S is for Stranger: the gripping psychological thriller you don’t want to miss!. Louise Stone
about the woman?’
‘When I was at university,’ I started. My lower lip trembled. ‘I witnessed my friend die. Cold-blooded murder. I think the woman was there but I don’t know, I blacked out at the time. The whole thing was like a dream.’ I paused. ‘A nightmare.’ I shook my head, tried to physically remove the fog that descended every time I thought of that night. A coping mechanism, the Priory therapist Dr Hurst, had said: a way of protecting myself.
The DI clenched her jaw, started scribbling madly again in her notebook. ‘Why are you relating the two?’ Her eyes bored into me. I could tell her mind was already running my profile through the system: she wouldn’t find anything.
I leant against the pole again. ‘I don’t know. The woman’s voice was so familiar.’
‘You heard her voice?’
‘She rang me just before Amy disappeared.’ I bit my lip. ‘Although, why the woman would know my number …’ My voice trailed off. Maybe I was imagining things, maybe it was another trick of my imagination. It wasn’t feasible, was it? ‘No, I don’t know what I’m talking about.’ I paused. ‘But there was something about her voice.’
The DI’s shoulders visibly tensed. ‘Why do you think Amy said she didn’t speak to a woman?’
‘I guess she didn’t want to get into trouble.’
‘Maybe she genuinely didn’t?’
She didn’t have to say it: she thought I was delusional. Maybe I hadn’t seen the woman. Maybe because it’s my birthday, I’m remembering … She died on your birthday twenty years ago. I shook my head hard; I didn’t want to remember. Amy was missing but it has nothing to do with the night Bethany died.
My heart twisted when I thought how angrily I’d spoken to Amy only a couple of hours ago: I had been worried about her talking to a stranger. I hoped that wherever she was she realised I wasn’t cross with her. Had she run away because she thought I was angry? Had she run away because, as her gaze often told me, she was scared of me? What if there had been no woman and I had accused Amy of talking to thin air? She would think her mother was mad: again. That thought caught me unawares and I stifled a sob.
DI Ward nodded. ‘OK, I just need to be clear on everything. When Amy went missing, what were you doing?’
‘Buying candyfloss. Over there.’ I pointed to the stallholder at the far side of the green. ‘I gave her money and she went up to order it. Next thing I know, I get a phone call. It was an unknown number and this woman’s muffled voice said, “Happy birthday” and “Your turn”. I looked over again and Amy was gone.’ I gave a small shake to my head. ‘Just like that. Gone.’
‘This caller said “your turn”? and what on earth does that mean? Are you sure?’
I wasn’t sure of anything any more.
‘I presume it was a withheld number?’
‘I didn’t check that,’ I admitted, searching my bag now and scrolling through the recent call list. ‘No number. See here.’ I showed the display to the DI, she nodded.
‘Hmm, OK.’ She withdrew her notebook and scribbled a quick note. ‘First, let’s go and talk to the guy who sold Amy the candyfloss.’
‘There’s something I should tell you. It’s about my ex-husb …’ I walked fast to catch up with the detective but I stopped talking when I realised she was now on her phone. It had been ringing non-stop.
She spoke hurriedly. ‘Thank you, DS Franklin,’ the DI finished and flipped her phone shut.
I was almost running now. ‘I’ve already asked him, Detective, the man who sold us the candyfloss. He doesn’t remember Amy.’
‘We’ll try him again. You’d be amazed how often the presence of a police officer jogs their memory.’
‘I promise you he doesn’t know,’ I reiterated, but she still wasn’t listening.
‘OK, here we are.’ She turned on a smile for the ruddy-faced man sat behind the glass counter. He shot up, clearly not immune to the detective’s female charm and, I hated to admit it, Hispanic good looks. Pity her personality wasn’t as appealing.
Without a trace of obvious emotion in her voice, DI Ward brought the man up to speed. ‘Sir, we have a woman here whose daughter is missing. Can you tell me, did you sell candyfloss to a girl about so high?’ She held her hand up and looked to me for confirmation. I nodded. ‘Do you want to tell him exactly what she was wearing?’
I did and he showed no signs of recognition.
‘She bought three candyfloss sticks.’ I knew we were raking over old ground.
‘I told you before, love. I don’t remember her,’ he said through gritted teeth.
The detective looked at me.
‘She was here,’ I stated flatly.
‘To be fair to the lady, I don’t remember many people I serve what with being here all day and so many people passing through. This isn’t one of them country fairs. London is full of strange faces.’
DI Ward thanked him for his time and we made our way back to the tent. I spoke a silent prayer as we entered. But Amy was nowhere to be seen. The detective chatted briefly to the same girl before turning back to me. ‘You had something you wanted to tell me?’
The tension that had enveloped me for the last hour gave way to heaving sobs. The DI put her hand tentatively on mine and gave a reassuring squeeze.
‘Come on, you can tell me,’ she encouraged.
I tried to explain the call to Paul, stopping every few seconds to take a deep breath.
‘Wait a second, Ms Fraiser,’ she said, quickly removing her hand from my arm. ‘Are you trying to tell me you spoke to your ex-husband? Mr Mitchell, was it? And he denies ever being here? And you’re absolutely sure he was?’ DI Ward frowned and shook her head. ‘Is that what you’re saying?’
I wiped my eyes with the back of my sleeve. ‘That’s correct.’
She scratched her head. ‘Are you sure that Amy isn’t with your ex-husband?’
I recoiled. ‘Detective, what are you suggesting?’ She glanced at me. ‘My daughter is missing. M-I-S-S-I-N-G.’ I spelt it out for her. She shot me a disparaging look. ‘If we were to go to Paul’s house now, and Amy isn’t there, does anyone mind explaining to me where my daughter is?’
‘Do you have any proof that Mr Mitchell and Amy were here with you? A photo on your phone?’
I didn’t like where this was going. ‘No. Nothing,’ I said flatly; there hadn’t been any time to take photos.
‘In which case, I think we’d better go and talk to your ex-husband.’ I noted the weariness in her voice.
My mind was spinning with questions, doubts. I couldn’t understand it. I rubbed my stinging eyes.
‘We definitely came here together.’ I felt defeated. A voice at the back of my head was taunting me: it’s not real. None of it’s real. ‘But I suppose Paul could’ve taken Amy home,’ I finally conceded. I pinched myself to confirm I could in fact feel pain, that I did exist.
‘How about I drive you over there and we’ll get this all sorted out?’
I nodded and obediently followed DI Ward to her car. It was late afternoon now, the midday warmth replaced by a cool autumnal breeze. I climbed onto the rear seat and shut the door, then I remembered and took out my wallet. At the back, behind my credit cards, I kept a small passport photo of Amy. I looked at it, caressing the glossy picture with my thumb.
‘I do have a photo. This is Amy.’ I showed the photo to the detective as she started up the car.
DI