Emma Holden Mystery 03-The One You Fear

by Paul Pilkington

  Emma wasn’t totally convinced that the person who had sent the flowers was also the sinister individual from the theatre toilets, but it was certainly a possibility, and she thought it strengthened her case for being given the name.

  The lady pursed her lips. ‘Don’t you need to speak to the police about this?’

  ‘We already did,’ Dan said. ‘Last night. They’re not interested.’

  That wasn’t quite true. They had called the police in the minutes after receiving the note. The officer on the phone had been sympathetic, and offered some general advice about minimising risks in the event that this really was something sinister – making sure they stayed together whenever possible, keeping their outer door locked, reporting anything else to them straight away. But the reality was that nothing concrete had happened. And without the police really understanding the context of their concerns, it was natural for their reaction to be lukewarm. That’s when Emma had the idea of finding out where the flower shop was.

  The lady looked at Dan, then at Emma, and back down at her book, tapping the page. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Okay, I’ll tell you. As I said, we don’t normally disclose names, but I think on this occasion, I’ll make an exception.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Emma said. ‘It means a lot.’

  The lady raised her eyes from the book. ‘Stephen Myers.’

  Emma felt a blast of sickness slam into her. ‘The person said they were called Stephen Myers?’

  ‘Yes. It’s written down here.’

  ‘It’s okay.’ Dan placed a comforting arm around Emma’s back.

  ‘Are you all right?’ the lady asked. ‘Does that name mean anything to you?’

  Emma nodded, fighting the nausea. ‘The person who ordered the flowers, did they do it by phone, or in person?’

  ‘In person. I know I didn’t serve them, but it says here that they paid by cash, so it couldn’t have been over the telephone. Hang on one moment.’ She turned towards an open door behind her. ‘Alice, can you come here for a second?’

  A girl in her late teens appeared, wearing green gloves and a pretty flowery apron. She smiled at Dan and Emma.

  ‘Alice, did you serve this gentleman?’ The lady pointed to the book.

  The girl nodded. ‘He came in yesterday, early morning.’

  ‘Can you describe him?’ Emma asked.

  ‘He was about your height,’ said Alice, nodding towards Dan, ‘but very thin. His face was thin too, you know, hollow-looking. His nose was quite, well, prominent, pointy. Sorry,’ she added, suddenly looking embarrassed, ‘is he a friend of yours?’

  ‘No.’ Emma’s heart was racing. This girl was describing Stephen Myers, or at least how Emma remembered him. ‘What colour hair did he have?’

  ‘It was dark. Dark brown, I think, not black.’

  That was right too. But it couldn’t be. He was dead, buried six feet under the churchyard that Peter Myers had taken them to, and to think otherwise was ludicrous.

  ‘Eye colour?’

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t notice that.’

  And then the question she felt was almost too crazy to ask. ‘Did you notice anything else about him, anything about his face?’

  Would she mention the scar?

  ‘Yes. His cheek, his right cheek.’ Alice traced a finger down her own cheek and under the chin. ‘He had a scar, running down here.’

  ‘It can’t be,’ Emma said, closing her eyes, as the room seemed to start spinning around her. ‘It’s not possible.’

  ***

  ‘What do you want to do?’ Dan asked.

  Emma looked out of the car window. ‘I don’t want to run away, and spoil our holiday.’

  ‘But it’s already been spoilt, hasn’t it?’

  Emma nodded, putting a hand to her head. ‘You’ve spent so much money, on such a fantastic apartment.’

  ‘I know, but that’s not important, is it?’

  Emma turned to look at him. ‘What’s going on, Dan?’

  ‘I don’t know – I really don’t.’

  ‘Someone is stalking me again, pretending to be Stephen Myers. Who the hell would do something like that? Peter Myers is in jail, so it can’t be him. I mean, the person who ordered those flowers, he even looked like Stephen Myers.’

  ‘I know,’ Dan acknowledged.

  ‘And whoever this person is, they knew we were on holiday. They knew we were in Cornwall, they knew exactly where we are staying – the apartment number, everything. Do you think they followed us from London?’

  ‘Maybe – or it might have been a chance sighting. They might live down here, and have read about what happened in the news, and decided to play a sick joke on you.’

  ‘I guess.’ Emma thought about that scenario. It was actually the most appealing option, which was presumably why Dan had suggested it. Anything was better than the possibility of someone driving hundreds of miles, following her in a much more calculating fashion. But then she thought back to what had happened en route to Cornwall, at the services – the imagined sighting of Stephen Myers. Maybe what she had seen hadn’t been the product of an overactive imagination after all. Maybe it had been that same person, trying to look like her one-time tormentor. And in the department store in London. Maybe that, too, had been real. ‘Do you think what happened at the theatre is connected? The person in the toilets, do you think it could be the same person who sent the flowers?’

  ‘Well, I’d like to think not.’

  ‘Me too, but it’s possible.’

  Dan nodded. ‘It’s possible. But even if there isn’t a connection, the reality is someone around here sent those flowers to you, pretending to be Stephen Myers. And like you said, they know exactly where we’re staying. I think that we’d be mad to stick around here, don’t you think?’

  ‘You’re right.’

  ‘Then it’s settled, we’ll go back and pack. If we stayed around for another two days and something happened, I’d never forgive myself.’

  7

  Emma sensed that Lizzy and Will were holding something back. She was relaying the events of the previous two days to them, as the four of them, including Dan, faced each other across the kitchen table in their London apartment. A bottle of red wine was open in front of them, but no one had touched it as yet. The lasagne in the oven smelt delicious. It was five o’clock on Sunday evening, only a couple of hours since they had arrived back from Cornwall. Lizzy had suggested meeting up later that afternoon at their place – she would bring around some food and drink – as they would no doubt be hungry after the long car ride and wouldn’t feel like cooking from scratch. Emma had said there was no need to go to that effort, but Lizzy was undeterred and insisted on it, saying she’d invite Will around, too.

  Emma should have realised then that there was more to this.

  ‘I still can’t believe that this person said his name was Stephen Myers.’ Lizzy looked disturbed. ‘I can’t believe it.’ She glanced across at Will.

  ‘What is it?’ Emma said, noting the look in Will’s eyes.

  ‘You’d better just tell her,’ Will said.

  ‘Tell me what?’

  Lizzy grabbed the bottle of red and poured herself a generous glass. ‘I need some of this.’ She took a gulp. ‘Now, Em, this is going to sound crazy, absolutely crazy, and I can’t believe I’m actually going to say it. But the person who sent you those flowers, who said they were Stephen Myers, what if it actually is Stephen Myers?’

  ‘What? You’re not serious, are you?’

  ‘I know, I know, it’s mad, I told you it would be. But just what if?’

  Emma was stunned. ‘I don’t understand. Stephen Myers is dead. We saw his grave, remember?’

  ‘I know, I know.’ Lizzy seemed to be struggling with what she was trying to say.

  Emma looked at Will again. ‘Something’s happened. Tell me what.’

  Will exhaled and looked up at the ceiling, then back towards his sister. ‘That journalist, Adrian Spencer, he said he went to speak with
Peter Myers in prison. And Peter Myers told him that Stephen isn’t dead.’

  ‘Isn’t dead? But you saw him.’

  Will looked away.

  ‘But you did, didn’t you? You saw him.’

  ‘I didn’t see his face,’ he replied, suddenly looking upset. ‘I couldn’t look at him properly, so I don’t know for certain that it was him.’

  Emma shook her head. ‘The police would have made sure they had the right person. Peter Myers is just playing games with us again. He knows how to get at us, even when he’s locked up in jail.’

  ‘Probably,’ Will admitted.

  Emma focussed on her best friend. ‘Lizzy, you don’t think so?’

  Lizzy shrugged.

  Emma had another idea. ‘Maybe Adrian Spencer is making it up – maybe he’s just trying to get us to talk. Maybe he hasn’t spoken to Peter Myers at all. Maybe he’s trying to provoke a reaction.’

  Lizzy closed her eyes. ‘No, that’s not it.’

  ‘But how can you be so sure?’

  ‘Because he told me the same thing.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Peter Myers. When he was holding me captive – he told me that Stephen Myers was alive.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us?’ Emma said, shocked that her best friend had kept that from her. But then why should she be surprised? Lizzy had been through the same traumatic experience as Dan, and like him, she hadn’t said much about anything that had happened inside Peter Myers’ house.

  ‘Because I thought it was rubbish,’ Lizzy responded. ‘And I thought it would just freak you out. I was going to tell you, but then you became so anxious, thinking you were seeing Stephen Myers when we were out shopping, for instance. I thought that telling you that would make things worse. And I thought that’s just what he would have wanted, to scare you – to bring the one you fear back from the dead.’

  ‘I understand. What else did Peter Myers tell you?’

  Lizzy hesitated.

  ‘Tell her,’ Will said.

  Lizzy took another drink of wine and steadied herself. ‘He said that Stephen Myers was coming back for you.’

  ‘He can’t be alive,’ Emma said, as they sat rather nervously in the lounge after dinner. ‘He can’t be.’

  The others remained silent, letting her statement hang in the air.

  ‘Think back,’ she said to Will, ‘the night Stuart called you over. You might not have looked at Stephen’s face, but Stuart told you it was him, didn’t he?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, why would he say it was Stephen Myers if it was really someone else?’

  ‘I don’t know. He wouldn’t, I guess.’

  ‘Exactly. There was no reason for him to lie.’

  ‘But the person in Cornwall…’ Lizzy said.

  ‘Was someone who just wanted to frighten us,’ Emma replied.

  ‘Em’s right,’ Will said. ‘Stephen Myers is dead. He has to be.’

  ‘But you said before…’ Lizzy began.

  ‘I got carried away,’ Will said. ‘If you think about it, it doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Lizzy replied, ‘but it still leaves someone else out there, pretending to be him.’

  ‘That’s what really worries me,’ said Dan, who’d been very quiet throughout much of the meal. ‘I’m not worried about Stephen Myers – he’s long gone. I’m worried about the person who is living and breathing – the person who was following us in Cornwall. I’m worried that he’s now back in London.’

  They all agreed.

  ‘So what do we do?’ Lizzy said. ‘Call the police?’

  ‘We tried that in Cornwall,’ Dan said. ‘They weren’t interested.’

  ‘What about Gasnier?’

  ‘Gasnier?’ Knowing how Lizzy felt about Detective Inspector Mark Gasnier, Emma was surprised at her suggestion. Lizzy had taken an uncharacteristic dislike to him: ‘arrogant’ had been one of her more flattering descriptions of the police officer who had led the hunt for Dan.

  Lizzy held up her hands. ‘Okay, I know what I said about him, and I still don’t like the guy. But he knows us, and he knows the case. He might be more likely to give us a hearing.’

  ‘She’s got a point,’ Will said. ‘He might help.’

  Emma looked questioningly at Dan.

  ‘Call him,’ said Dan. ‘If someone’s following you again, we can’t just sit back and wait to see what happens. And if Gasnier can do something about it, then let’s try and get him involved.’

  Five minutes later they had their answer.

  ‘Not that interested,’ Emma said, deflated, as she ended the call.

  Lizzy shook her head. ‘I should have known. Sorry, Em.’

  ‘Not interested at all?’ Will said.

  Emma placed the phone on the arm of the sofa. ‘Similar to the police in Cornwall – he said just to be aware of things, not take any unnecessary risks, report anything more sinister if it happens, and then they can take action.’

  Dan snorted. ‘Basically it was a total waste of time, then. Sometimes I wonder whether the police actually want to prevent crimes.’

  ‘Now what?’ Lizzy said.

  Emma shrugged. ‘Keep our eyes open, I guess, and be careful.’

  ‘Hire a private detective,’ Will quipped. ‘They could follow you, see if you were being stalked by this person.’

  Lizzy looked interested. ‘Hey, that’s not a bad idea.’

  ‘I don’t like the thought of a private investigator,’ Emma replied. ‘It sounds too heavy. And anyway, aren’t they expensive, even if we did know a good one to approach?’

  ‘Probably,’ Dan said. ‘To be honest, you don’t really need a private eye. You just need someone who can follow you, keep their eye out, and maybe take a few photographs of anyone who looks suspicious.’

  ‘Follow and take photographs…’ Lizzy clicked her fingers. ‘I’ve got an idea.’

  8

  ‘Oh, it’s you.’

  Standing at his front door on that bright Monday morning, David Sherborn was visibly shocked. More than that, he looked horrified, which given their history was completely understandable. The man who had been paid by the casting director Guy Roberts to follow Emma, getting photographs for Guy’s perverse publicity campaign, hadn’t expected to see them back at his house.

  ‘Hi,’ Emma said, trying for a well-intentioned smile. ‘Could we come in and have a quick chat?’

  He glanced around the door, biting on his lip. ‘The family are in. Let’s go around to my studio, where we spoke last time.’

  As he had previously, he led them around the side of the house to the rear studio annex. The visit certainly brought back all the memories for Emma, and no doubt it did the same for David Sherborn. Lizzy’s idea – to try and enlist his help – was an inspired one and had met with agreement from the other three. Sherborn had already demonstrated his ability to follow people around and take photos. Whether he would agree to such a thing was another matter. The decision for only Lizzy and Emma to visit him was a calculated one; introducing someone new, particularly male, might destabilise things and scare him off.

  ‘Take a seat,’ Sherborn said, still looking shaken. ‘Can I get you a drink? Tea, coffee? I’ve got a new espresso machine – I can do cappuccinos, lattés.’

  ‘Lattés,’ said Emma, knowing Lizzy’s favourite drink. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘So,’ said Sherborn a few minutes later, handing them their drinks. ‘What can I do for you?’

  Emma felt sorry for him. Who knew what was going through his mind at that moment? ‘We need your help.’

  ‘Oh. I thought it might be about what happened.’

  ‘It is, in a way. We think someone else might be following me, stalking me. And they’re pretending to be Stephen Myers.’

  ‘Oh, right, that’s… awful. I’m really sorry to hear that.’

  ‘Something happened while I was on holiday in Cornwall at the weekend. Someone sent me some flowers, pretending to be Stephen Myers.
And I think they also followed me and Dan when we were on a night out. I think I’ve seen the person in London too, a week or so ago.’

  ‘I can see how that would be concerning. Do the police know?’

  ‘They can’t really do anything,’ Lizzy said. ‘No crime has been committed. They’ve just advised us to keep alert, and report anything else that happens. Then they might be able to act.’

  ‘Right…’ Suddenly Sherborn’s face flushed with horror. ‘You don’t think this has got anything to do with me, do you? I mean, I know what I did, and I’m so sorry for it, I really am. But I promise this has nothing to do with me. Nothing, I swear.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Emma said, ‘we don’t think you’ve got anything to do with it. That’s not why we’re here.’

  ‘That’s a relief,’ he said, running a hand across his face and into his hair. ‘You know, it’s been a difficult few weeks, trying to come to terms with what I did. I still feel really ashamed. I never told my wife, although I’ve thought maybe I should.’

  ‘You shouldn’t feel ashamed,’ Emma said. ‘You really helped us. Without you telling us about Guy Roberts and what he was doing, we might not have found Dan.’

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t even ask how your boyfriend was. I saw the reports in the newspapers.’

  ‘He’s okay now. But the events of the past few days have set us all back a little.’

  ‘I can imagine.’ Then he seemed to remember something. ‘You said you needed my help?’

  Emma smiled. ‘Yes, we do.’

  He looked quizzical. ‘I don’t understand. What can I do?’

  ‘I want to know if someone is following me – we all want to know. The police won’t help, but we hope that you might.’

  ‘I don’t understand what you mean.’

  ‘We want to ask you a favour. We want you to follow me, take photographs, see if there is anyone who might be stalking me.’

  David Sherborn laughed incredulously. ‘I’m not a private detective…’