Two For Joy (Isabel Fielding Book 2)

by Sarah A. Denzil

  When we get to the caravan site, a man with a moustache takes our money and walks us to the van we’ll be staying in. It’s a small static with a working toilet and shower; pokey, but nicely decorated. I pay cash and give him a fake name and address.

  “We’re from Watford,” I lie. “Came for a few days away.”

  “Well, the sun’s out for you,” he says sarcastically, glancing at the drizzle that is just starting outside.

  When we’re alone in the van, I bite a thumbnail and listen to the phone rings add up while I try to contact DCI Murphy. Where is he? What is he doing? Where is Adam? Why is no one answering their phone?

  Finally. “Hello?”

  “It’s Leah Smith. Isabel knows where we are.”

  “Hold on, Leah. What’s happened?”

  “Someone leaked my name and photograph on Twitter. That ridiculous ‘justice for Alison’ crowd. I think… There was a magpie on my doorstep. Someone must have recognised me and put up my witness protection name. She knows where we are.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.” I glance at Tom, who is watching me from the floral corner sofa. “She knows. I can feel her watching me.”

  “I’ll get in touch with the local police now. And I’m on my way as quickly as I can,” he says. “Are you still in the house? Where are you?”

  “No, we’ve rented a caravan a mile or so out of Clifton-on-Sea. That’s where we were housed by the programme.”

  “Okay. Stay in that van and don’t leave, okay? If you do leave, stay in a public place. You’ll have to take time off from work. Leah, this might be a good thing. We’ve had leads that have gone nowhere. She moves on between towns and cities as fast as she arrives. We haven’t been able to pinpoint her location because she’s always one step ahead. But she won’t leave without finding you. That’s always been her end game, and we know that. We can use that.”

  “I’m not bait,” I snap. “I’m not risking my life so you can catch her.”

  “That’s not what I’m saying. I just mean that at least now we know where she is, and we can track her down once and for all. This is going to end now.”

  I eyeball Tom and realise that he’s right. This is going to end now, once and for all.

  *

  ISABEL

  I’m not made for the trailer park life, Leah. Perhaps I need an American accent and a pair of denim shorts, I just don’t know, but after a few days I’m already stir crazy. The internet is my only refuge from the drudgery of staying in such a small town. Of course I wander around quite a lot, hoping that I might see you somewhere and be able to follow you home. But I don’t want to do that too much. I may be rather clever at disguising myself, but I can’t escape the fact that the media love to print my face in every newspaper in the country. Which means I’m stuck in a tin can amongst the other tin cans, Twittering as much as I can to try to find out where you live. I know where you work, but I don’t know where you live, and when I went back to your place of work, the pleasant woman on the reception desk said it was your day off. I had hoped to have followed you home then.

  I don’t know what car you drive or whether you even own one. I don’t know where you shop or what you eat. No one on Twitter seems to know where you live. Where are you, Leah?

  Vending machine food and fish and chips from the promenade have become my source of nutrition, if you can call it that, and after only a couple of days, my skin is greasy again. Ah, this is no way to live, is it? It puts me in a hurry to find you just so I can end this complete and utter monotony.

  Give me a hint, Leah.

  Stop pretending that you don’t want to see me.

  *

  LEAH

  The rain drums down on the metal roof as we hide away in the caravan. Adam finally calls back and tells us that the programme will liaise with the local police and he will make arrangements to get us out of here. But Tom is staring at me with piercing eyes, and I decide to trust in what we decided on the promenade.

  “We’re not going to leave. We’ve decided. DCI Murphy is finally going to catch her, and then we’re going to stay here.”

  There’s a pause, and I imagine the quiet man thinking, contemplating, most likely trying to figure out a way to change our minds. “Put a time limit on it. If Isabel isn’t behind bars within the next three days, get out. She might want to play the long game. She might wait.”

  “No, I don’t think she will. She wants to end this.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I almost laugh. “No, I suppose not. I’ve not always been the best at reading her, but at the same time, I know her as well as anyone. She didn’t wait before, did she? She could have been free for years before she came after me, but that didn’t happen.”

  “That’s true. Be careful, Lizzie.”

  “Thanks. I will.”

  “What did he say?” Tom demands, barely waiting until the phone is away from my ear.

  “He said to give it three days, and if Isabel isn’t behind bars in that time, to get out of Clifton.”

  To my surprise, Tom actually agrees. “Maybe he’s right.”

  There’s not much to do to pass the time in the caravan, and God knows we don’t want to talk anymore. All our talks devolve into rows, and I don’t have the energy to cope with them. Tom paces up and down, seeming taller than I’ve ever known him. Now that we’re in a close environment, I notice that there’s something different about him.

  “You’ve had your hair cut. It’s nice,” I say.

  He just shrugs. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “How are you settling into your new place? After all this has blown over, I want the address and phone number, okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “I wonder when the police are going to—”

  “Maybe I should go and get some food,” he interrupts.

  I hesitate, a little hurt that his interruption was obviously designed to shut me up. It takes me aback. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. We should stay in the caravan.”

  “I won’t leave the site,” he insists. “There’s a vending machine back near that visitor’s centre with Mustachio on the desk. Come on. I need sugar. I’m starving.”

  I reach for my bag, fish out my purse, and retrieve a few pound coins. “Maltesers, then. And a coke.”

  “Coming right up.”

  As soon as Tom has ducked out into the rain, I take up his role of pacing up and down the small space. How long does it take for the police to come out here? Is this an emergency call, or the kind of deal where they come when they can? DCI Murphy will have a long drive from York. Will they get a helicopter out searching for Isabel? Where can she be hiding? Is she still out there roaming the countryside? The campsite is farther away from the sea, more into the country, though the sea is visible. She managed to lose the manhunt on the moors. She might be able to do it again in the surrounding fields.

  I pace and pace. How long is it since I ate anything? I never did have dinner.

  The windows are dark, turning darker as the early evening evolves into night. Soon, the floodlights around the caravan park will come on. Will I see her if she comes for me?

  I glance at my phone for the time. Tom has been gone too long, and my palms are beginning to sweat. Taking a deep breath, I scroll quickly through my contacts and pull up his number. The phone rings, cuts out, and I realise he’s rejected my call.

  Why would he do that? Our fight is over, and we’re both in danger. Surely, he’d be sensible enough to pick up the phone.

  A cold sensation washes over me, and I have to fight the nausea that rises from my stomach. But that cold, complete and utter terror focuses into a point. A resolve. I open the caravan door, and I walk out.

  A quiet voice says, “Hello, Leah, sweetie. I knew you’d come to me.”

  And then the knife pokes against my side.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  “Where is Tom?”

  “Be a good girl, and I’ll take you to him
.”

  “Fine. Lead the way.”

  I’m surprised by the strange sense of calm that spread through my body the moment I felt the knife in my side. This has been inevitable, filling me with such dread, that I almost feel relieved that it has finally happened. But at the same time, I’m terrified for Tom. I make a mental note of the time that passed between Tom leaving the caravan and Isabel finding me. She didn’t have time to hurt him. Did she?

  How did she find us? I was positive we hadn’t been followed, but Isabel has outsmarted everyone else over and over again. Of course she knew where to find us.

  “Good girl, Leah. Just keep walking. Keep doing exactly what I say.”

  “I could scream,” I point out. “And all of these people behind those thin walls of metal will come running out to see what’s going on.”

  “You could,” she admits. “But then you wouldn’t find out where Tom is, and let’s just say that you might need to find him sooner rather than later.”

  Now the terror truly kicks in. “What’s that supposed to mean? What have you done to him?”

  The knife pokes harder, drawing a small amount of blood and making me wince from the pain. The heat of the blood spreads down my skin, hits my clothing and begins to cool. I think Isabel feels the knife cut into my flesh, because she lets out a tiny moan of pleasure.

  “Just be a good girl, Leah, that’s all I’m asking.”

  There are little roads built into the campsite, making it feel as though we’re walking through a housing estate somewhere. The place is not silent, but it feels half-asleep. TVs and radios, conversations, dogs barking, the beat of music coming from the visitor’s centre—all of it is strangely lacklustre as I walk alongside my serial-killer stalker. Where are the police? They should be here by now, shouldn’t they?

  A couple approach us arm in arm, walking their little Yorkshire terrier on a lead. The knife blade retracts slightly, and when I turn my head, I notice Isabel slip it back into the sleeve of her top. She stares at me, and I realise it’s the first time we’ve locked eyes since she caught me outside the caravan. Despite having lost some weight, she appears to be healthy and well, with neat, blonde hair cut just below her chin, and even a little blusher on her cheeks.

  “Tom,” she whispers, not needing to utter anything else in order to make me behave myself.

  “Evening,” says the man, nodding his grey head. His waterproof jacket rustles as he walks. “Nice now the rain’s stopped.”

  “Until it starts again,” Isabel replies, rolling her eyes in a comical fashion.

  “Have a good night,” says the man’s wife or female friend.

  “You too,” Isabel shoots back sunnily.

  As soon as we’ve passed the couple, the knife is back, finding the tiny tear in my flesh from her previous cut. I hiss and pull away from her slightly.

  She makes a tutting sound. “You were a little quiet there. What will they think of us? Really, Leah, I do hate to come across as the chatty one in this relationship.”

  “Shut your fucking mo—oh!” The knife digs in again.

  “While that little show of spirit does amuse me, I think you’re forgetting who has the knife. Like I said, behave yourself, Leah, or I’ll gut you right here, right now, and Tom will die alone. Is that what you want?”

  “No.” The strange sense of calm that seeped through me at the beginning is now gone. My legs feel jelly-like and unnatural as I keep walking, and my heart pounds and pounds, so fast it’s frightening.

  I got us away from her once. I can do it again. But when we escaped last time, I knew my surroundings. It might have been pitch-black on the moors, but I had a vague idea of where to go and who could help me. Seb. My mind goes to him, as it often does when I’m in need of comfort. Think, Leah. My phone is in my jeans pocket. Isabel didn’t think of that, did she? She forgot to take my phone. That in itself is strange. She’s usually one step ahead. It almost seems as though she hasn’t planned this.

  I watch her carefully as we move through the caravan park. Her eyes roam left and right, and she hesitates at turnings, occasionally chewing on her bottom lip. Is Isabel nervous? I’ve seen her act nervous before. I’ve seen her pretend to be afraid, upset, and joyously happy. I’ve seen every range of emotion from her, but all of them were fake.

  What if this was an unplanned attack? For all I know, Isabel was staying here in the caravan park, or at least very close to it. Her clothes are different this time around. Last time, she was dishevelled, and it was clear that she had been sleeping rough. She was wearing anti-scent jackets and tough, hardwearing boots. Today, she’s in jeans and a blouse with a cardigan. No coat. Why wouldn’t she wear a coat if she was planning on stalking me in the rain?

  The most important part of all this: if Isabel’s attack was one of fortitude and not planning, what has she done with Tom? He was gone no more than around twenty minutes. Isabel had time to frighten him and lead him away, but did she have time to set up something that puts his life in danger? There is no pulley system to tie him up. As far as I’m aware, there aren’t any outbuildings in the area, and surely a caravan would be too risky. What has she done with him?

  “How did you find me?” I ask, hoping that if I get her talking, she might begin to drop her guard and reveal further information. We’re approaching the back of the park, which means we’re about to leave the area. Surely, Tom can’t be much farther away. We’ve been walking for at least five minutes.

  “I got the internet to do it for me.”

  “So it was you who leaked my real name and photograph. And then you waited for someone to recognise me in Clifton. Clever.”

  Isabel’s eyes flash to mine. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were trying to flatter me. You know it won’t save your life.”

  “I know that.”

  She lets out a low chuckle. “See, this is what I love about you, Leah. There’s always that little glimmer of hope that you latch on to and won’t let go. What else are you hopeful about? I can’t wait for you to tell me what you’ve been up to here. I went to where you work, and I saw you there.” She swings open a small gate, letting us out of the caravan park and onto a footpath. She shuts it behind us and gives me a little push to keep going. “I saw you in a room with an old man, tucking him in like he was your baby. And the funny thing is, from what I heard, you aren’t even a nurse anymore. But it seems to me that you have yourself a new project. I know you love a project. It used to be me. Who was it before me? Tom? Poor kid. When did you get bored of him? No, not Tom. I’m guessing a boyfriend. Or was it one of the gangsters you worked with in the other asylum for the criminally insane.”

  “That’s not what they’re called.”

  “Oh, forgive me for not being politically correct. I’m too busy trying to commit a murder.”

  I’ve only seen Isabel this gleeful once before, and it was when she was taunting me at the abandoned farm. And then I realise: “This is the only way you find happiness.” I stop and stand, prompting Isabel to push the knife back into the wound she cut on our way out of the park. “The only way you can be happy is by being cruel to another human being. And not just any human being; the one you want. It’s all about the hunt and kill with you. Is that what it was like for you when you hunted Alison Finlay down and killed her? Or that homeless girl you threw in a river?”

  Isabel smiles, and the moonlight catches her pink lips. She shakes her head slightly as though she’s laughing at a private joke. “First of all, I did not hunt Chloe, the homeless girl. Her death was a necessity, because she realised who I was. I couldn’t have that, clearly, not if I was going to finally find you. And second of all…” She trails off, stopping suddenly and clutching my shoulder with one hand.

  A surge of adrenaline runs through me. Is it the police? Have they finally shown up? Then I realise that Isabel is staring at a cluster of bushes to the right of the path.

  “Here we are. Finally. I wasn’t sure I’d actually find it again.
Leah, be a doll and root around in those bushes. You might find something you want to keep.”

  I drop to my knees and push the foliage aside, groping the ground in the dark. First a shoe, then a pair of jeans and a muffled cry.

  “Tom!” My hands grasp his legs, pulling as hard as I can. He kicks out with bound feet. “Tom, it’s all right. It’s me.” He wiggles himself down as I yank his ankles free of the thickset bush. When his torso emerges from the bush, I grab hold of his bound hands and pull the rest of him out.

  Tom sits up, wide-eyed and afraid, his mouth gagged with duct tape. I reach forward to remove it, but Isabel places a hand on my shoulder.

  “Ah-ah. You can untie his feet, and that’s it.”

  “If anyone sees us—” I begin.

  “We’re not going far,” Isabel says. “I’m going to risk it.”

  I turn and face her. “You lied to me. You said he was in immediate danger.”

  “He was. He created an immediate danger for me. If someone had seen him…” She shrugs, smiling again.

  “You haven’t planned any of this, have you? You saw Tom in the caravan park, forced him to tell you which van we were staying in, then brought him here and tied him up. Then you came back to me. You don’t have a plan at all. What’s the matter? Struggling to be a first-class serial killer without Daddy here to help you?”

  The knife finds a sensitive spot just beneath my rib cage, and when I cry out in pain, she slaps me round the mouth.

  “Time to shut up now. Get him on his feet and follow me.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  As I help Tom to his feet, I hear the strains of a siren. Isabel stops dead, her eyes roaming the path. She remains unnervingly still and silent. It’s like watching a hunter get the first whiff of its prey. Her eyes widen in surprise.