like.’
Another drawn-out silence while George thought hard. ‘Don’t you know her?’
‘Of course I know her. I just . . .’ Sampson trailed off. What exactly did he want? It made absolutely zero sense, but he wanted to talk about Kate. To hear someone else talk about her. Even if it was only this kid.
‘What’s your earliest memory of her?’ he asked.
George said, ‘I don’t remember.’
‘Think. Remember.’
Shaken by Sampson’s menacing tone, George blurted, ‘I was really little and she came over from America and brought us some sweets, M and Ms I think, and I ate too many and was sick.’
‘What else?’
‘I remember her and my dad talking about boring science stuff, but Auntie Kate made science sound interesting. Even though it’s not.’
‘And?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What does she smell like?’
‘What?’
‘You heard me. Tell me what she smells like.’
‘I don’t know.’
Sampson glared at him.
‘Like perfume?’
Sampson shook his head. ‘No. She smells like – like water. Like a clean, pure lake. Pure, yes.’
‘Water.’
‘Except she’s not pure.’ That was right. Kate was tainted. She had fucked Wilson. And now Wilson’s brother. And in between – well, who knew how many men she’d been with? But one of them was this Yank husband, Vernon, and she’d spawned his child. Sampson’s eyes were clouded by visions of Kate naked, having sex, riding some undistinguished male torso. Her eyes were screwed up tight and her skin gleamed with sweat and . . .
‘Are you alright?’ George asked.
‘What?’
‘Nothing.’ He paused. ‘You made a funny sound.’
Sampson glanced at the boy, aware that he was grinding his teeth. He exhaled through his nose and grabbed another cigarette. He wanted to talk about Kate more, but he despised himself for it. Weakness, weakness. He had to concentrate, do his job, stop thinking about Kate.
‘Do you love my Auntie Kate?’
‘What?’
Sampson snarled it, his voice cracking. George went rigid, flinching and waiting for the hit. But it didn’t come. Instead Sampson thumped the steering wheel with the flat of his hand. What the fuck was the kid talking about? The idea that he was in love with Kate was beyond idiotic.
‘Shut up and keep your eyes on the road,’ he growled to himself then, addressing George, ‘You know what we’re looking for you, don’t you?’
Quietly, George said, ‘Yes.’ He sounded very close to tears. His lower lip trembled and he sniffed.
‘Tell me.’
‘A s-silver Megan. Y reg.’
‘Now shut the fuck up unless you see it.’
They continued to speed down the outside lane, both of them concentrating on the cars they passed. They overtook three Meganes, including a silver one, but it contained a single occupant, a woman. Heathrow was sixty miles away. Worst case scenario, they would catch Vernon and Jack there. It would be a pain, having to do it in such a public space, but not impossible. He had done such things before, a silent assassin, a pickpocket of lives, a body thief who vanished into the shade leaving madness and bewilderment in the light.
Ten miles down the road, Sampson glanced over and saw that there were tears leaking from the corner of George’s eyes, and he was leaning forward in a strange manner.
‘What is it?’ he snapped.
George just shook his head.
‘Tell me.’
George squeaked, ‘I need to go to the toilet.’
‘Are you going to piss yourself if we don’t stop?’
George nodded and Sampson sighed. He didn’t want the boy leaking all over his leather seats. For fuck’s sake. Looking up, he saw a sign for a turn-off to a service station, and without having time to work out whether he could afford the delay, he followed the signs, screeching into the car park and pulling up beside the building which contained several fast food joints, a shop for essential driving supplies like boiled sweets and porn mags, and the public toilets.
Sampson pulled into a parking bay.
‘Right. Come with me.’
He strode into the building and towards the toilets, George trotting along beside him. This was risky. George could start screaming about being kidnapped at any second. Why hadn’t he just stopped in a lay-by and let the kid piss behind a bush? It was all that stuff about Kate – about loving Kate. It had muddled him, interfered with his decision-making. This was not good. From the look on George’s face, though, he was too frightened to do anything stupid. He’d been trained to do what adults told him. Sampson said, ‘Be quick.’
He waited by the hand drier while George used the low urinal at the end of the row. Sampson tapped his foot, his face down so he didn’t catch anyone’s eye. The boy was taking forever. What the hell was his problem?
Finally, George finished, zipped up and plodded mournfully to the sink to wash his hands. ‘Come on,’ Sampson snapped, and George followed him out.
As they walked past McDonald’s, George, who was feeling hungry despite the twist of dread in his stomach, looked through the window. Sampson, who was watching him, saw his eyes widen.
‘What is it?’
George averted his eyes and shook his head. ‘Nothing.’
But he was clearly lying. ‘Tell me or . . .’ Sampson drew his index finger across his throat and George gulped.
He pointed through the window towards the queue. A bearded man stood with a small boy. The boy who Sampson recognised from the photos on Kate’s phone, didn’t look very happy, and the man appeared deeply irritated. ‘That’s them. That’s Jack and Uncle Vernon.’
Sampson stared at them. So this was the man Kate had married; the man who had impregnated her. And there was their spawn, in the flesh, with a protruding lower lip, waiting in line for a Happy Meal.
‘Follow me,’ Sampson said, striding off towards the exit and out into the car park. After a lull, the rain had started up again, but Sampson didn’t feel it. ‘Help me find their car.’
He lifted George up and, hoisting him on to his shoulders – something George’s dad hadn’t done
