and picked up Kate’s phone. It was a clamshell phone; he flicked it open and the screen sprang to life. She hadn’t personalised it with a photo or stupid piece of wallpaper. He liked that, because he despised childishness. He bet she wouldn’t have a musical ringtone either. Sampson had been forced to endure a train journey a year ago and by the end of the journey had heard every piece of shit in the Top Forty. There was this fuckwitted teenage boy sitting near him, one of only a few passengers in the carriage, who spent the entire journey fiddling with his phone, making it bleep and chirrup, ringing his mates and talking bollocks from beneath his hoodie. Sampson had leaned over and asked him to switch it off, to be quiet, and the boy had told him to fuck off.
A few minutes later the boy had got up to visit the toilet. Sampson followed him. First, he smashed the boy’s phone, then made him eat it, piece by piece, stuffing the plastic shards into his mouth and telling him to chew. The boy cried, snot poured from his nose, he wet his pants. Sampson pulled off the boy’s belt, wrapped it around his throat and tied him to the light fitting, getting off at the next station and walking calmly away. Boy hangs himself in train toilet. What a tragedy.
No, Kate wouldn’t have an irritating musical ringtone.
He flicked through the phone’s menu and discovered how to listen to Kate’s voicemail.
You have five new messages.
The first one was from an American man:
‘Kate? It’s me. Where the hell are you? I’ve been stood here like an idiot waiting for you and Jack and every other goddamn person has gotten off your flight, so what’s going on? If you’re held up, call me. Or maybe you’re trying to piss me off.’
Second message: ‘You bitch. You’re still in the UK, aren’t you. With my son. You think you can get away with it, huh? Huh? I’m coming to get you. I want my son back.’
In the third message, the man sounded a little more controlled.
‘Kate. I’m in England. Listen, I just want to talk to you, okay? We can sort things out, amicably. I know things have been difficult recently but surely this . . . what you’ve done is a little drastic, wouldn’t you say? Call me, please. I want to talk to you.’
In the fourth message, the anger was back. Sampson had to hold the phone away from his ear as the caller sprayed distorted threats about what he was going to do to her when he caught up with her.
‘. . . and once I’ve got him back I’ll do everything I can to make sure you never see Jack again.’
So, Sampson thought, this was the father of Kate’s boy, the boy he had seen on the hotel’s CCTV. And it was also pretty clear that Kate had snatched the boy. Naughty naughty. He admired her spirit as much as he hated hearing this Yank scream threats at her. What a loser. Just accept it, he thought. She’s better than you. And why make so much fuss over a kid, anyway? He ought to be pleased that Kate had taken the brat off his hands.
But where was the kid now? He definitely hadn’t been with Kate and Wilson when he had shot the old bat. He’d had a niggling feeling that something was missing at the time, and now he realised what it was.
Fifth message: ‘Hi sis, it’s me. I guess you must have your phone switched off. Are you and Paul taking advantage of the fact that I’ve taken Jack off your hands, eh? Lucky you. Anyway, I was only ringing to find out how everything’s going. I’m curious . . . Jack’s fine, having great fun – they’re all on the PlayStation at the moment. He said to tell you that Billy is missing you. Um . . . that’s it. Bye.’
Sampson felt a little thrill run through him. The kid was with Kate’s sister. He switched the phone into camera mode and flicked through the photos as he pondered what to do next. They were all of Jack, smiling at the camera, playing in the snow, sleeping, waving against the London backdrop.
Cute. Very cute.
After checking the caller logs, he programmed Miranda’s number into his own phone, then called the number.
A kid answered. A little girl. Excellent, thought Sampson.
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I’m calling from Toys R Us.’
‘Toys R Us? Really?’
‘Yes. You’ve won a special prize and I need to know your address to be able to send it to you.’
The child said, ‘What is it?’
‘It’s a big teddy bear. A giant teddy bear.’
‘What colour?’
Bloody hell. ‘What colour would you like?’
‘Pink?’
‘Okay. Pink it is. Now, just tell me where you live. What town do you live in?’
‘We live in Churchill.’
Where the hell was that? It would be easy enough to find out.
‘What street, sweetheart? You do know your address, don’t you?’
‘Yes, I do. It’s the Old Rectory, Mill Lane, Churchill. Mummy made me remember it.’
‘Good for Mummy.’
He heard a woman call out, ‘Amelia? Who are you talking to? Are you on the phone?’
Sampson ended the call.
Good little Amelia. He was half-tempted to go and find a pink teddy bear to take to her as a reward for being so helpful. He wouldn’t, of course. But he would be visiting her house soon.
Like any good fisherman knows, if you want to catch that big fish, you need the right bait.
‘They’ve got rooms here, upstairs,’ said Paul, returning from the bar and waving a key on a large plastic fob, trying unsuccessfully to keep a smile off his face at the thought of an available double bed so close above their heads to where they were sitting.
‘Oh. Good!’ Kate said brightly. Paul couldn’t tell if she was excited or petrified.
‘Shall we?’ Paul held out his arm for her.
‘Let’s,’ she agreed. ‘But I need to get my bag out of the boot first. Can you give me the car keys?’
Paul felt the blood drain from his face, and Kate frowned. ‘What’s the matter – you haven’t lost them, have you?’
‘Er . . . no, I don’t think so,’ he stuttered, making a big show of patting down his jeans pockets. ‘No . . . here they are. I tell you what, could you get us a couple of drinks to take upstairs? I’ll get your bag for you. Meet you back here in a minute – I’ll have a large brandy, if that’s OK.’
He was gone before Kate had a chance to object; bolting out into the car park. He had to lean against the back wall of the pub for a moment, breathing heavily at the thought of Kate discovering the shotgun, so soon after she’d decided to trust him after all.
He retrieved Kate’s overnight bag,
