One wrong turn, p.18
One Wrong Turn, page 18
His heart pounded frantically. He felt dizzy, sick.
Grit crunched under his shoes as he backed out of the car and strode around behind it to approach along the passenger side. With his hand clutching his torch, he prepared himself for what he was about to do, then took hold of the handle of the passenger door and opened it carefully.
The dead woman’s body didn’t move. It didn’t shift or slump or begin to topple out.
Ben shivered as he opened the door wider, wedging the sill against the sodden grass bank to his side. His torchlight illuminated the horrendous blood spatter, and he tugged the sleeve of his hoodie over his hand as he reached in carefully and unhinged the glovebox.
One darting glance inside told him there was no documentation there, either.
But there was something down in the footwell between the dead woman’s feet.
A handbag.
Just like Abi’s handbag, it had been upended with its contents spilled out. He cast his torch beam from side to side, picking out a packet of tissues, some make-up, a crumpled pamphlet for a children’s soft-play facility. Leaning closer, he prodded the handbag with the multitool, tipping it over, but uncovering nothing more beneath it.
No sign of a purse. No sign of ID. Nothing that could help him find Abi.
Biting down on the inside of his cheek, Ben angled his torch up at the dead woman’s face. She had delicate features and looked to have been mid- to late thirties. Her eyes were closed, her nostrils and lips rimed with blood.
‘I’m sorry,’ he told her, into the din of the alarm. ‘We didn’t know you were here. If we had—’
Something flickered in his peripheral vision.
A bluish pulse of light from below the front passenger seat.
Ben caught his breath and dropped immediately to his haunches, shining his torch into the underside of the seat. He contorted his head and stretched and grasped as the light faded and pulsed again until his fingers brushed the plastic casing of a mobile phone.
Had it fallen out of the handbag, too?
He couldn’t hear it ringing over the blistering clamour of the alarm, and before he’d pushed himself up and taken two unsteady steps away, it had stopped vibrating.
A message flashed up on screen: Missed Call. Mum and Dad.
But that wasn’t what made Ben falter and almost drop the phone.
For a breathless second, it was as if the volume on the car alarm had been suddenly muted. The fog chilled his skin. His head went light.
The lock-screen image on the mobile seemed to shuttle towards him. It featured a family photograph of the gunshot victim, looking radiant and smiling blissfully to camera, holding a baby in her arms. The man with his arm around her was Paul.
52
‘Paul, where’s your baby?’
Paul startled, then gradually withdrew from me and glanced back at Collette as if my question made him nervous. My heart suddenly felt as empty as the car seat behind me. I had a terrible feeling I was beginning to understand the hold Collette had over him. I was starting to see what was at stake.
‘Where’s Lila, Paul? Tell me.’
He slowly raised his eyes to me and I was scared by what I saw in them. Hurt. Misery. A profound and total fear.
His lips parted and moved, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to say it.
‘Paul?’
‘She’s safe,’ Collette said. ‘For now.’
My skin crawled.
For now.
As if all of that could change. As if Collette had the power to change it.
I noticed Paul’s free hand clench into a fist and tighten very hard. His arm was vibrating, as if he was having to contain his anger and upset.
I stared out at the dual carriageway we were speeding along. Ribbons of mist twisted in my headlights and I was struck by a sudden sensation of vertigo. The darkness beyond my headlights was much too vast. The situation I was caught up in was much too big. I missed Ben so very much.
‘Where is she?’ I managed.
‘As it happens, we’re going to her now,’ Collette told me. ‘That’s where you’re driving us. You can forget about Bristol. Our destination is not too far from here.’
My eyes went to the rear mirror and Collette stared back at me plainly. She didn’t seem fazed by what she was saying or ashamed in any way. She was talking as if it was a straightforward business matter to her.
‘You took Lila?’ I asked, aware of a sharp pain in my chest.
‘Yes.’
‘When?’
‘Five days ago.’
Five days. I’d been without Ben for less than an hour and I already felt utterly broken. I couldn’t begin to comprehend what Paul and his wife had been through. The awful strain they’d been under. The stress and terror.
‘Is someone with her now?’
‘Of course someone is with her now. She’s a baby, Abi.’
‘Why did you take her?’
‘Why do you think?’
Because you’re twisted, I wanted to say. Because you’re sick. Because you’ve ruined my life tonight and I hate you more than I can say.
‘I don’t know,’ I told her instead. ‘I have no idea how anyone could do something like that.’
‘Money,’ Paul whispered. ‘She did it because she wanted my money.’
‘Oh, please,’ Collette said. ‘Abi, if you must know, most of it is his in-laws’ money. A lot of the rest belonged to Samantha. Paul married well. It’s about the only thing he did do well.’
Paul’s fist tightened again, and I thought of his wife, dead in the broken-down car, left alone in the dark. Then my mind switched to Ben and it almost undid me. I had to get back to him somehow, hold him, tell him how sorry I was for all of this, let him know I was carrying his child.
My body went cold. I felt so desperately sad.
‘Paul got into debt,’ Collette continued. ‘Gambling debts. Business debts. To name but a few. Which meant we crossed paths. You might say I’m a money manager.’
‘She means she’s a debt collector,’ Paul said bitterly.
‘Freelance, naturally. Although my services are in high demand.’
I hesitated, scared that I was falling into another trap, unsure I wanted to talk about any of this. But maybe I needed to. Maybe if I understood what had happened to Paul, or if I distracted Collette, I could find a way to get back to Ben. Maybe there would be an opening that could help me to stop this and save myself and our unborn baby.
‘Who were you working for?’
‘I was hired by some very bad people Paul got mixed up with. I suppose, for that matter, I’m a bad person myself. But I’m good at what I do. I excel at it, in fact.’
I swallowed. It was difficult hearing this. I didn’t want to believe it, or reckon with how it impacted on me, but I didn’t think Collette was lying. Based on her actions tonight, I could easily picture her identifying someone’s weaknesses and exploiting them relentlessly. I could see her being absolutely merciless in getting what she wanted.
I shuddered.
Money. A stolen baby.
What they were talking about was a kidnapping. Collette was a kidnapper. Paul and his wife were her victims. His wife had been killed. And the ransom was . . .
I turned and looked over my shoulder again, a prickling voltage snaking up the back of my neck.
The baby changing bag.
It was very full. It looked heavy. They hadn’t opened it once since they’d got into my car, but they’d made a point of bringing it with them. And part of that could have been to help to create the impression that they really did have a baby with them, but something told me it was more than that. I’d told them we didn’t have much space in my car and the only things they’d brought with them were the changing bag and the suitcase they’d put in the boot. Was there money in the suitcase, too?
‘Clever girl,’ Collette murmured, and for a disturbing second I had the unsettling feeling she could read all my thoughts. ‘You know, I’m starting to think it’s a shame we didn’t meet in other circumstances, Abi. Working as a nanny, you must know plenty of wealthy families and their children. You could have been very useful to me.’ I tried not to let her get to me, deflect me. I tried not to think about how she might have terrorized other people in the past or how she might terrorize me even more than she had already tonight.
I didn’t know how much money was in the changing bag, but it had to be a lot. Business debts. Gambling debts. A ransom for a small baby.
I guessed now I had an explanation for Paul’s brief visit to his in-laws, the one he hadn’t wanted to talk about. He must have gone there to collect some of the ransom money – perhaps most of it, according to Collette. But as to what had happened afterwards . . .
The breakdown changed everything.
My heart jolted.
Had they been driving to deliver the ransom before they’d broken down? Had Collette ambushed them, somehow?
I stilled, and it felt for a moment as if Collette had slipped her hands around my throat, squeezing tight.
I couldn’t breathe.
The air inside the car seemed to hum with a silent note of terror as I looked across at Paul, my thoughts flashing back to when we’d first encountered him. He’d been standing in the road, waving his torch for help. And hadn’t that been the act of a desperate man? The reason I’d almost hit him was because he’d placed himself in front of my car. Now, I found myself wondering if he’d been trying to force us to stop away from Collette. And if he’d succeeded in that, what might he have said?
Ben had told me to go back to him, and I’d refused. But after Ben had made me stop, Paul had run through the fog to the lay-by. When he’d arrived, he’d been short of breath. He’d been cautious and testy. He’d assessed us warily, listening to what Collette told him about us.
Looking back on it now, hadn’t it been Collette who’d managed the situation? She was the one who’d first prompted Paul by telling him we were a nice couple who’d stopped to help. And she was the one who’d created the impression she and Paul were together, and that Lila was their daughter.
Another thought struck me. When Paul had tried to take the baby car seat from Collette she’d pulled it away, refusing to let go. Had there been an unspoken warning wrapped up in that? Was that what had prompted Paul to ask us for a lift?
‘I’m sorry about Ben,’ Paul whispered.
But it was too much. Too raw. I didn’t want to hear him say those words to me. It was because of him that all of this was happening in the first place. He was the reason Collette had come into our orbit. He was the one who’d shot Ben.
A spasm of loss made me physically jolt. My throat was burning. Tears spilled from my eyes.
Suddenly, everything was more heightened, more urgent. The darkness outside seemed deeper. Our speed was faster. Everything was horribly real.
Lila.
Was she really safe, or was Paul chasing a hopeless dream?
‘You have a gun,’ I told him quietly.
Paul squinted at me in the dark as if he didn’t understand what I was saying.
‘You have a gun, and she doesn’t,’ I explained.
‘Oh, but Abi,’ Collette chimed in, ‘That’s my gun. And Paul doesn’t know where we’re going any more than you do. Not exactly. If he shoots me, Lila dies. If he threatens me, Lila dies.’ She waggled her mobile in the air for me to see. ‘I place a call or send a text, and Lila dies. Same thing if we don’t get to where we’re going when we’re expected to arrive. Paul does exactly what I tell him to do, or Lila dies. The same goes for you now, too.’
‘Why didn’t you just kill me at the petrol station? Why keep me alive?’
‘Oh, I didn’t. Paul did. And then that old man came along and, well, I could hardly kill you in front of him, could I? Not unless I was willing for things to escalate even further.’
But she could kill me now.
That seemed to be what she was saying, threatening.
I could feel a creeping across my skin. The sensation of being watched by her. Monitored by her.
I had to stop this, somehow. There had to be a way out.
Paul exhaled in a rush and tilted his head away from me, biting down on his fist. I could hear his nostrils flaring as he breathed in fits and bursts. I could sense the desperation coming off him in waves, matching my own desperation, amplifying it back at me.
I didn’t think I’d been pregnant for long and I already knew that I would do whatever it took to protect the infant growing inside me. I would say anything, do anything, obey any instructions to keep them healthy, hold them in my arms, kiss them for the first time.
Paul’s wife was dead. His baby’s life was on the line. So I understood that he was in a place where any risk would seem like a risk too far.
But I also understood that was what Collette was relying on. She needed everything to stay exactly as it was.
Which was why things had to change.
Why I had to change them.
53
I didn’t look at the gun again – I made a point of not looking at the gun – but I was thinking about it as I pressed down a bit harder on my accelerator and my speed increased.
60 miles per hour . . .
Paul had shot Ben, but he hadn’t wanted to. I didn’t think he’d wanted to. The same way he hadn’t wanted to kill me. And he was in a much worse state now than he had been then.
61 miles per hour . . .
I ached for Ben. I hated what had happened. I felt shattered without him and I knew I was very close to falling completely apart.
62 miles per hour . . .
My body felt too slack and too heavy. My chest ached constantly. My vision was blurred by tears.
63 miles per hour . . .
But I was beginning to see that Paul was as much a victim in all this as I was. He was at Collette’s mercy, too.
64 miles per hour . . .
Gary was dead because Collette hadn’t wanted to be recorded by the cameras at the petrol station. I was alive because she hadn’t wanted the old man to witness my murder. She planned on getting away with her crimes.
65 miles per hour . . .
Maybe she’d take Paul’s money. Maybe she’d even hand his daughter back to him.
I didn’t know what the odds of that happening were, but I’d say they were slim.
But me?
I didn’t have any money. I had nothing to give Collette. And I’d seen her face. I knew her name. She’d told me what she’d done.
66 miles per hour . . .
My insides turned to water.
Why would she possibly let me out of this situation alive?
Why would she ever consider letting me go?
67 miles per hour . . .
I didn’t want Paul’s baby to come to any harm, but I had to think about my baby, too. Mine and Ben’s.
68 miles per hour . . .
I wished I could tell Ben everything. I imagined him holding me, kissing me, making it all go away.
69 miles per hour . . .
I’d made a lot of bad decisions tonight, a lot of wrong turns. I really didn’t want to make one more.
70 miles per hour . . .
I shuddered and peered out through my tears as the night hurtled by outside.
The distant headlights of a solitary vehicle were approaching on the opposite carriageway, streaking our way in the thinning fog. A metal barrier ran along the central reservation, zipping by like an express train.
71 miles per hour . . .
I snatched a breath that didn’t seem to contain any oxygen and checked my side mirror.
There was nobody behind us.
72 miles per hour . . .
I was going so fast now the steering wheel buzzed and chattered beneath my palms, vibrating at the same frequency as my thrashing pulse.
If I was going to try this . . .
I glanced briefly at the gun – Paul was still gripping it loosely in his hand down by his hip – and then slowly, very slowly, I began to prise my sticky fingers off the steering wheel.
Saturday Night
10.51 p.m.
Paul wrestled with the steering wheel. He stomped intermittently on the brakes. The steering was clearly an issue. Paul was grunting from the effort of keeping the car straight.
Samantha whimpered as she braced her hands on the glovebox in front of her, stricken by the eerie quiet now that the engine had cut out.
‘What’s happening now?’ the woman asked from behind.
She pulled her gun away from Samantha’s neck a little, allowing Samantha to finally raise her head just a bit.
‘I don’t know,’ Paul said.
‘You don’t know?’
‘Right now, I’m just trying not to crash in this fog.’
‘There’s a lay-by coming up,’ Samantha told him in a rush.
Because even with such terrible visibility, she knew this road. She’d known every turn and curve from her childhood, and later when she’d passed her test and had begun driving with her friends.
The lay-by was near the bottom of the hill. And it was a sizeable one. Even with no power and dodgy steering they should be able to make it.
Thank God we still have lights.
The headlights bleached the spiky gorse banks at the side of the road, drilling through the murk.
‘Don’t brake so much,’ Samantha said.
‘What?’ Paul asked.
‘You’ll need a bit of momentum to make the lay-by. It’s not safe to stop on the road.’
Paul eased off the brake, allowing the car to coast. Samantha’s stomach lifted sickeningly, then the momentum built and the steering wheel see-sawed, and it felt seriously hairy until the road straightened out and their speed began to plummet as the pull-in appeared through the mist.
‘There!’
