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Back The Family Next Door Save as PDF
Chapters (117)
  1. Also by
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright Page
  4. Epigraph
  5. PROLOGUE
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. 53
  59. 54
  60. 55
  61. 56
  62. 57
  63. 58
  64. 59
  65. 60
  66. 61
  67. 62
  68. 63
  69. 64
  70. 65
  71. 66
  72. 67
  73. 68
  74. 69
  75. 70
  76. 71
  77. 72
  78. 73
  79. 74
  80. 75
  81. 76
  82. 77
  83. 78
  84. 79
  85. 80
  86. 81
  87. 82
  88. 83
  89. 84
  90. 85
  91. 86
  92. 87
  93. 88
  94. 89
  95. 90
  96. 91
  97. 92
  98. 93
  99. 94
  100. 95
  101. 96
  102. 97
  103. 98
  104. 99
  105. 100
  106. 101
  107. 102
  108. 103
  109. 104
  110. 105
  111. 106
  112. 107
  113. 108
  114. 109
  115. 110
  116. Teaser chapter
  117. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

He hadn’t seen Olivia since they had both gone to bed at a quarter to twelve the previous night. Her mobile phone was switched off, her handbag discarded. She had not left a note for the children or told anyone she was going out.

Put like that, it didn’t look good.

“Come on,” he said to Evan. “I’ll make you a sandwich and we’ll decide what to do.”

“I’ll be there in a sec, Dad. Just want to get something from my room.”

* * *

Evan sat on his bed and tipped up his Magic 8 Ball.

Is Mum safe? he whispered, a twist of worry in his stomach.

The words took a couple of seconds to appear. Reply hazy, try again.

At the same time, his father’s voice drifted up the stairs.

“Is that Detective Sergeant Stanton? I’m so sorry to trouble you, but I don’t know who else to call. My name is Garrick Lockwood and I think my wife is missing.”

62

62

Tuesday 31st July 2018, 2:07 P.M.

32 The Avenue

A flare of adrenaline lit French from inside. Instinct switched itself on. He must read Lovell his rights, handcuff him, call for immediate backup.

Don’t touch anything. Stop Lovell from leaving. Oh, fuck. Fuck it. I’ve done it. I’ve caught the fucking Doll Maker.

Like electrical sparks, his thoughts jumped and arced, and he turned to Lovell, baton raised, ready to arrest him.

Lovell took a step toward him and French brought his baton down on the old man’s arm with a smacking sound.

“Hands on your head. Stay where you are.”

A livid red mark was rising on the skin above Lovell’s wristbone. “Now, why did you have to do that?” he said, rubbing it. He took another step toward French.

“Stay back,” said the police officer, his voice cracking on the last letter. French hit him again.

But although Lovell was older, he was rangier and stronger, and now that he was up close, French could read the writing on the pin—Per Mare Per Terram—and he had half a second to register Royal Marines—but before that thought had finished forming in his brain, Old Man Lovell had squeezed his fingers against French’s throat, putting pressure on his vagus nerve.

His vision blurred, and a strange popping sensation in his ears deadened the sound of the birds and the drone of a passing car on the street outside. He could smell Lovell’s breath—sour coffee and plaque—and noticed the old man had blackheads on his nose, and that his mouth was shaping a single word.

Sorry.

In less than eight seconds, French was unconscious.

63

63

Tuesday 31st July 2018, 2:22 P.M.

25 The Avenue

DS Wildeve Stanton was the first to arrive.