Perfect Stranger: A gripping psychological thriller with nail-biting suspense Page 8

  That explained the guy with the mic and the guy with the camera earlier that day, rushing into the hospital to record Simone’s words before she changed her mind about giving them up. They hadn’t brought any special lighting, so maybe they had had to improvise when she said she didn’t want her face shown to the country. Hence why the interviewer was faceless, too. At least the dark hid his annoyed expression.

  She had some memories back, she said. The interviewer might have had a series of linear questions planned, but either he didn’t stick to it or the video had been edited, because Simone Baker had refused to answer this or that. Either way, it was a bit of a disjointed shambles, like a dodgy highlight reel.

  ‘Did you see your attacker’s face?’ the interviewer asked.

  ‘I didn’t. He was masked, and it was dark. The park was dark. I didn’t hear him coming. He grabbed me from behind.’

  ‘And how are you feeling?’

  ‘I’m okay. The bruising is healing. He broke two of my fingers, but I think that was when I tried to defend myself. He hit me with a pipe: I remember seeing copper. Like a copper pipe. But it had foam padding on. I remember that, too. Foam padding. He hit me with a pipe but it had foam padding. It must by why I survived.’ She paused. ‘I am waiting for test results. I’m not ready to go back out yet. Nightmares and things. Not yet. But I’m taking up a bed. I don’t want to take a bed someone ill needs.’

  ‘What about the voice? Did you recognise the man’s voice?’

  ‘I didn’t. But he knew me. I know he knew me.’

  ‘And how’s your family coping?’

  ‘As well as they can, I guess.’

  ‘The police just released details of an arrest made this morning. A 21 year-old man from Manor Castle. Do you know who this man is? Is he your attacker?’

  Simone’s silhouette shifted uncomfortably. ‘I’m not supposed to say anything about that.’

  ‘But you said your attacker knew you. What makes you think this?’

  And here she gave a lengthy statement which perhaps explained the rough cut. Maybe the segment had been allocated only a couple of minutes, but the editor had dumped other portions of the interview to focus on this gold mine.

  ‘“You expected to be happy, didn’t you?” That was what he said. I remember it now. “You cut me out of your life and ruined mine. You expected a long life, but you cut me out and now look! Are you happy now without me?” That was what he said each time he struck me. “Are you happy right now without me? Are you happy right now without me?”’

  Here the interviewer turned his head from her and there was a commotion offscreen.

  The video cut to the interviewer, standing in a hospital corridor with his face returned and his smart suit on show, telling the camera, the captivated world, that the hospital staff and the police had intervened to terminate the interview.

  It was obvious why, Chris thought. Her words – Are you happy now without me? You cut me out of your life – had given the game away, ruined the police’s big reveal. Sounded exactly like the sort of thing a jilted ex-boyfriend would say. Slam dunk.

  Fifteen

  At dinner, Chris was still thinking about Simone and having to talk to the police, but a nasty event in a nearby city was about to change all that. It started with a ringing doorbell.

  Julia jumped out of her seat to answer it. Rose didn’t seem to care, but Chris perked up an ear, listening. He remembered smelling male deodorant in her room. If he heard a young man’s voice, he was going to go storming out there and interrogate both of them about their relationship.

  ‘Katie? What happened?’ Julia said.

  Chris and Rose looked at each other. Katie.

  Julia returned with Katie behind her. Rose gasped at her appearance. She wore blue jeans and a white Eiffel Tower T-shirt and both were as blackened as her face. She looked like a coal miner. Her smoke-stained hair was still in a bun, but myriad strands had come free and one clump was stuck to her face, right through that scar.

  ‘My god,’ Rose said. ‘What the heck’s happened?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Katie said, ‘but I didn’t know where else to go. I lost all my clothing. My flat just burned down.’

  Chris didn’t move, but Rose got up and rushed to the sink to wet a teatowel. Both girls fired questions as Katie wiped her face. They crowded and fussed over her like A&E staff around a car crash victim, while Chris sat and didn’t know what to say or think. Katie seemed emotionless, still numbed by her ordeal.

  Rose turned Katie away from Chris, grabbed the blackened T-shirt and tried to lift it, meaning to remove the garment. But Katie pushed her hands away and tugged the waistband further down, then both cuffs. They were elastic and bit into her skin.

  ‘Don’t fuss, please,’ she said. ‘It’s fine. Just smoke. Please. I don’t want to be a pain. You’re in the middle of dinner. Sorry.’

  ‘I won’t hear of it,’ Rose snapped. She forced Katie into a chair at the table. Now that it was clear she was unhurt, curiosity set in. Rose and Julia demanded to know what had happened. Chris only wondered why Katie had decided to venture here.

  ‘I was working on my bike,’ Katie said, staring down at the table. ‘Out in the garden. Then I saw flames in the kitchen. I couldn’t believe it. I tried to get inside, but by then it was too late to kill the blaze. I got my bike out of harm’s way, the only thing I could save. I called the fire brigade, but there was nothing else I could do. I just stood on my street and just watched everything I owned go up in smoke. It was awful…’ She looked like she was on the verge of tears. ‘I know I should have waited to talk to the police and fire people, but I just had to get away, get somewhere, see someone. I know it was silly to just ride away like that, but I wasn’t thinking straight. I’m sorry.’

  ‘No, don’t be,’ Rose said. ‘You did the right thing coming to somewhere comfortable instead of standing around in the cold like that.’

  Somewhere comfortable? Chris thought.

  ‘And you can always talk to the authorities later. So don’t be sorry.’

  ‘But I am. And I’m sorry about this.’ Katie held up the tea towel, which was blackened from her face.

  Julia snatched it. ‘Don’t worry about that. Mum, can she have some of your clothes? She’s ruined that Eiffel Tower T-shirt.’

  ‘Yes, of course. Chris, take Katie upstairs and let her use the shower while we find her something to wear.’

  ‘Yes, and then we should take Katie back to her flat,’ Chris said. ‘Like she said, she should talk to the police about the fire and maybe see the full damage.’

  ‘That can wait,’ Rose said, giving him a sharp glance. ‘Let her get her wits back about her first.’

  ‘I really don’t want to be a pain,’ Katie said. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt your dinner. I must be smelling out your house. I’m sorry.’

  Yet you came round here, Chris almost said. This time he decided he was being too harsh. Maybe Ron Hugill’s murder, her mother’s suicide and now a house fire had weakened an already fragile mind, and like a lost soul she’d sought out the one person everybody at some point looked to for help.

  A father.

  Chris got up, reached across the table and put a hand on Katie’s shoulder, and although the gesture was more act than instinct, it wasn’t without sincerity.

  ‘It’ll be okay,’ he said. ‘Let’s go get you cleaned and changed.’

  Chris quickly made the bed before Katie entered the bedroom. For some reason, he didn’t want her to see the sheet that he and Rose slept on. Strange, but there it was. He pointed to the en suite.

  ‘Towels are in the airing cupboard. You okay?’

  Katie’s eyes soaked up the room. ‘Of course. I didn’t get hurt. I just don’t want to put anyone out by staying here too long.’

  And just how long did she think was too long? Three hours? A day? He tried to think of some hints to drop that an overnight stay was out of the question. ‘So, you have your own flat? You don’t stay at th
e Blue Swan?’

  ‘No, no, the pub is up for sale. Has been for months. My mum and Ron put it on the market when she got ill. I moved out two years ago.’

  ‘At sixteen? You got your own flat at sixteen?’

  She was still looking around the room, which wasn’t big or littered enough to warrant such scrutiny. He knew she didn’t like his question. Her answer was vague. ‘I only recently got the flat. I stayed elsewhere.’

  He didn’t push it. ‘The shower is there. I’ll get you some clothing.’

  While Katie showered, Chris went downstairs. He found his wife and daughter sorting through clothing in the tumble dryer. Like scavengers, he thought. Going all out to aid Katie. He didn’t know why it annoyed him. Rose held up a pleated skirt, but Julia grabbed it and threw it aside.

  ‘No, Mum, I don’t get the impression she’s into pleated silk. Find jeans. A T-shirt.’

  Chris let them ignore him for a few more seconds, then said, ‘A bit off that she just rode away to come here without waiting to see the fire brigade and the police.’

  Rose tutted. ‘Would you want to hang around in the dark and watch your home burn? She can go tomorrow morning.’

  Clearly he was the only one who thought Katie’s fleeing the scene strange. ‘Does that mean you’re wanting her to stay the night?’

  ‘She should, she’s got no flat,’ Julia replied. Rose agreed.

  ‘Just one day, though?’ he said. ‘We can help her find a place tomorrow. She’s probably got friends she can stay with anyway.’

  Rose gave him a disapproving look. He added that they had a full house, but that seemed to make things worse. Rose found a pair of jeans and tossed them beside a plain T-shirt Julia had located.

  ‘Dad, Mum told me about Katie’s mother’s funeral,’ Julia said. ‘She said it’s okay for us all to go. I’d like to come, be supportive.’

  ‘Of course,’ he said.

  Julie pecked him on the cheek. ‘Thanks, Dad.’

  Rose jammed the trousers and T-shirt into Julia’s hands. ‘Take those upstairs.’

  As soon as Julia was gone, Rose torched Chris with her eyes. ‘What kind of bizarre attitude is that? Are you scared to have her here? She’s not a stranger off the street.’

  Having his inner feelings exposed irritated him. ‘She came right in off the street, Rose, and yes, she is a stranger.’

  ‘But your daughter, maybe.’

  ‘We don’t know—’

  She thrust a balled pair of socks into his hand. ‘I said maybe, didn’t I? From what we do know, she’s a nice girl. You saw her; she obviously feels put out coming round here.’

  ‘I know. But this isn’t easy for me, Rose.’

  ‘It’s not a walk in the park for any of us. I agree it’s a little bit weird that her first instinct was to drive right here, to another city, but I’m trying to project the right image. What if she reads the bad attitude pulsing off you like a bad smell? I don’t want you to mention it in front of her again.’

  He fiddled with the socks just to buy time to think.

  ‘You’re going to be nice to her, Chris. Long-lost daughter or stranger off the street, I don’t care. Her flat just burned down and she narrowly escaped. Stop this weakness—’

  ‘Weakness?’

  ‘Exactly that, Chris. That’s all this is. You’re scared. Head-in-the-sand. It’s understandable. But it has to stop. I want you – you – to offer Katie a roof here for a few days.’

  ‘A few days? She might not want—’

  ‘Then she’ll leave, won’t she? All on her own. A few days. Use those exact words. And ask her if she minds Julia coming to the funeral on Friday.’

  Julia thumped back downstairs. Rose pointed at the socks in Chris’s hand. ‘She’ll need those, won’t she?’

  Another trick, he realised. First, she’d got him alone for a telling-off, and now she was sending him to Katie. Alone.

  When Chris carefully leaned into the en suite doorway, he saw Katie at the bathroom mirror, still wearing her ruined Eiffel Tower T-shirt but no bottoms. A towel was wrapped around her waist and legs. She was up close to the glass, analysing her teeth.

  Chris froze, staring at Katie’s skinny legs. They were raspy and mottled in myriad places – burns, he realised. Not bright and red raw, like the surface of Mars, but insipid and hardened, like the surface of the Moon. From the ankles right up to the knees, where the towel started. And maybe beyond. Chris knew he was looking at ancient fire damage. Katie sensed him and turned.

  She didn’t seem the least worried about having her terrible skin on show, but Chris felt ashamed that he’d been caught staring. He quickly turned away. ‘Rose wants me to ask if Julia is allowed to go to the funeral on Friday.’

  There on the floor, next to Katie’s smoke-soiled jeans, were two items. One was a small black travel clock. That explained the constant ticking from her. The second, far more intriguing item was a notebook. Pretty old-looking, battered, well-used and clearly a personal treasure. Like a diary. There was a half-moon of something shiny poking out of its pages. A compact disc.

  ‘Of course. I don’t mind at all. If you’re okay with it.’

  The disc said ‘MUM’ in thick black marker.

  ‘Mr Redfern? Did you hear? I said it’s okay.’

  Chris turned to face her again, this time embarrassed that he’d probably been spotted staring at the notebook. All he could think of to say was, ‘Please, call me Chris. Normally when someone calls me Mr Redfern, it’s because I’ve done something wrong.’

  Katie smiled. She held up the T-shirt Julia had given her. ‘Okay. Chris it is. I feel cold. Have you got a jumper instead?’

  He found an old pullover in the wardrobe. One of his, but he doubted she’d have a problem with that. He handed it and the socks to her and closed the door. When he sat on the bed to wait, the notebook drew his attention once more. He convinced himself he’d get caught red-handed if he touched it, even for a second.

  Katie came out the en suite a minute later. Rose was fairly slim, despite inaction because of her arthritis, but even so her jeans and T-shirt highlighted how thin Katie was. She bent to pick up her clock but ignored the notebook. ‘I carry this everywhere. I’m funny about time.’

  Chris didn’t want to mention the annoyingly loud ticking. ‘I guess I should get these clothes into the wash.’ He turned to go, eager to not be alone with her any longer, but the sound of her voice stopped him at the door.

  ‘Just ask me.’

  ‘Ask what?’

  ‘Drunk people and children. They’re the only ones who ask. They ask in the street. They shout it across roads. They don’t have that chip in their head that reminds them to be polite. Everyone else pretends they haven’t noticed. They make a hard effort not to look. As if everything is normal. But you might be my dad, Chris. You should ask.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  Of course he did, and Katie knew it. ‘I was a stupid five-year-old who thought it would be fun to play with fire. Turns out lit polystyrene is its own version of napalm. Sticks to the skin, continues to burn. It was awful.’

  Before he could react, Katie abruptly darted into the bathroom again, and closed the door. But in the last moment before she turned away, he sensed bitterness. Possibly because he hadn’t displayed more sorrow and horror.

  Or because he hadn’t been around to stop her getting hurt all those years ago?

  Katie stood in the living room doorway, smart and clean, and once more beautiful. Her hair was now in a ponytail, radiant as a summer cornfield. She did a twirl as Julia clapped.

  ‘Makes a change to see someone not grumpy in that pullover,’ Julia said.

  ‘Julia used to run off to another room to scratch her bum when she was a toddler,’ Chris said. His daughter blew a raspberry at him.

  Rose said, ‘Chris won’t mind. Will you? If Katie keeps that clothing?’

  As if he had a choice after that. ‘Sure. Christmas is coming and I’ll get anothe
r tacky jumper.’

  Rose flicked him a glance, meaning she’d read the sarcasm behind his joke. ‘Thank you, Katie, for inviting us to your mother’s funeral. I know this will be a tough day for you. But for now – tea, everyone?’

  ‘I shouldn’t,’ Katie said. ‘You’ve already got one guest. I don’t want to intrude.’

  Chris felt his heart lurch. Julia hung her head and scuttled for the door, barely holding back the tears. Rose glared at Chris as she made the connection. ‘Ah. I understand. We don’t have a guest, Katie. Chris will explain in the kitchen. Do you mind, Chris?’

  She went in pursuit of Julia.

  Once alone with Katie, he boiled it down. ‘Julia’s friend got attacked. She’s not here.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that. Is she okay?’

  ‘She will be. My wife didn’t know I’d told you Simone was staying here.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. You didn’t know. You expected Simone to be here. It’s fine. But we’re sort of not talking about her around Julia unless Julia brings it up first. It’s painful for her.’

  ‘I understand. Julia’s friend. I won’t mention it again.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Julia returned, Rose following. Julia seemed to realise there had been a conversation about her and gave a thumbs up to show she was okay. Katie mirrored the thumbs up and announced she would make the tea. Julia offered to help. Rose waited for his eyes to meet hers, then walked into the hallway. He knew he was meant to follow.

  As soon as she whirled on him near the stairs, he blurted an explanation.

  ‘I mentioned Simone staying because Katie wanted to go for a drink yesterday but I couldn’t because I was picking Simone up. Katie won’t mention her in front of Julia again.’

  ‘Not that. Did you offer her a roof yet?’

  Chris shook his head. ‘Maybe she won’t want to stay. Maybe she shouldn’t. She should go see the police to explain what’s happened.’