Page 23 of The Psychopath Next Door

‘I guess.’

‘Don’tguess. This is important.’ She took hold of Rose’s forearm, momentarily forgetting herself and her own strength.

‘Ow! That hurts.’

Rose’s voice was shrill and Fiona glanced up quickly, afraid their quarry would turn and see her. But he was oblivious – and almost out of sight.

‘I’m sorry. I want you to take this seriously, though, okay? It’s part of your education. If this is going to work, if you don’t want to go to the holiday club, you need to do what I say.’

Still Rose didn’t move, and Fiona realised she’d upset her and that Rose wasn’t going to snap out of it immediately. Rose might be special, but she was still a child. Fiona thought back, quickly, to try to remember what she’d been like when she was twelve and upset, and what would have worked to bring her back quickly without too much drama.

‘Do this for me and I’ll answer any question you have. Anything at all. I promise to tell the truth.’

It worked almost straight away. ‘Anything?’

‘Yes. And I’m sorry if I hurt you. But we need to get moving before we lose him.’

Rose appeared to forgive her immediately, the promise soothing the pain where Fiona had grabbed her. They crossed the street. ‘I can see him,’ said Rose. ‘He just went round the corner.’

He was heading back towards the centre of Herne Hill. With Fiona keeping her head down, while also trying to look casual and relaxed – not easy – they followed Max past the pub and the entrance to the station, then round another corner. Finally, on Dulwich Road, he went into a café that Fiona had never seen before, one that appeared to specialise in waffles.

Catching sight of his paunch as he pushed through the door, and the way the staff greeted him, it looked like he came here a lot.

That was good. Routine would make everything easier.

Standing outside, diagonal to the window so he wouldn’t see her if he turned around, Fiona watched as he waited at the counter with his back to the window. How stupid and arrogant. If she were him, knowing what he’d done, and knowing the woman he’d wronged was out there, she would never stand with her back to anything.

Beside her, Rose was growing restless, shifting from foot to foot. ‘Can we go in?’

‘No. I told you, we’re practising spycraft. Tailing him. I don’t want him to see us.’

‘But I’m starving.’

‘Rose, we can get something after ... Hold on.’

Max was exiting the café. Fiona hurriedly stepped into a doorway, gesturing for Rose to stay back until he’d crossed the road and gone through the gates into Brockwell Park. Only then did they follow. She hung back as they entered the park, scanning the area then spotting him easily. They tailed him as he went past the lido and into a quiet, shady area, stopping at a bench where he sat to unwrap his lunch. As he ate, he took out his phone and held it to his ear, then produced a slim notebook and pen from his jacket’s inside pocket. He rested the notebook on his lap and wrote in it as he talked, his lunch beside him on the bench.

‘What are we doing now?’ Rose said, her voice very close to a whine. Fiona took a deep breath.

‘We’re done. For now. You still hungry?’

She led Rose deeper into the park. It was abuzz with life. Kids playing ball games on the grass. Amorous couples lazing on the lawn. Dog walkers, and parents pushing buggies. Someone whizzed past them on a scooter, too close for Fiona’s comfort, and she had to fight the urge to push them off. They passed a woman sleeping under a tree, her handbag beside her, unattended, unwatched. Her wallet would probably be in there, and maybe her phone too. People were moronic, always assuming they would be okay, that bad shit would happen to someone else. It was remarkable how many people kept their PIN numbers in their wallets too, or stored their passwords in the Notes app on their phone. People who carried around their house keys as well as something containing theiraddress, like their driving licence. Asking for trouble. Asking to get robbed.

Like rabbits lying on the ground telling the foxes to come and get them.

The Brockwell Park café was in a converted house in the middle of the park. Rose wanted chips and a slushie. Fiona had a salad and a bottle of water. They took the food outside on to the benches. There were too many people, buzzing around like wasps, and Fiona’s shoulders knotted with tension.

‘Who was that man?’ Rose asked after she’d demolished half her chips.

‘Is that your one question?’

‘No! That’s not it. Is he an ex-boyfriend?’

‘Urgh, no. You thinkhewould be my type?’

‘I don’t know. I’m twelve. I don’t know anything about that stuff. But I know you were lying about that spycraft stuff. I’m not stupid.’

‘I know you’re not. You’re a very clever girl.’ She stole a chip from Rose’s plate. ‘He’s an old friend. Someone I’m planning a surprise for.’

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