And so I headed back home to Luang Prabang and my peaceful little guesthouse, where I could hold the darkness of the world at bay until I received my next message from Bertie Schagel, telling me it was time for someone else to die.
It was a month later, as news spread around the world of the suspected serial killer, Robert Moretti, and his mysterious murder, that I read a short article in the Irish Times announcing Bob Darnell’s suicide in a Kuala Lumpur hotel room. Apparently the previous day he’d been interviewed by the newspaper and was quoted as saying that he would have preferred Moretti to have been tried in a court of law, but was at least satisfied that some kind of justice had been done, fourteen years after the fact, and that he could finally move on.
And move on he had. If he was right, and there was a God and a Heaven up above, then he’d been reunited with his wife and daughter, and they were a family once again. And if not, then it didn’t matter. The task that had become his life’s work had been completed, and now, one way or another, he was finally at peace.
Sitting back in the bar where I’d met Darnell that night, alone and with an empty bottle in front of me, I wondered if I’d ever find the same kind of peace.
OUT NOVEMBER 2018
WE CAN SEE YOU
Read on for a sneak preview of Simon Kernick’s gripping new thriller
One
Even the most perfect life can shatter in seconds and Brook Connor’s nightmare began approximately two minutes after she walked through her front door. For some reason she’d had an ominous feeling in her gut on the drive home from San Francisco, an unusual occurrence these days. Brook had learned through long practice to control those bleak, self-destructive thoughts that struck when she was at her weakest, so it was a surprise that this one had got through.
She’d had a long day. A round of newspaper and radio interviews to promote her second book, Release Your Inner Warrior, which a month on from its release, was still in the New York Times non-fiction top ten, followed by two ninety-minute back-to-back private client visits at her office in Salinas, both of which had been utterly exhausting. The first client was a 27-year-old dotcommer who’d designed an app that had made him a multimillionaire overnight, but who had a crippling addiction to internet porn which made it impossible for him to develop normal relationships with women. Sadly, he was one of many such cases and, as far as Brook was concerned, part of a ticking time bomb that was going to have huge ramifications over the next ten years.
The second client was an equally wealthy married housewife from Carmel who had completely the opposite problem. She couldn’t stop developing relationships with the opposite sex, and seemed to be unable to stop herself from sleeping with the various men she encountered, even though she’d been happily married for more than twenty years to a man she claimed to love more than any other.
Brook considered herself a life coach, not a sex therapist, and indeed both her books were guides to helping people create better lives for themselves. But it seemed a lot of people’s life goals revolved around sorting out issues with their love lives. Take sex out of the equation and she’d probably be broke.
It was just short of 9 o’clock when she closed the front door behind her, already frowning at the heavy silence inside, and called out to no one in particular that she was home. 7 p.m. was Paige’s bedtime. That was when her bedside light went off, after the two stories she was read every night (usually by Brook), so she’d be long asleep by now.
However, there was almost always some noise in the house at this time in the evening. Even if Logan wasn’t home – and it didn’t sound like he was – Rosa’s car was in the driveway, so she should be here somewhere. She always kept the TV on in the kitchen, where she liked to sit after she’d fixed dinner, trawling through Facebook so she could see what all her friends and relatives were up to back home. Also Rosa, who was what might best be described as a big woman, was incapable of being quiet when she moved about. She banged; she crashed; she grunted with exertion; she cursed in Spanish. Paige loved her. Logan, she knew, would have preferred someone prettier, because that was what he was like. Brook thought she did a good job and, though she was kind to Rosa, she kept a professional distance. But she found her presence in the house comforting, which was why she picked up on its absence now.
‘I’m home, guys,’ she called out again, throwing down her bag and kicking off her heels. All the lights were on and it had only been dark half an hour, so there were people here somewhere. Brook checked her phone. No missed calls, so there was no emergency she should know about. Maybe Rosa had broken her usual habit and fallen asleep, or taken an early night.
She hurried up the stairs, a small smile forming on her lips as she pushed away the ominous feeling and instead relished the prospect of seeing her daughter. Paige always looked so angelic when she was asleep, surrounded by her teddy bears, her breathing so soft it was almost inaudible. Sometimes Brook would kneel down beside her bed and watch her for minutes at a time, relishing their closeness.
As quietly as possible, she pushed open Paige’s bedroom door and peered inside, knowing she shouldn’t wake her daughter, but secretly hoping that she would.
The bed was unmade and slept in. It was also empty.
Brook’s heart lurched and she suddenly felt nauseous. What was going on?
She raced back down the stairs, and headed straight into Rosa’s bedroom, not even bothering to knock as she called out her name and switched on the light.
But Rosa wasn’t inside. Her bed was made and hadn’t been slept in. Everything else in the room was scrupulously neat as always. Rosa had worked for them for two years and she’d always been completely reliable. Never once had she not been here when she was meant to be. And she was meant to be here tonight. As was Paige, who’d clearly been in bed earlier.
So where were they?
She checked her cell again, just in case somehow she’d missed the fact that she’d missed a call. But she hadn’t. No one had phoned.
Brook immediately put a call in to her husband, opening Rosa’s wardrobe as Logan’s cell rang and rang incessantly. Rosa’s clothes were all there, so it was clear she hadn’t decided to quit out of the blue. But then of course she wouldn’t do that. She was well paid and well treated. And her car was still in the driveway too. There was no way she or Paige had gone anywhere on foot. They were three miles from the centre of town on a road with no sidewalk.
Logan’s cell went to message. ‘Call me as soon as you get this,’ she said, striding back through the house. ‘It’s urgent. Paige and Rosa aren’t here, and I don’t know what’s happened to them.’
She ended the call and focused on her breathing, forcing herself to stay calm. There was almost certainly a logical reason why they weren’t here. She just hadn’t thought of it yet. She called Rosa’s cell and, almost immediately, heard it ringing. For a second, she couldn’t pinpoint its location, then she realized the sound was coming from the den.
Frowning, she strode inside and saw Rosa’s cell phone vibrating on the coffee table. It was an old iPhone 5 and Rosa never went anywhere without it.
Except, it seemed, tonight.
‘What the hell’s going on?’ she whispered to herself, ending the call and pacing the house, cell in hand, waiting for Logan to call her back, frustrated because right now she had no idea what was going on, and there was nothing she could do about it. Brook was a woman used to being in control. She’d always worked for herself; had built up everything she had through her own efforts; and when she saw an obstacle, she found a way round it. That was why she was successful and people read her books.
Her throat felt dry and she went into the kitchen to get a glass of water.
Which was when she saw it. A cell phone on the kitchen island, sitting on a folded sheet of A4 paper. The cell looked brand new. It was a cheap Nokia handset that she didn’t recognize. She put it to one side, unfolded the sheet of paper and, as she started reading, she felt her whole body tighten.
The words in large bold typeface were cold and unrelenting.
We have your daughter. She is unharmed. If you want her back alive, you will do exactly as we say. If you call the police, you will never see her again. We can see you and we will know. We will call you with instructions on the cell phone next to this note. Keep it with you at all times. Now look in the cutlery drawer. We have left you a gift to show you we are serious.
Remember. We can see you.
Brook put down the note, her breathing much faster now. She was finding it hard to come to terms with what she was reading. It felt like some kind of sick joke. And yet she knew immediately that it was far more serious than that. She looked down at the cutlery drawer, put her hand on it, but held back from opening it. Somehow, while the drawer stayed shut, reality was kept at bay.
She hesitated for a long time, wishing that Logan would just call her back and tell her that everything was okay.
But he didn’t. She was on her own. And finally … finally curiosity got the better of her and she slowly pulled the drawer open.
Sitting in the knife tray was a tiny cardboard box decorated in a flower pattern, with a red ribbon wrapped round it.
Brook felt a deep sense of dread as she looked at the box, her curiosity fighting with a desire to run right out of the room. She knew she ought to put on a pair of gloves before she opened it, in case whoever had put it there had left fingerprints behind, but instead she steeled herself, and then in one quick movement she picked up the box, pulled open the ribbon, and lifted the lid.
It was then that she knew without a doubt that this nightmare was real.
Two
Brook was pacing the hallway in her bare feet, unwilling to sit down or even stop moving, when her husband walked through the front door, dressed in a check shirt, jeans and boots, as if advertising the fact that he rarely, if ever, worked.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ she demanded.
Logan shut the door behind him and glared at her. ‘Having a drink with a couple of the boys. You got a problem with that?’
He’d had more than a couple of drinks. She could tell. He was doing it more and more these days. She wasn’t sure if it was a reaction to their failing relationship, or whether their relationship was failing as a consequence of it. Either way, she was pretty certain he didn’t love her any more, and she sure as hell didn’t love him. It was something that had been weighing on her for the past few months but right now, with Paige missing, their marital problems had been rendered utterly meaningless.
‘Why didn’t you call me back?’ she asked him, trying to keep the anger out of her voice. ‘I left a message for you almost an hour ago. I said it was urgent.’
He didn’t even look at her as he pulled off one of his boots. ‘I only picked it up a few minutes ago. Anyways, what’s the problem?’
‘Go into the kitchen. Read the note and look in the box.’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘Just do it, Logan.’
He looked at her strangely, trying to gain some clue as to what she was talking about, then pulled off the other boot and, with a shake of his head, stalked off into the kitchen. Brook followed a little way behind. She’d put the box next to the phone and the note on the island, and she watched as Logan read the note first, then carefully opened the box, his back to her.
She heard his sharp intake of breath and watched his shoulders sag. Logan Harris was a big man, close to six four and built like a bear, but he seemed to visibly shrink in front of her, and when he turned round, his face had gone a sickly grey.
‘Oh Jesus,’ he whispered. ‘Have you called the police?’
Brook shook her head. ‘I didn’t know what to do. I was waiting for you. What do you think they want?’
He looked confused. ‘I don’t know. Money, I guess. Why else would they take her and leave a note for us?’
‘We’re not that rich.’
‘You’re a celebrity, Brook. You’ve written bestselling books. You’re on TV. Look at this place.’ He gazed round him with an expression of disgust, as if his whole life was toxic. ‘Look at what we’ve got.’
‘We,’ she thought bitterly. ‘Me, more like.’ Logan was a semiretired, bit-part actor and semi-pro tennis player turned coach. When they’d met, he’d been experiencing what he’d described as ‘cash flow problems’, a situation that hadn’t changed since. ‘Listen, Logan. There are probably a hundred people richer than us just in this town, but you never hear about their children getting taken like this.’ It made her feel sick, saying the words aloud.
‘Well, maybe it’s because they pay a ransom.’
‘No way,’ she said emphatically. ‘Something like that would get out. Look what they did to Rosa, for Christ’s sakes.’ She pointed to the box on the island that the kidnappers had left. Inside was the freshly severed index finger of Rosa’s right hand, still wearing her mother’s gold engagement ring.
When Brook had first set eyes on it, it had been like receiving an electric shock. The finger looked like some sort of horror film prop, but one that was just a little too realistic. The flesh was torn and shredded where the finger had been sawn off, and blood smeared the soft paper inside. There was even a piece of protruding white bone, and Brook had felt sick at the sadism of whoever had done this to an innocent woman, and the fear of what they’d do to her child.
‘This is personal, Logan. No one goes to this much trouble just for money.’
‘How do you know? Are you a fucking expert now?’
She let out a long breath. ‘Because it’s logical. People don’t kidnap children for ransom any more. When was the last time you heard about it? So my question to you is: have you been pissing off the wrong people?’
‘Of course I haven’t,’ he said, but she immediately spotted the hint of uncertainty in his expression. The thing was, she didn’t trust Logan. She hadn’t for a long time. He had dark, brooding good looks, and an air of the celebrity about him, even though his acting career had been nothing to write home about, and the older he got, the better-looking he seemed to get. Brook’s girlfriends always said how lucky she was to have him. At least to her face. But that was the problem. Women loved Logan, and he loved them. Far too much.
‘Look, if you’ve done something wrong – something you’re ashamed of – let’s talk about it now, because frankly I don’t care. I just want to find our daughter.’
‘I haven’t done anything wrong,’ he shouted, his voice loud in the room. ‘What about you? Done anything you’re ashamed of, Brook?’
It was the typical response of the guilty. Deflecting blame.
‘I’ve never done anything I’m ashamed of,’ she said firmly, only vaguely aware of the lie. ‘And I don’t have any enemies.’
‘It could be one of your crackpot clients. Have you thought of that?’
‘I life-coach people – people with money – I help them achieve their goals. I don’t deal with the criminally insane.’ She walked back out of the kitchen, putting some distance between herself and his aggression, and stood in the spacious hallway, looking round at the house they’d bought together only two years ago. The place that was going to be their family home. Now violated. ‘They must have come when Paige was asleep because her bed’s been slept in,’ she said almost to herself, suddenly thinking of something. ‘And they must have come in and left by car, so they’ll have been recorded by the camera on the front gate.’
Like most people living in a large, detached home, she and Logan were security-conscious. Their property was in a quiet development on the edge of town, backing onto woodland, surrounded by a high brick wall. The only way in was through security gates covered by a surveillance camera. They’d thought about installing more cameras at the rear of the house, in case anyone came over the back wall, but it seemed at the time like overkill. As Logan had pointed out, they weren’t exactly living in a high-crime area.
However, the camera covering the front gate automat
ically began filming when the sensors underneath the tarmac detected movement, and automatically sent footage into the cloud, which both Brook and Logan could access from apps on their cells. She pulled out her cell now and checked the app as Logan came up beside her, putting a hand on her shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. He smelled of Creed Aventus aftershave. His favourite, and definitely not something you put on for a couple of drinks with the boys.
‘Did the camera pick up anything up?’ he asked.
Brook’s initial excitement faded as she opened the app and stared down at the screen. ‘There’s nothing,’ she said quietly. ‘It says the camera’s offline. It didn’t even record you or me coming in. They must have switched it off, or cut the cable. But how did they even know about it?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Logan, his face crumpled in confusion. And fear. There was fear there for his daughter. At least she hoped there was. It was hard to tell with Logan. His career might not have taken off, but Brook knew from experience that he was a good actor.
She put the cell back in her pocket and for the first time since she’d read the note, she felt like crying. She was terrified for Paige, who would be scared out of her wits, and who might even have witnessed the terrible thing that had happened to Rosa.
It was now becoming clear that these people were far cleverer than just simple criminals. But that’s what they’d said in the ransom note, wasn’t it? We can see you. What if they’d planted cameras in here and were watching them right now?
As if on cue, the sound of an old-fashioned sing-song ring tone came from the kitchen.
She and Logan looked at each other, and it was Logan who hurried into the kitchen and picked up the cell. He didn’t speak and it was clear he was listening to instructions from the other end, but he had his back to her and she couldn’t hear what was being said.
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