The Good Samaritan

by C Parsons, C J Parsons

Genres: Thrillers; Domestic Thrillers; Suspense

Synopsis

Your child goes missing. Then a stranger brings her home.... Perfect for fans of Found by Erin Kinsley, I Looked Away by Jane Corry and Now You See Her by Heidi Perks, this gripping emotional thriller will keep you hooked from the very start. When five-year-old Sofia is taken from the park, her mother, Carrie, is beside herself with worry. Carrie has a condition which means she struggles to read facial expressions, so she is terrified she missed something that put her daughter in danger. But just days later, Sofia is found unharmed. The police immediately suspect Josh, the man who found Sofia, but with no evidence against him they are forced to let him go without charges. Josh is keen to make sure Sofia is safe and well, and Carrie is charmed by his kindness. Carrie also befriends Tara, a mother from the park who helped with the initial search party. But with the identity of Sofia's abductor still unknown, how much should Carrie trust those who have offered their help? Are they good Samaritans, or has Carrie missed the warning signs?

Release date: September 1, 2020

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 416

Sample

One

Sofia wanted to go all the way to the top of the rocket ship, just like Tommy Marks. Tommy said you had to be six years old to do it, but five-and-three-quarters was almost the same thing and, anyway, she’d beaten him at arm wrestling, so it wasn’t like he was so strong. Tommy was probably just making it up, that six rule, to keep her from going up, so he could act like he was the best at everything. But she would show him.

Unless Mummy made her stop.

Sofia turned and looked at her mother, who was watching from just inside the playground gates. There were swings between them, and a boy with orange hair swung up and blocked Mummy’s face for a second. Then he went down and Mummy saw her looking and waved. Sofia gave her a big smile. Mummy didn’t smile back, but that was OK. She hardly ever smiled, on account of her assburger’s. That sounded like a rude word, but Mummy had explained it was a condition, like Johnny B’s lazy eye was a condition, and some of the kids at school seeing letters flipped around the wrong way inside their heads was a condition. It just meant that Mummy’s feelings didn’t always show on the outside the same way as other people’s, even though her feelings were the same on the inside. And another thing was: she couldn’t tell if other people were mad or sad or confused just by looking at them. That part was called facial espression blindness. Sofia had overheard people talking about Mummy, saying she was weird or rude, but that was only because she didn’t understand what they were saying with their faces. She could understand Sofia, though. She said her espressions were nice and clear and easy. Sofia thought it was too bad other people couldn’t see how lovely Mummy was under the not-smiling-very-often face, so they didn’t want to be friends with her. One time Sofia had asked Mummy if she was lonely and Mummy had said how could she be lonely when she had the best daughter in the whole wide world? But something in her voice made Sofia feel like Mummy was sad underneath. It would be nice for her to have a friend. Even a friend like Tommy, who sometimes pinched and said annoying things, like about five-year-olds not being allowed at the top of the rocket.

She looked up the curved climbing frame, arching into the sky, the bars painted blue and red, with flakes missing so metal showed through. There was a little boy with a Spider Man T-shirt hanging on one of the sticky-out bits at the bottom (Mummy said those parts were called ‘fins’, like on a fish). But otherwise, Sofia had the whole rocket to herself.

Tommy couldn’t tell her what to do. She was brave, with strong arms, and she was going to climb all the way to the top and look down at the playground and get that dizzy but exciting feeling of being so high up.

Sofia glanced back towards the playground entrance, where her mother was still watching. Then a lucky thing happened: Mummy started talking on her mobile, which meant she stopped looking over, and this was Sofia’s chance.

She grabbed the rung above her head and began to climb, up and up, as fast as a monkey. The rungs got narrower the higher she went, so by the time she got to the pointy bit of the rocket, there was only just enough room for two feet right next to each other. There was a big piece of metal bent into the shape of a star at the top and she held on to it as she looked down with triumph swooping around inside her chest, imagining she was a queen and this was her kingdom, made of swings and playhouses and a curly slide. She could see Mummy, still on the phone, with one hand covering up her ear. The boy with orange hair jumped off the swing and ran towards the queue for the zip-wire, which was zooming children along next to the fence, with the woods on the other side.

Sofia frowned. Something was weird. There was a broken part in the fence that wasn’t there last time: a rip in the metal big enough to fit through, like a shortcut. Her gaze moved across the branches crowded together on the other side.

Then Sofia’s eyes went big with surprise. Something was leaning against one of the bushes: a huge toy penguin with a red bow around its neck, like a present. She climbed quickly back down the rocket, shoes bonging on the metal, eyes fixed on the penguin. She stepped off the bottom rung and ran towards the gap in the fence. But she stopped short when she reached it; Mummy would be cross if she went outside the playground all by herself. Sofia looked over her shoulder. Her mother was bending down to pick up something on the ground, the phone still stuck on her ear. If Sofia ran super-fast, she could go look at the penguin and be back before Mummy noticed she was gone. The thought gave her the acidy feeling in her tummy that came from doing something naughty.

She stared through the fence at the penguin. What was it doing there? Curiosity was pulling at her, playing tug of war with her conscience. She kicked the broken fence, making the metal vibrate. Looked at Mummy again (still on the phone).

Made a decision.

Sofia slipped through the gap with her heart kicking.

The penguin was leaning against the bush with its back against the leaves, the bow shiny in the sun. She looked around for the owner. Why would someone leave it there? She crouched down and stroked the fluffy tummy. Maybe the owner didn’t want it any more. Maybe the penguin was like an orphan waiting to be adopted. The thought made Sofia’s heart reach out and she grabbed the toy, hugging it against her face. But it had a weird smell, like something sweet mixed together with the stuff Mummy used to clean the oven. It went up Sofia’s nose and inside her head and made her feel dizzy. She lost her balance and tipped sideways into the bush, still holding the penguin, the branches scratching her all the way to the ground. Sharp pebbles were digging into her shoulder, but for some reason she couldn’t get up. She tried to push the penguin away to escape from the chemically sweet smell, but suddenly it seemed to be hugging her back, as though its flippers were wrapped all the way around her body, squeezing tight, not letting go. Everything started going around and around, like a carousel. Sofia and the penguin were spinning together, whirling faster and faster, until finally they spun right out of the park and into darkness.

Two

Sofia was standing at the base of the rocket ship when Carrie’s mobile rang. She looked at the screen and the warm sense of wellbeing that came from watching her daughter play evaporated, replaced by a hard knot of dread.

‘Simon.’ She closed her eyes and the playground view was hidden behind a curtain of red: sunlight passing through her eyelids. ‘What is it?’

Silence. Well, not quite silence, because she could hear faint background noise: distant shouts. Then he cleared his throat.

‘It’s happened again,’ he said, and Carrie’s stomach-knot tightened. ‘Just a brief flash, maybe nothing, a one-off. But I went to see Samji anyway, to check whether the new stuff he gave me is working. And he said I should go back to Clearbrook, just as a precaution. I don’t have to; there’s been no sign of trouble since. But I think it’s the right call. I’m on my way there now and I . . . I wanted to let you know.’ A pause. ‘How is she?’

Carrie glanced over at Sofia, who had begun climbing the rocket.

‘She’s fine.’

‘I miss her.’ A long silence followed this statement. Had Simon said everything he’d called to say? Was it time for them to say goodbye and hang up? She hoped so. She used to love the sound of his voice, the baritone richness of it. And the posh accent, so different from her Canadian one, lifting away the r’s that she sharpened. But that was before. He sighed down the phone. ‘This is where you’re supposed to say she misses me too.’

‘Oh.’ Carrie considered this. ‘She does talk about you.’ It was true. In spite of everything, Sofia had begun asking when she was going to see Daddy again. Carrie couldn’t understand it. Wasn’t she frightened? ‘But after last time . . .’

‘I know. God, I know. And believe me, all I want in this world is to make it up to her.’ Another silence. Was she supposed to fill this one too? Because that wasn’t going to happen. A distant shout travelled through the receiver. Then a dog barking. Where exactly was he? Carrie was about to ask when he said: ‘I’d like to make it up to both of you. If you’ll let me.’

Carrie’s eyes moved instinctively to the climbing frame. Sofia was right at the top, looking down at the children’s woods. She was very high up. What if she fell? Carrie pushed the thought away. She had to learn to let go, give her daughter some freedom.

‘I’m not ready for that, Simon. I made a mistake last time. A terrible mistake.’ Guilt pressed down on her like a weight. ‘I failed my daughter.’

‘Our daughter.’ He amended. ‘And you didn’t fail her. I did. But at some point, we all need to try and put what happened behind us and . . . move on. Get back to where we used to be.’

She stared down at her feet. There was a crack in the tarmac and a dandelion was growing through it, wrapped in a dense orbit of seeds. She bent to pick it. Sofia would make a wish and blow, watching the seeds float away on their tiny parachutes.

‘Was there anything else you wanted to tell me, Simon?’

A long pause. ‘No, that’s it.’

What was the appropriate thing to say? This scenario hadn’t been covered in any of her books or sessions. So she settled on: ‘It’s good that you informed me about Clearbrook.’ Thought a bit longer, then added: ‘I hope your visit there is . . . successful.’

‘Thank you.’ Another sigh, louder this time. ‘Goodbye, Carrie.’

Her eyes returned to the climbing frame, but Sofia wasn’t there any more. She must have grown bored and moved on.

‘Goodbye, Simon.’

She slipped the mobile back into her denim jacket as she strode across the playground, holding the dandelion carefully, to protect the wish-seeds. The rectangular space was packed with children: jumping, spinning, climbing, running. Their shouts filled the air like a cloud, shot through with parental commands (‘Share with your brother!’, ‘Ten-minute warning!’, ‘Hurry up, or we’ll be late!’). Her eyes darted from the spiral slide, past the roundabout to the queue for the zip wire. Sofia should have been easy enough to spot, in her pink polka-dot skirt and rainbow trainers, the silver top with a sequinned heart across the front. But there was no sign of her and Carrie felt a small kick of adrenalin. Irrational, of course. It happened every time her daughter stepped out of view, and she always reappeared. She was probably in the birdcage.

Carrie scaled the ladder leading up to it. Children were packed into the circular space like tiny inmates in an overcrowded prison. But Sofia wasn’t among them. She pushed to the front and looked out between the bars. From up here, she could see the whole playground. Her eyes swept the rocket, the roundabout, the swings, the slide. Still no sign. She must be inside the playhouse. Carrie scrambled back down the ladder, dropping to the ground before she reached the bottom, landing hard and jarring her knees. She dashed to the playhouse, with its walls painted in primary colours, and thrust her head through the square gap representing a window. A small blond boy with a runny nose and a plastic shovel blinked up at her. But no Sofia. The dandelion dropped to the ground as she spun away, zigzagging across the playground.

‘Sofia! Come here.’ Her head whipped from side to side, ears straining for the familiar voice rising from some undiscovered hiding place. She’d had nightmares like this ever since her daughter was born – dreams that Sofia was lost and she was searching. And, just for a moment, she wondered whether this was one of them, whether she was actually at home, asleep in bed. ‘I’ll buy you an ice cream if you come out right now.’

But she didn’t come out. And Carrie had been all around the playground, checked every piece of equipment and her daughter was not there. Not hiding in the space under the playhouse or in the shadow under the slide or behind one of the trees just beyond the zip wire, screening the chainmail fence that kept the children in . . . That was supposed to keep them in. She stared hard at the metal barrier, noticing something for the first time. A section of the fence had been sliced through and bent back, creating a gap big enough to admit even an adult. Her daughter must have gone out that way. Carrie had been standing right in front of the entry gate when Simon’s call came, so Sofia couldn’t have slipped past unnoticed. She hauled in a breath, feeling some of the tension leave her as she released it. Mystery solved.

The ‘children’s woods’ was a small slice of forest bisected by a trail. Sofia loved playing there, loved clambering over the fallen trees that interrupted the path, using the steps cut into their trunks, courtesy of the park keepers. So that was where she must be. It was the only possible explanation. Or at least, the only one Carrie’s mind was prepared to accept.

She dashed through the break in the fence, stopping on the other side to scan the woods: a little slice of countryside for London’s inner-city children. Sunlight angled through the trees, sending golden shafts across the trail. A boy was dragging a broken branch along it: material for a fort under construction at the base of an oak. Two little girls were building a lean-to against the back of the hut where the park keepers stored their equipment. But no sequinned heart. No flash of pink polka dots between the leaves.

She has to be here somewhere.

Carrie fended off the thought that she could hardly remember the last time Sofia had run off without saying anything. That it hadn’t happened since she was a toddler. She would see her in a moment. Any moment. Any moment now. She jogged along the trail, not seeing her, dread expanding inside her until it squeezed out everything else.

She broke into a run, shouting her daughter’s name, the calls growing louder as she neared the end of the trail. Her voice cut through the woods like an alarm siren, turning heads and drawing women – other mothers – her way. Five of them formed a rough circle around her as she reached the end of the path and stopped, breath coming in ragged gasps.

‘Are you all right?’ The speaker was younger than Carrie: late twenties or early thirties. Dark, wavy hair. Jeans and a running top.

‘No. I can’t find my daughter.’

Saying the words out loud set off a flash of white-hot panic. Carrie bent at the waist, palms braced against her knees, riding it out. The woman bent over too so that their faces were level.

‘It’s OK, love. I’ll help you find your daughter.’

Carrie straightened and nodded, flooded by gratitude.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Carrie.’

‘Mine’s Tara. This is a big park and there are loads of places for a child to hide. So how about we get some help?’

‘Help. Yes, of course. Should we call the police?’

Tara smiled. Her eyes were blue-green, like a holiday sea.

‘I think we can get help right here. It’ll be faster.’ She turned towards the other four women: a redhead, face swarming with freckles; a plump, dark-skinned woman in an orange headscarf; a pair of trim older mums, their matching blonde hair tied in loose knots, both sensibly dressed in jeans and T-shirts. They had similar features: sisters, presumably. Tara raised a hand in greeting. ‘Hello, ladies. As you’ve just heard, Carrie here can’t find her daughter. Which means that, somewhere in this park, there’s a little girl who has lost her mum and is probably starting to get scared.’ She looked slowly from face to face, before asking: ‘Any volunteers to help find her?’

The woman in the headscarf responded first, with ‘count me in.’ Then the redhead nodded and the two blondes said ‘absolutely’ in perfect unison.

Carrie focused on her breathing, telling herself that everything was going to be fine, just fine. These women would be her search party. They would find Sofia.

‘OK.’ Tara clapped her hands together, like a teacher address­ing a class. ‘First off: someone needs to stay here and watch all the children while the rest of us are off searching.’

The redhead raised her hand. ‘I’ll do that.’

‘Great. And your name is . . .’

‘Emily.’

‘Thanks, Emily. Everyone: before you go anywhere, introduce your children to Emily and tell them to stay within sight of her. I’ve just dropped my son off at the fishpond with his dad, so that’s one less to keep an eye on.’ She placed a hand on Carrie’s shoulder. As a rule, Carrie disliked being touched by strangers. But right now, she found it oddly comforting. ‘Can you describe your daughter, tell us what’s she’s wearing?’

‘Five years old, almost six. Dark, curly hair. A pink polka-dot skirt and rainbow trainers. There’s a heart on her top. In sequins.’

‘I heard you calling her name. Sophie?’

‘Sofia.’

‘Where did you last see her?’

‘On the climbing frame. She’s not in the playground any more, though, so she must have gotten out through that hole.’ Carrie waved in the direction of the cut fence.

Tara patted her arm, then gestured towards the blonde sisters. ‘Can one of you search all through the children’s woods, see if she’s hiding behind a bush or a tree? The other one can check the tennis courts and the bronze turtle statues by the main entrance.’ She turned to the woman in the headscarf. ‘Why don’t you take the Japanese pond and the section of trees right beside it? Carrie and I will give the playground one last check. I think that covers everything. We can meet back here in twenty minutes.’

And before Carrie knew what was happening, Tara was towing her back along the path through the woods, pausing just long enough to ask a passing park keeper whether he’d seen a lost girl (he hadn’t) before ducking through the gap in the fence.

‘She’s not in the playground,’ Carrie objected. ‘I searched it already.’

‘Worth another try,’ Tara insisted. ‘My boy once squeezed into a space under the playhouse that I’d never noticed before. Hid there for ten minutes and frightened the life out of me.’

‘I know the space you mean. I checked it.’

‘Somewhere else, then. The cage with the ladder.’

‘No, I looked, I . . .’ But Tara was making Carrie doubt herself, the quality of her search, and they scoured the playground together, checking every inch. They finished up by the main entrance, where Tara stopped for one last scan before glancing at her watch.

‘OK, let’s head back to the woods. The others should have returned by now. I’m sure one of them will have found her.

Carrie didn’t understand how she could be sure. She was about to ask, then stopped herself. It must be one of those things people only said to make you feel better. Words without facts behind them. Meaningless.

Two members of the search party were already waiting on the other side of the gate to the woods: the blondes. Sofia wasn’t with them. Carrie felt her stomach twist, like cold hands wringing her insides.

‘Any luck?’ one of the sisters asked. Carrie didn’t respond, because it was blindingly obvious they hadn’t had any luck or she would be clasping a curly-haired child against her chest right now, smiling one of her rare, genuine smiles.

She shifted her attention beyond the wooden gate, to the path leading to the Japanese pond. All her hopes were now pinned on the one remaining searcher. She told herself that it was a good sign the woman hadn’t come back yet; it meant Sofia was with her, slowing her down by stopping to look at a squirrel or pick a buttercup or complain that there was something sharp in her shoe that needed to be taken out right now. Carrie pictured them together, moving closer, as she stared at the empty path.

Tara followed her gaze. ‘She probably went to look at the fish. That’s what my son did.’

Carrie nodded, because that was what you were supposed to do. But a question was gnawing at her, eating away at the hopeful image of her daughter skipping alongside the woman in the orange headscarf. What could possibly have induced Sofia to wander so far away without saying anything? It didn’t make sense. Perhaps she’d met a bossy older child who’d insisted on taking her there? But even that didn’t ring true. Sofia knew her own mind, set her own boundaries. Carrie had overheard her angrily scolding friends for playing on their iPads, saying they shouldn’t be giving all their attention to fake people when there were real ones standing right there.

Oh my little love, come back to me.

Her eyes locked onto the curving pathway to the pond. A magpie landed on it and pecked at the gravel. What was that saying about them? One for sorrow, two for joy. Carrie’s eyes darted to the surrounding trees, suddenly superstitious, hoping to see a second bird. But the magpie was alone. Her gaze returned to the curving path, willing it to bring two figures into view: one tall and one small.

Two for joy.

Tara looked at her watch. ‘It’s been half an hour,’ she said. ‘Perhaps we should go to the pond and see if they’re there.’

Carrie opened her mouth to answer, to say yes, anything was better than standing here waiting, with fear tearing around her body in trapped circles, biting at her insides.

And then she saw her: a plump figure in an orange headscarf, moving into view. The last member of the search party, slowly returning.

Alone.

Everything suddenly became hyper real, as though outlines had been razored around the leaves, the branches, the creases that had suddenly appeared on Tara’s forehead. One of the sisters was saying something, but panic had short-circuited Carrie’s brain, so it was like listening to a foreign language. She was dimly aware of voices calling out names. The other mums, summoning their children. And instinctively, she knew why. Until now, they had assumed that the monster Carrie feared existed only in a mother’s love-addled imagination. But the failed search was making them think again. And she felt a flash of resentment towards these other children, these lesser children, these children who were not Sofia. Who didn’t crawl into her bed in the middle of the night, saying ‘Mummy, can I have a cuddle?’ Or blow goodbye kisses at the school gate. Who didn’t act out stories as Carrie read them, arms flapping furiously as a bird took flight. These children who were here, safe and accounted for, while her special girl, her beam of light, was missing.

Missing.

Then Tara took out her mobile and said: ‘I’m sure it’s nothing, but we might as well call for back up.’ And her thumb touched the same spot three times: 999. The number of disasters, of emergencies. Of lives blown apart. And as she watched Tara ask for the police, the spark of hope Carrie had been sheltering inside herself was snuffed out. The police were coming because her daughter had disappeared. This wasn’t a dream from which she would surface with a gasp, throwing back her duvet and padding down the hall to find Sofia asleep with Penguin Pete clutched against her chest. This was a nightmare from which there would be no waking. She tried to calm herself with deep breaths, but the air didn’t seem to contain enough oxygen. She was suffocating. The trees wheeled drunkenly around her before suddenly receding, as though she were falling down a well. She was aware of grabbing fingers. An echoey shout.

Then nothing.

Three

DCI Juliet Campbell trusted her instincts. They had, after all, been proven right time and again, turning around cases that had hit a dead end, leading them down pathways no one else could see. In fact, it was probably fair to say that her hunches had acquired near legendary status around the station, referred to variously as ‘Juliet’s super hunches’, ‘intuition on steroids’ and ‘DCI Campbell’s Caribbean voodoo’ (that last one from DI Greer, a racist tosser of the first order).

Years ago, Juliet had dated a psychologist who’d informed her that these flashes of insight were simply her unconscious picking up on something her conscious mind had overlooked. They’d had a huge row after he’d shared this theory, during which Juliet had accused him, first of treating her like a patient instead of a girlfriend, then of taking her apart like a car mechanic hunting for defects. But if she was being honest, what had really upset her was the way he’d reduced her gift to something mundane: not a finely-honed ability to tune into frequencies no one else could hear, but simply one part of her mind failing to communicate properly with the other. The relationship hadn’t lasted long after that.

Yes, Juliet Campbell trusted her instincts. And, right now, they were telling her that the missing girl’s mother was hiding something.

Juliet shifted against the curved chair-back as she considered the woman on the other side of the dining table, with her pale skin and unwashed hair, a mug of coffee trembling in her hand. Had she even gone to bed? Juliet was pretty sure that was the same blue T-shirt as yesterday.

She took out her pocket notebook and flipped it open.

‘How would you characterise Sofia’s father’s condition?’

‘Her father’s condition,’ she echoed, the r’s amplified by her Canadian accent. Juliet had established that Carrie Haversen came from a small town in Northern Alberta and had moved to Britain eight years ago, after being offered a job at a top London architecture firm. ‘I don’t understand the question.’ The grey eyes fluttered through a series of blinks. She took a sip of coffee. ‘Sorry.’

Juliet gritted her teeth in frustration.

‘Well, would you say Simon’s case is serious? Would a stranger be able to tell that he is . . . unwell?’

Carrie’s gaze pulled away, landing on the bronze-rimmed clock beside the kitchen fridge, now counting down the last few minutes before 11 a.m. Juliet could hear its ticks stacking up in the pause that followed and knew they had waded into another pool of silence. Her fingers tightened around her notebook as she fought against the impulse to shout at this woman to pick up the pace, for the sake of her child. But she knew that wouldn’t achieve anything; Sofia’s mother had been shocked into slow mo.

Tick-tick-tick. The house darkened then lit as a cloud passed across the sun. Then, just as she was about to give up and repeat the question, Carrie spoke.

‘If you want information about Simon’s condition, why don’t you ask his doctors?’

The coffee cup made another juddering upward journey. Juliet examined the shadows beneath the woman’s eyes, dark as bruises. It didn’t look as if she’d gotten any sleep. Perhaps Juliet should speak to the family liaison officer about getting a doctor to prescribe some sedatives? Carrie had checked herself out of hospital against medical advice less than two hours after regaining consciousness and insisted on spending the night at home, despite having no family support system. (Her only living relative was a father in an ‘assisted living centre’ back in Alberta. Juliet had overheard Carrie talking to him on the phone. She’d had to remind him three times that she lived in London now. And twice: who Sofia was.)

‘We did try to speak to his doctors, Carrie. But Clearbrook takes confidentiality very seriously. They refused to let my officers enter the premises or provide any information without a warrant. They won’t even confirm that he’s there.’

‘Oh.’ Another series of rapid blinks. Juliet had worked out that Carrie’s eyelids fluttered like that whenever her mind was processing something. ‘Confidentiality. I hadn’t thought about that.’ The pale features barely moved, but Juliet thought she detected the ghost of a frown. ‘You shouldn’t waste time on Simon. He has nothing to do with Sofia’s disappearance. As I’ve already told you, he was on the phone with me when she went missing, on his way to Clearbrook.’

Or so he claimed, Juliet thought.

But there was no point trying to force the issue. Alistair would be arriving at Clearbrook with a warrant any minute now, so they could get hold of Ryder’s history that way.

Juliet removed a sheet of A4 paper from her leather satchel and slid it across the table’s teak surface. . . .