The Prisoner, page 24
“But you could have trusted me.”
“I was supposed to be dead. And I didn’t know how you would feel about what we were doing.”
“You knew I hated Ned.”
“Most people who hate someone don’t want them dead. Morally, I think you would have struggled, knowing what was going to happen to him.”
“I saw him kill Lina, that was enough to remove any moral obligation I might have felt.”
“If I’d known that you’d witnessed her murder, I would never have put you through something so brutal,” he says quietly.
“She threatened to expose Ned, she told him she had recordings of the women he’d abused.” I pause. “Where is Carl? Shouldn’t he be here, trying to excuse his behavior, like you?”
“I’m not trying to excuse my behavior.” There’s an edge to his voice. “I had a choice, go or stay. I stayed and now I have to live with the consequences of that choice.”
Heat rises to my cheeks. He had stayed because he didn’t want to leave me with Carl.
“I don’t see Carl,” he goes on. “I haven’t seen him since he came back from the memorial service. Finding out how Lina had died—it was hard for him. He went to stay with our mum for a bit but then he took himself off. I don’t know if, or when, I’ll see him again. For the moment, I need the distance.” He nods at the piece of wood I’m still holding. “I don’t suppose you’d like to put that down?”
I don’t want to give him anything, but I let the piece of wood fall to the floor.
“Is it okay if I sit?”
“Yes—but stay where you are.”
He sits down in the doorway, draws his legs up, rests his elbows on his knees.
“Can I ask you something?” he says.
“Go on.”
“Why did you marry Ned?”
I can’t lie, it would make me as bad as him. “For money. I married him for one hundred thousand pounds.”
“Wow,” he says softly. “You sold yourself for a hundred thousand.”
The judgment stings. “Don’t you dare,” I retaliate. “You’ve done far worse things. What happened to the journalist?”
“What journalist?”
“The one Ned asked you to find out about—you know, the woman who dared ask about the sexual assault charge during the press interview? Sally something? Is she dead?”
“No, why would she be?”
“Do you know that for sure?”
“No, but—”
“Did you do as Ned asked, did you find out who she was, did you give him her name?”
“Yes.”
“Carolyn was killed in a hit-and-run three days after the press interview, three days after she called out to Ned, asking where Justine was.”
“Christ.” He rubs his chin, runs his hand through his hair. I see the doubt in his eyes, the questions he’s asking himself.
He gets to his feet and walks out of the shed. I don’t know where he’s gone, or why he’s gone, I don’t know if I should go after him. But before I can do anything, he comes back with his phone and stands in the doorway, looking down at the screen, searching for something.
“Thank God.” He closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “She’s okay, she’s fine. I found her Instagram, she posted yesterday.”
I hear the shake in his voice and I’m ashamed of what I did. But it’s too late to take it back.
“I’m so sorry about Carolyn,” he says quietly. “I could do with some water—would you like some?”
“Yes, please.”
“Do you want to come into the house? I have a fully functioning kitchen.”
“No, I’ll stay here, thanks.”
“Okay.”
He leaves, and I wipe sweaty palms on my jeans. It’s getting hotter in the shed but I don’t want to leave the semidarkness. I don’t want him to be able to see my face in case he sees how hard it is for me to be near him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
He comes back with two bottles of water and throws one to me from the doorway.
“Thanks.” I unscrew the top, take a drink.
I wait for him to sit down but he stays standing.
“I still have questions,” I say.
He nods. “Go on.”
“After I escaped from the room, why were you so mean? I get it, I’d tried to escape. But not bringing me food, then leaving it just inside the door instead of coming all the way in, what was all that about?”
“It wasn’t me,” he says. “I wasn’t there. I had to go away for a couple of days, sort something out, and I was already late because of you locking me in the room. I left as soon as Carl let me out.”
“What was it you had to sort out?”
“Amos Kerrigan.”
“What did you do?”
“I spoke with a couple of ex-colleagues, who spoke to one of their informers about the need for him to disappear.”
It takes a moment for it to sink in that he was at the origin of a man’s death. I push it from my mind; I can’t think about it now.
“I keep going back to the kidnapping,” I say. “I know you had to make it believable, but why make us think we were being kept longer than we actually were?”
“As I said, Carl wanted to make Ned suffer for killing Lina. He wanted Ned to believe that his father didn’t care that he’d been kidnapped, that he was happy to let weeks pass before paying the supposed ransom. But he only had that two-week window when Ned was supposed to have taken you away for a break, so he decided to make it seem as if you’d been kept for longer than you actually were. It’s disorienting, being kept in the dark, time loses all meaning.” He stops, realizing maybe that he’s telling me something I already know. “I agreed, because I thought that for you mentally, if the days seemed to be going by quite fast, it wouldn’t be such an ordeal. When we looked at dates, we realized that if we brought everything to a close on the thirty-first of August, it would tie in perfectly with the postnup you’d signed. It wouldn’t have mattered if it hadn’t, essentially it wouldn’t have mattered if you’d been married to Ned for forty days, or two months. But the thirty-first of August seemed a good time to stop.”
“How did you know the terms of the postnup? From Paul Carr?”
“Yes. Paul thought it was pure genius and mentioned it to Carl, and Carl thought it would be great to use it on Ned, make him think we knew more about him than he thought.”
“How much does Paul know?”
“Enough. He was also working for Mr. Smith, keeping an eye on what Ned was up to.”
“Is Mr. Smith an alias for Steve Algerson, by any chance?”
“No comment. Where did it come from, the doubling thing?”
“My dad. When I was young, he asked me if I’d rather have a million pounds immediately or a pound doubled every day for a month. I chose the doubling thing without ever working it out. I regret that now; I regret that I didn’t work it out and tell him the exact answer.”
“You worked it out on the back of the bathroom door.”
“Yes. I felt I owed it to my dad to do it.”
“I didn’t know that you’d lost your parents until Paul told me. It must have been hard. He said that you ran away to London.”
“I was lucky, I met Carolyn. It could have turned out very differently, though.” I take a breath. “I need to ask you something. The shooting thing. It was horrible. Why did Carl do it? Did you know he was going to pretend to shoot me?”
“No, not to the point where he would fire the gun. He wanted to frighten Ned, show him that he was prepared to kill one of you if he had to. We never expected Ned to actively encourage Carl to kill you, we thought at any moment he would tell Carl to stop, especially once Carl had cocked the barrel. But he didn’t, so Carl fired it into Ned’s mattress.” He pauses. “I couldn’t believe he’d actually fired it, I put my hand over your mouth to—I don’t know—let you know you were still alive, that you hadn’t really been shot, that I was there. It all happened so fast.” Another pause. “We had an argument about it afterward, me and Carl. I’d had enough, I hated what we were doing. It haunts me, what we did, not to Ned, but to you.”
“I survived.”
“You were extraordinary. I expected you to be terrified, but you weren’t.”
“I was, but I was never afraid of you. And I felt safer in that room than I’d ever felt with Ned.”
“I should have done more, I wanted to but—”
He stops, the guilt visible on his face.
“There’s something else that’s been puzzling me. The photo of me on Ned’s Instagram—it was taken at the house in Haven Cliffs, the day we went for lunch with Lukas. I thought Lukas had taken it. But he hadn’t?”
He looks down at the ground. “No, I did. Carl asked me to. His plan, once he had taken Ned—before he decided to take you as well—had always been to make Ned believe nobody was particularly bothered about him being kidnapped, not his parents, nor his wife. He already had a photo of Mrs. Hawthorpe playing tennis, and he wanted to have a photo of you. He was going to taunt Ned with the photo, make out that you were so unconcerned about him that you had accepted an invitation from Lukas to go back to the house in Haven Cliffs. After, when our plans changed and we took you too, that photo came in more useful than we’d imagined, as it gave credence to the story that you and Ned had gone away on a two-week break. All we had to do was upload it to his phone.”
“Does your girlfriend know what you did?”
“I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“There was a woman here the other day. When I locked you in, I thought she’d come and let you out when you didn’t turn up for dinner.”
He smiles. “It’s good to know that you didn’t intend to kill me. That was Mara, our sister. She lives in Dunedin, I live here.” There’s a pause. “I did stay on, you know. In England. I didn’t come running back here as soon as it was over. I even went to Reading, hung around for a few days.”
I stare at him. “You came to Reading?”
“Yes.”
“But—why didn’t you—”
“Come and see you? How could I, when you thought I was dead? How could I, after what we did?”
“Then why come?”
“Because I wanted to make sure you were alright. And I did want to tell you I was still alive, Paul knew that and he said I should write to you. But you seemed okay. I watched you shopping, and you seemed okay.”
I remember the times I had sensed him close, and my throat burns with unshed tears.
“I was never okay.”
“What you said to Carl, at the memorial service for Lina and Justine, the message you gave him, about sleeping on a mattress in a room with a boarded-up window. Was that true?”
It’s too much. Tears begin to leak from my eyes. I wipe them away with my fingers but they keep on coming.
I see him kick the door shut, blocking out the light. And suddenly, I’m back in the house in Haven Cliffs, in the room with the boarded-up window, and my captor is walking toward me in the darkness. I close my eyes, wait to feel his hands on my shoulders—but instead, his arms come around me. And in that moment, a huge weight lifts from my shoulders.
I don’t know how long I stand wrapped in his arms, thinking about him coming to Reading, wondering what might have been if he had had the courage to tell me he was alive.
“I’m sorry,” he says softly, after an eternity. “For everything.”
I breathe in the scent of him. He smells of sun and sea.
“You don’t smell the same,” I say.
“What do you mean?”
“You smelled like Lukas. When you were near me, I recognized the same smell that I had smelled on him, like freshly mown grass. It’s one of the reasons I thought you were Lukas.”
He gives a low laugh. “That’ll have been the shower gel. Lukas left a whole bottle of it, unopened. He brings his products over from Lithuania and doesn’t bother to take them back with him.”
Lukas’s shower gel. He had been using Lukas’s shower gel.
I step back and his arms fall from around me.
“I need to go. I’m leaving tonight.”
“Won’t you stay?”
“I can’t.”
He follows me to the door.
“Will I see you again?”
“No.”
I walk into the sunlight, up the slope to the track. When I get to the top, I turn around. He’s standing in the doorway, watching me, and I feel this terrible tug inside me. I’ve lost everyone and despite everything, I don’t want to lose him too. He’s all I have left, and there’s so much about him that I don’t know. I don’t even know his first name, I realize.
I raise a hand, shading my eyes from the sun.
“Maybe,” I say.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My heartfelt thanks to: (this time, to ring the changes, in alphabetical order)
My fellow authors, for their invaluable friendship and support, and for taking the time to read my book when their TBR piles are already stacked high.
The amazing bloggers, for giving their time to read and review.
My wonderful agent, Camilla Bolton, for her advice and enthusiasm, and for always being there for me, and the rest of the team at Darley Anderson, with special thanks to Mary Darby, Kristina Egan, Georgia Fuller, and Rosanna Bellingham, Sheila David and Jade Kavanagh.
My amazing UK editor, Jo Dickinson, and the wonderful team at Hodder, with special thanks to Alice Morley and Stephen Cooper.
My editors overseas, for their continued faith in me.
My family, which became one person larger this year, with the arrival of beautiful Nina.
My friends, both in France and the UK, with a special shout-out to the LF crowd. Thank you for welcoming me into your community.
Readers everywhere, for reading and reviewing, and for their lovely comments, which lift me up and give me the motivation to write another.
My amazing US editor, Catherine Richards, and the wonderful team at St. Martin’s Press, with special thanks to Jen Enderlin, Lisa Senz, Nettie Finn, Marissa Sangiacomo, Brant Janeway, Katie Bassel, Kiffin Steurer, Jeremy Haiting, and Lizz Blaise, also to copy editor NaNá Stoelzle, and to proofreaders/cold readers Steve Hicks, Susan McGrath, Lani Meyer, and Stephanie Umeda.
To technology, in particular Google Earth and Google Maps. In 2020, I planned to go to New Zealand and spend some time in Akaroa, where I wanted to set part of this book. Circumstances meant that I couldn’t, so I had to rely on my ability to map-read correctly. Needless to say, any errors with regard to Akaroa, and to New Zealand in general, are entirely my own.
My brilliant translators, for bringing The Prisoner to life for readers abroad.
I would also like to give special thanks to Paul Carr, who made a very generous donation to the Books for Vaccines auction for the right to appear as a character of my choosing in The Prisoner. Thank you for bidding, Paul!
ALSO BY B. A. PARIS
Behind Closed Doors
The Breakdown
Bring Me Back
The Dilemma
The Therapist
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
B. A. PARIS is the international bestselling author of Behind Closed Doors, The Breakdown, Bring Me Back, The Dilemma, and The Therapist. Having lived in France for many years, she and her husband now live in the UK. She has worked both in finance and as a teacher, and she has five daughters. The Prisoner is her sixth novel. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Part One. The Kidnap
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Part Two. The Reckoning
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
