Scare Me To Death, CJ Carver [nice books to read .txt] 📗

a decrepit Mercedes turn after them. Mehdi turned right at the next street and, halfway down, slowed to pull off the road and onto the pavement.

Dan rode straight past. He didn’t turn his head or look at Mehdi. He kept going to the end of the street, where he turned left decisively and kept going until he reached the next intersection. Only then did he return.

The Mercedes followed him.

Dan had considered shaking off his tail, but since Khatabi was unaware that Dan knew he was under surveillance, he thought it prudent if it stayed that way. He might be able to use it to his advantage later.

As he slowed to pull off the road, the Mercedes rattled past, its driver staring straight ahead. Nobody else in the car that Dan could see. The man had black hair. Wrap-around sunglasses. Black shirt. Thirties. No distinguishing features. He acknowledged it would probably be difficult to recognise him again.

Dan parked his motorbike outside Mehdi’s house. Saw the Mercedes turn around at the end of the street and park on the same side of the road. Dan took off his helmet. Walked to the front door. He raised his hand to pull the bell to one side of the front door but he needn’t have bothered because the next second, it opened.

A woman in a brightly patterned over-shirt and jeans said, ‘You must go from here.’ Her gaze flicked to and away from the Mercedes.

‘I want to see Sergeant Mehdi.’

‘The night market tonight. Eight o’clock. Stall a hundred and two. Do not come here again.’

21

For a moment, Lucy was so shocked, she couldn’t speak.

‘Lucy? Are you still there?’

It was her father’s voice all right. Strong, masculine. No regional accent. Just straight middle English. It sounded the way it always had.

‘Yes,’ Lucy croaked. Her mouth had gone dry.

‘Hello, love.’

Out of nowhere a memory erupted. She’d been four years old. They’d gone camping in Devon. In a tent, in a field near a beach. She’d gone to the shower block to spend a penny, as her mum called having a pee. When she got there, there was an empty stall but when she went to walk inside it, a girl, older than her, stopped her.

‘You can’t go in there.’

‘Why not?’ Lucy started to wriggle. She was desperate to pee.

‘Because I say so.’

‘But I’ve got to go!’

‘You’ll have to do it in your pants.’

Lucy had tried to push past the girl, but she was bigger and forced her back. ‘Go in your pants, go in your pants,’ she chanted.

Lucy felt a trickle of urine slip down her leg, then a flood. She started to cry.

Suddenly, her father was there, scooping her up, roaring at the girl who went quite white.

Lucy was sobbing into his neck as he carried her back to their tent. ‘Why was she so mean? I didn’t do anything to her!’

‘There are some nasty people in our world, Lucy. I’m sorry you had to meet one quite so soon.’

She had snuggled deeper into his embrace. She felt so safe, so secure. Nothing could harm her when Dad was around.

‘Lucy?’ Her father’s voice on the phone brought her back.

Her throat had closed up. She wanted to cry like she’d done when she was four and have him scoop her up and hold her. She wanted to yell at him, shout herself hoarse with invective.

‘I’ll call you back.’ Her voice was stiff.

‘I understand.’ His voice was gentle. ‘Call me whenever you like. And I’ll pick up straight away.’

Lucy hung up. Walked into the corridor and burst into tears. Memories crowded her mind. Dad lifting her from her bed – or was it her cot? – when she was a toddler and carrying her downstairs to show her off to his friends. Teaching her to ride a bicycle without stabilisers, showing her how to tie her shoelaces, collecting her from school, reading her a bedtime story. She could hear his laughter, see the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, the way he’d held her gaze while he lied about why he’d been away all week, why he was leaving them, why he was going to Australia… except he hadn’t gone to sodding Australia, had he?

A torrent of crimson abruptly poured through her synapses, dousing her memories with fury. She rang him back.

‘Lucy,’ he said warmly.

‘You didn’t go to Australia,’ she snapped.

‘Who told you that?’ His voice was sharp.

She wasn’t going to dob Jaya in. Or Reg, for that matter.

‘You’re in Macclesfield.’

‘Not quite,’ he said cautiously.

‘Why did you lie? I thought you were in Sydney!’ The crimson deepened into ruby red and at the same time, her pulse soared. ‘Where the hell have you been? Where did you go that day? You left for Heathrow! I saw you! You just about crucified me, you know! And what about Mum? Do you know what you did? How much damage you caused? I guess not, since you swanned off without a backward glance, marching into your sparkling new future, turning your back on your wife and daughter, abandoning them like so much rubbish and–’

She jumped when a hand touched her upper arm. It was one of the constables. He held a finger to his lips. ‘You’re shouting.’ He glanced back at the MIR. ‘We can all hear you.’

Shit.

Lucy hauled her temper back. Took a huge breath. The tips of her fingers were tingling. She took another breath. Her father was talking. She nodded at the constable, turned back to her phone.

‘…love, I can’t tell you how sorry I am.’ His tone was penitent, heartfelt. ‘I thought it was the best thing, I swear it.’

‘The best thing?’ She was incredulous.

‘It was complicated,’ he admitted.

‘Because of Tina?’ Her pulse was still pounding and her voice began to rise once more. She couldn’t seem to stop it.

‘Tina?’ He sounded baffled.

‘The yoga teacher you ran off with!’ she yelled.

‘Ah.’

There was a small silence. Lucy began to pace up and down, trying to keep some form of control. Then he cleared his throat.