Psychological Thriller Series: Adam Stanley Boxed Set: Behind Shadows, Positively Murder and Mind Bender

by Netta Newbound

  "I guess it's worth a shot. Although there have been no fingerprints left at any of the crime scenes, so it's doubtful we'll find anything."

  "They're threatening my family—it's not safe to stay here." Amanda sat upright, colour returning to her pallid face.

  "Are you feeling a bit better now?" Adam asked.

  "I'm fine."

  "Maybe Amanda's right and you should all stay somewhere else for the time being." Adam glanced at Michael, whose eyes had drifted back to the computer screen. "Michael?"

  "Sorry, what did you say?" Michael said, his hands opening and closing into fists.

  "I was just saying, maybe you should stay somewhere else?"

  "I'm going nowhere. You can if you want to, ‘Manda, but I'm staying put."

  "I've got nowhere to go. Besides, they'll just follow us," Amanda sighed.

  "It's not you they're threatening, though, is it? It's obviously aimed at me." Michael ranted.

  "Okay, I'll get going and arrange for fingerprints and also a squad car," Adam said as he stepped onto the landing. "Michael, would you see me out, please?"

  "What about my car?" Amanda called after him.

  "It's at the mechanics. Michael’s been sorting it out. If you need a lift to pick it up, let me know."

  Michael followed Adam down the stairs, and once outside Adam turned to face him. "About the message on the screen—you know what it means?"

  "I've been having an affair. That's the only thing I can think of."

  "Who knew about it?"

  "Nobody, really—except Amanda."

  "Would Amanda have told anybody? A close friend, maybe?"

  "I doubt it. Amanda's very private. She doesn't have any close friends."

  After taking down the 'other' woman's details, Adam put a large hand on Michael's shoulder. "Thanks for your honesty, Michael, I'll be in touch but call me if anything …"

  "I will. Thank you, Detective."

  Adam sat hunched over his desk. This case was giving him yet another headache. He rummaged about in his drawer for some aspirin but found an empty blister pack instead. He knew Kate would have a supply, but he didn't want to bother her. She'd already given him a blasting when he’d returned to the station earlier.

  Kate was certain Amanda was involved in some way, even though it was practically impossible for her to have killed Brian Crosby and get back to the house before the plumber called. Then there was the break-in at her house. Amanda had still been in the hospital then. There must be something we're missing, he thought.

  He checked through a list on his desk, picked up the phone and dialled.

  "Hendricks," a raspy voice said after the first ring.

  "Hey, Hendricks, DS Stanley here. A quick question about Tuesday—is there any chance Amanda Flynn could have left the hospital without you knowing?"

  "Absolutely not!"

  "Thought not. That's all, thanks, mate." He hung up, jotting the information down in anticipation of Kate King's questions.

  He walked into the central office and studied the whiteboard. There were three columns: DENNIS KIDD, ANNIE DUNCAN, BRIAN CROSBY.

  Annie was the main connection between the three of them, then the school and their interest in children.

  On another line were Dennis's two children and Brian's two: AMANDA FLYNN, ANDREW KIDD, PAMELA FOXTON, ALISON JONES.

  Amanda and Andrew were victims of abuse at the hands of Dennis and Annie, who had both served time for the repeated sexual assault, rape and prostitution of the children. However, Brian had managed to keep his secret from his family—or had he?

  Amanda was connected to both Dennis and Annie on the board. She had expressed concerns that she was being followed. Could, whoever it was, have followed her to the Kingsley property? Could they have got close enough to see her punch the number into the keypad? Unlikely. He tapped the whiteboard marker on his teeth.

  Amanda's daughter, Emma, followed her 'mother' at the zoo. The assistant also said she saw Emma leave with a woman dressed like Amanda.

  The seahorse. Emma had asked for one and somebody provided it—not the actions of a madman intending her harm.

  The break-in at Amanda and Michael's home. The intention had obviously been for Michael to know someone had been in the house. The threat on the computer screen was also aimed at Michael. Cheat! He had been having an affair, but nobody knew about it.

  A woman fitting Amanda's description was seen with Annie the night she died. At the time, Amanda had been at the Kingsley house with no alibi.

  The person skulking in Amanda's garden. Nobody else had been home that night—Michael had taken the children. Could he have come back?

  Michael Flynn—maybe he found out about the abuse of his wife and took revenge? Adam didn't think he had it in him. He could have easily planted the seahorse though, he could also have left the message on the computer screen, and there was only his word about the break in. It made no sense though. Michael had admitted to having an affair. He could have been trying to frame his wife—but if that was the case, why would he stage the break-in at a time when Amanda had a watertight alibi?

  Andrew Kidd was also on the board. Missing from home since the age of fifteen—twelve years ago. There had been an investigation at the time, but to no avail. In light of the abuse the children had suffered, it was concluded that he'd run away since there was no evidence that anything untoward had happened to him.

  Adam walked back to his office and sat down at the desk. He rubbed at his temples, sighing deeply. It was so frustrating. In each case there was nothing to go on. No forensics and no witnesses—nobody saw or heard a thing.

  Chapter 30

  Amanda

  Sitting at the kitchen bench, I picked up the phone for the umpteenth time in the last ten minutes. I replaced it once again. "Why is this so hard?" I said aloud. Even if she didn't want to know, I knew she'd be nice about it.

  I took a deep breath, then quickly raised the handset and punched in the number before allowing myself to breathe again. My heart was doing the can-can in my chest.

  After several rings, I realised she wasn't home. The answer machine cut in. Should I leave a message? Aargh—what to say?

  "Hello, Sandra, it's Amanda. I … erm … Oh, I bloody hate these machines. Call me, same number. I hope you're okay." I hung up, aware of a weakness in my limbs I'd never felt before. Gosh, I hadn't even said please—just demanded, after all this time. Demanded she call me.

  Michael and the children were sweeping up leaves outside. Or should I say, Michael was sweeping up leaves—the children were having a wonderful time redistributing them around the garden. I watched them through the window for a few minutes before tapping on the glass and waving to them.

  I was due at Dr Freda's office in half an hour.

  Monika was engrossed in something as I entered the reception area. Her head was tilted to one side, the tip of her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth, and her specs were perched on the very tip of her nose. As I got to the counter, I could see she was trying to thread a needle.

  "Such concentration." I smiled.

  "Hello, Amanda, I didn't see you there." She took her glasses off.

  "Do you need some help?" I nodded at the needle.

  "Blasted thing. I've been trying for the best part of an hour." She handed me the needle and some black cotton.

  I threaded it easily and passed it back.

  "Oh, gosh, what I wouldn't do for a pair of young eyes. Thank you love, take a chocolate." She pushed a small silver tray laden with Quality Street chocolates towards me. “Although I must warn you–it was probably the chocolates that caused my button to ping off.” She laughed.

  Not deterred in the least, I chose the flat gold circle—caramel was my favourite. "Ooh, thanks."

  "She won't be too long, Amanda. Can I get you a cuppa?"

  "No, thanks, I've not long had one. Did you book your next holiday yet?"

  "I daren't—I'd better wait for a while or else
she'll have a fit." She cocked her eyes towards the office door.

  I laughed. "You're too good at your job, Monika—she can't do without you."

  "She's gonna have to. I retire next year. There'll be no stopping me then, I …"

  The door opened, and Dr Freda walked out of the office with a middle-aged woman. Monika turned her attention to the client.

  "Same time next week, Mrs Bailey?"

  Dr Freda beckoned to me and I followed her into her office.

  Instead of going to her desk, she sat on one of the leather sofas, her hand palm-up suggesting I sit on the one opposite.

  "How are you today, Amanda?" she asked, raising her eyebrows and peering over the top of her glasses.

  "It's been quite a week, Doc. I really don't know where to begin."

  "How about we start with you telling me how you felt after our last session?"

  "Confused, and I suppose a bit worried. I’ve been thinking about all the unexplained things that have been happening. And wondering if they could have been my own doing."

  "Have you had a chance to discuss it with anybody?"

  "No. But it all makes sense now. Things going missing and turning up in stupid places, or not turning up at all—drawers miraculously cleaned out. The way I show barely no emotion to things that should have me devastated. I’ve known all along there was something wrong with me, but I couldn’t put my finger on what the hell it was."

  "So, I see you’ve been doing some research. I’m glad you’re finally taking this seriously, Amanda. Do you want to tell me what's happened this week?"

  "Okay." I took a deep breath and then began. "Remember I told you my dad had gone missing?"

  She nodded.

  "He was murdered, and so were his ex-wife, and another member of their group."

  "Ah, I saw the news. I'm sorry. I didn't recognise the names."

  "Somebody apparently saw me with Annie—walking her home right before she died. And my dad's body turned up at the Kingsley house I'm working on."

  Dr Freda pulled her eyebrows together so tightly they looked like a mono-brow.

  "He'd already been dead for almost two weeks when I found him in a cupboard in the cellar. I thought he jumped out at me and I attacked him with some tools I had in my hands. I blacked out and was in the hospital for a couple of days."

  "So I guess you have an alibi for your stepmother's murder? Otherwise, you'd be in custody."

  "No. But nobody could identify me in the line-up. I'm the only suspect, but they have nothing on me."

  "Where were you at the time of the murder?"

  "At the Kingsley property, working late."

  "And your father?" She pinched her bottom lip between her finger and thumb and began wiggling it side to side, mono-brow still in place.

  "I'm not certain. He'd been dead a while, like I said."

  "And the third murder victim? Did you know him?"

  "Years ago I did."

  "Did he interfere with you?"

  "He never touched me really, just looked." As I said the words, I remembered being in Emma’s room and thinking about what Brian Crosby had done to me. And soon after that I'd fallen asleep on Emma's bed—at around the same time Brian was murdered.

  Dr Freda said something, but my mind was in chaos. Images flashed: Brian taking my panties off … Annie standing in the doorway of the lounge, a smirk on her face as my dad forced Andrew on top of me … the seahorse … Brian taking my panties off and leering at me … hoarse whispers … the cellar … Brian taking my panties off … prying the cupboard doors open … Dennis jumping out on me, a sick grin on his face … screaming … that scream … stop the screaming.

  Whoosh! Something brought me back in line in an instant. Dr Freda stood over me, her palm raised and her calm exterior replaced by a shaky imitation.

  I was lying half on, half off the sofa. One of my navy court shoes sat upside down on top of the coffee table. My stomach was in knots; I thought I might throw up.

  "What happened?" My voice was barely recognisable.

  "I'm not too sure—you started screaming. Are you all right now?" Freda said, her voice trembling.

  Remembering the images, I froze. Oh, fuck! I think I killed them.

  I had to get out of there. I couldn't tell her what I was thinking. Yet if I had murdered three people surely I'd remember something?

  I reached for my shoe, my hands shook so much that it took an age to put it back on. "I've got to go," I said, standing up.

  "Not so fast, Amanda. Calm down first. I don't know what just happened, but you're not in any state to drive yet. Have a cup of tea and see how you feel then," she said. I don’t remember ever seeing her so ruffled.

  "I can't, but I'm fine. I promise."

  She raised her glasses to the top of her head. Her face had lost every bit of colour, giving a glimpse of the human being under the perfect ice-queen exterior.

  ***

  Back at home I let myself in the front door. I could hear voices coming from the kitchen. There was no sign of the children—I presumed they were having a nap. I slowly walked down the hall, trying to work out who it was.

  When I opened the door, my breath caught in my throat and my eyes filled with tears. I couldn't speak.

  Sandra stood up and walked towards me. Holding her arms out, she pulled me to her and I began to sob. Michael ducked out the back door into the garden.

  After a few minutes, I had the tears under control. I stepped back slightly so I could look at her. She’d aged a little and her mousy brown hair had more grey sprinkled through it, but she looked fantastic.

  "How come you're here?"

  "I got your message and tried to call back but there was no answer, so I came around. Michael was in the garden—he didn't hear the phone."

  "Thank you. I didn't think you'd want anything to do with me."

  "You know how I feel about you, Amanda—how Pete and I both felt. We always wanted nothing but the best for you. I hoped you'd call." She held my hand and we sat down at the table.

  "I don't deserve you. I've been cruel."

  "You've been confused, that's all. I don't mind, as long as we can stay friends now. I've missed you."

  "I've missed you too."

  Michael had filled her in on most things. I told her my version, including what had just happened at Dr Freda's. She didn't comment; just let me pour everything out.

  Afterwards, she said, “You can’t possibly think you killed him.”

  I shrugged. “I dunno. But don’t you think it’s strange that I’d been thinking about him right before he was murdered?”

  “Coincidence—it’s got to be, love.”

  I hoped she was right.

  She’d known I'd had family problems as a child—hence being in foster care—but I wasn't sure if she knew the extent of the abuse. I'd never discussed it with her. In fact, I’d never discussed it with a soul, apart from Doctor Freda. She stayed very quiet for a while. I wondered if she was hurt that I hadn't confided in her before now. We had been close once.

  When the children woke up we all played in the garden. Sandra stayed for the rest of the day. After dinner, she helped put the children to bed and it was as though she'd always been a member of our family. The kids loved her. I promised to call her the next day.

  Later that evening, I realised there was something else I needed to do. I rang DS Stanley.

  "Stanley,” Adam’s voice sounded sleepy.

  "Hi, it's Amanda. Sorry to trouble you, but I need a favour."

  "Fire away."

  "I've changed my mind about the funeral. I think somebody needs to be there. Could you find out who to contact, please?"

  "I'll make a few calls, but do you mind me asking—why the change of heart?"

  "My foster mother thinks it'll be good for me, closure and all that. And to be honest, I can't bear the thought of nobody being there. He was a monster, but he needs a funeral and I may regret it if I don't go."

  "Well, if you
’re sure. I'll get back to you in the morning."

  ***

  We pulled up outside a lovely little chapel. I was surprised how quickly we had arrived.

  "You sure you're up to this, Amanda?" Sandra asked.

  "I … erm … I think so. Can I have a few minutes, please?"

  "Of course, love. I'll go inside and let the vicar know we're here."

  She got out of the car and I watched her walk across the road, tottering on her new, inch-high heels. Her tailored linen suit showed off her shapely figure—one a woman half her age would be proud of. I was touched by the effort she'd made.

  I, on the other hand, wore the same beige slacks and cream blouse I had worn yesterday. I might have decided to make an appearance, but I was damned if I would mourn his death.

  Michael had looked at me as though I'd lost my mind when I told him I planned to attend. I wasn't able to explain to him the reason. I just couldn't bear to think of a person, regardless of who they were or what they'd done in their lives, having a funeral and not one person showing up.

  Sandra came back towards the car and I got out to meet her.

  "You ready?" she asked.

  "I guess." I steadied myself on her arm and held on for dear life.

  "I told the vicar not to worry about a speech, lovey, to just get on with it."

  "Thank you, Sandra."

  "He said he'll say a short prayer."

  "Okay."

  The chapel was draughty and dark. The stale, musty smell was overpowering and it took all my efforts to suppress the urge to retch.

  The vicar was kneeling at the pulpit and stood up as we entered. Sandra and I sat at the back.

  A simple pine coffin had been slotted in an alcove. I tried not to look at it. My stomach did a flip and I momentarily felt immense sadness for what should have been.

  The vicar said a prayer, but I didn't hear it. The curtains around the coffin began to close and a sob escaped my lips. I realised with a surprise that my face was wet from silent tears.

  Sandra, still linking my arm through hers, now hugged it against her. "Come on, love," she said.