Behind Shadows: A Psychological Mystery Thriller (The Adam Stanley Series Book 1) (5 page)

The handle was stiff, but after several attempts it opened. The skin on my face met with damp, cold air, vastly different to the rest of the house. I could tell by the smell of earth this was the cellar.

I shuddered and slammed the door shut, leaning my back against it while I caught my breath. No way would I be stepping foot down there.

Once I had finished, I closed the curtains and packed my things into the car ready to head home. I was still unsure of what I would do about Michael. I was glad I'd given myself chance to calm down, instead of racing home all guns blazing and shooting him through the head at point blank range—or something to that effect.

As I locked the front door, tell-tale prickles on the back of my neck caused a shudder. I walked to the end of the drive and onto the street, peering around. I couldn't see anybody, yet I couldn't shake the feeling off—someone was definitely watching me.

I got in the car. My phone flashed with even more texts from Michael.

• Very quiet today baby, normally hear from you before now x.
  

• She’s gone out, but I should get away later x.
  

• Miss you x what's wrong? x.
  

• Kids asleep—I'm lying here thinking about you, guess what I'm doing x.
  

There were also seven missed calls and two voice messages. Luckily I hadn’t set my voicemail up with a personal message, so Michael still wouldn't know whose mailbox he'd reached.

I felt sick. It was my own fault for snooping, any other woman would still be oblivious. Now I knew for sure I didn't have a clue what I was going to do about it, so I decided to do nothing for now.

The strange text message from earlier bothered me, though. It had been sent from a withheld number and didn't make any sense. At first I thought it had, but that was just my confusion filling in the gaps.

Thinking about it now, I knew that it couldn't have been related to my situation it must have been sent to me by mistake.

Chapter 5

Amanda

"Goodbye, babies, I'll be here when you get back." I kissed them both as I fastened their coats. "Michael, you will keep an eye on them won't you?"

"I always do, Amanda," he snapped.

"I know you do—keep your hair on! I'm only asking." I couldn’t help but fuss. "And keep your hats and gloves on, you two—it's freezing today." Maybe freezing was an exaggeration, but as soon as the sun hid behind a cloud there was a cold undertone.

"Awight, Mummy," Emma said.

I walked them out to the street and watched until they turned the corner. Looking up and down the street I couldn't see anybody, but I knew someone was there. The familiar prickles, much stronger than usual, felt like invisible ice fingers gripping the back of my neck.

"Piss off!" I shouted into the road, turning on the spot. "Just leave me the hell alone!"

The curtains twitched across the road. Mrs Corless didn't miss much.

"Nosy old biddy," I muttered as I walked back into the house and slammed the door.

I rarely got the house to myself and was glad of the peace and quiet. I had lots of work to do. And after my usual ritual of making sure all the windows and doors were secure, I made a cup of tea and put away the bread and milk Michael had just brought home. Then I screwed the plastic bag up and opened the drawer to try to stuff it in but was stopped in my tracks. The usually chaotic and messy drawer had been cleaned out, the plastic bags had been reduced and the remainder tied in individual little balls. This was something that I had been meaning to do, but hadn’t got around to—or had I? I knew for a fact that Michael wouldn’t have done it, he wasn’t that domesticated.

Puzzled, I picked up my tea and made my way upstairs to the spare bedroom that doubled as my office and storeroom.

It wasn't meant to be a storeroom, except for the vacuum cleaner in the corner and the ironing board behind the door, but Michael always dumped everything else just inside the door.

Today I had to climb over a box of old clothes, a basket of ironing and an acoustic guitar before I could get anywhere near my desk. Not a lot really, but the tiny room was already full to bursting with the desk and office furniture. I tidied it into some kind of order, creating a path to get in and out.

I sat in my comfy, faded-blue, swivel chair. The ancient computer took a few moments before making sounds of life. I'd had it for years, a faithful old thing, but it was much too slow now. I'd been planning to get myself a laptop but there was always something more urgent we needed to buy.

The computer opened on the last viewed page and as I read it, I broke out from head to toe in goosebumps. Finding a UK Divorce Lawyers website was bad enough but the half completed question on the website had my mind reeling.

My husband is having an affair—and I need to know a legal way to get him to leave the family home. We have two small children …

“What the …” I said aloud. I didn’t remember searching for this information, but who else could it have been. There was no way Michael would have done it, leaving incriminating evidence like this for me to find. Plus, nobody knew I was even aware of the affair.

Returning home the other day, I'd changed the numbers back in his phone and Michael had been none the wiser. Except maybe for being a bit confused as to why Toni never received any of his messages.

After the initial shock and upset had worn off that day, everything was back to normal—worryingly so.

Maybe I needed a trip to my shrink, Doctor Freda. I'd not been to see her for months, but I knew what she'd say when I told her about everything that had been happening.

The way I could switch off my feelings and emotions was a built-in safety valve as far as I was concerned. But Dr Freda had different ideas. She blamed it on some disorder stemming from my childhood trauma.

I hit the back button on the computer and scrolled through page after page of family law sites and several more search engines regarding infidelity and the custody of children.

I knew it had to have been me, but I had no memory of it at all. First the tidied out drawer and now this, I must be cracking up. I was grateful that Michael hadn’t come across it instead of me.

I closed down all the pages and erased the history before checking my emails. There were several in my inbox but nothing worth reading. I was waiting for a message from Judy with the plan of action for her property.

I got down to the business in hand—my six monthly VAT returns and paperwork for the accountant. Something I always put off until the last possible moment, and absolutely dreaded.

I'm ultra-organised in most aspects of my life, but seem to have a mental block where the financials are concerned. I never put receipts together in one place like any normal person. Instead, I have to ferret through handbags, the car, drawers, pockets and even email. And then painstakingly go through each one, putting them in date order before writing each item down.

When I heard the excited chatter of Michael and the children, I looked at my watch, surprised it was five o'clock already. I finished the last of the expenses log and rushed downstairs.

Emma and Jacob were in the hallway, Jacob still in his pushchair. The black bubble coat made his arms stick out to his sides reminding me of the Michelin Man. Michael stood outside the front door, talking to the neighbour.

"Hello, my darlings. Did you have a good time at the park?" I bent to kiss them both.

"Mummy, Mummy, we fed the ducks and a boy felled off the swing and his pants was wipped and his knee was all blood." Emma's bright blue eyes sparkled with excitement, a big smile on her cold, red face.

"Ripped darling, his pants were ripped," I corrected, undoing her pink coat and slipping it off her shoulders.

Emma's nose wrinkled as she tilted her head to one side. "How do you know?"

I laughed. "Because you told me, sweetheart. Did he cry?"

"Yes he cwied and so did his mummy, and a man in a big ambuance taked him away."

"Oh, the poor boy. You certainly did have an exciting afternoon." I unbuckled Jacob from his pushchair, removed his hat and coat and lifted him into my arms.

"Yes, and daddy boughted us an ice wolly but Jacob dwopped his on the floor."

"Lolly, darling. Daddy bought you an ice lolly," I said as I hung the coats up then walked through to the kitchen.

"I said wolly," she said irritably.

"Aw poor, Jakey, did you drop your lolly?" I said, squeezing the little lump, still in my arms.

"Din't matter," Emma said behind me. "Cos Daddy's fwiend boughted him a new one. She's nice."

My stomach did a twirl. Out of the mouths of babes, as the saying goes.

A movement caught my eye. Michael was standing in the kitchen doorway, squirming. His eyes wide open and his lips apart, he shook his head from side to side ever so slightly, as if trying to think of a way to deny everything.

No avoiding it now; his dirty little secret had to be dealt with. I didn't even care anymore. I flashed him a look I hoped dripped with contempt and he recoiled. How dare he take my kids to meet his slut of a girlfriend?

I jumped as a knock at the door brought me back to earth. I handed Jacob to Michael and followed Emma as she ran down the hall.

A tall, dark-haired man dressed in a black overcoat, grey woollen suit, white shirt and funky blue tie stood on the doorstep. "Hello there, I'm looking for a Miss Amanda Flynn," he said in a broad northern accent.

"That's me," I said, my mouth suddenly parched. "How can I help you?"

Emma stepped towards me, her arms raised up around my waist and she buried her face in my cardigan. I placed a protective hand on her head.

The man reached into his overcoat pocket and pulled out his ID. "Detective Inspector Stanley, is there somewhere we can have a little chat please, Miss?"

"It's Mrs, but you can call me Amanda. What's all this about?" My mind was working overtime, imagining all kinds of things.

"If I could come in for a minute and I'll explain."

Holding the door open, I ushered him into the living room.

Michael, who had been loitering in the kitchen doorway, now came in behind us, with Jacob still in his arms.

"Michael, this is Detective Stanley. Detective, this is my husband, Michael."

"Hello, Mr Flynn,” he said shaking Michael’s hand. “I just need a word with your wife—shouldn't take more than a few minutes.

"Can you take the children through to the kitchen please, Michael?" I unwrapped Emma's arms from around my waist and pushed her towards her dad. She made a few disgruntled sounds but grabbed on to the hand he offered.

I knew Michael hated the police. For some reason he was scared of them, even though he'd never been in trouble in his life. People in authority freaked him out and it was obvious he couldn't get out of the room fast enough. Some support he was.

The door closed, we stood awkwardly in the middle of the room.

"So what can I do for you, Detective?" I was eager to find out what the heck he wanted.

"Mrs Flynn-"

"Amanda," I interrupted.

"Amanda. I need to ask a few questions regarding a missing person's case I'm working on."

The hair stood up on the back of my neck. "Fire away," I said, trying to sound nonchalant.

"When was the last time you had any contact from your father?"

As his words hit home, it felt like my legs were about to give out on me. Staggering backwards, I steadied myself on the arm of the sofa before collapsing onto the seat.

"Mrs Flynn … Amanda? Are you all right?"

I heard him, but it sounded as though my head was under water. Pressure built up in my ears as though they were going to pop and my mouth filled with saliva.

"I'll get you a drink."

He left the room and returned moments later, glass in hand.  With Michael and the children in tow. I tried to pull myself together and sipped at the glass of water offered.

"What did you do to her?" Michael's high-pitched voice sounded irate.

"I simply asked her a question that has obviously disturbed her, Mr Flynn."

"I think you should leave!" Michael said. The children started crying.

"Not until I've spoken to your wife, sir." The detective's no-nonsense manner had the desired effect and Michael backed off.

"I'm okay, Michael. Take the children, please." I sat up and placed the glass on the coffee table, taking a deep breath.

Michael stared at me, his eyebrows raised and head cocked to the side in an unspoken question.

I nodded. "Go on. I'm fine now."

They left the room. Detective Stanley raised his eyebrows and pointed to the armchair opposite me.

"Yes, of course—sit down," I said, noticing for the first time how ruggedly handsome he was, the v-shaped scar below his right eye intrigued me. I attempted a smile. "I'm sorry, detective. I haven't thought about my father in years. Why isn't he still in prison?"

"He was released six weeks ago, Amanda. Were you not informed?"

"No! But he got twenty years. How can he be out already?" 

"I'm not sure, Amanda. And I can only apologise that you weren't contacted," he said with a half-smile and half shrug.

"Six weeks, you said?" My mind raced, and my eyes probed his face for answers.

"Yeah, almost." His eyebrows knitted together. “Why?”

"I knew it! I knew someone was watching me. Michael accused me of being paranoid, but I knew." I slapped my palm against my leg.

"What do you mean, someone watching you—has someone been hanging around?" His eyebrows puckered, and one dark brown eye closed slightly.

"I haven't seen a soul—I've just had this overwhelming feeling. Like I said, Michael thought I was paranoid." I raised my eyes to the ceiling and back to him and sighed.

"Have you received any strange phone calls?"

I cast my mind back to the past few weeks and shook my head. "No, nothing. Oh, except there was the seahorse …" Ice-cold shivers ran up and down my spine as I told him about the strange day at the zoo, about Emma vanishing and the seahorse that had appeared in her backpack.

"Emma said that I'd been the one she’d followed though, and the girl in the insect house also said she left with a woman dressed like me. Not a man—not my father," I said, shaking my head.

"Chances are it has nothing at all to do with him, but considering his history we can't rule it out. Maybe he had an accomplice and is up to his old tricks." He looked at me intently, his mouth a firm line.

"When did he go missing?" My head was in a whirl and I had a weakness in my limbs. The very thought that Emma's disappearance had something to do with my father made my soul quake.

"He didn't show up for his probation appointment, which is one of the conditions of his early release. He's supposed to report, in person, once a week for the first three months. He also needs to sign onto the sex offenders register at the local police station every three days. This is as much for his safety as for the safety of the public."