35
35
I held the tiny phone against my ear, unsure what to say. I didn’t recognise the voice of the woman at the other end, but it wasn’t Fiona. Dylan was gawping at me, his palms out, desperate to know who it was.
‘Hello?’ said the woman, in a sarcastic sing-song voice. She was English. Southern. She sounded about my age. She also sounded extremely pissed off. ‘Lucy calling Fiona. Come in. Helloooo?’
‘Fiona’s not here at the moment,’ I said.
There was a sharp intake of breath at the other end. Sensing she was about to hang up, I said, as rapidly as I could, ‘Fiona has gone off somewhere with my wife and daughter and I need to find them urgently. If you know anything, please help me.’
I waited. I could hear breathing, so she hadn’t hung up yet.
‘I don’t know who you are,’ I said. Except she had given away that her name was Lucy. ‘But I’m desperate. Worried Fiona is going to do something to my family. If you’ve got any idea where she might be, please tell me.’
I heard her breathing quicken, her mouth come closer to the phone. Was she excited ?
‘You’re the dad,’ she said. ‘The neighbour.’
This Lucy knew who I was. Dylan was still staring at me, eyes stretched wide, frustration pouring off him.
‘That’s right. I’m Ethan Dove.’
‘Rose’s dad. Well well.’
‘And who are you?’ I asked.
She made a noise reminiscent of a laugh, but with no trace of humour in it. ‘You don’t need to know that. What are you doing in Fiona’s house?’
‘I told you. I’m trying to find Rose and my wife. I have Fiona’s spare key, so we didn’t break in.’ I wasn’t sure why I felt the need to tell this woman about that.
‘Good for you,’ she said. There was a pause. ‘So you know Fiona’s dangerous. Does that mean you know who she really is?’
Even though I was in Fiona’s house searching for a photo of her so I could find out her real identity, this still sent a chill through me. My mouth went dry, so when I spoke, the words almost got stuck. ‘No, I don’t. She told us her name is Fiona Smith.’
‘Ha. Well, the first name is real. I’m not sure why she didn’t change that too.’ She made a noise like she was musing over this. ‘I guess she was attached to it.’
There was a long pause, then she said, ‘I can help you, Ethan Dove, but I need you to do something for me first. I’m going to give you two names and an address. I want you to pay them a visit, see how they are, then report back to me.’
‘What? I don’t have time—’
‘ This is the deal, Ethan. I need to know—’ She stopped herself, obviously deciding not to share whatever it was. ‘I just want you to ask these people if everything has been going well for them recently. Do not tell them you’ve been talking to me, even if they ask. Got that? If you do, if I think you’re lying, I won’t help you find Fiona and your wife and the famous Rose.’
Famous? What the hell had Fiona said to this woman about my daughter?
‘Also, if you go to the police and tell them about me and this call, you’ll never find Fiona in time.’ She chuckled. ‘I’m your only hope.’
‘Is she going to hurt her?’ I asked.
‘Hurt who? Rose? Oh no.’ There was that approximation of a laugh again. ‘Now, the address of the people I want you to go and see is ...’
She gave me an address in north London.
‘And their names are Jamie and Kirsty Knight.’
I took the little phone with me, tucking it into my pocket as I marched out of Fiona’s house, gesturing for Dylan to follow me.
‘Where are we going?’ he asked as I headed towards the car.
Lucy had given me a few questions to ask this couple. Jamie and Kirsty Knight. The names weren’t familiar, but I asked Dylan to look them up on Google while I drove off the estate, leaving the police cars and rubberneckers behind. I stuck the address Lucy had given me in the satnav. Finsbury Park in north London. Twenty miles away. I knew that every red traffic light would make my nerves jangle, every clogged street would tempt me to thump my horn. I took deep breaths, telling myself to stay calm. The last thing I needed was a road rage incident or, God forbid, an accident.
‘Jamie Knight, Kirsty Knight.’ He tapped the names into his phone along with the area where they lived. ‘Um, something about a home security company. Looks like it was based in Australia but is over here now.’
Australia? Was that the connection with Fiona? ‘Are they Aussies?’
‘Hang on. Hmm, neither of them seem to be on social media. There’s an “About Us” page on the security company site with a letter written by Jamie Knight. Listen to this: My own personal experiences led to me understanding how dangerous the world can be and how vitally important it is to feel safe in your own home. Sounds like he’s been through some shit.’
‘Add Lucy to the search,’ I suggested.
He thumbed his phone and then, seeing the results, said, ‘Bollocks. I mean ...’
‘I told you, I don’t care if you swear. What does it say?’
We had left the estate behind and were heading out of South Croydon, through Addington towards Bromley. From there we would head through Greenwich, across the river and into north London.
‘It’s a news story from 2013. IT worker not guilty in “Magpies trial” . They’re all mentioned here. Jamie and Kirsty and Lucy. Her surname is Newton.’
‘Oh my God. You. Are. Joking.’ I glanced at him. ‘Are you saying you haven’t heard of her? I bet Keira has! Lucy Newton’s a serial killer. The Dark Angel, I think that’s her nickname. She murdered loads of elderly people in this nursing home where she worked. She would have been sent to prison shortly after this trial.’ It was coming back to me now. ‘This Jamie guy was her neighbour, and I think he was accused of murdering Lucy’s husband.’
‘Chris Newton.’
‘Yeah, that was it. But Jamie Knight was found not guilty because of extreme provocation. Something like that. Then Lucy went to prison for the murders, got out on appeal because of a technicality and then killed someone else. Maybe several people? I can’t remember, but I definitely heard about it a few years ago. She was arrested again and given a whole life sentence.’
Dylan’s mouth hung open. ‘A serial killer? And you were just talking to her on the phone? And she’s friends with Fiona?’
It was the kind of statement that, typed online, would require several exclamation and question marks.
‘Do you think Fiona is a serial killer too?’ He had gone ghost-white, his voice an octave higher than normal. ‘Dad, she’s got Mum and Rose. What’s she going to do to them?’
‘We’re going to find them.’
‘We need to go to the police, now . If this Lucy knows where they are, the cops can make her tell, can’t they?’
‘I don’t think it works like that, Dylan.’ I reached across and squeezed his shoulder. ‘They certainly wouldn’t be able to get the information out of her quickly, not if she didn’t want to give it. Right now we have to go along with what Lucy asked. But at the first sign she’s lying or messing us around ...’
He was silent for the remainder of the drive. We were lucky with the traffic, which actually put me more on edge. Were we using up our good luck with these green lights and relatively clear roads? We found the address, then drove around for five minutes looking for a parking space. But in the end I thought, So what if we get a ticket? I pulled up on the kerb, on double-yellow lines, outside the Victorian house – converted into flats – where the Knights lived, and Dylan and I approached the front door.
I pressed the buzzer. They had something similar to a Ring doorbell, but off-brand, with a camera and microphone. It was the middle of the afternoon and I was worried they’d both be out at work, but a man’s voice said, ‘Hello?’
He sounded wary. Suspicious.
I considered lying, telling him I had a package for him, to get him to come to the door, but if this was going to work – if we were to get information that would satisfy Lucy – I judged I needed to be honest. There could be too many unforeseen consequences once I launched into fabrications.
I knew he could see me and Dylan through the camera, and hoped the presence of my teenage son would reassure him.
‘My name’s Ethan Dove,’ I said, ‘and this is my son, Dylan. I know you don’t know who we are, but my wife and little girl might be in trouble and I need your help.’
Did I imagine the intake of breath?
He went silent. Had he gone?
‘Jamie? Mr Knight?’
I heard footsteps, and seconds later the door flew open to reveal a man a few years younger than me. Brown hair, average height and build, quite good-looking except there was something about his eyes. A haunted look.
‘Who are you?’ he demanded, peering over our shoulders.
‘I told you, I’m Ethan—’
‘Has this got something to do with Lucy? Jesus Christ, don’t tell me she’s got out again.’ He sucked in a breath. ‘No, the police would let me know straight away.’
Lucy had instructed us not to mention her to Jamie.
‘I just need to ask you,’ I said, ‘has everything been all right? Recently, I mean. Have you had any problems?’
Jamie stared at me. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘I can’t tell you. I’m really sorry but I’ve just been told to find out if you’re okay.’
He took half a step back. He was a mixture of terrified, angry and confused. ‘Everything was fine – until you turned up asking stupid questions.’
Dylan tugged at my elbow. ‘Dad, that’s all we need to know.’
‘Thank you,’ I said to Jamie. ‘And I’m sorry.’ I dropped my voice, as if Lucy might be watching. As if she had spies everywhere. ‘I’ll come back and explain everything once my family are safe.’
I turned away from him, intending to keep my promise, and jogged back to the car with Dylan beside me. Jamie called out after us but I kept going, head down. I was worried he might follow us and demand to know what was going on, so instead of sitting in the car to call Lucy, I drove up the road until I found a petrol station and pulled in.
I took out the miniature phone and dialled the only number that was stored in it.
Lucy answered immediately. ‘Well?’ she asked.
‘He had no idea what I was talking about. Said everything was fine.’
A sound that might very well have been a growl came from the other end of the line.
‘I knew it. That bitch. She’s been too busy mentoring your daughter to do what she promised.’
Mentoring her? That was exactly what Dylan said she’d been doing. Training her up, like an apprentice. ‘Lucy, you promised you would help us.’
‘And I’m a woman of my word. Firstly, you might want to know that Fiona’s real surname is Woodfield. Secondly, she’s obsessed with you. You’re on her list.’
‘Her list ? What list? And why am I on it?’
She laughed. A cold sound, devoid of humour. ‘Something to do with her failed getaway, but you’ll have to ask her. I would also advise you to continue to stay away from the police – if you don’t want to get Rose into trouble. Fiona told me she was going to take Rose under her wing, that she recognised the same thing in her that we have.’
‘What does that mean?’ I asked, but my blood, my organs, my flesh – all of it had gone cold. I already knew what she was going to say.
‘We’re special,’ said Lucy, and she hissed with laughter. ‘“Different, better, special,” as Fiona always says. People like you and your wife, and Jamie and Kirsty, are like sheep. Born victims, herd animals, not capable of—’
‘Oh, just tell me where I can find them,’ I snapped.
There was a pause, and I was about to yell at her, scared she was going to go back on her word, when she said, ‘There’s this place Fiona is obsessed with. It’s called Ravenhill ...’