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Chapter 34

Dazed by Vernon’s visit, Miranda was unable to shift herself from her position on the bottom stair. She watched Amelia skip up to the front door in response to the chime of the doorbell, her emotions tumbling over one another like socks in a dryer. Guilt, because she had allowed Vernon to take Jack. Resentment, because Kate was too busy having a good time with her new boyfriend to answer her phone. Anger, because Pete was boozing with his pretty colleague and hadn’t been here to protect her and Jack. And beneath all that, the craving for another glass of wine. No, sod that. She wanted the whole damn bottle.

Amelia opened the door and Miranda heard a man say, ‘Hello. You must be Amelia.’

The next thing Miranda knew, Amelia had rushed happily inside clutching a pink teddybear. ‘Look, Mummy, look.’ Behind her stood a handsome man. But although he was handsome, he wasn’t attractive. It was his eyes, she decided, as she pushed herself to her feet and realised that she ought to be very scared.

‘Where’s the boy?’ the man asked in a low, even voice.

Amelia had already run up the stairs to show the teddy to her brother – not that he would be interested in such a girly toy. Miranda felt sober now. All her maternal sensors were buzzing, screaming red alert. This man was far more dangerous than Vernon. Her voice shook as she replied, ‘Get out or I’ll call the police.’

The man took a step closer. She noticed how big his muscles were beneath his shirt. How strong his hands looked, spiderwebbed with thick veins.

‘I want Kate’s son.’

‘He’s not here.’

Sampson lifted his chin and directed his gaze up the stairs, moving towards Miranda. She pulled herself up to her full height – all five foot three of her – and tried to turn herself into a human barrier.

Sampson grabbed her by the neck and flung her aside. She flew into the wall, smacking her head on the frame of the living room door. She fell to her knees but, driven by fear for her children, was on her feet again within seconds, chasing Sampson up the stairs. She tried to grab the back of his shirt to pull him back, but it was like trying to hold onto a train.

He walked straight into George’s room, staring down at George, who looked up from his PlayStation with confusion. In the game, he was playing a killer cyborg, and when he saw the stranger enter his bedroom it was as if the video game character had become real flesh and metal. Amelia grinned gappily at the nice man who had given her the teddy bear. But then she saw her Mummy’s face as she tried to get around the man, and she started to cry, the bear instantly forgotten.

‘Where’s Jack?’ Sampson said.

Miranda scooted round him and grabbed George and Amelia, protecting them with her body, pushing them into the corner and standing in front of them.

‘I told you, he’s not here.’

Sampson stared at her, reading her face. Then he reached past her and grasped Amelia by the arm, pulling her past her sobbing mother as if she were as light as a feather. Amelia punched him with her little fists but the blows were like puffs of air. He held her facing outwards, so Miranda could see her terrified face, and said, ‘Where is he?’

Miranda reached out for Amelia and Sampson swatted her away.

Calmly, as if bored by the whole situation, he said, ‘If you don’t answer my questions I’ll kill your daughter.’

Miranda tried to console her child, ‘It’s okay Milly, just keep quiet and everything will be fine. It’s okay, darling.’ She wished she believed her own words. She felt like she was about to start hyperventilating. She always told the children, when they woke up in the night, that there was no such thing as monsters. Now, she realised, that was a lie.

Sampson said, ‘Where is Jack?’

Struggling to keep control of her breathing, Miranda replied, ‘His father took him.’

‘When?’

‘About five minutes before you got here.’

‘Where is he going?’

‘I don’t know.’

Sampson turned Amelia to face her and put his hand around the little girl’s throat.

Miranda gasped, reached out, pulled her hands back. ‘They’re going to the airport. He’s going to take Jack back to Boston. Please, let her go. You’re terrifying her.’

Sampson ignored her plea. ‘What kind of car is he driving?’

Miranda shook her head. ‘I don’t know. It was grey, I think. I didn’t notice.’

George spoke up, in a subdued voice. ‘It was a silver car. The one with the sticking out bum. It’s called a Megan, like a girl in my class is called Megan.’

Sampson turned his attention to the boy. On the screen behind him, soldiers were crouching with huge guns amidst a firestorm of smoke and bullets. ‘A Megane?’

‘A Megan. I saw it out the window.’

Sampson nodded. He paused for just a moment, then put Amelia down. She ran into her mother’s arms and Miranda squeezed her more tightly than ever before. Surely this bastard would go now, leave them alone. Then she could call the police, get them to protect Jack. But it was almost as if Sampson read her mind.

‘Your son is going to have to come with me.’

‘No!’

‘Yes.’

Miranda started to cry again. This was too much. Why couldn’t George just have kept quiet? Even in this crisis, he couldn’t help showing off. She tried to plead with Sampson: ‘I promise I won’t call the police. You can take my mobile, disconnect the phone. Tie us up. I won’t call the police.’

‘I don’t believe you. And I need him to help me find the other boy.’

Miranda started to cry harder. Where was Pete? Why the hell wasn’t he home? What had she done, to invite this monster into her and her children’s lives?

‘Come here.’ He beckoned to George, who reluctantly stepped forward. ‘What’s your name?’

‘George.’

He turned to Miranda. ‘If George behaves, he’ll be safe. As soon as I find Jack, I’ll let him go. He’ll call you to let you know where he is. But if you call the police or try to follow me, I’ll kill him. Then I’ll come back here and kill your whole family. Understand?’

Miranda nodded tearfully.

Sampson crouched down and put out his hand. Miranda flinched, and then realised that he was giving her something.

‘This is Kate’s mobile phone. When she comes here, give the phone back to her and tell her I will call her. Tell her that if she calls the police or involves anyone else, I will kill whichever child I have with me: George or Jack.’

He stood up and looked down at them. ‘Remember – call the police and pay the price.’

Miranda nodded again.

‘George. Come with me.’

Sampson walked out of the room and George followed him, looking back once at his mother and sister, who held on to each other, unable to speak.

At the bottom of the stairs, George darted into the front room and grabbed the white robot. ‘Jack will want this.’

‘Right. Just get a move on.’

‘Get in the passenger seat.’ Sampson climbed in and locked the doors. He didn’t want the boy trying to escape. He stuck the robot on the backseat. He’d been successful with the teddy bear so thought he might be able to do the same with this toy. Before setting off he lit a cigarette. The boy coughed as smoke filled the car but Sampson ignored him.

The village disappeared in the rear-view mirror as they made their way towards the motorway, Sampson driving fast, but slowing down for speed cameras. It was a simple rule: don’t break minor laws; don’t draw attention to yourself. He existed in the shadows, the underground tunnels, co-existing with normal society like a city fox or rat. When he killed or hurt people, nobody knew he was there so nobody looked for him. It was a trick he learned long ago. Keep moving, keep changing, live on the outside, but don’t stick out.

He looked at the boy, who sat rigid, staring straight ahead.

‘Do you remember the registration of the car?’

George hesitated. ‘I think it was a Y reg.’

Sampson nodded, pleased. He wasn’t surprised the boy had noticed the registration. When he was George’s age he had played a game when travelling with his parents. While his parents sniped and bickered in the front seats, he would note the registrations of passing cars, assigning an imaginary fate to their passengers depending on their registration. C meant they would be crushed. B meant they’d burn. P – paralysed. H – heads chopped off. It was a fun game.

Sampson chucked his cigarette out of the window and followed the signs south, heading towards Heathrow. Sticking in the outside lane, he put his foot down. There were no speed cameras on this stretch of road, and Sampson eased up to eighty, then ninety. The Audi was smooth, but he noticed George grip the sides of his seat. The kid was brave, Sampson realised. Most kids would have blubbed by now. Sampson admired the fact that George hadn’t kicked up a fuss about being brought on this impromptu roadtrip. It didn’t mean he liked the boy or felt any sentiment towards him. But if George had snivelled or wept it would have been deeply fucking irritating. As long as the boy doesn’t piss me off and his mother doesn’t disobey me, I’ll let him live, he decided.

‘Tell me about Kate,’ Sampson said.

George looked at him. ‘P-pardon?’

‘I want you to tell me about Kate.’

‘Auntie Kate?’

‘Auntie Kate.’

George was quiet and Sampson began to get annoyed. Perhaps he would have to strangle the brat. But then George started to talk, as if he was reciting something he’d written for school. ‘Auntie Kate lives in America. She is my mum’s sister. She is quite old. She has a son called Jack. Her hair is dark brown. She is . . .’

‘Stop. For fuck’s sake.’

George clamped his mouth shut, staring straight ahead through the windscreen. He made a quiet whimpering sound.

Sampson said, ‘That doesn’t tell me anything. I want to hear what she’s like.’

Another drawn-out silence while George thought hard. ‘Don’t you know her?’

‘Of course I know her. I just . . .’ Sampson trailed off. What exactly did he want? It made absolutely zero sense, but he wanted to talk about Kate. To hear someone else talk about her. Even if it was only this kid.

‘What’s your earliest memory of her?’ he asked.

George said, ‘I don’t remember.’

‘Think. Remember.’

Shaken by Sampson’s menacing tone, George blurted, ‘I was really little and she came over from America and brought us some sweets, M and Ms I think, and I ate too many and was sick.’

‘What else?’

‘I remember her and my dad talking about boring science stuff, but Auntie Kate made science sound interesting. Even though it’s not.’

‘And?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘What does she smell like?’

‘What?’

‘You heard me. Tell me what she smells like.’

‘I don’t know.’

Sampson glared at him.

‘Like perfume?’

Sampson shook his head. ‘No. She smells like – like water. Like a clean, pure lake. Pure, yes.’

‘Water.’

‘Except she’s not pure.’ That was right. Kate was tainted. She had fucked Wilson. And now Wilson’s brother. And in between – well, who knew how many men she’d been with? But one of them was this Yank husband, Vernon, and she’d spawned his child. Sampson’s eyes were clouded by visions of Kate naked, having sex, riding some undistinguished male torso. Her eyes were screwed up tight and her skin gleamed with sweat and . . .

‘Are you alright?’ George asked.

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’ He paused. ‘You made a funny sound.’

Sampson glanced at the boy, aware that he was grinding his teeth. He exhaled through his nose and grabbed another cigarette. He wanted to talk about Kate more, but he despised himself for it. Weakness, weakness. He had to concentrate, do his job, stop thinking about Kate.

‘Do you love my Auntie Kate?’

‘What?’

Sampson snarled it, his voice cracking. George went rigid, flinching and waiting for the hit. But it didn’t come. Instead Sampson thumped the steering wheel with the flat of his hand. What the fuck was the kid talking about? The idea that he was in love with Kate was beyond idiotic.

‘Shut up and keep your eyes on the road,’ he growled to himself then, addressing George, ‘You know what we’re looking for you, don’t you?’

Quietly, George said, ‘Yes.’ He sounded very close to tears. His lower lip trembled and he sniffed.

‘Tell me.’

‘A s-silver Megan. Y reg.’

‘Now shut the fuck up unless you see it.’

They continued to speed down the outside lane, both of them concentrating on the cars they passed. They overtook three Meganes, including a silver one, but it contained a single occupant, a woman. Heathrow was sixty miles away. Worst case scenario, they would catch Vernon and Jack there. It would be a pain, having to do it in such a public space, but not impossible. He had done such things before, a silent assassin, a pickpocket of lives, a body thief who vanished into the shade leaving madness and bewilderment in the light.

Ten miles down the road, Sampson glanced over and saw that there were tears leaking from the corner of George’s eyes, and he was leaning forward in a strange manner.

‘What is it?’ he snapped.

George just shook his head.

‘Tell me.’

George squeaked, ‘I need to go to the toilet.’

‘Are you going to piss yourself if we don’t stop?’

George nodded and Sampson sighed. He didn’t want the boy leaking all over his leather seats. For fuck’s sake. Looking up, he saw a sign for a turn-off to a service station, and without having time to work out whether he could afford the delay, he followed the signs, screeching into the car park and pulling up beside the building which contained several fast food joints, a shop for essential driving supplies like boiled sweets and porn mags, and the public toilets.

Sampson pulled into a parking bay.

‘Right. Come with me.’

He strode into the building and towards the toilets, George trotting along beside him. This was risky. George could start screaming about being kidnapped at any second. Why hadn’t he just stopped in a lay-by and let the kid piss behind a bush? It was all that stuff about Kate – about loving Kate. It had muddled him, interfered with his decision-making. This was not good. From the look on George’s face, though, he was too frightened to do anything stupid. He’d been trained to do what adults told him. Sampson said, ‘Be quick.’

He waited by the hand drier while George used the low urinal at the end of the row. Sampson tapped his foot, his face down so he didn’t catch anyone’s eye. The boy was taking forever. What the hell was his problem?

Finally, George finished, zipped up and plodded mournfully to the sink to wash his hands. ‘Come on,’ Sampson snapped, and George followed him out.

As they walked past McDonald’s, George, who was feeling hungry despite the twist of dread in his stomach, looked through the window. Sampson, who was watching him, saw his eyes widen.

‘What is it?’

George averted his eyes and shook his head. ‘Nothing.’

But he was clearly lying. ‘Tell me or . . .’ Sampson drew his index finger across his throat and George gulped.

He pointed through the window towards the queue. A bearded man stood with a small boy. The boy who Sampson recognised from the photos on Kate’s phone, didn’t look very happy, and the man appeared deeply irritated. ‘That’s them. That’s Jack and Uncle Vernon.’

Sampson stared at them. So this was the man Kate had married; the man who had impregnated her. And there was their spawn, in the flesh, with a protruding lower lip, waiting in line for a Happy Meal.

‘Follow me,’ Sampson said, striding off towards the exit and out into the car park. After a lull, the rain had started up again, but Sampson didn’t feel it. ‘Help me find their car.’

He lifted George up and, hoisting him on to his shoulders – something George’s dad hadn’t done for years – jogged up and down the rows of cars until George pointed and said, ‘There.’ A silver Megane was positioned at the end of the row. Sampson’s brief elation at the discovery was tempered by the ludicrousness of having a small child’s legs around his neck. He was sorely tempted to chuck George into a nearby hedge.

Instead, he jogged back to the Audi, opened the doors and swung the kid down onto the back seat.

‘When I give you the signal, I want you to hold up the robot. Okay?’

George hesitated.

‘Okay? If you don’t do it, I’ll hurt you.’

The boy pressed together his lips and nodded mutely.

Sampson waited until Vernon and Jack emerged from the building. They were carrying their food, but Jack still didn’t seem particularly cheerful. Sampson started the engine and drove along just ahead of them, circling the car park until he reached the spot where Vernon’s rental car was parked. He waited until Vernon was looking at the car, put his foot on the accelerator and drove into the back of the Megane, smashing the rear left light.

He watched as Vernon gave a shout and broke into a run.

Sampson got out of the car just as Vernon arrived. Jack lagged behind.

‘What in hell are you doing, asshole?’ said Vernon incredulously.

Sampson said, ‘I’m sorry. It was an accident.’

‘Jesus,’ Vernon exclaimed, putting his hands on his head. ‘I’m going to have to explain this to the rental company.’

‘Your rear light is smashed,’ Sampson said. ‘Sorry about that.’

He didn’t sound sorry.

Vernon bent down to check it just as Jack arrived. Sampson gestured at George who held Billy the robot up to the window. Jack saw, and gawped at the sight of his cousin and his beloved toy. At that moment, Sampson put his foot on Vernon’s back and pushed. Vernon sprawled on the wet asphalt, his burger and fries scattering before him, and in one swift motion Sampson swung open the door of his car, swept Jack off his feet and placed him inside, slamming the door.

‘What the . . .?’ Vernon tried to get to his feet but Sampson stamped on the hand he was using to push himself up. Vernon cried out and fell back, rolling over and clutching his hand.

Sampson threw himself into his driver’s seat and told George to get out. George didn’t hesitate – he flung open the door and jumped out, shutting Jack in behind him. Jack stared at George, at Sampson, at his Daddy who was by now on his feet, trying to pull open the door, which Sampson had locked. George was crying and shouting, ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’ Jack hugged Billy while Sampson put his foot on the pedal and screeched away, leaving Vernon gesticulating after him in the rear-view mirror, his face red, his eyes clouded with anger and terror and bewilderment.

‘Who are you?’ Jack asked in a high-pitched terrified voice.

‘My name’s Mr Sampson. I’m a friend of your Mummy’s.’