Page 89 of The Psychopath Next Door

She carried the case to the ground floor and grabbed the car keys, then opened the large food cupboard. On the second shelf down there were a dozen tins of peaches. She moved them aside, reached in, and pushed at the wood at the rear of the shelf, revealing the secret space behind. She pulled out six bundles of cash, secured with rubber bands. Enough to see them through for a while, while they were hiding out. But still a long way from the life-changing sum they’d set their sights on. The sum they were so close to. Or had been.

She stuffed the money in the suitcase, then took it out on to the street where the car was parked. She felt sick with anger and disappointment. Who had discovered what they were up to? It couldn’t have been Dinah herself. The niece, Verity? She had to be the prime suspect. The nausea was replaced by the urge to scream. The house of her dreams had been so close. Now they were going to have to start all over again.

Where the hell was Maisie?

She went back inside and found her in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ Fiona said.

‘I’m not leaving here without a cup of tea.’

‘For God’s sake.’

She tried to grab Maisie’s arm but Maisie was surprisingly quick, slipping out of reach. She picked up the kettle, wielding it like a weapon.

‘I can’t be locked up.’

‘Maisie, please, make your tea and let’s go.’

‘I have to be free. I wasn’t born to be kept in a cage.’

Fiona wanted to grab hold of her and drag her out the door. She could be maddening. ‘It’s not going to happen. We’re faster and cleverer, remember? But we need to prove it by getting in the car and getting out of hereright now.’

‘Okay. But I mean it. I’m not going to prison.’

There wasn’t time for a last look around. She got behind the wheel and Maisie sat in the passenger seat, clutching her travel mug. Since she’d come out here to deposit the suitcase, it had started raining. Fiona cursed, because she knew that meant the roads would be busier, all the school-run parents jumping in their Chelsea tractors instead of walking.

And she was right.

The traffic started at the end of their road. This was another issue with living out here in the suburbs, in an area with several ‘outstanding’ schools. The road was gridlocked, cars and buses and the dreaded four-by-fours. Ubers and black cabs. The rain was heavier now, beating against the windscreen, the wipers hardly able to cope.

Maisie reached over and pressed the horn.

‘What are you doing?’ Fiona said. ‘You’re going to draw attention to us.’

But she wanted to hit the horn herself. She wanted to scream. She pictured herself dragging whoever was at the front of this queue out of their vehicle and slitting their throat, then taking their car. She imagined herself with a rocket launcher, blasting away that bus full of schoolchildren, clearing a path before driving through the smoking wreckage.

She forced herself to breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

It almost worked.

Finally, the lights up ahead changed and they began to move forward. A couple of buses turned the corner, freeing space ahead, and then there was only one car between them and the traffic lights.A white Land Rover, almost as old as this car. The lights turned amber and Fiona expected the Land Rover to sail through – no one around here ever stopped on amber – but to her horror the driver’s brake lights came on, then the lights turned red and they were stuck.

‘Morons!’ she shouted.

She breathed in and out again. And then she saw it, in the rear-view mirror. Flashing blue lights. A police car. No – two police cars. One of them was a marked car but the other was plain, with the blue light strapped to its roof. They were about seven cars back, and on this tightly packed street there was no room for other vehicles to move to let them through. A small blessing. She glanced at Maisie, who was staring ahead, in a trance. It seemed she hadn’t seen the lights. Better to let her remain ignorant of them.

Fiona’s knuckles were white on the wheel. Why weren’t the traffic lights changing? Come on. Comeon. Maybe they could still get out of this even if they were caught. Find a good lawyer. Impress a jury. They looked good. They knew how to charm people. It might all be okay.

But she didn’t want to risk it. She wanted these lights to turn green before the cops behind spotted them. There was a quieter road over to the left, just beyond this crossroads. Her plan, as soon as the lights changed and the traffic parted, was to head there, get off the main street, take the back roads out of town and on to the motorway.

The cars flowing left and right stopped and Fiona readied herself. She hoped the driver of the Land Rover was ready too. With the rain bouncing off the glass, it was too hard to see them.

The lights turned amber, then green. Fiona put the car into first gear, prepared to ease away.

The Land Rover didn’t move.

What the hell?

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