Don't Come Looking by AJ Campbell (top 100 novels of all time TXT) 📕

‘Has he got any others in there?’ I ask.

Annie searches the drawer and shakes her head.

‘What about the wardrobe?’ I suggest. ‘Here you go,’ I say, pulling a charger from the back of the shelf where I found the laptop.

Annie plugs it in.

We wait in silence. Sasha is chewing the nail of her little finger. Annie is staring at the screen, clenching her jaw.

The machine makes a grinding noise as if it’s struggling to start. Annie bangs her fist on the desk. A smug smile surfaces on Sasha’s face as a sunny picture of the O’Sullivan family on a beach appears before our eyes.

Thirty-Five

Annie gasps and stares at us both. ‘This can’t be happening.’ She shakes her head so fast, her cheeks joggle.

‘Well, it is,’ Sasha says. ‘Now hand over my husband’s laptop.’

Annie pushes the chair away from the desk, raising her hands as if in surrender. ‘Take it. Take it.’ She fumbles under the desk to unplug the charger and throws it at Sasha.

‘This is why the police were round here earlier, wasn’t it?’ Sasha says, backing out of the room, the laptop firmly in her grip.

‘No, no. That was to do with Art. He’s got trouble down at the gym.’ She slaps the sides of her face, encasing her head in her hands and squashing her lips together.

I’m not at all sure she’s telling the truth. I’ve been studying her since we arrived. Usually, I’m good at spotting even the smartest of liars, but she’s proving a challenge.

Sasha runs from the room. ‘Hang on,’ I call out. She is heading for the stairs. I tail her into the kitchen where she snatches her cardigan.

‘Wait. Calm down. This is a matter for the police now,’ I whisper.

‘I’ve tried telling you that since he went missing, but you said the police couldn’t help us.’

‘But things have developed. There’s some proof now that things might not be as they seem.’

‘There you go again, Eva, “Might not be as they seem”. Might – I’ve told you from the minute he disappeared that something is dreadfully wrong. No one else is going to help me, so I’m taking charge.’

‘I’m on your side, Sasha. Believe me.’

The anger on her face takes a momentary pause. ‘I’m sorry. I’m wrong to blame you.’

Annie is racing down the hallway. ‘I need to get back into Luke’s room. We can’t leave here yet,’ I say to Sasha. ‘We need to find out what that boy is up to, and stop him.’

Annie bursts into the kitchen. ‘Don’t go. Help me find out what’s going on, please.’

‘We won’t leave you. Sit down. Let me get you another drink,’ I say, throwing Sasha a look. She is shaking, her arms guarding possibly the only clue to her husband’s whereabouts. I go over to her and place my hands on her shoulders. I ease her into the chair and push between her shoulder blades, a prod of encouragement asking her to trust me.

‘There must be some reasonable explanation.’ Annie sloshes gin into their empty glasses. ‘Marc must’ve given Luke his laptop for a reason,’ she adds, picking at any splinter of hope that her son is the innocent young man she believes him to be. She holds a glass up to me. ‘You want one now?’

‘I think I’ll make some tea, if that’s OK,’ I say, my mind racing to formulate a plan to get up to Luke’s room.

‘Help yourself,’ Annie says, pointing to the corner of the kitchen. ‘You’ll find everything you need in the end cupboard.’

I fill the kettle. Sasha has taken my hints and is engaging Annie in conversation. ‘Just popping to the loo,’ I say, and leave them to it.

As I pass the toilet on the way to the stairs, I turn on the light and shut the door, leaving the integral fan humming away. Reaching Luke’s room, I start searching. For what, I don’t know, but I’m confident I’ll find more than Marc O’Sullivan’s laptop. I start in the wardrobe. Cautiously, I hunt through the entire contents, careful to preserve the perfection of every item, but with no success. I crouch down and take another look under the bed, but find nothing. One by one, I open the bedside cabinet drawers. There’s nothing out of the ordinary in any of them. I step over to the desk. His Mac hollers out for investigation, but time is not on my side. A medium-sized TV unit sits by the window, perfectly positioned for bedtime viewing. I open the cupboard beneath. Ten or so DVDs sit neatly stacked on each of the three shelves. I take a closer look but find only run-of-the-mill films you’d expect in a teenager’s collection.

I spin around, scanning the room. A small bookshelf built into the side of the desk piques my interest. Rushing over, I kneel down and scan the titles. They are mostly reference books on photography and videography: In the Blink of an Eye, The Filmmaker’s Handbook, How to Shoot Video that Doesn’t Suck. I pull each one out and thumb through the pages, searching for that something. And there I find it. A handful of photos slipped between the pages of Hollywood Producers Directory. I pull the pictures out and flip through them. Each image makes my eyes bulge. There are a few people I recognise – Pen and Tom passionately embracing. That doesn’t surprise me. I pick up the next of a young woman straddling an older man. Is this the girl Luke was arguing with at Harry’s party? Chelsea something? They are in, what appears to be, a cupboard. Shelves of labelled boxes surround them. I stare closer to read the labels: trig sorting cards, measurement units, 2D shapes, 3D shapes, geoboards. It looks like a maths teacher’s storage cupboard. There’s one of Marc and Sasha lying on their bed. I recognise the patchwork throw. Sasha has a nightie on, but, apart from a pair of boxers, Marc is naked. What the hell