Saving Sophie: A compulsively twisty psychological thriller that will keep you gripped to the very last page. Sam Carrington
she say? That they thought they’d found her, or rather her body? Oh, and by the way, I told the copper you might have been the last one to see her alive?
Instead, she managed: ‘The detective wants to speak to you.’
Dan’s head snapped up. ‘Me? Why me?’
‘Well, you were one of the last people to see her, he wants to ask you some questions, like he’s just asked me.’
‘What did you tell him?’ His chest rose and fell quicker than was normal. What did he have to be concerned about? At least he had memories of Saturday night.
‘Nothing.’ She sighed. ‘I can’t actually remember anything. My last clear memory is at Amy’s house with everyone, drinking.’
‘You aren’t serious?’
‘Deadly.’
‘Are you sure? It seems … well, unlikely.’ He avoided eye contact, the tone of his voice implied he didn’t believe her.
‘Yes, I’m sure, Dan. But you do, so that’s all right, isn’t it.’ She shook her head. ‘Best get inside.’
‘I’m not coming in.’
‘You have to. He’s seen your text saying you wanted me to come outside, plus, he can see you through the window.’ She flung her arm up in indication. ‘I’ve already been far too long – he’ll probably be suspicious now, thinking we’re trying to get our stories straight.’
‘What the actual fuck, Sophie? Stories straight, why?’ He grabbed hold of both her forearms tightly.
‘Ow. Let go. What’s your problem? You’re acting weird.’ She spoke the words through gritted teeth. He released her and let his arms hang by his side.
‘I don’t like where this is going, that’s all.’ His voice was shaky.
He was acting strangely, out of character. But then, wasn’t she? She had to admit, none of it was truly sinking in; her own reactions weren’t what she expected. It wasn’t even the worst of it yet, he was going to hate it when he found out there was a body, and they thought it was Amy. Bile burned the back of her throat. She couldn’t be the one to break that news.
‘Come on.’ She tilted her head towards the front door. ‘We have to do this. They’ll be talking to everyone from Saturday night, not just us.’
Dan let out a short, sharp breath, then followed Sophie inside.
DI Wade slid back the curtain, slowly, as if it could make a difference. Prevent the inevitable for a moment longer, give this couple a few more precious seconds before their lives plunged into the black hole of grief. She’d been here before. Only once during her time as DI, thankfully, but it’d burned a cavity in her consciousness, which had never been fully refilled. She could still see the small body – battered, discoloured, the skin beginning to deteriorate; the image branded on to her retinas. His killer hadn’t been found, the case now a cold one. Lindsay Wade wasn’t prepared to let it happen again.
Standing inches away from Liz Howard, Lindsay could feel her shaking. Not a tremble, but a full-body tremor. Her husband held on to her, to stop her collapsing. A few hours ago, her daughter was merely missing. A terrible thing: the fear of what might be, the not knowing, the constant eyes peeled in the hopes of catching a glimpse. Some people went through it for years, never finding their loved ones. Did it make these parents lucky that their daughter had at least been found? They might gain an element of closure. But then, the next stage: who did this to their beautiful girl? And what if the perpetrator was never brought to justice – what kind of closure was that?
Lindsay placed a hand on Liz’s shoulder. ‘Are you ready?’ The words seemed ridiculous even as she spoke them. How can anyone ever be ready to view a dead body – a body they are expecting to be their child? The woman and man took hold of each other’s hands, took deep breaths, and stepped closer to the window.
Lindsay closed her eyes, not able to watch their pain. She waited for the scream she knew was coming.
A brief, sharp wail emitted from Liz’s open mouth before the man lost his grip and she slumped to the floor.
Dan’s story may have come across as solid to DS Mack – Karen, though, was unconvinced. The whole taxi episode sounded weak, far too vague, as if he were speaking lines by rote. The same story the others had stuck to: Amy and Erin put Sophie in a taxi outside the White Hart. The exact same words. But had any of them actually seen this? Or were they only going on what Amy had supposedly told them? Conveniently, there was no CCTV covering that area, a fact DS Mack had reiterated as he scribbled notes in his pad.
But, perhaps she shouldn’t be thinking about that right now. Her thoughts should be with Amy – and poor Liz. Her own gut-wrenching reaction to seeing Sophie in such a state, thinking something bad had happened to her, paled into insignificance compared to what Liz must be experiencing at this moment. She’d sounded relatively calm when Karen’d first spoken to her, convinced Amy would show up and that they’d all laugh about it afterwards. Now it was nothing to laugh about. Karen had only known Liz as long as Sophie’d known Amy, hadn’t even met her in person – all communication had been via phone calls and texting. She’d no idea how she and Nathan would cope, or what support they had to help them through this.
When DS Mack left, he handed Karen a card, said to contact him should she or Sophie have anything to add. Now, standing in the kitchen, she absently flipped the card over and over. It was unlikely they’d require it. What more could they say? Sophie hadn’t been able to recall any more of Saturday evening, and Dan had offered no more than what had already been noted from his texts to Sophie. She held the card on to the cork message board and jammed a bright red pin through its centre. How were the police going to piece any of this together – to make sense of Amy’s last known movements?
Last known movements. Karen’s skin tingled as it turned to gooseflesh. She ran her hand up and down her arm to brush away the bumps. Her eyes stung as fresh tears threatened.
‘You okay?’ Mike came up behind her and laid a hand on her shoulder.
‘What do you think?’ She shrugged his hand off.
‘I’ll make a coffee.’
‘Not for me. Don’t need any extra reasons to stay awake tonight.’
‘Tablets not helping?’ This was the first time he’d referred to her medication. He’d never asked a single question about them before.
‘They aren’t sleeping tablets,’ Karen shouted. ‘They’re to help with bloody anxiety. Anxiety, Mike. Not murder.’ She retreated out of the kitchen, leaving Mike with a stunned expression on his face.
Idiot. Two years she’d been taking them, and he didn’t even know what they were for? Why did she bother? Karen lay on the bed, staring at the darkening sky through the skylight. She hated the skylight. His idea to have it put in – to make the room more airy, seem bigger than its actual ten by ten foot size. In reality, all it did was annoy her: letting the sun spill in too early in the morning, which woke her up, and the moonlight send in shards of ghostly white at night when she wanted to sleep. She’d asked for a blind. It still hadn’t materialised.
Distant whispers penetrated her thoughts. After DS Mack had