Better Left Buried (10 page)

Her words trail off.

“I promise,” I say. “I promise I'll call you if I hear anything at all.”

The film is rubbish, but I don't care. I don't even mind that I'm here on my own, rather than sitting with Lizzie, taking the piss out of the cheesy dialogue. All I care is that for ninety minutes or so I'm not wondering where she is, or why she's gone off without a word. Not thinking about Max, or dwelling on the break-in.

Or that man. I haven't seen him since the incident in the cafe last week. Which confirms my suspicions about him burgling our house – obviously he's got what he was after and cleared off. Though I still for the life of me can't imagine what he wanted with my notebook. Why not simply remove the map, if that was what he was after?

The cinema is packed and there's a huge exodus as the film ends. I nip into the loos by the exit; by the time I emerge, most of the crowd has gone. And that's when I see him.

Just across in the Tolley Street car park, sitting in one of those big black SUVs. Dark hair. The same leather jacket. Watching the last dregs of people leaving the cinema, scanning each face carefully.

As if he's waiting for someone.

My first instinct is to duck back into the loos and stay there till he's gone. But then I remember our house. All our things, tossed around like so much rubbish. The mess, the devastation. Mum's crumpled, defeated expression. I think of what he did and whatever he's done to make Lizzie so anxious and I'm filled with a sudden rush of fury.

I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone. Edge past the sweet stall towards the exit.

I just need to get close enough.

Placing my finger on the camera icon, I take a deep breath and set out through the double doors. As I walk I raise my hand, pressing the shutter button at the very moment he looks round and sees me.

His face registers first surprise, then alarm. He opens the car door and half climbs out, one foot on the ground before he hesitates, glancing at the people around us.

I march forwards, steadying my phone. He ducks back into the SUV, lowering his head and turning on the ignition.

“Wait!” I call out. “I want to talk to you.” I step into the road and take a few more paces towards the car. Determined now to ask him about Lizzie. And the burglary.

But as I close in, he pulls out with a screech of tyres that has everyone turning in his direction. A second later I see he's heading straight for me. A wild look on his face, a kind of fierce desperation.

Oh, Jesus.

It's all I have time to think before he yanks on the steering wheel, pulling the car sharply to the right, missing me by millimetres.

I stare after the SUV as it disappears out of view, feeling light-headed with adrenalin, my heart thumping from shock. A few seconds later, a sharp pain in my chest and I sink into a squat, trying to catch my breath.

Oh god. I can't believe I did that. I can't believe what just happened.

“You okay, love?”

I lift my head to see a man standing beside me. A woman behind him, holding the hand of a toddler.

I nod, mutely.

“Bit of a near miss there, wasn't it? You sure you're all right?” He glances down the street, but there's no sign of the black car.

“Someone you know?” He nods at my phone. He must have seen me taking the picture.

I look at him aghast. Oh god, he probably thinks he's my boyfriend or ex or something. Not the man who broke into my house and trashed it.

“N-no…” I stammer. “He's…” I stop. I can't think what to say.

“C'mon.” The little kid pulls on his mother's hand and leans in the direction of the park.

“I'm fine, really.” I stand up and force myself to appear more composed. “It's nothing, honestly. I'm okay.”

The woman gives me a doubtful smile, letting her child pull her away. The father starts after them, hesitates. Glances back.

“You should be more careful.” He walks off, leaving me wincing from the impact of his words.

They sound almost like an accusation.

The reception area is tiny, a couple of square metres set off from the front entrance, with half a dozen plastic chairs arranged in the corner. I'm perching on one of them, wondering how much longer I'll be here. The place feels cramped, claustrophobic, and smells faintly of some kind of floor cleaner.

The desk sergeant nods when I glance in his direction. “She won't be long now.”

You said that half an hour ago,
I think, examining the posters on the wall. One is for a missing teenager, a boy with scruffy blond hair and startling blue eyes, who disappeared a couple of years back from a seaside town I've never heard of. The other has photos and identikits of various people suspected of committing crimes. All of them are men, and all look shifty, like actors playing villains in a film.

But none of them the man I've captured in my picture.

I power up the phone I'm clutching in my hand, check the battery icon on the screen again. There should be enough charge.

I'm almost at the point of giving up on the whole idea when PC Wilson bursts through the door. “I'm sorry,” she says breathlessly, offering me a warm smile before ushering me into a small room at the end of the corridor. “I had to go out on a domestic. A bit of trouble over on the estate.”

I try to return her smile, but it comes out shaky. Suddenly I'm wondering if this is such a bright idea.

“So.” She sits at the far side of the desk, gesturing at the seat opposite. “How are you all?”

“Fine,” I say too quickly, lowering myself into the chair and trying to act less nervous than I feel.

“Really? That's good.” She leans her elbows on the table and clasps her hands together. “Okay, how can I help?”

“I saw him,” I blurt before I can change my mind. “He was outside the cinema.”

PC Wilson frowns. “Him?” She opens a file with our surname and address on it and flicks through. I catch sight of a photo of our living room, stuff strewn all over the floor.

I dig my phone out of my pocket and press the icon for the photo gallery.

“That man I was telling you about,” I say, handing it to her. “The one with the strange map. The one who burgled our house.”

“Who might have burgled your house,” PC Wilson corrects. “We don't yet have any proof of that.”

“You've no leads then?” I ask, as she adjusts the angle of the screen under the fluorescent light and studies it intently. The shot is a bit blurry, his face turning slightly to the side, and the reflection from the car window obscuring some of his features. But you can still make him out pretty well.

I feel wobbly looking at it. Seeing him makes it all so much more solid, so much more real.

“No leads so far.” PC Wilson flicks to the next picture, the one that shows him starting to get out of the car, his face concealed by the frame around the windscreen. “So what happened?”

“He was parked outside the cinema, waiting for someone. Waiting for me, I think.”

“You? Are you sure?”

I chew my lip, feeling confused now. “It's just that wherever I go, there he is. And it's as if he's watching me. I mean, whenever he sees me, he makes a run for it. And why else would he be there? It can't all be a coincidence, can it?”

“And you've no idea who he is?”

I shake my head. I don't say he looks familiar because I'm no closer to working out why. Probably it's nothing. Most likely he has one of those faces that everyone thinks they recognize.

PC Wilson presses her lips together before she speaks. “Right. Well tell me exactly what you remember.”

I hesitate, unsure whether to reveal that I was about to confront him. “He drove the car right towards me. I thought he was going to kill me.”

I shudder at the memory. I feel sick, the numbness of shock wearing off to a kind of dread.

“But he didn't hit you?”

“He swerved at the last minute.”

“Do you reckon he intended to hurt you?”

I hesitate. If he did, why swerve? Because there were people around? I force myself back. Picture his expression. More startled, perhaps. Desperate.

“I'm not sure,” I admit. “Maybe he was just trying to scare me.”

PC Wilson puts my phone down on the table between us. “So at what point did you take those photos?”

“I saw him parked over in Tolley Street. I wanted to get a photo.” I leave out the bit about wanting to talk to him. It seems crazy now, that I ever considered it. What the hell was I thinking?

PC Wilson frowns. I know, at least, what she's thinking. That I am very, very stupid.

“I don't suppose you got his number plate?”

“No, I'm sorry, it all happened so quickly.” I chew my lip again. “I didn't think…” My words tail off. I could kick myself for being such an idiot.

“Okay…” She closes the file on the burglary and nods at my phone. “Do you mind if I make a copy of that photograph? Then I'll take a statement.”

“So you don't recognize him?” I slump back in disappointment. I guess I was expecting something more definite.

PC Wilson gives a regretful shrug. “I'm afraid not.”

“But he must be local. I mean, why else would I keep seeing him?”

“I don't know, Sarah. I'm fairly familiar with all the troublemakers round here, and this isn't a face I've seen before. But I'll show it around. Check whether any of my colleagues can identify him.” She pauses, looks at me. “You say you keep seeing him. How many times now?”

“Four for definite. Once on the street, once on the bus – when he dropped that map I told you about – then another time outside a cafe a few days later. And this afternoon.”

“But he's never tried to approach you?”

“No. Quite the opposite. He runs off, like he doesn't want any contact.”

“Can you think of any reason he might be following you?”

I shake my head again. “I assumed it was something to do with the burglary, but that doesn't explain why he was there today.” Should I mention Lizzie's reaction when she saw him? That she disappeared soon afterwards?

I decide against it. After all, what could I say? That I think my friend recognized him, and then she went on holiday without telling me, but she's all right because her mum has spoken to her? The police won't be interested in that. Besides, my whole story sounds pretty silly as it is.

There's a moment where neither of us speak, then PC Wilson nods at my phone. “Can I borrow it for a sec?”

I hand it over, and she disappears for several minutes, returning with a printout of the picture. She tucks it in our file, then leans forward and looks at me.

“Listen, Sarah. It's good that we've got this. It may help us catch whoever broke into your house. What you did was very brave, but I do need to ask you to be more cautious in future.”

I try to meet her gaze.

“What I mean is, you should leave this to us now. We're doing everything we can.”

“Okay.”

“So if you see this man again, you just call me, all right?”

I nod. I feel chastised. Stupid. How could I have been so
stupid
?

“Don't do anything. Don't approach him, Sarah. He might be dangerous.”

It's almost an echo of that father's words, the one who came to check I was okay.

You should be more careful.

“
Vivace
,
vivace!
”

Mrs Perry waggles her hands backwards and forwards rapidly to emphasize her point. “Come on, Sarah, pick this up a little. You've only got a couple of weeks to go and this simply isn't coming together.”

I'm almost afraid to look at her. There's impatience on her face mixed with concern; I'm not sure which makes me feel worse.

She plays the bars up to my entry again. I come in half a beat too late and Mrs Perry stops. Doesn't raise her eyes from the piano music. Simply goes back to the beginning and starts again.

I manage to come in on time and get to the bit where I have to hold on a top G when my voice falters. I stop and clear my throat.

Mrs Perry looks at me. “Again?”

This time I nearly make it through. Until I stumble on the allegro towards the end. Mrs Perry pauses, resting her fingers on the piano keys. I can tell she's trying to hide her exasperation.

“I'm s-sorry…” I stutter, pressing my lips together and blinking back the tears. Hoping she won't notice.

No chance.

She turns round to face me. “Sarah…”

There's so much kindness in her voice, in that one word, that I break down. All at once I'm sobbing so hard I can't breathe, let alone sing. I feel Mrs Perry's arm slide around my shoulder as she guides me to the sofa at the other end of the room. I sink down, covering my face with my hands, trying to pull myself together, my breath coming out in short, faltering gasps, like I'm choking.

Mrs Perry sits beside me, watching. Not speaking, just waiting.

“I'm sorry…” I sniff, as she offers me a tissue.

“Nothing to be sorry for, Sarah. Do you want to tell me what's going on?”

I don't. I really don't. I don't even want to think about it. But it all tumbles out, unravelling into words… How much I miss Max…and Mum. The burglary, Lizzie, seeing that man again outside the cinema. That wild look on his face as he drove towards me.

“I thought he was going to kill me,” I tell Mrs Perry. “For that second or so, I really thought he wanted me dead.”

It's true. At that moment I thought that was what he was trying to do. Run me down. And even if it wasn't what he intended, he came close. If he was trying to scare me, it worked. I am scared – and bewildered.