“I want you to think forward to the petrol station. Mark is telling you about the incident when he was a child.”
***
“Um ... I was responsible for their deaths.”
“Sorry, Mark, I don’t understand.”
“My parents died in a house fire. I better start at the beginning. I was ten years old. At that time, my name was Frank. When they—social services—changed it, they thought it would help to choose one that was fairly similar to my own, so I became Mark. Anyway, I lived with my mother, father and brother, Kevin, in a detached property on the outskirts of Leeds. Kevin was two years younger.
“It was a large place, so we had separate rooms. It had a big garden, and the front looked out onto open fields. Of course, it’s all gone now. There’s a massive housing development there instead, loads of little boxes piled up next to each other in the space where one house—our house—used to sit. I’ve never been back, but I did look it up on Street View once. From what I remember of my childhood, things were good. Unfortunately, I wasn’t.
“I was always getting into trouble. It was mostly minor stuff, a bit of shoplifting, fighting with other kids, that sort of thing. I must have driven my parents mad. They were forever at school seeing the headmaster about my latest misdemeanour. If they weren’t there, they were more often than not down at the police station, or at least their solicitor was. I’m sure it cost them a fortune in legal fees, but they could afford it, I suppose.
“My father worked at a bank. The only reason I didn’t get expelled was that nobody else would have me. Looking back, I guess I came pretty close to being sent to a youth detention centre. My life might have turned out differently if I had. Instead, I ended up with a foster family—but that was after the fire. While I was there, they diagnosed me with ADHD.”
“ADHD?” Annalise asked.
“Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. Once they had a diagnosis, they gave me Ritalin and my behaviour improved dramatically. But that all came afterwards. I remember my parents being worried that my bad influence was wearing off on my brother. He had started to follow in my footsteps. They decided to send him to another school so we would be apart during the day. Neither Kevin nor I wanted that. It was like the two of us against the world. Despite our protests, my parents went ahead with the plan, anyway. They waited until the end of the summer term then announced that Kevin would change schools when lessons restarted.
“Kevin and I were distraught. We begged and pleaded with them, but they were adamant. My behaviour worsened, and I was put under a curfew. My parents kept me inside unless one of them was out with me. It all came to a head a week before the holidays finished. We had a ferocious row. My brother and I had a screaming match with my father. He banished us both to our rooms.
“The next day, we plotted our revenge. We planned to burn the place down.”
“Bloody hell, Mark,” Annalise said. “You set fire to the house?”
Chapter 47
Steven drove down the quiet residential street. He maintained a slow speed, his eyes darting to the left at regular intervals to read the house numbers. Twenty-four ... twenty-six. It must be the next one. A white car blocked the entrance. As he approached, a light from inside the vehicle caught his attention. Somebody was sitting in the driver’s seat, reading the screen of a mobile phone. He carried on past and pulled into an empty spot, thirty yards down the road.
He sat still for several minutes, forcing his breathing and heart rate to slow. The engine ticked as it cooled. He went through the actions in his mind, practising what he would say. No, that would never work. Nobody would believe him. He wracked his brains for an alternative, and then it came to him. He practised once more, saying the words out loud. Much better. He reached across, grabbed the jacket from the passenger seat and slipped it on. A mist had developed on the rearview mirror. He wiped a hand over the surface to check whether the vehicle was in the same place. It hadn’t moved. Sliding the courtesy light switch to the off position, he eased the door open. The night was cool, and he was glad of the extra layer of clothing.
Steven strolled towards the unmarked police car, head down. When he was ten yards away, he made a show of stopping and looking around. He swivelled on the spot, facing first one way and then the other. He retrieved a phone from his jacket, consulted the screen then resumed his journey.
When he reached the white vehicle, he hesitated and crossed to the driver’s side. He tapped on the window. The man inside glanced up sharply. A moment later he extended his hand to the door switch. Nothing happened. He immediately realised his mistake, turned the key in the ignition and tried again. This time the glass lowered with a mechanical whine.
“Excuse me,” Steven said, “but I’m looking for number twelve, Leopold Street. You don’t know where that is, do you?”
The policeman held a palm to his chest. “Christ, you nearly gave me a heart attack. I didn’t see you coming. This is Leopold Street, and this one’s number twenty-eight, so twelve must be that way.” He pointed behind him and twisted in the same direction. A sudden movement drew his eyes back to the lost pedestrian. Steven reached into his jacket and withdrew a slim object. He slid open the six-inch blade with a metallic snick. Silver glinted in the low light. He grabbed the man by the hair with one hand and drove the knife upwards into the base of his brain with the other. Blood spurted from the wound immediately, splashing Steven’s cuff. A gurgling sigh escaped from the man’s mouth, but he was already dead. He fell sideways and lay across the passenger seat, an expanding burgundy stain seeping into the cloth cover.
Steven opened the car door and wiped the stained blade on the upholstery. Returning the weapon to his pocket, he pressed the window button until the gap closed. After a final scan of the interior, he slammed the door shut. He blew out his cheeks and exhaled slowly. So far, so good. The rest should be easy.
He glanced both ways along the street. Nothing moved. He approached the gate and lifted the latch. A pool of illumination shone from behind the frosted glass pane of the front door. He prodded the doorbell and waited. Several seconds passed. He was about to try a second time when a figure emerged from a room on the left. There was a click, and the door swung open to reveal a middle-aged man wearing a dressing gown.
“Yes?”
“I’m looking for Annalise Becker.”
The man looked perplexed. “Who are you?”
“I’m with the police. Is she here?”
The man’s gaze wandered over Steven’s body and settled on the bloodstained sleeve. “She’s having a session with my wife.”
“What sort of session?”
The man frowned. “Aren’t you the one who’s been waiting in the car?”
Steven flashed a smile. “I’m sure you know what it’s like; the powers that be keep us in the dark and tell us nothing. Can you take me to her?”
The man’s eyes lowered once more to the crimson splash. “She’s very insistent about not being disturbed when she’s with a patient. Hang on. This isn’t about the girl’s sister, is it? Have they found her?”
Steven nodded. “That’s right. They located her a few minutes ago.”
“Is she okay? Um ... is that blood on your sleeve? Are you alright?”
Steven glanced down and sighed. He reached his hand into the jacket. When it came out, his fingers grasped the handle of the knife. The man backed up a step. Steven drove the razor-sharp blade into his chest and followed him into the hallway. He withdrew the weapon and stabbed down into the man’s throat. The management consultant’s hands rose to the second wound, his eyes wide in shock. He staggered backwards, his foot tripping on the hall table. Falling onto his back, he lay on the wooden floor, gasping his last breaths. His movements slowed as the pool of blood surrounding him expanded.
Steven studied his prostrate victim and rapidly concluded he was no longer a threat. He wiped the blade on his sleeve and replaced the weapon in his pocket. He pushed open the door on the left and turned
on the light: a sofa and a pair of armchairs. Next came the kitchen. On the right was the dining room, but it too was unoccupied. He marched up the stairs making no attempt at stealth. The first room was dark, but he flicked the switch anyway: a bedroom. The next door opened onto what was obviously the master bedroom, judging by the clothes strewn on the bed. Straight ahead he could see a sink. The final room was a study but also deserted. Where the hell were they?
He retraced his footsteps to the top of the staircase. A window looked out over the garden; the plot extended fifty yards from the building. Right at the end, a rectangle of light emanated from behind the curtains of what appeared to be a summer house. Steven thought back to earlier in the day when he had been following the location of the girl’s phone. He hadn’t been able to understand why the map showed her position so far away from the property. Now it made perfect sense.
At the bottom of the steps, he approached the body, taking care not to step in the expanding crimson puddle. The man’s eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling, the last trickle of blood seeping between the fingers still clutching his throat. He followed the hallway to the door that led into the back garden. Pulling it open, he stepped outside.
Beyond the semicircle of illumination cast by the hall lights, everything was cloaked in darkness except for a patch of brightness partially obscured by the low trees and shrubs. He set off towards the wooden structure. Leaves brushed his face, and he changed direction, ducking to avoid the obstruction. He stumbled over a row of stones bordering the pathway, barely keeping his balance. He cursed under his breath as he eased his way forwards.
A short distance further on, the path weaved between two bushes, and the structure came into view. It was maybe ten yards long by five wide and butted up to the wall separating the plot from the adjoining property. A door and a single curtained window occupied the front of the building. The muffled sound of a woman speaking in low tones carried through the night air, but it was impossible to decipher individual words against the rustling of the leaves in the light breeze. Occasionally, a second, slightly deeper female voice joined the conversation. He inched forwards and crouched by the door. He turned his head sideways, straining to listen to the dialogue. The girl was the one who was talking.
Steven removed the knife from his pocket and extended the blade. His heart thudded against his chest. His breathing quickened. He was so close. She wouldn’t get away this time.
Chapter 48
“Bloody hell, Mark, you set fire to the house?”
Mark narrowed his eyes, and his face drained of colour. His lips formed into a humourless smile. He flicked a glance to the passenger seat then back towards the road. “I thought you were different. I thought you’d understand.”
“Understand what? That you killed your parents?”
“You’re just the same as all the others. I was ten years old for Christ’s sake. I didn’t know what I was doing.”
“Mark, pull over.”
Instead of reducing speed, he dropped a gear and pushed his foot to the floor. The small sports car surged forward, the speedometer hitting seventy miles an hour. Still, he kept the accelerator pedal fully depressed, only lifting it momentarily to change back to a higher gear.
“Slow down, Mark. You’re frightening me.”
The car continued to accelerate. The dial touched eighty. Trees and hedges shot past in a blur as the vehicle hurtled forward. This stretch was straight but curved gently leftwards three hundred yards ahead. A ‘Reduce Speed Now’ sign signalled the approaching bend.
Annalise twisted in her seat. Mark’s face was set in an expression of grim determination. “Mark, I’m sorry. Stop the car and we can talk about this.”
“What’s the point? You’re not interested in what I’ve got to say.”
When she faced forward again, a small blue car rounded the curve in the road.
“Mark, I’m begging you. Please stop.” Annalise reached for the handbrake, but he slapped her hand away. The car swerved towards the centre line. The oncoming driver flashed his headlights as the distance between them closed rapidly. Mark still gave no indication he was going to brake. The other vehicle veered to the left, its horn blaring. Annalise grabbed the steering wheel and pulled it down. Had she done so half a second earlier, the collision could have been avoided. Instead, Mark’s sports car struck the advancing vehicle with a glancing blow. At a combined approach speed of over one hundred miles an hour, it was enough to shatter the front offside wings of both vehicles. The other car went into a spin as it careened down the road, totally out of control.
The combination of the last-second change of direction and the force of the contact sent Mark’s car into a tumble. Annalise slammed against the seatbelt. The airbags deployed immediately, surrounding both driver and passenger in a cocoon of pressurised gas. The first rotation forced the vehicle sideways. Everything turned upside down as it corkscrewed through the air. Time slowed down. Grey tarmac rushed past interspersed with dashed white lines. Just when it seemed the car was about to land on the roof, crushing the occupants in a mass of twisted metal, the rotational momentum carried it around. The wheels hammered into the blacktop with a shuddering crunch. It was as if a huge hand had picked Annalise up and tossed her into the door. Even with the protection of the airbag, her head smashed into the side window in an explosion of glass.
Annalise gasped. Her fingers dug into the armrests. Everything had been so vivid that for several seconds, she thought she still occupied the passenger seat. She blinked her eyes open, expecting to find herself sitting amidst the mangled bodywork of a wrecked car. Her heart thudded against the wall of her chest like a trapped animal trying to escape a snare. She looked down in panic, fumbling for a seatbelt clasp that wasn’t there.
A choking, gurgling sound emanated from the other side of the room. A splash of liquid landed on her leg. She reached out and touched the dark patch on the thigh of her trousers. The fingertip came up stained red. Christ, she was bleeding. Her gaze rose to the hypnotherapist’s chair. At first, her confused mind refused to accept the scene that greeted her.
Rachel Haseldene clutched her throat with both hands. Bright arterial blood pumped from between splayed fingers. The woman’s face clouded in bewilderment as her life drained away. The red bloom at her feet grew in size. She rocked from side to side, her legs twitching in an involuntary spasm.
A roiling black ring swirled around the figure standing behind the dying woman. On every previous occasion, Annalise could only pick up the bands of colour by peering sideways at a subject. Now it seemed as if she was staring directly into the heart of a raging storm, only the clouds were far darker than any weather phenomenon. She could barely make out the murderer’s features through the swirling blackness. The glint of a blade penetrated the shroud of darkness.
He advanced a pace. Their eyes locked together. “I told you this wasn’t over.”
Annalise’s mind splintered in panic. Her only conscious thought was to put as much space as possible between herself and the shadow-cloaked figure. She flung herself sideways and scrabbled across the floor on all fours until she bumped into the wall. The chair teetered on two legs for a second then toppled over.
The man stepped forward. Annalise shifted her gaze to the wicked knife. She filled her lungs and screamed. A lazy smile crossed his face. “You can scream all you like. It won’t help.”
Annalise forced herself upright and lunged for the door. The man’s left arm circled her waist and dragged her back. She swung an elbow, the blow connecting with his temple. Momentarily dazed, he staggered and dropped the knife. His eyes flicked to the weapon, but he made no attempt to retrieve it. He continued to block her route of escape. She feinted to the left then darted to the right. The man shifted to the side, seized her by the arm, and tossed her against the wooden wall. As she scrambled to her feet, he closed the gap between them to less than a yard.
She backed away from him towards the corner of the small room. “What have you
done with my sister, you bastard?”
The killer grinned. “She’s alive for now.”
Annalise edged backwards until her foot struck something solid. She was cornered.
“Why are you doing this, Mark?”
Still, he came forwards. “He has to pay.”
“What’s happened to you? Who has to pay?”
He laughed. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
Then he lunged, arms outstretched. Annalise attempted to fend him off. His hands locked around her throat. She tried to dig her fingers beneath his, but he was too strong. She kicked out and connected with his shin. He grunted in pain but continued his attack. The pressure increased. Her oxygen-starved lungs refused to inflate as his grip intensified. Her vision turned grey at the edges. She felt herself slipping. The darkness reached out to envelope her. Moments later, he loosened the lock encircling her neck and allowed her unconscious body to slide down the wall.
Chapter 49
Dan Becker stroked his wife’s hair. She lay across the seats in the police station waiting room, her head resting in his lap. His fingers performed slow rotations over her temples. Glancing down, he studied the dial of his watch: one thirty-five in the morning. A steady stream of policemen and women had come and gone over the last hour. Several cast curious glances at the couple as they waited for news of their daughter.
“Don’t stop that,” Sophie said. “It feels nice.”
Dan resumed the circular pattern.
“Do you remember when they got into my makeup bag?” she asked. A half smile crossed her lips.
“Yeah. Annalise would have been about five and Beatrice three. I’ve never seen anything like it. How two kids could make so much mess in such a short space of time is beyond me.”
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