Girl A by Dan Scottow (easy books to read in english .TXT) 📕

door, stepping out into the hallway.

As he walked away, he heard the creak of the wheelchair behind him.

‘Mr Carter…’ The gravelly voice sickened him.

Charlie faced Simms.

‘I’ve seen a lot of terrible things in my life, the job I did. But what they inflicted on that little boy… it will stay with me until the day I die. It haunts me. It ruined me. Destroyed my faith in humanity. That two children could do… that. Did you know one of them carved the letter K into Billy’s torso? After he was dead.’

‘I didn’t know that.’

‘No. Those grislier details were kept out of the papers. But that’s what happened. Of course, with both their names beginning with K, we could never be entirely sure who did that to him. Though I have my suspicions.’ His eyes lingered. ‘Do you have a photo of your wife I could see?’

Charlie hesitated.

‘If you’re totally sure it’s not her, then you can show me. What damage can it do?’

Nodding, he pulled his wallet from his pocket, slipping a wedding photo out from the folds. He crossed towards Simms, handing him the picture.

Simms stared at it, his eyes ominous. A grimace on his mouth.

He handed the photograph back to Charlie.

‘Good luck, Mr Carter,’ he said.

‘Why do you say that?’ Charlie took the picture and placed it back into his wallet.

‘I’ve spent a lot of time looking into those eyes. I’d know them anywhere.’

‘I’m sorry, but you’re wrong.’

Simms cocked an eyebrow.

‘If you say so.’

He stared at Charlie. Charlie couldn’t read his expression.

‘Do you have kids?’

‘Yes. We have a teenaged son and a six-year-old daughter.’

Simms turned his chair and wheeled himself away without saying a word.

As Charlie opened the front door Simms shouted out from the living room, ‘I hope you’re right. For your family’s sake.’

Charlie clicked the door shut, Simms’ words ringing in his ears. As he walked down the garden path towards his Audi, he remembered the note he had received in the gym.

How well do you know your wife?

He unlocked the car and sat behind the wheel. The conversation played around his head.

He knew his wife. He trusted her. She was not Kitty Briscoe.

Simms was wrong. Charlie was sure of that.

He pulled his phone from his jeans pocket and typed in Beth’s name. The only result was her work profile and email address at Greys.

Nothing else.

He typed in her maiden name, Morton.

Still no results.

Charlie knew Beth didn’t engage in social media, she was a very private person.

But he had never met anybody who didn’t throw back any Google results.

No photos, no news.

Absolutely nothing.

He added St. Albans to the search. This was where Beth had said she had been living with her parents when the accident happened. He also typed in 1996–1997, an approximation of when he assumed the fire that killed her parents would have occurred, recalling she was around eighteen when it happened.

Zero.

No news stories. No headlines.

Charlie frowned.

He had never googled his wife before. He’d never felt the need.

But he found it odd that a fire that killed two people wouldn’t have made it into at least the local press.

He added house fire to the search. Still nothing.

Charlie’s brow furrowed as he typed in various phrases and words, each delivering the same result. Eventually, his frustration beat him, and he threw his phone into the passenger seat, cursing under his breath.

He considered embarking on the long drive back to Sussex, but the thought of another few hours on the motorway filled him with dread.

He decided to find a bed and breakfast instead.

He desperately wanted to talk to Beth, find out why the fire at her family’s home when she was younger had not made it into the news. He wanted to believe she was not lying to him.

He needed this all to go away. But it would have to wait.

For now, he needed to rest.

26

The light broke through the cracks in the curtains as Beth woke from her slumber. It seemed dull, diffused, and for a moment she assumed she had awoken earlier than usual for a Saturday.

She glanced at the clock on her bedside table and it surprised her to note it was after eight.

‘Shit,’ she cursed as she dragged herself out of bed. Cooper would be desperate for the loo no doubt.

She crossed to the window and opened the curtains. A short while ago, this action would have been alien to her, but now, it had become part of her daily routine.

Thick fog enveloped the house, she couldn’t see anything, only a cloud of white. Her Range Rover in the driveway was little more than a dark shape in the haze.

Beth threw on some jogging bottoms, a pale-pink T-shirt and her slippers. Pulling her hair into a ponytail, she tied it back off her face with an elastic band from the dresser.

She exited her bedroom, knocking on Peter’s door, then Daisy’s.

‘Come on, kids. Time to get up!’

She heard a groan from Peter’s room. On entering Daisy’s room, she found her daughter sitting in the middle of her carpet, playing with a doll. Her curtains were already open. She had dressed herself in a pair of blue denim dungarees with nothing underneath, a pink, frilly tutu and wellies with frog faces on the toecaps.

‘I’ve been awake for ages, Mummy. Look outside, it’s all white! You can’t see anything.’

‘I know, love,’ Beth said, scooping Daisy up from the floor into her arms. ‘It’s very foggy. I’ve not seen it like this for years.’

‘I don’t like it. It’s scary.’

‘It’s just fog. Nothing to be afraid of.’

Beth carried Daisy out of the room. A blast of cool, damp air hit her as she descended the stairs, and she frowned. As she reached the bottom and stepped into the hallway, she hesitated. The house felt icy.

The front door was wide open.

‘Peter!’ she shouted.

No response. She hollered again.

She heard Peter’s bedroom door creak open.

‘What?’ he yelled through a stifled yawn.

‘You left the front door open last night when you got home!’

‘No I didn’t.’

‘Well I certainly didn’t, and you