Sam opted for Psycho, which might, until today, have seemed a poor choice for someone trying to escape the poisonous shadow of their mother. But the fact was, Eleanor’s comments had definitely had an effect. There was a shift. An understanding that had slotted, finally, into place. He looked forward to meeting her later. They were having dinner at a restaurant near her workplace.
But at the front of the queue, Sam discovered that the film was sold out. He smiled to himself at the thought of so many people escaping a sunny, late autumn day to sit inside and watch an utterly terrifying examination of the Oedipal myth.
He opted instead for The Man Who Knew Too Much, which he’d never seen.
*
In less than ten minutes, Sam was back outside, clinging to the wall of the Embankment, his head spinning. He watched the Thames move with speed downstream, its grey, moody surface churning with dozens of different currents, any one of them strong enough to drag a man underneath.
The movie was a thriller, the opening scenes set in Marrakesh. Watching them, Sam felt increasingly nauseous, as if a curtain were slowly being opened to reveal a gruesome autopsy.
The film starred James Stewart and Doris Day as an American couple holidaying with their son in Marrakesh. Shortly after arriving in the city, they witness a murder. James Stewart then overhears the dying words of the victim. And before long, their son is kidnapped.
Sam looked up at the opposite bank of the river. A few miles north was his house, which Eleanor had just moved into. Their relationship felt quite different to any he’d previously had. It was built on a shared experience that had bonded them deeply. And on trust.
He gazed down at the opaque water again. At first the film had reminded him of his own experience in Marrakesh, which was unpleasant enough. But then a darker memory had emerged – Scott’s dream. Sam remembered the Minister recalling it. The description of him frantically searching a maze with high walls. Looking for someone called Hank.
What was it Eleanor had said that first day they met at the farmhouse? That her father was a massive fan of Hitchcock. Scott must have watched the movie. And somehow it had become embedded in his subconscious.
James Stewart often played principled, decent men. It was entirely logical that Scott, who enjoyed a similar reputation, would identify with him, if only unconsciously. And a high-walled maze was a description you could easily apply to Marrakesh’s souk.
But most telling of all was the name of the kidnapped boy in the film – Hank.
Equally revealing was how Scott reacted straight after mentioning the dream. The sudden alertness and detachment. It was, Sam now realised, as if Scott had exposed more than he’d anticipated and was girding against further incriminating revelation.
And of course that was what had happened. As Scott described his dream – possibly for the first time – he understood what it meant. Like James Stewart, he was looking for his son. And in Scott’s case, that was Aidan Stirling.
What had happened? Had Charlotte Stirling seduced Scott, using every ounce of her neediness to lure him to her? Had it been a single event, or a longer affair? It mattered little. Because now Sam knew why Charles Scott had been prepared to cover up a murder. He was protecting his own flesh and blood.
What did one do with this kind of poison, Sam thought? Could he tell Eleanor that her beloved father slept with Charlotte Stirling, that she was the half-sister of a murderer?
The surface of the Thames betrayed no hint of what was below. Perhaps it was better to leave this knowledge where it was. Could he do that – keep the toxic secret to himself – or would it slowly worm its way to the surface?
He’d only just emptied his head of its darkest contents. And now something equally destructive was taking its place.
Acknowledgements
Disorder was inspired by a trip I made with my dad to Syria in 2007. With its winding alleyways and ancient buildings, the Old City of Damascus seemed tailor-made for a thriller about hidden secrets. In those early days, I made contact with Professor Joshua Landis at the University of Oklahoma and Dr Eugene L. Rogan at the University of Oxford, both of whom were invaluable sources of information on Syria and the Middle East. But as the events of the Arab Spring took hold in increasingly destructive ways, it became obvious that it was completely inappropriate to base the story in Syria and so the action switched to Morocco. All I can add is that my memories of travelling in Syria were of a warm, friendly, courteous and hospitable people. It’s heartbreaking to witness their plight now.
When the manuscript was still in its infancy, Nigel Magrane (my dad), Jan Coman, Stef Evans and Julie Lockwood read it and offered encouragement and criticism – both of which I needed badly. As the book matured, the editorial guidance of Jo Unwin and Robert Dinsdale was invaluable, as were the suggestions of Broo Doherty.
I owe a huge debt of gratitude to The Writers’ Workshop and, in particular, Eve Seymour. A seasoned thriller writer herself (writing as E.V. Seymour), Eve wrote an incredibly insightful critique of the book, helping me move the manuscript forward in so many ways.
Thanks also to copy-editor Steve Haines. He has an eagle eye for typos and grammatical howlers, and spotted a scandalous continuity issue at the ninth hour.
Finally, I’m grateful to Dr Rob Daniels and paramedic Tony Thompson, who gave of their time and knowledge generously to help me out with matters medical and pharmaceutical. Any mistakes in those departments are entirely my own.
Disorder’s route to publication wasn’t the smoothest. I thought I’d made it when Zoe King of The Blair Partnership decided to represent the book and pitch it out to publishers. But that route wasn’t to be and in 2014, I self-published.
In 2015, the book was taken on by the mighty Fahrenheit Press. I am indebted to Chris McVeigh for his faith, enthusiasm and cojones, surely the biggest in publishing.
I really hope you enjoyed reading Disorder. If you want to hear more about Sam Keddie and his next adventures – or me, for that matter – get in touch at www.paddymagrane.com/books. I’d be delighted to hear from you.
Paddy Magrane
November 2015
COPYRIGHT
This edition first published 2015 by Fahrenheit Press
www.Fahrenheit-Press.com
Copyright © Paddy Magrane 2015
The right of Paddy Magrane to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without permission in writing from the publisher.
www.paddymagrane.com/books
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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