Behind Shadows: A Psychological Mystery Thriller (The Adam Stanley Series Book 1) (8 page)

My heart jumped in my chest. She was dead right, I had questions. Shocked that my session had finished already, I put my shoes back on and numbly walked to the door.

"Goodbye, Amanda. Book your next appointment with Monika on your way out. Oh, and by the way, that was a good session. Well done."

I wanted to scream,
you cold bitch
! But I didn't.

***

Once home I typed Dissociative Identity Disorder into Google again. The first time Freda had suggested it, I'd been horrified. We'd been talking about Sandra and Peter at the time, my foster parents, and the reason I'd removed myself from their lives. To my mind I was protecting myself. I needed to avoid risking their rejection.

Another classic symptom, Dr Freda had said.

In my last internet search, I hadn't been able to get past the multiple personalities. Reading it now, I was surprised how many of the symptoms I had. I knew I had better not tell Michael. In his perfect world, mental illness was not acceptable. He'd have me locked up in a nuthouse if it was up to him.

My foster mother, Sandra, had been on my mind a lot recently. I'd lived with her and Peter for three and a half years—the only normal school-aged years of my life. Peter died when I was away in Italy.

I kept in touch with Sandra for a while. She always treated me as her long-lost daughter when I made an effort to visit. But I hadn't been able to handle the feelings she evoked in me. My own mother had never cared enough, yet this woman couldn't care more if she tried.

Maybe it was self-preservation—if I kept my distance, I wouldn't be let down. Anyway, for whatever reason, I stopped visiting. I hadn't seen her since I was pregnant with Jacob. I wasn't even sure if she'd want to hear from me after all this time.

I needed to think about things a while longer.

***

I stared at the TV screen, numb with shock. I couldn't get the image of that woman's face out of my head. Reaching for the phone, I dialled Michael's number, but it went straight to voicemail.

"Michael," I said calmly. "You need to come home as soon as possible. I need to go somewhere urgently—please call."

I ran upstairs and changed from my nightdress back into my jeans and T-shirt, still reeling from what I'd seen on the ten o'clock news. I knew I had no choice but to face this right away.

Back in the lounge, I began pacing a groove into the carpet. I'd seen very little of Michael over the past couple of days, I’d been busy at work, and he avoided me when I got home, hanging around long enough to hand over the children. He wasn't even trying to disguise his affair anymore, and I was past caring.

I heard a key in the lock and Michael rushed in, out of breath. "What is it, Mand, what's wrong?"

"I need to go out. Please stay with the children and deadbolt the door. I'll call you when I'm on my way home."

"Why? What is it? What's happened? Wh …"

"Later, Michael," I interrupted. "I'll tell you later."

I parked my car next to the only other vehicle in the car park. I'd expected it to be much busier for a Friday night.

The sergeant on the desk looked as though he was about to nod off and jumped to his feet when I entered. "Yes, Miss, what can I do for you?"

"Good evening, Officer. I need to speak to DS Stanley, please."

"I'm sure he's already left for the evening. Can I get the duty officer for you?"

"No. I'm sorry to be a nuisance, but it has to be DS Stanley. He gave me his card, but I've misplaced it. He said I could contact him at any time." My voice sounded shaky.

"I'll call him for you—can I say what it's regarding?"

"It's about the murder in Peckham. Tell him I know who did it."

He did a double take at me before writing down my details, and then he went into the back office to make a call.

The officer came back through and called me to the desk. "He had left for the night, Miss, but he's on his way back. You may have a little wait though. Are you sure you wouldn't like to talk to the duty officer?"

"No. I'll wait, thank you."

A short while later Detective Stanley breezed into the waiting area. He was dressed in grey slacks and a white t-shirt that showed off his well-built chest to perfection. Unfortunately, the casual black jacket he wore over the top restricted my view.

"Mrs Flynn, it's nice to see you again."

He bent towards me with his hand outstretched, and I suddenly felt claustrophobic, pushing myself into the chair as far as I could. I hadn't realised how huge he was.

I shook his hand and felt that same zing of electricity that I’d felt the last time we met. I was relieved when he stepped back, giving me space to stand up.

"I'm sorry to bother you so late, but this couldn't wait till the morning.”

"Follow me," he said. "We’ll go somewhere a little more private, shall we?" He indicated the group of young lads who had just piled through the door—one of them gushing blood from his nose, all of them talking at once.

The sergeant on the desk pressed a button opening a door to the side of the desk and Detective Stanley led me down a corridor and through to an interview room.

"Please, take a seat," he said, holding his hand out towards the two chairs and a small table that filled the tiny room.

I sat on the chair furthest from the door.

"Can I get you a cup of tea or anything? The canteen is limited and not very nice, but the tea's wet and warm," he said.

"No, thank you. I just need to speak to you about my father. Have you located him yet?"

He pulled out the other chair and sat down, sighing heavily. His size overpowered the cramped little room. "We've had no word of his whereabouts since I last spoke to you. In fact, we've come up against a brick wall. His laptop's missing, and his car too, but his clothes and other personal effects were left behind."

He scratched his fingers through his short black hair, which promptly stuck up above his right ear.

I had to make a conscious effort to stop myself from patting it down.

"Mrs Flynn, you could have telephoned me for this. I came back here tonight because the desk sergeant said something about a murder."

"Yes. Do you know about the woman on the news tonight—the one beaten to death in Peckham."

"Vaguely. What about her?"

"She was my step-mother, Annie. I think my dad killed her." Once I'd said the words out loud my heart pounded in my throat, making breathing difficult.

"Let's not get carried away with ourselves yet, Amanda. I know it does seem like a coincidence, however that might be all it is."

"But she testified against him, too. She said he made her do those awful things and she even got a lighter sentence because of it. My dad threatened her in the court in front of everyone. He promised to make her pay, and now he has."

"I'll check with homicide, see if I can find out a bit more. Do you mind waiting for a few minutes?”

“Of course I don’t mind waiting, he’s probably coming for me next.”

Chapter 9

Adam

It had been three months since Adam had transferred from Manchester to Pinevale. He’d found it hectic at first and was certain he'd made a huge mistake, but he was beginning to settle.

His colleagues were okay. Nevertheless, he chose to keep himself to himself. Tonight they’d invited him to the local pub after their shift had finished, but Adam opted to go home for an early night instead. It was much too soon for socialising. Shit, he felt guilty enough being able to wake up every morning and face a brand-new day. He couldn't imagine partying. Maybe it would eventually happen, but not yet.

He’d arrived home to half a dozen voicemail messages from his old mum. He loved his mum dearly, but she drove him bonkers. Since his move to Pinevale, she worried about him more than ever. She seemed to forget he was a grown man and would panic if she didn’t hear from him every second day. She also had a habit of leaving a message and instead of waiting for him to get back to her; she would just keep calling his home and then his mobile, leaving a fresh message every time.

He returned her call and ate his fish and chip supper while chatting with her. She seemed in good spirits when he hung up. After a quick shower, he headed off to bed.

In typical sods-law fashion, the phone rang as soon as he closed his eyes.

He didn’t hesitate when the desk sergeant explained the reason for his call. He was concerned for Amanda Flynn. The file on Dennis Kidd had sickened him.

Not only had he sexually abused his own children for years, he was also the instigator of a paedophile ring. His children had been passed around at parties to satisfy the depraved urges of the guests. Dennis had also supplied photographs and video footage of them to a seedy sex shop in Soho, making a good income for himself.

However, the police had made very few arrests. Dennis had kept the information close to his chest and the only names he'd given them were of people already dead.

Annie had been more co-operative, although she didn't have any real information. She had pointed the finger at some influential men but offered no real proof. The investigation had more holes than his grandmother's lace tablecloth.

Adam suspected a number of palms had been greased. He detested corrupt cops more than anything, but he knew it happened in every profession the world over. He also knew most people were honest. A small minority were not. People just found it more shocking somehow when the police were the bad guys.

Dennis had also been under suspicion for the disappearance of his son, but he had never been charged in connection with it. The evidence had pointed to Andrew running away, and who could blame the lad?

Once in his office Adam called Kate King, the detective in charge of the murder, but she said she wasn’t able to interview Amanda until the morning. Kate told him that Annie had lots of enemies; most people they had spoken to detested her. Her neighbours said she brought the area down with her repeated drunken behaviour. He could imagine the uproar there'd be when they found out she was a convicted paedophile to boot.

Back outside the interview room, he looked at Amanda through the glass. Her shoulders were stooped and worry etched across her face. Adam wondered about her husband. Why would he leave her to deal with this alone, especially with a potential lunatic after her?

He thought of his own lovely wife and how he'd have been glued to her side if this had happened to her. Unexpected thoughts of Sarah brought a fresh lump to his throat. His face flushed, and the familiar palpitations in his chest were stronger than ever. He wondered if it would get any easier.

He gave himself a mental shake as he walked back into the room.

“Okay, Amanda, I’m afraid we can do no more this evening,” he said, sitting down opposite her. “DI Kate King wants to see you tomorrow morning if possible; she’s the homicide detective in charge of the case.”

“Can’t I just speak to you? Tell you what I know?”

“I’m sorry, Amanda, but I work in missing persons—this is homicide.”

“Can’t you be there too? Please, it’s still about my dad and he’s still missing. Please?” She eyed him imploringly.

Adam stood up and pushed the chair under the table. “I’ll see what I can do. Now you need be here first thing in the morning.”

His initial instincts were to run and hide, this wasn’t his case and he no longer worked homicide, his choice.

But something about this woman tore at his heart—she seemed so vulnerable, like a frightened little girl. Her large grey-blue cat-like eyes were the most haunting eyes he’d ever seen. But when she smiled, they lit up her entire face.

He knew he should stay away, but he was inexplicably drawn to her.

He also knew that no matter what, he would be there tomorrow.

Chapter 10

Amanda

I couldn't face going home right away. I called Michael, who answered on the first ring.

"Hi, I'm going to be a little longer, is everything all right there?" I asked.

"Yes fine. What's going on?"

"I'll tell you later, it’s a long story. Is the door properly locked? Have you checked on the children?"

"You're beginning to frighten me now, Amanda. Is all this connected with your dad?"

"I'll be home in a couple of hours, I’ll explain everything then,” I said, hanging up. I knew he’d freak out once he knew and I didn’t need that right now. I’d prefer to tell him in person later.

I deviated to the Kingsley house. I needed to occupy my mind for a while.

***

The house gave me an immense feeling of foreboding. Streetlights threw menacing shadows that hung about under the trees. I was grateful for the tiny torch on my key ring.

With trembling fingers, I punched in the numbers on the keypad—relieved when the hall light illuminated the deserted front garden.

I gagged at the smell from the drains, it was putrid, unbearable. I couldn't get a plumber there until Monday because it wasn't deemed as urgent with everything still working.

I had hoped to finish stripping the wallpaper in the kitchen, but I could barely breathe. When I was there during the day I opened all the windows and doors, however I couldn't do that at night. So I gave up and headed home.

The door was locked. Dead bolted from the inside as I'd insisted.

I tapped on the living-room window and heard a kerfuffle behind the door—someone was whispering and rushing around. Alarmed, I began hammering on the door.

"Michael! Michael!" I yelled. "Open the door. Michael!"

The door was opened by a rather shifty looking Michael. I pushed my way inside and was shocked to see his girlfriend in the hall.

"The fucking nerve of you, Michael. Get out of my house now! Get out, get out! Both of you—now!"

"But-"

"Get out! NO buts—just fuck off! The pair of you—go!"

I was vaguely aware of the kids crying but I was too angry to care. I shoved Michael and his tart out of the door and slammed it shut.

***

Waking up in my bed, with the children on either side of me, the memory of last night hit me. I couldn't get over Michael bringing his girlfriend to my house.

I didn't know how I was going to make it to the police station with the children in tow. Detective Stanley had said he'd be present when I met with the homicide detective. I didn't want the children with me, but I had nobody I could call for help.

Once again, I found myself thinking about Sandra. I couldn't just contact her after all this time. What would I say? "Hey, Sandra, it's me. I'm in a spot of bother. Oh and by the way, can you have my kids for the day?"

No, I needed to think this one through for a while longer.

After breakfast, I tried to tackle Emma's unruly locks, and she almost screamed the place down. In the middle of our battle, there was a knock at the front door. It was Michael.

Emma squealed and ran to him. "Naughty mummy hurted me, Daddy."

He bent and put his arms around her, scowling at me.

"She didn't want me to brush her hair, that's all," I said, shaking my head. "What are you doing here anyway?" I glared at him, not wanting a fight in front of the children.

"I came to take the kids to the park. Aren't you going to work?"

"I'm going to the police station."

He cocked his head, squinting at me with a confused expression. "What for?"

"I'd have told you last night, but you were otherwise engaged," I said, grabbing my bag I walked to the front door.

He followed. "Tell me now."

Outside, I stopped on the path, making sure the children couldn't hear. "It's about the murdered woman."

"The drunk? It's all over the news. What could you possibly know about her?"

"She was my stepmother. Oh, and by the way, Michael—if you let that fucking woman in my house again, that won’t be the only murder all over the news."

***

DS Stanley met me at the front desk as promised. He looked distinguished in his dark-grey woollen suit. Again, I was surprised at his sheer presence. He was easily 6’5” and the span of his shoulders was huge. There weren’t many men I’d met that could make me feel small and protected the way he did.

After ushering me into the same interview room, he organised coffee to be brought to us.

A few minutes later a short, overweight blonde limped into the room, seeming flustered and distracted. DS Stanley introduced her as DI Kate King and pulled a chair out for her. She was nothing at all like I'd expected.

DI King didn't waste any time getting down to business.

"Mrs Flynn—"

"Call me Amanda."

"Amanda. Could you tell us in your own words about your relationship with Annie Duncan?"

"She used to be my stepmother. Annie Kidd I knew her as, she must have gone back to her maiden name."

"What kind of relationship did you have?"

"I'm sure you already know, Sergeant. She was an evil, twisted human being. She deserves to be dead."

DI King looked at me, seeming very interested suddenly. "So you're not sorry she's been murdered?" she said.

"No."

"You told Detective Stanley you knew who killed her."

"Yes—my father, Dennis."

"What makes you think that? I was told you hadn't seen him in a number of years."

"It doesn't take a genius to work it out," I said impatiently. "He's been locked up for years, and as soon as he's released he goes off the radar. Then the woman who was his partner in crime and who testified against him is murdered. Of course it's connected."

"At this stage, I agree it might be connected, but how—I'm still unsure," DI King said.

"I also testified against him. He'll be after me next, and I'm terrified for my children."

"I understand that, Amanda, and we'll do everything we can to protect you. But I must ask—where were you on Wednesday night?"

"I worked late. I'm restoring a house in Kingsley and I lost track of the time."

"Was anybody with you?"

"No, I work alone."

"Did you see anybody? Maybe you stopped for petrol on the way home?"

“I saw a handful of trick-or-treater’s. They knocked on the door, but I don’t know who they were. I waved to their parents at the bottom of the drive. Hold on a minute—why are you asking me all these questions? Surely you don't think I had anything to do with it?"

DS Stanley was quick to reassure me. "Of course we don't, Amanda, but we do need to ask nonetheless."

"I didn't see anyone. No-one can vouch for me—I didn't get home until late, and my husband was already in bed," I shrugged. "So now what?"

The door opened. Another plain clothed detective came into the room and handed DI King a piece of paper. She read it, then passed it to DS Stanley before she made her apologies and left the room.

"What was that all about?" I asked, getting worried now. I'd come here today to help them, and suddenly they were treating me like a criminal.

"I'm not sure. I'll just go to check, I won't be long."

And he also left