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

by Netta Newbound

  “Thank God for that. Wasn’t he with Mary though?”

  “No. He was alone, but that’s all right.”

  “We need to do something. You don’t understand. If he gets the chance they’ll be gone, and then we won’t see either of them again. Just like last time.”

  “Don’t upset yourself, sweetheart.” Sandra put an arm around her shoulders. “Think of the baby.”

  Amanda’s heart froze. She slowly lifted her head to look at Adam. Had he heard? From his expression, she could tell he had. Her cheeks began to burn, and she tried to avoid his eyes as she struggled to swallow a large lump forming in her throat.

  “I need a word, Amanda?” Adam got to his feet and headed to the kitchen.

  “Sorry,” Sandra muttered.

  Amanda shrugged the older woman’s arm from around her, got to her feet and followed Adam.

  He stood at the sink facing out the window, his back to her.

  “Adam?”

  “When were you going to tell me?”

  “I ... I ...” She couldn’t find the words or the energy to continue lying. She exhaled noisily. “I’m not sure.”

  “So it’s true?” He turned to face her, his eyebrows pulled tightly together. “You’re pregnant.”

  Hot, salty tears ran down her face and into her mouth. She nodded.

  “Why would you ...? No, I mean where do you get off keeping something like that from me?”

  “I just thought ...”

  “You just thought what? That I wouldn’t find out? Do you hate me that much?”

  “I don’t hate you. I love you!”

  “Pull the other one. It plays the national anthem. You’ve been trying to avoid me for weeks. Did you think I wouldn’t want it or something?”

  Amanda was sobbing by this stage. A tight knot had formed in the centre of her chest. “It wasn’t like that. I was just scared you’d find out about Mary!” She could’ve bitten her tongue off as the words left her lips.

  Adam stood to his full height and cocked his head to one side. His eyes narrowed as he tried to piece together the facts. Trust her to fall for a detective.

  “What about Mary?”

  “It’s best you don’t know. You knowing will only confuse everything more.”

  “What about Mary?” he repeated.

  His raised voice caused Sandra to enter the room, closely followed by Frances.

  Amanda looked from one to the other and then, deflated, sank onto a dining chair. “Mary is my baby.” She buried her head in her hands, but, after a deafening silence, she suspected they hadn’t heard her. As she raised her head to check, three confused faces stared back.

  “Yours?” Adam said, scratching his head. “How the hell ...?”

  Sandra moved to stand protectively beside Amanda, placing a hand on her shoulder.

  “I had a baby after ...”

  “Yes. We know that.”

  “Mary was only little when Andrew snatched her from her adoptive parents.”

  Adam turned suddenly and slammed both hands on the kitchen worktop, causing Amanda to jump. She stared at the back of his head knowing things would never be the same between them after this.

  “When did you discover this?” Adam said, his voice flat.

  “The day I found him at Judy’s. He confessed everything before vanishing again.”

  “So you already knew when we began dating?”

  She glanced at Frances who was hopping from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable with hearing all about her boss’s dysfunctional relationship.

  “Yes. I didn’t think anybody would find out, but, when Andrew was caught, he seemed so unstable. I thought he might confess everything, especially once he found out we were an item.”

  Adam rubbed his face, making a rasping sound. It reminded Amanda of how he’d spent the night curled on the chair so she wasn’t alone, and he would have had no time to shave that morning. Her heart contracted. She wanted to run to him, pull him into her arms and shower his stubbly face with kisses. But she couldn’t. Her secret was well and truly out now, not only to him, but to Sandra and Frances too. Shit, she may even get prosecuted herself. There was no going back from this—she’d made the situation a whole lot worse.

  “We’ve got to go.” He turned and headed for the door.

  “Adam!” she called, rushing to follow him.

  He ignored her and continued off up the path.

  At the door, Frances shoved gently past, offering Amanda an apologetic shrug.

  “Maybe I should come too in case you find him? Andrew may listen to me,” Amanda said.

  “It’s probably best you stay here, Amanda.” Frances reached for her hand. “And besides, Andrew may still try to contact you.”

  Amanda nodded then watched as Frances rushed to the car and ducked into the passenger seat. She felt bereft. How could she have been so stupid?

  “I’m sorry for blurting out about the baby, love. I’ve caused all this.”

  Amanda glared at Sandra before heading back inside and straight up the stairs.

  Chapter 43

  Their passports were ready. Andrew’s only problem was what to do with Mary while he met Ricky in the Mobil petrol station on the other side of town.

  He couldn’t chance taking her with him. Everyone would be looking for a guy and young girl. It was safer for now if he went alone, yet how could he trust her after her earlier performance?

  After a hot drink, he calmed down a lot and now felt a little sorry for his daughter. But she knew he wouldn’t tolerate insubordination, and now there was no Judy to let her get away with murder. She would have no choice but learn to toe the line.

  At the top of the stairs, he picked up the bags thrown in his earlier rage, then slowly entered Mary’s room.

  “Here you go, babygirl. I bought you some nice things at the store.”

  The way she watched him through wary eyes, as though terrified, irritated the crap out of him. He took a deep breath and tried to control the anger bubbling just under the surface.

  “Do you like these shoes? The shopkeeper told me they’re new in from the USA.”

  She shrugged.

  He placed the trendy, brown leather walking-style shoes down on the mattress before holding up a pair of skinny jeans.

  Nothing.

  He threw them beside her on the bed and pulled out a pink, woollen jersey covered in sequins, with a butterfly in the centre.

  Mary’s eyebrows twitched giving him some hope all was not lost.

  “There’re plenty more in the bag. Do you like them?”

  She shrugged.

  Biting his lip in seething temper, he sucked the blood through his teeth before swallowing it down, all the time glaring at his ungrateful bitch of a daughter. He snatched the items up once more and shoved them back into the bags.

  “I need to go out for ten minutes,” he said, gruffly. “You’ll have to sit in the wardrobe until I come back. I’ll give you a torch, and you can read one of the books I bought.”

  Her eyes grew large, and she shook her head from side to side in absolute horror.

  He knew she was afraid of the dark, and this knowledge gave him a perverse sense of pleasure. That’ll teach her to fuck with him. “Don’t look at me like that! You brought it on yourself, Mary. I can’t trust you, so what choice is there?”

  A high pitched warbling sound escaped her as she scrambled back on the mattress and pressed herself against the wall.

  He reached for her arm but missed as she wriggled away from him. He didn’t miss the second time. He dragged her roughly by the arm, opened the wardrobe door with his other hand, then forced her inside.

  Once the door was shut, he realised he hadn’t given her the torch and books he’d promised, but tough shit! Keeping his foot firmly against the door he reached for the wooden chest-of-drawers standing to the side and dragged. It fit perfectly in the gap between the mattress and the wardrobe. There was no way Mary would push her way out of there in a
hurry.

  Her screams and cries followed him through to the next room where the computers still showed images of Amanda’s lounge and kitchen. But nothing had changed. The empty house fucked up his plans a bit. At least if Amanda was at home, he would have an idea if the police were on to him or not.

  Mary’s screams seems to be getting louder. He hammered on the adjoining wall with the side of his fist. “Stop that fucking racket, or else.”

  The cries reduced to a whimper.

  *

  Andrew drove up and down the surrounding streets, before heading off, in the hopes of coming across the cocky kids again—especially the little one on the bike. He would like nothing more than to knock him off it and shove him into the boot of the car, bike and all, before delivering him to his ignorant and oblivious parents. He may even give them a dig or two for good measure—no doubt they were to blame for such disrespectful behaviour.

  After a few minutes, he gave up, semi-relieved he hadn’t found them. Keeping a low profile was essential if they were going to get out of there in one piece.

  Once on the main road, he became aware of a police car behind him. He tried to ignore it and only use his mirrors when necessary, but he could tell by the way they stuck to his tail, the pigs were calling the station.

  He indicated left, slowed down and turned.

  The police followed. Right on his bumper.

  Andrew’s mind raced. He mustn’t do anything hasty. The fact that the cops interest in him could be coincidental added to his paranoia.

  He drummed a beat on the steering wheel, trying to appear unfazed, but he felt sick. He couldn’t allow this to turn to shit after all he’d gone through.

  A yelp from behind him caused his stomach to drop. A quick check in the mirror confirmed his worst fears—the police lights flashed, indicating they wanted him to pull over.

  “For fuck’s sake!” he yelled, bouncing his hands off the steering wheel.

  Chapter 44

  I drove to the end of the street, my mind in a whirl after Amanda’s confession. The sunlight caused me to wince as I turned onto the main street. I squinted and rubbed my temple.

  “Your head still bad?” Frances asked.

  “Awful. I’ll need to get some aspirin.”

  “Do you want me to drive again?”

  “No. I should be fine.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  I glanced at her. “You sure? I could do with closing my eyes for a few minutes, if you’re sure.”

  “Course.”

  I pulled over, and we changed seats in silence—grateful Frances had the decency to say nothing about what just happened at Amanda’s, at least until I got the chance to process it myself.

  Frances pulled into the traffic as I adjusted the position of the seat back. “Head over to Sable Street,” I said. “It’s a long shot, but you never know. Then we can call the station for an update.”

  “Okay, boss.”

  I closed my eyes and prayed for my thumping headache to subside. But the riot going on inside my head was worse than being in the middle of a carnival.

  I couldn’t understand why Amanda didn’t want to share the news of the baby with me. Or, for that matter, why I never twigged. She had put on a few extra pounds, but I didn’t mention it, knowing how touchy women can be over such things. I actually thought she looked better with a bit of padding on her bones.

  I felt a brief flutter of excitement in my chest at the prospect of becoming a father, but that emotion was soon overshadowed by the other more debilitating confession about Mary. How could we recover from such a bombshell?

  Mary’s initial kidnapping hadn’t been in Amanda’s file. One possibility was that Andrew had taken the wrong child all those years ago. How would he know where Mary had been placed?

  However, Mary was the absolute image of Amanda—even more like her than Emma, which never surprised him, given how alike Andrew and Amanda were. She was bound to resemble her aunt. But what were the chances of some random girl looking like them both? Not likely at all. This knowledge was the only reason I hadn’t contacted social services. I needed to tread carefully for now.

  But little niggles kept pecking at my thoughts. If Amanda was Mary’s mother, who was her father? Andrew? That would make Mary both Amanda’s daughter and niece. Or maybe it was Dennis, Amanda’s dad, which was no better, really. How fucked up was that. And how awful to have to explain it all to Mary, which, for the time being, wasn’t the most urgent problem. We needed to get her back first.

  My phone rang. I sat forward and dug it out of my pocket.

  “Hey, Cal. How’s it going?”

  “We managed to get a photo of Grayson Phelps on the lunchtime news.”

  “Nice one.”

  “And we’ve already had several people come forward. One of them swears he bumped into Grayson on the day of Lynley’s murder, in the Buffalo Burger Bar on the high street. He said Grayson carried a holdall, which he bumped into his daughter’s chair, and caused a bit of a set to.”

  “That’s fantastic news. Can you contact the—”

  “Already onto it, boss. The manager said he’s willing to allow us to look over the tapes.”

  “Nice job, Cal. We’re a bit tied up at the moment. Any chance you could go and get them? We’ll meet you back at the station shortly.”

  “No probs, boss.”

  “Oh, and Cal?”

  “Yep?”

  “Any news on Grayson yet?”

  “He’s stable but still on the critical list at the last update.”

  My neck snapped around at the sound of squealing tyres and sirens. A green Rover sped past us causing Frances to slam on the brakes and career off to the side of the road, allowing the police cars to continue the chase.

  I couldn’t believe my eyes or our luck. “Gotta go, Cal.” I hung up. “Follow them, Frances,” I barked.

  “What?”

  “That was him. Andrew. The dude in the green car. Quick, put your foot down. We’re losing them.”

  Frances almost spun the car on the spot.

  “Nifty driving,” I said, gripping the overhead handle for dear life.

  Up ahead, I could see the green car weaving in and out of traffic, the police cars hot on its tail.

  I checked the map on my phone. “Quick, take the next road on the right.”

  Frances didn’t argue. She sped around the corner at full speed, my trusty Ford sticking to the road like glue.

  “At the end of here, do another right and an immediate left.”

  “Got it.”

  Frances slammed the brakes on as an elderly man stepped onto a pedestrian crossing in front of them.

  “For fuck’s sake,” I said, bouncing in my seat in frustration. “Come on, come on. Get a move on.”

  As soon as she was able, Frances took off only to be stopped once again as a blue van backed into the road.

  “Flick the lights on, Frances. No siren though.” I leaned over and pressed on the horn.

  A middle-aged man wound down the van window and was about to hurl abuse at us until Frances activated the blue lights. Instead, he waved and straightened the vehicle up, so we could pass.

  I was almost pulling my hair out. Any other time I would be driving, and, although doing a great job, Frances was more cautious than I would be.

  “Go straight over the crossroads, and then turn left at the next intersection.” The sound of sirens approaching confirmed my plan seemed to be working.

  Frances did as instructed and then glanced at me as we approached the top of a T-junction.

  “I need you to trust me. When I say so—pull straight out and stop across the middle of the road.”

  “Fuck that! He’ll hit us.”

  “He won’t. Just do it. Are you ready?”

  Frances shook her head.

  “Are you ready?” The sirens were almost upon us.

  “Now, Frances. Now!” I yelled.

  After a split second’s hesitation, t
he car darted forwards, just as the green car appeared around the corner, closely followed by the two police cars.

  Suddenly everything appeared to happen in slow motion.

  I could see Andrew’s face as his car hurtled towards us. I witnessed the exact moment the situation registered and then the recognition as our eyes met and locked. At the last second Andrew managed to swerve, missing my car door by a whisker.

  As he spun past, I didn’t waste any time before jumping out of the vehicle and running towards the green car, which was now lodged in a waist-high, stone boundary wall.

  Andrew was half out the car by the time I got to him—dazed, confused and slow.

  “No you don’t, sunshine. You’re coming with me.” I twisted his arm up his back and leaned him over the steaming bonnet. “Come and cuff him,” I called to the two police officers who were slowly making their way over to us.

  Andrew’s other hand appeared from nowhere, and glanced a blow off the side of my forehead. The impact wasn’t huge, yet somehow had me falling backwards onto the road.

  I was aware of a commotion and running footfalls. Then Frances dropped to my side.

  “What happened?” I asked, wiping my arm across my face.

  Frances pushed my arm away as she inspected my forehead. “The bastard stabbed you with something. Stay there. I’ll call an ambulance.”

  “I don’t need an ambulance,” I said, horrified by the amount of blood covering the sleeve of my jacket. I tentatively touched above my left eye with my fingertips and a flap of skin lifted up.

  Frances winced and turned a shade of green.

  “Have you checked the car?” I asked.

  “No. What for?”

  I shook my head. “An eleven-year-old girl, for starters.”

  Frances gasped, jumped to her feet and began inspecting the car. She pulled a lever, and the boot lifted up. I could tell by her face it was empty.

  I got up, woozy and lightheaded, and, slowly, picking up pace, I raced to the car. “Get in. Did you see which way they went?”

  “That way,” she said, pointing up the road. “Let me drive. You’ll kill us.”

  “Get in, Frances. I’m fine.” I pulled a cleaning rag out of the glove box and pressed it to my head.