Buch lesen: «The Secret: The brand new thriller from the bestselling author of The Teacher»

Chapter 1: The Pro
The present

Bridget could hear cars passing on the wet roadside below the windows of the listed Victorian building where she worked. The traffic around Exeter’s Quadrangle started to change at this time of night, from people making their way back from work, to people seeking something a little more interesting than what they had going on at home. She looked down from her window. The rain had abated for a few moments and the streets were empty, aside from the occasional vehicle. The only other sound she could hear was her flatmate, Estelle, in the room next door, ‘entertaining’ her client, headboard banging against the wall. She stared at the illuminated face of the clock tower a few hundred yards from her house and waited. Her visitor was late. He was never late.

There was a knock on the door and before Bridget had a chance to answer, Estelle burst in, half-naked and out of breath.

‘I need a solid.’

‘Sounded like you were getting one.’

‘Good one.’ She adjusted her bra and flicked her hair extensions back. ‘I mean I need a favour.’

‘What kind of favour?’ Bridget didn’t want to know; Estelle’s favours were always a little extreme.

‘I’ve got Hitchcock with me and he wants extra time. I need you to take the Baby.’

‘No way, Estelle, he’s your problem, not mine. Besides, I’m waiting for someone.’

‘Come on, please, Bridge! He doesn’t even do anything, he just needs a cuddle and he sleeps the whole time. I’ll be ten minutes – tops!’

Bridget looked at her watch.

‘Fine, but just this once, Estelle, you know I’m not into all that.’

‘I’ll owe you one, big time.’

‘You will.’

Estelle blew her a kiss and disappeared. Bridget couldn’t help but keep looking out of the window, waiting for Sam. He would usually let her know if he couldn’t come, and the silence was making her nervous. The city of Exeter was strangely quiet tonight. Generally, everyone went to bed early during the week, preparing for another hard day at work, but on a Friday it was usually busier than this. Tonight definitely had more of a Wednesday feel. She watched a car approaching. It was slowing as it got near. The rain made it hard to discern the make, so she held on to the hope that it might be Sam. But as the black four-by-four pulled on to the battered forecourt, her hope faded. Through the rain, she saw a man step out of the car and rush to the front door. The buzzer rang, Estelle’s buzzer; they had one each, so each girl could tend to her own clients. Two girls per floor over two floors, with a communal kitchen and lounge at ground level. The sound went off again. It was frowned upon to open the door to someone else’s bell, but Bridget went downstairs through the communal hallway and looked out of the spy hole in the shared front door. It was too dark to see the man, and his face was shielded from the rain by the collar of his trench coat. She took one last look through the spy hole and opened the door. The man kept his face covered and walked in, shaking off his umbrella.

‘Where’s Estelle?’ the Baby asked.

‘Come in, Estelle asked me to take care of you today,’ Bridget said nervously, stepping out in front of the man. The Baby must have come straight from the office – she hoped he had his own nappy on underneath that bespoke Savile Row suit because there were some lines she just would not cross, even in the line of duty. As she led him up the stairs and to her room, she got the feeling he didn’t much care who was looking after him, just as long as someone was. He was one of the less perverted of Estelle’s clients, and that was saying something.

Bridget slowly undressed him, hanging each item carefully on a mahogany clothes horse. She pushed him on to the bed and sat down next to him, pulling him close to her and wrapping her arms around him.

‘I’m hungry, I need milk.’ He nuzzled into her.

‘Oh, um … I don’t …’

‘Estelle usually keeps it in a bottle in the fridge. You need to warm it up though.’ He seemed annoyed at having to tell her these things.

‘OK, sorry, just wait there.’ She rushed out of the room, silently cursing Estelle. This was not the deal.

She found the milk in the fridge and put it in the microwave. She pushed the button and stared at the red digital clock counting down. When it got to zero, the clock went back to the actual time and looking at it, she realised with a pang that she ought to be with Sam right now. All week she looked forward to her Friday visits with Sam. They would drive out to the Double Locks pub and huddle together in the corner. She began to worry again; it wasn’t like him to be late, he was never late. That feeling was creeping under her skin, the feeling that if she didn’t hear from him soon she may never hear from him again.

She took the bottle and shook it to disperse the heat. As she walked back to the bedroom, the door to Estelle’s room opened and out walked the man they all referred to as Hitchcock. Bridget had never seen him up close before; he was fiercely private. She could only just see Hitchcock’s eyes, very dark, staring at her with a mixture of disdain and scrutiny. There was something familiar about him. She had always assumed that he was called Hitchcock because he looked like the famous director – no one used real names in this game – but he was tall and slim, his dark hair peeking out from under his fedora. He looked nothing like the original Hitchcock. He turned away quickly and Bridget ducked into her room to find the Baby curled up on the bed in a babygro, sucking his thumb. She rolled her eyes and walked towards him. She could hear Estelle and Hitchcock arguing at the front door before it slammed shut. A moment later, her bedroom door opened and Estelle walked in. Flustered, she took the bottle from Bridget and sat down next to the Baby, beginning to stroke his hair.

‘I can take over now; he had to go.’

‘What were you fighting about?’

‘He wasn’t happy about bumping into you, that’s all. I told him earlier I had the place to myself. I thought you would be out. Come on, Baby.’ She lifted the Baby’s head on to her lap and put the bottle in his mouth – he suckled away. Bridget supposed as kinks went, it was a pretty harmless one.

‘I’m going to take a shower, then,’ Bridget said, before quickly exiting the room.

Their hot water wasn’t working again so Bridget gathered her things and went to ask Dee, who lived upstairs, if she could use her shower.

‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’

‘No, it’s cool. I was just getting ready to go out. What do you think of this?’ Dee did a twirl in what was obviously a stolen dress: blue sequins with a low neckline. She was a notorious shoplifter; some of the gifts she had given Bridget in the past attested to that. Dee was in between flatmates – previous tenants always looked for another house share after spending a few weeks with Dee and her sticky fingers.

‘You know those earrings of mine you like, the vintage blue crystal ones? They would look really nice with that dress. They’re in our bathroom downstairs, if you want them.’ Bridget smiled at Dee. It was always better to offer her things before she took them anyway.

‘You’re a star. Maybe tonight I’ll meet my millionaire,’ Dee said, blowing Bridget a kiss as she made her way down the stairs to the floor below.

Bridget loved the feeling of hot water. Living in this house felt dirty, everything felt wrong. She wished she could be back home with her family, or even call her mother, but that wasn’t an option at the moment. She washed her hair for the first time in a week, feeling the filth and grime hidden underneath the layers of hairspray. Dirty hair held a style better. Estelle would make her hair pretty again with rollers and a curling iron. Bridget was never any good with that stuff. Luckily she was naturally quite appealing, in fact she looked better without make-up on, but the men here weren’t interested in natural beauty. They wanted the hot plastic on their arm, with the push-up bras and the fake tans; they wanted the glamour-model look, not the girl next door. Mostly Bridget just provided dates, unlike Estelle, who was all about the extra-curriculars – that’s where the real money got made, that’s where you got to meet the important men. Bridget hadn’t proved she could be trusted yet.

She turned off the water and ran her fingers through her hair, it squeaked between her hands as she worked through the tangles. It felt so good to get all that shit off her. She threw a towel around herself and headed into Dee’s lounge, where she spotted several things of her own that had gone missing in the last few days. She didn’t begrudge Dee; she knew it was something she had no control over, and none of those stolen things meant anything to her anyway. Nothing in this life meant anything to her, except Sam.

She walked down the stairs back to her flat, wearing just her towel. The door was ajar. Something was off. She pressed her back against the wall and peered through the gap. She could see Dee’s foot, her blue patent shoe hanging off at the heel. Bridget crouched down and peered in further, she could hear a noise coming from inside. Don’t panic, she thought to herself. You know what to do. Still, her stomach twisted as she saw what was inside the room.

Dee was laid out on the ground, eyes wide open, her face frozen in an expression of surprise. Bridget could see her body moving as she struggled for breath. Blood pooled beneath her, and her legs were wet with red. Bridget could see a five-inch slash mark high up on the inside of her thigh. Her femoral artery had been cut; she would be dead within minutes. One thought entered Bridget’s head.

Shit. They know who I am.

Bridget started to move forward into the flat, knowing she had to get her phone. It was barely six feet away. Dee’s eyes moved towards her, flashing her a foreboding look, a warning. She saw a tear falling from the side of Dee’s head on to the floor as her eyes filled with an emptiness Bridget was all too familiar with. This wasn’t the first dead body she had seen, but it was the first time she had actually witnessed someone die. She couldn’t think about that right now. Remember. What do you do now? Whoever had done this was still in the flat. She couldn’t risk it. You need to warn Sam. Bridget needed to get to a phone. Sam would know what to do.