find you.’
‘That stuff’s heavy – are you sure?’
She gave him a sideways look. ‘When did you last actually get any?’
‘Um – I don’t remember.’
‘So how do you think it appears in the house? By magic? Does the Tooth Fairy bring it?’
‘OK, OK, muscle woman – look, I’ll pull in over there.’ He swung into an empty bay, some distance from the store.
Grabbing her handbag, Eden jumped out, blew him a kiss, slammed the door and hurried off through the maze of vehicles.
Niall turned up the volume on the radio and listened to Laura Palumbo singing ‘Life Goes On’.
It was followed by another song. He was tempted to light a cigarette, but Eden didn’t like him smoking in the car. She didn’t actually like him smoking at all. So he just sat, listening to the music, looking anxiously at his watch then at the car clock. Van Morrison’s ‘Brown Eyed Girl’. Then another song, Johnny Cash, ‘You Are My Sunshine’. They both loved country and western. Maybe she’d be back before the song ended – this was one of her faves.
But she wasn’t.
Another song played. Then another.
Twenty minutes had passed, he realized. What’s going on? he wondered. She’s probably shopping for more stuff, despite her promise. The sky was darkening further. His chances of catching the final stages of the Grand Prix were fading. He had recorded it and could watch it later or tomorrow, but that really wasn’t the same. Now his concern was to get home before it started raining and to head out on his bike.
He looked at the car clock, then his watch yet again. Another song. Twenty-five minutes. Then half an hour. What the hell are you doing in there? In a flash of temper, he punched the steering wheel boss – and winced in pain.
He would give it another five minutes, he decided.
How long does it take to get a bag of cat litter?
It was coming up to 3.50 p.m.
Finally, losing his patience, he decided to go and find her.
2
Sunday 1 September
A tall, ginger-haired employee, with a badge that read Tim, blocked his path.
‘I’m afraid we’re closing in ten minutes, sir,’ he said courteously.
‘I’m just going to help my wife with a bag of cat litter,’ Niall said.
‘Oh, of course, that’s fine, sir,’ he said, stepping aside. ‘The cat litter’s down aisle two.’
Niall entered the vast interior, which was thinning out. There were lines of customers at each till, and more at the self-checkout area to his right. But Eden wasn’t among them.
He saw another member of staff, a woman with long brown hair. ‘Excuse me, where do I find aisle two?’ he asked.
She offered to take him, but he asked her to just direct him.
He hurried down an aisle of dairy products, with books and DVDs to his right, towards the rear of the store, barging past a woman with a small child who shouted something at him. Waving an apology, he turned right at the deli counter, as directed. He made his way past several aisles, glancing down each one, and finally came to the one marked Pet and Animal Supplies.
It was empty, like all the others.
He strode down it to the fast-diminishing queues at the checkout tills. No sign of Eden – what on earth was she doing?
Increasingly irked now, he strode up and down the deserted aisles of the store. Stopping in front of Cereals, he pulled out his phone and called her.
‘This number is currently unavailable, please try later.’
Turn your bloody phone on.
A big, tubby security guy swaggered towards him, radio clipped to his chest, a bunch of keys hanging from his belt, like a gaoler’s. An amiable but no-nonsense face. ‘I’m sorry, sir, we’re closed now. If I could ask you to make for the exit.’
‘I’m trying to find my wife,’ Niall replied. ‘She came in over half an hour ago and I can’t find her anywhere.’
‘She’s not at the checkout?’
He shook his head.
‘Want me to put a request out on the tannoy?’
‘If you wouldn’t mind. Maybe someone could check the toilets in case she’s sick or something?’
‘Your wife’s name is, sir?’
‘Eden – Eden Paternoster.’
‘Eden, as in garden of?’
Niall nodded.
The guard spoke into his radio.
Moments later, Niall heard, through the tannoy, ‘Would Mrs Eden Paster-Noster please go to the customer service desk at the front of the store, where her husband is waiting.’
Niall didn’t bother asking him to correct the announcement.
The guard indicated for him to follow. ‘I’ll have someone check out the toilets, sir. Can you give me a description of the lady?’
‘She’s thirty-one, five seven, shoulder-length brown hair, wearing a pink-coloured top and white shorts.’
Deadpan, the guard led Niall through to the front, stopped near an employee who was stacking tins of beans on a shelf and spoke into his radio. Then they walked on, bypassing the checkout counters and the news stand, and stopped at the customer service desk over to the right of them. There was a small blue-and-white podium a short distance away with two large computer monitors. Both showed empty aisles.
‘We’ll take a look at the whole store, sir,’ the guard said. He worked a toggle on a control panel to the side of the desk. Aisle after aisle appeared, with just a few members of staff who were restocking shelves. No Eden.
The last customers were now going through the checkout desks. Niall could see the self-checkout tills were empty.
The security guard’s radio crackled. He listened briefly, then turned to Niall. ‘There’s no one in the toilets, sir. You are sure she came into this store?’
‘Yes, absolutely.’
The guard asked an employee at the customer service desk to put out a Code Six call. Moments later, her voice rang through the tannoy.
‘This is a colleague announcement for all managers – Code Six in progress.’
Several employees materialized over the next couple of minutes. Seven, Niall counted.
The guard spoke to them. ‘This gentleman’s wife is missing. Age thirty-one, shoulder-length brown hair. She’s wearing a pink top and white shorts. Name of Mrs Eden Paster-Noster. Please do a sweep of the aisles.’
‘Paternoster!’ Niall corrected him this time.
‘Apologies. Mrs Eden Paternoster,’ the guard told them.
As they all hurried off, the guard turned to Niall. ‘She couldn’t have left the store?’
‘Well, she knew where I was parked.’
‘She didn’t go to Marks and Spencer, maybe, or McDonald’s?’
‘Not unless either of them sells cat litter.’
Again, no smile.
‘She didn’t leave just as you came in, and you missed her, sir?’
Niall shrugged. That was possible. Maybe he was making a huge fuss over nothing. He tugged his phone out of his pocket, checked just in case there was a text or WhatsApp from Eden, then dialled her again.
And, again, it was
unavailable.
‘They both shut at four too?’ Niall asked.
‘M and S, yes. Not McDonald’s.’
Five minutes later, all the employees doing the sweep of the store had returned. Eden wasn’t on the premises.
Niall thanked them and had a sudden feeling that he was being a total idiot. What if the guard was right and he had missed her somehow, Eden coming out as he’d gone in?
He walked swiftly back through the emptying car park towards the dusty, black BMW convertible. Even though he’d put the roof up and was sure he’d locked it, he peered through the window when he reached it.
She wasn’t in the car.
3
Sunday 1 September
Roy Grace pulled his Alfa Romeo coupé into the largely empty car park across the rural road from Ford prison, in West Sussex, shortly after 4 p.m. The Detective Superintendent was dressed in weekend casuals, jeans, T-shirt and a light jacket. He’d deliberately chosen to come at the weekend to make this a private visit, and had pulled a favour from the Governor, whom he was friendly with, to ensure this wasn’t recorded as official business. Grace suspected there was going to be a very good reason why he wouldn’t want his boss, Assistant Chief Constable Cassian Pewe, to know about this visit and quiz him on his purpose, as he surely would have done if it had been during work time.
Police officers rarely felt comfortable doing prison visits, knowing that if they were unlucky enough to be there when a riot happened to kick off, they’d be the first target for the inmates. It didn’t matter how you dressed, you could be as casual as you liked, your job was ingrained in your skin as potently as cheap aftershave. Most cons could smell you a mile away. Copper. Scum. Pigs. Filth.
He had come out of curiosity, after receiving a handwritten letter a while ago from his disgraced former colleague Detective Sergeant Guy Batchelor.
Roy,
Hope this finds you well. Not much to report here, other than waiting for the appeal hearing against the length of my sentence. Other prisoners haven’t been as nasty to me as I feared – so far, anyway.
I’m writing because I may have something of interest about our mutual friend. No names mentioned because all these letters are read, but I know you were interested in doing something with that church bench. I may be able to help you. Perhaps you could come over – I can promise you it won’t be a wasted journey.
All my best to you and all the team – hey, I miss you all.
