Louise Voss & Mark Edwards 3-Book Thriller Collection: Catch Your Death, All Fall Down, Killing Cupid. Mark EdwardsЧитать онлайн книгу.
stood very still amid a sea of people weaving their way around him, motionless as they bumped into him with suitcases and trolleys, looking down at bodies of all different shapes, sizes and colours, trying to spot the woman he had once loved.
A horrible recognition swept over him; a distant memory breaking through the surface with sudden, perfect clarity. Something about Kate going over to England for Lil’s ninetieth birthday had been nagging at him all week, but it wasn’t until now that he realised what it was: the last time Kate had planned to go to England for one of Lil’s birthdays had been five years ago, for Lil’s eighty-fifth. Jack had just been a baby, coming up to his own first birthday. Kate was going to take him with her, ‘so they could celebrate both birthdays together.’ But at the last minute Jack had come down with a fever, and she hadn’t wanted to go without him. Vernon had been secretly delighted – he’d been pissed that Kate would deny him the opportunity to be there for his own son’s first birthday.
Jack’s birthday was September 1st. And it was now June.
Vernon let out a noise which was a cross between a roar and a frustrated sort of yelp, causing the Irish couple with the lost luggage, as well as most of the passengers in the vicinity, to whip their heads around and stare at him.
‘That goddamn bitch!’ he yelled, kicking hard at the end leg of a row of seats, spilling the coffee of the woman sitting at the other end and causing her to jump up in alarm.
She won’t get away with this, he thought, stalking back towards the car park before Security were summoned to escort him off the premises. No way is she taking my son. No way is she having him; he’s mine. I’ll hunt her down like a dog, and she’ll be sorry she ever messed with me. She can have the fucking divorce, I’ll be glad to see the back of her whining miserable back. But there is no way on God’s earth that she’s having my boy.
When he got to the ticket machines to pay for the several hours he’d been parked in Short Stay, he dug angrily in his pockets for change, waiting in line behind a young bespectacled man who couldn’t seem to fathom how the machine worked. The man had a huge suitcase standing on its end beside him, and Vernon’s rage increased as the man dithered and flapped, trying to put his ticket in the slot for banknotes. Vernon could not contain himself any longer.
‘It’s simple, jerkoff ! Put the goddamn ticket in THERE, and the goddamn money in THERE. What’s your fucking problem?’
Before the young man could reply, Vernon pushed over his suitcase, causing it to thud heavily against the ticket machine. He took out his cellphone and hit the speed-dial to call Kate. It went straight to voicemail. He strode back towards the terminal again.
He’d had an idea.
Taking a deep breath to try and calm himself down, he forced himself to walk slowly up to the British Airways Reservations desk.
‘I want to buy a ticket to London. Leaving tomorrow, as early as possible.’
They drove in silence for a while, creeping through traffic lights and across zebra crossings towards London’s western edge. These outer reaches of the city seemed so sad and run-down, the bright sunshine exposing the cracks and the filth, the boarded-up shops, black bin liners spilling their guts on every kerb. Kate couldn’t help but see it as a kind of virus that had spread through the city, so that every borough looked the same: the same shops on every high street, identical gangs of teenagers in identical clothes. Actually, there was something hopeful about the kids, the way they thrived in the most barren places, their adaptability, making their own fun and enjoying life though it appeared the world hated them. Again, like viruses. And soon these parts of London would be stricken by another disease: gentrification would come and prices would soar, and that branch of Tennessee Fried Chicken would become a nice little deli, and the kids would be driven somewhere else, further marginalised but always there.
Leaving London, Kate felt like an animal that had been chased from its hole. Exposed and endangered. She turned her face from the window, looked around to make sure Jack was alright. He was fine, leaning back like a VIP in a limo, gazing imperiously at the strange streets. What was he thinking? Did he miss his dad, his friends? Or was he too excited by all this newness, this adventure? Probably a little of both. When he was older he would probably look back and wonder about this strange holiday his mum took him on as a kid.
They took the M4 for a short distance, driving past signposts that pointed to THE WEST. The words gave Kate goosebumps and she rubbed her forearms. Going west. Into the past. To a place where she was going to have to confront her memories, prise open the lid of Pandora’s box. She felt fluttery panic, bird’s wings in her stomach and chest. Needing distraction, she turned on the radio.
‘Animal rights groups are denying responsibility for last night’s shocking murder of a scientist in Oxford . . .’
Great. She switched it off. She didn’t want to think about scientists being murdered – or anything to do with science or work. She missed her work, the quiet excitement of the lab, the research into the Watoto Virus that had become her obsession and her cause. She specialised in research into viruses that mainly affected Africa. There had been the research into West Nile, plus Ebola and Marburg. But her real passion was in finding a vaccine for Watoto, as if the virus had become a personal enemy, her nemesis. She dreamt of making that breakthrough and becoming, in conquering the disease, a modern day Edward Jenner, famed for developing the smallpox inoculation, or Louis Pasteur, who had developed the vaccine for rabies.
She missed the colleagues she’d left behind too. What would they think of her? No doubt, they would find what she’d done irrational and out of character. On top of that, they’d think she’d betrayed them, left them at a crucial time. Perhaps one day she’d be able to explain her reasons to them.
As they turned onto the infamous M25, they hit traffic. Paul stuck his head out of the window, trying to see what was causing the hold-up. He sighed. ‘Looks like an accident.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘I’ve just realised that I’m dragging you away from your normal life. Your job.’
He waved her concerns away. ‘Don’t worry about it. I was due some leave and, anyway, we’d just finished working on a big case. You met me at a good time.’
Eager for something to take her mind off everything else, Kate asked, ‘What was the case about? Can you tell me?’
‘Phishing.’
‘Where criminals send emails pretending to be your bank or some other big site so you’ll give them your credit card or bank details?’
‘That’s right.’
From the backseat, Jack said, ‘I’d like to go fishing and catch a fish.’
Paul said, ‘Maybe I’ll take you one day.’
‘Cool.’
Kate frowned. ‘You shouldn’t make promises to kids that you don’t mean to keep.’
‘Who says I don’t mean to keep it?’
He didn’t meet her eye as he said it, but flicked a look at her in the pause that followed, and Kate suddenly became very aware of the heat inside the car. She didn’t want this; didn’t need it. ‘How do you turn up the air-con in this car?’
Paul turned a dial on the dashboard. This was English summer all right: capricious, moody. Overcast and cool, then swinging into blazing cruelty. That made her think of Vernon, and so she prompted Paul to tell her about the phishing case to help take her mind off her husband.
‘It was a big deal. The trail led back to a crime syndicate in Russia. As it so often does. Russia, Nigeria, South Korea. Although it can be anywhere really. The most frustrating thing about computer crime is that it moves so easily across borders. The United States passed an Anti-Phishing Act last year but then