Obsession, p.19
Obsession, page 19
Heard I was coming back? How had he even heard I’d gone to Spain?
I stopped on the pavement and he came right up to me and we stood there awkwardly.
‘The rumour mill has been working overtime,’ I said. ‘I felt my ears burning from over a thousand miles away.’
‘There’re no rumours,’ Adam said, talking to me as sternly as I’d spoken to him. ‘It’s a fact you went gallivanting off to Spain on some hurriedly dreamed up espionage mission, which resulted in you being attacked and nearly kidnapped by thugs.’
I glared at him. I really didn’t like his accusatory tone, and the fact that Cath – who else? – had obviously told Adam all about my trip. Why?
‘You know what?’ I said. ‘It’s none of your business.’
‘I’m worried about you.’ His stance and his features softened a little.
‘You don’t need to be.’
‘Clearly that isn’t true. Do you even know who attacked you?’
‘No.’
He shook his head. Something about the way he spoke irked me, as though he felt everything that had happened was my fault. ‘And I take it, given your quick turnaround, that you haven’t come home to rest up and take stock.’ He glanced to the overnight bag on my shoulder.
I didn’t say anything.
‘I know you well enough, Nat, to know what happens when you get stuck on an idea.’
‘Jesus, Adam, already making this about you.’
‘My point is, I know you’re already fully invested into whatever you’re doing. So I’m not going to stand here and try and talk you down.’
‘Then why are you here?’
‘I can help you. Wherever you’re going, I’ll come with you. I can drive you. You’re probably shattered. I’ll keep you company. I’ll help keep you safe.’
An unexpected turn. Although only slightly. For months now Adam had kept in contact with me, tried his hardest to get back into my good books, toeing a line very carefully, never quite falling to the side of plainly criticising me about anything. Honestly his niceness grated sometimes. I preferred the real Adam who’d tell me straight up what he thought. Maybe I should have just cut him out one hundred percent. What was the point in stringing him along? Is that what I was doing?
‘I’ll let you know if I need your help,’ I said.
He stared at me. I knew he wanted to say something else to try to persuade me, but I’d shut the conversation down. After a few moments of silence he huffed and strode back to his BMW.
I waited until he’d driven away before I moved off to my car – my old, banged up VW Golf, 130,000 miles on the clock. The annual insurance cost several times more than the car was worth, but it got me from A to B. Mostly. Although mostly A to B were short trips, commuting. Cross-country travel? I’d never before attempted it.
I sat down in the driver’s seat and fired up the rattly old diesel engine. Or tried to at least. It turned over several times.
Perhaps I should have taken Adam up on his offer after all.
I thumped the steering wheel in frustration then tried again. Finally the engine clanked to life and I got on my way.
An hour? Perhaps with no traffic, and if I knew the route and my destination. I didn’t. So one hour became nearly two, by which point I was tired and grouchy and hungry and questioning all over again what the hell I was doing. I probably should have had a break to gather my thoughts, but instead I parked outside the gates to the Patterson’s family home and got out and looked around.
A quiet, leafy suburban road. The houses sat on wide plots and little of the buildings was visible from the road because of the dense foliage and high walls. I walked up to the gates where I spotted an intercom, but the pedestrian side gate wasn’t locked, so I walked on through.
The sweeping gravel drive ran up to a large, detached redbrick home. Not exactly immaculate, its age – charm? – showed through in the patchy brickwork, the slightly wonky chimney breasts, the creeping ivy, though it was undoubtedly handsome. Certainly pricey, too, given the area, but quite a different style to the slickness and sleekness of Sotogrande.
I walked up to the oversized wooden front door, pressed the bell then slammed the knocker a couple of times too, the thud of which echoed beyond.
I looked behind me as I waited. Noted the two cars parked by the double garage. A big, shiny Mercedes SUV. A much smaller, but equally new and shiny Audi.
The door opened. I spun back. Opened my mouth then hesitated when I clocked the person standing there. Not Amy Patterson, Gus’s mum, as I’d expected, but a young woman. About the same age as me. About the same height, slim, wavy light brown hair and a naturally pretty face. Gus’s sister, Hayley, I knew, from my digging into the family, and I very nearly caught myself out by saying her name aloud.
‘Hi,’ I said instead, feeling a bit lame. ‘I’m here to see Amy Patterson.’
‘Okay?’ Hayley said, looking at me a little suspiciously now.
‘Is she in?’
‘Do I know you?’ The way she said it suggested she thought perhaps she did.
‘I don’t think so.’
‘What’s this about?’ she asked. ‘If you’re selling something we’re not interested.’
‘No, it’s nothing like that–’
‘Darling, who is it?’ I heard a voice from further inside say, before Amy came into view. I’d seen a few pictures of her online, but they didn’t do her, her natural elegance, full justice. Apparently Amy was in her mid-fifties but I’d never have guessed. Whatever her magic formula, I wanted some.
‘Amy Patterson?’ I said.
‘Yes, can I help you?’
My gaze flitted between Hayley and Amy. I really hadn’t expected Gus’s sister to be there. She should have been away at university. I felt really uncomfortable going straight into me being Anya’s sister.
‘I’m… I’d really like to talk to you. About… Gus.’
Hayley rolled her eyes. ‘Of course. What’s he done now?’ she asked me. ‘My best advice? Just–’
‘Hayley, button it,’ Amy snapped and her daughter shut her mouth and stared at her mum like she couldn’t believe she’d been reprimanded. ‘Weren’t you going to the gym?’
Hayley said nothing to her mum, held my stare, then rolled her eyes and wandered off back inside. Home gym, perhaps?
‘So?’ Amy said after a few seconds. Not exactly hostile, but not exactly friendly either. No indication that I was going to be invited inside.
‘When I said I wanted to talk about Gus… it’s more… I wanted to talk about Sotogrande.’
A worried flicker of her eyes.
‘You were there this summer, weren’t you?’
I could tell she really didn’t like that. Why?
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘A group of us went. For David’s birthday. Sorry, but what is this about?’
‘David’s your husband?’
‘Technically.’
‘Technically?’
‘Sorry, but would you mind getting to the point?’
All niceties had gone.
‘Around the time you were in Sotogrande, there was a murder there. A young woman called Anya Simonsen. Anya was my sister.’
Amy froze. Didn’t move at all. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.
‘Did you know my sister?’
Amy shook her head. ‘No. But I heard what happened.’
Perhaps I’d have believed her in different circumstances. Sotogrande wasn’t a big place. Probably everyone who’d been there at the time would have heard of the murder. But Amy knew more about Anya than having just read of her murder on a news bulletin. According to Graham Evans this woman’s fingerprints were found in my sister’s apartment.
‘Gus knew her,’ I said.
Amy didn’t react.
‘Gus was sleeping with her.’
Amy shook her head. She looked bewildered. ‘I… I…’
‘You didn’t know?’
‘Gus is an adult. His private life is none of my business.’
‘But you didn’t know he was sleeping with a young woman who was murdered?’
‘What are you insinuating?’
A good question actually. Because I hadn’t meant to point the finger back to Gus, but I was struggling to take the plunge and point it directly at Amy either, a woman I’d met only minutes before.
‘Please, Mrs Patterson, I’m not here to cause you trouble. Or to cause Gus trouble. But I have to know what happened to my sister.’
‘I didn’t know your sister.’
‘I know that’s not true. I know you were in her–’
‘Sorry. But you need to get off my property now. If you harass me or my family members again, I’m calling the police.’
And with that she slammed the door in my face.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
I spent the night in a basic hotel on the outskirts of Northampton, only a few miles from my second destination. I didn’t get to see any of the town, which I’d never been to before. It was already dark when I arrived in the evening, and in the morning I showered and had my fill of the cooked breakfast on offer – included in the rate – before I hit the road again.
After three months of living alone since I’d split up with Adam, I’d become well used to my own company and to occupying myself. Still, I’d felt lonely many times, but never more so than in that hotel in Northamptonshire. I couldn’t put a finger on why, but I’d slept horribly, various thoughts tormenting me, from the men who’d attacked me in Sotogrande, to images of my sister’s bloody body in her plush apartment, to–
No. I didn’t want to keep thinking about any of it.
Thankfully the journey was short and I found the house I was looking for without a hitch. The home of Pete Kendrick was a stark contrast to that of the Pattersons’. On a street of identical, smallish semi-detached houses, Pete’s was perhaps middling in terms of the level of upkeep of both the building itself and its small front garden, which was mostly tarmac. Certainly it wasn’t a poor area, but it wasn’t at all affluent either. Pretty much the type of street and home that the majority of people across the country lived in. Average. Normal. Very much like the house I’d grown up in and aspired to buy one day, though I was unlikely to afford such a house on my own.
I parked the morose thoughts. I’d had quite enough of that since I’d landed back in England.
I stepped from the car and headed up the driveway, casting my eye over the house as I moved. I stopped at the door and briefly peered through the small window next to it, trying to glimpse inside, before I rang the bell. Almost immediately I spotted movement in the hallway beyond, but as at Amy Patterson’s home, it wasn’t the person I’d come to see who came to the door.
‘Hi,’ I said to the girl who stood in the open doorway. Eleven or twelve, but nearly the same height as me and stick thin, she wore a dark green school blazer. ‘Is your dad home?’
From the little I knew of Pete Kendrick, he lived alone, though I’d figured he had a daughter from his social media pictures. I had no clue what had happened to or with his daughter’s mother though, and I hadn’t expected to see the girl this morning – the impression I had from social media was that he only saw his child every couple of weeks.
Without saying anything to me the girl turned and shouted. ‘Dad!’ She faced me again before rushing off inside. ‘He’s just upstairs.’
I stood still a moment, then when no one else appeared I took a step beyond the threshold. Another. I heard padding footsteps upstairs. Saw the feet coming quickly down, at least until Pete Kendrick clocked me, then he paused in his step and slowed.
‘Can I help you?’ he asked.
‘I hope so,’ I said, trying to stay calm and collected. ‘I think you knew my sister, Anya Simonsen.’
He looked really confused. ‘Who?’ He looked at his watch. ‘Eve, five minutes!’ he shouted to his unseen daughter. He faced me again. ‘Sorry, you can see I’m in a rush. What’s this about?’
‘It’s about my sister. Anya Simonsen. She was murdered a few months ago. In Sotogrande in Spain.’
Now I had his attention. His eyes widened for a moment before he caught himself and tried to pull back to an un-frazzled exterior. But he didn’t say anything.
‘You were in Sotogrande this summer?’ I prompted.
He frowned and looked over my shoulder, as though checking I was alone, or maybe just checking if any of his neighbours were watching – the door behind me remained wide open.
‘How do you know that?’ he asked. ‘Who are you?’
‘I’m Anya’s sister. Natasha. Please, I need to know what happened. How did you know Anya?’
He didn’t say anything but he was all fidgety. His reaction only increased my agitation. Ziyad, Gus, Amy, everyone I spoke to had this same reaction when I brought up Anya. They all knew more than they were admitting to. Why could no one be straight with me?
‘Have you ever heard of Perview?’ I asked.
He shook his head, looked at his watch again. ‘Sorry, I really don’t know what you’re doing here, but I need to get my daughter to school.’
He went to turn away but I grabbed his arm. He yanked free from my grip and the look he sent me caused me to tense and step back.
‘I just want the truth,’ I said. ‘My sister was murdered. I know you knew her. I know you were in her apartment.’
He didn’t say anything as he glowered.
‘If you didn’t do anything wrong then why won’t you just say?’
He looked really mad. But rather than hold off, I wanted to push him. ‘Tell me what you were doing there, in my sister’s apartment!’
He said nothing. I stepped back again. His cheeks burned red. His eyebrows were pinched, his nostrils flared like a raging bull.
‘Dad, come on.’ Eve popped out of the front room. She paused awkwardly, seeing that she’d interrupted something. At least her appearance caused the red mist to lift from her dad.
‘You’re not even ready!’ Eve said. ‘We’ll be late.’
‘No, we won’t. Wait by the car.’ Eve walked on past me like I wasn’t there, with a murmur of disgruntlement. Pete locked eyes with me again. ‘I didn’t hurt your sister.’
Which certainly wasn’t a denial about knowing her.
‘But you know something,’ I said.
‘You need to go.’ He turned away from me and grabbed his coat from the bottom of the stairs. Not for the first time, my eyes found the iPad on the side table by the door, right next to the dish where his house keys and car key lay.
I can’t explain why I did it. Why I risked it even, in the few seconds that his back was turned. I reached out and took the iPad and shoved it and my hand inside my coat just as Pete turned back around. He paused as he looked at me. Then down to the table. I thought my heart would explode from my chest.
He moved forward and I back-peddled out of the house, nearly tripping over the doorstep. He grabbed for his keys.
Did he know?
‘Thanks for nothing,’ I said, before I turned and walked as quickly as I could for my car.
I jumped into the driver’s seat then took the iPad from my coat and stuffed it into the glovebox. I looked out of the window to see Pete standing by his car, staring over to me. Was he waiting for me to leave?
I started the engine up and slowly pulled away then watched in my rear-view mirror to see his car disappear in the opposite direction. I pulled over and took a moment to gather my thoughts, and to calm my breathing which I realised then was racing out of control, in response to my thudding heart and the surge of adrenaline in my blood.
What had I done?
I’d taken a necessary step. That’s all.
And there was another I now needed to take.
I took out my phone and called the number.
‘Graham Evans,’ he answered.
‘Graham, it’s Natasha Simonsen. I need your help.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
I’d already checked out of the hotel before I’d left for Pete Kendrick’s home, otherwise I might have headed back there following my conversation with Graham. I needed somewhere quiet with access to the internet, but I was reluctant to stay in Northampton another night when I still had one further person to see to complete my tour – the footballer Jake Grayson. Perhaps the most difficult of all the people on my list to get in front of, given his media prominence. What kind of security would he have? An entourage? I really didn’t know. But I’d try. Once I’d done that, I’d decide how and when to re-approach Amy and Pete, if I needed to at all.
I headed into the café on a suburban high street I happened across not far from Pete’s house, ordered a coffee and sat down in a quiet corner where there was an electrical point underneath the bench. I might not even need it. The iPad had just under fifty percent battery.
I called Graham back, cringing as I thought about what I’d done. I’d stolen Pete Kendrick’s iPad. I’d never done anything like that before. I’m not sure if I was surprised or not, but when I’d explained what I’d done to Graham, he hadn’t sounded that bothered at all, and he hadn’t needed much persuasion to help me.
Which was a little strange. Given he’d claimed to have halted his work on Anya’s murder because his client wasn’t paying him, I was sure he wouldn’t do anything substantial for me for free, and I’d baulked when he told me how much he charged an hour for his services. But when I explained about the iPad, he’d seemed genuinely impressed with what I’d done, and had offered to help me through the next steps, almost like a master with an apprentice.
‘Okay, so first things first,’ he said. ‘Is the screen locked?’
‘Yes.’
‘Okay. So this is what you need to do. You’ve got the cable?’
‘Yes.’
‘Connect the iPad to your phone. Then go to the website I told you about.’
I left the call running as I did as he’d said. Several voices echoed in my head, telling me to stop. Dad’s was the most prominent but perhaps the one I wanted to listen to the least.
‘Once you’ve downloaded the software to your phone, it’ll basically connect to the iPad through a back door, giving you access. From there the first thing to do is change the security settings. Set your own password, then you’ll be able to access as and when you want.’
