Читать книгу Pretty Little Things: 2018’s most nail-biting serial killer thriller with an unbelievable twist - T.M.E. Walsh - Страница 17

CHAPTER 7

When she finally got back to the house, it was late. Madeleine parked in the driveway, killed the engine and slumped forward, arms resting over the steering wheel. She let her forehead rest on her arms and sucked in a deep breath.

Releasing it, she spent a few moments just listening to the sound of the car settling, the engine cooling.

‘You’ve got this,’ she said to herself. ‘You can do this.’ She forced her head up, uncurled her body and stared ahead at her house.

A modest, mid-terraced building, it looked homely and inviting, a soft glow coming from behind the living room curtains, but Madeleine wanted to avoid going inside.

She imagined Nick, asleep on the sofa, having given up waiting for her to come home and have dinner with him and the kids.

He was a very busy man too – an IT consultant – but lately he always seemed to be making it back in time for evening meals, rearranging things to see the kids’ school assemblies and pick them up from after-school club.

Madeleine’s eyes rose to look up to the first-floor windows; her room to the left, and Connor’s to the right. His light was off. Sam’s room faced the back garden but she guessed his room was in darkness too.

She had missed the kids’ bedtime for the fifth night in a row.

Slumping back in the driver’s seat, she took her work phone from her pocket. She stared at the screen for a few seconds before she switched it off. If anyone wanted her, they’d have to call the house phone.

She wanted to salvage what was left of the evening with Nick at least.

She got out of the car, locked it and heaved her record bag up higher on her shoulder, wincing at the weight of the files inside causing strain on the strap.

Madeleine had thought she’d find Nick asleep on the sofa once inside, but he was in the kitchen.

‘Hey, you,’ he said, peering over his black-rimmed glasses. ‘You look like shit.’ He smiled when she flipped her middle finger at him, as she dumped the bag down with a thump at her feet.

‘How are the boys?’ she said, slipping off her coat and hanging it out in the hallway. ‘Sam didn’t give you any problems, I hope?’

‘No, but Connor gave me a run for my money.’ He tapped out a few lines on an email as he spoke, eyes squinting at the laptop screen. ‘Thought they’d do a tag team when they realised you wouldn’t be home for bedtime.’

Madeleine looked regretful. ‘Sorry. The missing girls—’

‘I know,’ he said, cutting in. ‘I saw the news. It’s terrible.’

‘We have another missing.’

Nick stopped typing and looked up at her. ‘Christ, really?’ He gestured to the laptop. ‘I’ve been on this thing most of the day, been avoiding the temptation to go on the net, so I hadn’t seen that.’

Madeleine leaned down to kiss him on the cheek on her way to the microwave and rubbed her chin afterwards when the bristles of his black beard chaffed her skin.

‘Bryony Keats. Media have been alerted and they’ve been reporting on it, but there’s a press conference tomorrow morning.’

She pulled open the door to the microwave.

She saw the simple meal on a plate, long gone cold. She turned, cocked an eyebrow at Nick. ‘You cooked as well?’

He grinned. ‘I multitasked.’

‘How very twenty-first century of you.’

‘Don’t get used to it,’ he said, closing the laptop. ‘I’m back in the office Monday.’ He eyed her up and down as if seeing her for the first time today. He patted his hand on the chair next to him. ‘You sit, I’ll pour you a glass of wine and heat your dinner up.’

He got up from the table and wrapped his arms around Madeleine, pulling her close.

‘I’ll have a beer,’ she said. She kissed him briefly, then pushed herself away from him and headed for the hallway. ‘I’ve got some work to do after I’ve eaten.’

Upstairs she crossed the hall and looked in the first bedroom. Sam was asleep, only the top of his head visible where the covers had been pulled right the way up.

Madeleine kissed his head gently and went into the next room along. Connor was under his covers, too, but Madeleine caught the light under the sheet just flick out when she opened the bedroom door.

‘Connor.’

Silence.

‘Connor, it’s late,’ she said, pulling the sheet back.

Connor had his eyes shut, but in his hand was a small torch he often used for reading when the lights were out at bedtime. Next to him was a Thor comic.

Madeleine stared down at her ten-year-old son, almost the mirror image of his brother, who was younger by three minutes.

Madeleine had been thirty-five when she had the boys, and after a difficult pregnancy and labour, she’d known she wouldn’t have any more children.

Her boys were both headstrong, sometimes a handful, but they both had good hearts. Madeleine saw Connor’s eyes twitching underneath his eyelids, then saw one open a fraction. He was watching her through his eyelashes.

She went for his stomach, tickling him until he bolted upright in fits of laughter.

‘Stop it!’

‘Bedtime, Con,’ she said, trying hard to contain her laughter. She picked up the comic and torch and put them in his bookcase.

‘Five more minutes, pleeeease?’ he said, his dark hair falling around his eyes, messy from lying under the covers.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Lights out now. Come on, it’s late.’

Connor flopped back down in the bed. ‘You weren’t here all day.’

Madeleine heard the frustration in his voice and felt the usual twinge of guilt she did most days, wishing she could divide her time between home and work equally.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

‘It’s Saturday.’

‘I know.’

‘The weekend.’

‘My job’s not a nine-to-five, Con, you know that. I had to work.’

‘You were out most of last night too.’

Madeleine held back on telling him why she had been called out to the wasteland late last night. She wanted to protect her children as much as possible from the horrors that were in the world. They were growing up quickly and, with the internet, smartphones and social media, she knew they wouldn’t be her naïve young boys for long.

‘I had to work, sweetheart.’

His eyes flashed then, realising the significance. ‘You catch any bad guys today?’ he said, smiling at her.

She ruffled his hair. ‘Go to sleep.’

*

After she’d eaten, Madeleine settled on the sofa. She had changed into a pair of jogging bottoms and a loose-fitting T-shirt, dragged her hair up into a scruffy ponytail and opened one of the folders she’d brought home that held copies of the crime-scene photographs.

Nick looked over her shoulder as he handed her a bottle of beer.

He saw the crude grave, the pit and what lay inside it.

‘Bloody hell, Mads,’ he said as she took a swig from the bottle. ‘You can’t leave that here. What if the kids see?’

Madeleine bristled. ‘Since when do I ever leave my work lying around for anyone to look at?’

Nick flopped down on the other end of the sofa and drank from his own bottle of beer. ‘How did they . . .?’ He broke off, unable to say the word. Instead he gestured with his bottle.

‘Die?’ she said.

He nodded.

‘We don’t know yet,’ she said, rubbing her forehead as a headache started to build. She needed sleep. Right now she was running on fumes, at risk of burning out just as the investigation was getting more serious.

Nick watched her face, saw her eyes droop with tiredness.

‘Why do you put yourself through all this?’ When Madeleine looked at him, he gestured towards her. ‘Look at you. You’re tired most of the time, home late, working weekends . . . Kids miss you. I miss you.’

Madeleine looked indignant. ‘It’s just this investigation. It won’t go on for ever.’

‘You’re a DI now. More responsibility, less time for us.’

‘Don’t be silly.’

‘It’s not silly to the kids, babe. They missed you tonight. And last night . . . all week so far, actually.’

‘That’s not fair. Last night they were already in bed when I got the call.’

‘And today . . . tomorrow?’

Madeleine remained silent but closed the file. She scooted up towards him at the other end of the sofa.

‘Do you think I’m in way over my head?’ she said, lying against him as he wrapped his arm around her.

‘No,’ he said, swallowing a mouthful of beer. ‘I think you’re bloody good at your job and you’re not scared of being out of your depth.’

She arched her head, turned her neck to look at him. ‘No? You don’t think so? There’s a lot hanging over my head with this.’

‘You’re not scared of failing, Mads.’ He paused. ‘You’re scared of doing such a good job, you’ll get given another case like this, then another, until there’s no time – no room left – in your new world for us. That’s the truth of it and that’s why you’re scared.’

Madeleine couldn’t speak.

She watched as Nick eased himself from under her weight and took his empty bottle out to the kitchen.

‘Night,’ he said as she heard him ascend the stairs.

When he flipped the landing light out, and the hall drowned in darkness, she felt cold right down to the bone.