I Will Make You Pay (ARC) Read online

  A DVA NCE R E A DER’S COPY — U NCOR R EC TED PROOF

  I WILL MAKE YOU PAY

  OTHER TITLES BY TERESA DRISCOLL

  Recipes for Melissa

  Last Kiss Goodnight

  I Am Watching You

  The Friend

  The Promise

  I WILL MAKE YOU PAY

  TERESA DRISCOLL

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2019 by Teresa Driscoll

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781542092234

  ISBN-10: 154209223X

  Cover design by Ghost Design

  Printed in the United States of America

  CHAPTER ONE

  Alice

  ‘I am going to use cheese wire on you.’

  That’s what he says. The first time the voice is in my

  ear. In my head. In my life.

  It is a Wednesday – 3 p.m. – but I do not yet realise

  the significance of the day because the truth has not yet

  dawned on me that it all began earlier – that this is ac-

  tually the third Wednesday.

  At first it simply feels unreal. The voice on the phone

  is distorted through some kind of mechanism. I’m so

  thrown by this – the robotic echo – that I hang up im-

  mediately. Later I will regret this, wishing I’d listened

  more carefully, for very soon the police will be asking a

  lot of questions – Did he use your name? Background noise?

  Rhythm of voice? – and I will feel embarrassed that I do not have the answers.

  Me – supposed to notice things for a living.

  For now I sit, suddenly alone in this busy, noisy of-

  fice, not at all sure how I’m supposed to react. I am

  shocked to feel not just afraid, but also that most British

  of responses – embarrassment. Yes. Inappropriately and

  maybe even ridiculously, I feel embarrassed to be this easily shaken. There is still this strange disconnect between

  me and the room. An over-awareness of the physical so

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  that I can feel my pulse in my fingers, still gripping the

  phone, returned to its stand.

  I look at the flesh on the back of my right hand and

  the echo of the robotic voice – cheese wire – makes me draw my hand back into my lap. I picture the staff in my

  local deli using the razor-sharp wire to slice through an

  enormous slab of cheese. I think of that same wire cut-

  ting into…

  No. I straighten my back. I wonder why anyone would

  say such a horrible thing. Even think such a truly horrible thing…

  I turn to my right to see Jack walking back into the

  newsroom. He moves quickly to his seat next to mine, a

  coffee cup in his hand. A light is flashing to signal a new

  call. He picks it up and I hold my breath but it is clearly

  not the same caller. Jack’s expression moves merely from

  puzzlement to irritation. He rolls his eyes, switching the

  phone from his right to his left ear, to explain that we do not cover divorce cases routinely, madam…

  He clears his throat, pausing to listen to his caller

  again for a moment before continuing.

  Yes, I’m quite sure it is all very desperate for you, but I’m sorry; we just don’t cover divorce. Not routinely … not unless—

  I can hear the response; someone shouting. Jack holds

  the receiver away from his ear, the caller’s swearing bleed-

  ing into the room, then he puts the receiver back to his

  head. I wish you well with the case, madam, but I’m going to have to ring off now.

  As Jack takes a final slurp of his coffee before firing

  the cup into the bin, I turn to my left, where Adam, our

  crime correspondent, is hunched over his keyboard. He

  is on a deadline, typing furiously; a court report wanted

  right now for the online edition of the paper. I don’t like

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  I Will Make You Pay

  to interrupt him or Jack or anyone, because I still don’t

  know how to process this. How I’m supposed to feel.

  We get weird calls all the time. Last week a woman

  came in complaining that a cloud was following her…

  ‘Are you all right, Alice?’

  ‘Yes. Course.’

  No. The problem is I have never had this kind of call before. I turn my head back towards the question; towards

  Jack. I am still thinking of cheese wire. Razor-sharp.

  Cutting slowly and easily…

  ‘Jeez, Alice. You don’t look all right. Do you need

  water?’

  Only now do I hear how laboured my breathing

  sounds.

  ‘I’m fine.’ I take in a deep breath through my nose and

  let it out through my mouth, trying to steady myself. ‘Just

  picked up a dodgy phone call. Threw me for a minute.’

  ‘What kind of dodgy?’

  Finally I look Jack in the face. ‘A nutter. Just got a call

  from a nutter. It’s nothing.’

  ‘Doesn’t look like nothing. So, what did they say –

  this nutter?’

  I pause, realising that I don’t want to repeat the words

  because I don’t want to give them life; I don’t want to

  take them forward.

  ‘What did they say, Alice?’

  ‘It’s nothing.’

  ‘Please. Tell me…’

  ‘A man. It was a man using some kind of voice changer.

  He said, I am going to use cheese wire on you.’

  ‘Jeez.’ Jack rakes his hand through his hair and stands

  up. ‘Bloody hell. A voice changer? Right. I’m getting water and we’re going straight in to see Ted.’

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  He darts to the water cooler and returns with a cup

  which he places into my hand, staring right into my face.

  ‘Drink this. Sip it. Slowly…’

  It is ice cold, and I look at the cup and think of the

  contrast – the cold water on my tongue and the warmth

  of the flesh of my fingers against the plastic.

  Cheese wire…

  Jack is watching me closely.

  ‘I’m fine, Jack. Honestly. Just a wind-up. A fruitcake.’

  ‘What line? Your line or a general line? I mean – was

  it random? Did they use your name?’

  The first of the sensible questions that I will struggle

  to answer. I glance at the little row of lights by the phone.

  Middle light? Yes.

  ‘Line 301. I use it for my column but it’s listed as

  general too. I don’t think he used my name.’ I pause,

  trying to remember for sure. �
��No. Look. Come to think

  of it – probably just an attention-seeker. I shouldn’t have

  let it throw me.’

  Jack shakes his head. ‘Random swearing we ignore.

  Direct threats with voice changers we take to Ted. Come

  on. Protocol.’

  I pick up the cup of water and follow him to the edi-

  tor’s cubicle in the corner of the office. Jack knocks on

  the open door.

  ‘What now? I hope this is a new lead because I’ve just

  had the lawyer on and he’s giving me an ulcer…’

  ‘Sorry, Ted. Alice just picked up a phone call from a

  nutter. Threat from a guy using a voice changer. Thought

  we’d better report it.’

  I repeat what he said and watch Ted suck in his face.

  ‘Right. So did he ask for you? Did he use your name,

  Alice?’

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  I Will Make You Pay

  ‘No, Ted.’

  ‘Good. That’s good.’ Relief on his face. ‘Probably

  some random loon who hates something we wrote. And

  did you answer using your name?’

  I feel a frown as again I rewind. ‘No. Just the name

  of the paper.’

  ‘And he definitely didn’t use your name?’

  ‘No.’

  Ted is nodding. ‘Good. OK. Random fruitcake, then.

  I’ll put this on the log, but good that it’s not personal.

  Nasty though. The voice changer. Was it software then?

  Can you do that on a phone?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I wonder why I hadn’t considered this

  myself. For some reason I had imagined some physical

  device. But maybe Ted is right. Voice change software?

  An app perhaps?

  ‘You OK, Alice?’ Ted says. ‘You want to finish early?

  Get yourself some air?’

  ‘No, no. Course not. I’m fine. Just thought we’d better

  mention it in case he calls again. Upsets someone else.’

  ‘Sure. Like I say, I’ll log it so it gets shared across the

  departments. If it happens again, we’ll report it to Alan.

  In fact, I’ll probably mention it to him anyway.’

  Alan is the press officer for the local police. A drink-

  ing pal of Ted’s. A good egg.

  ‘Thanks.’

  And then I go back to my desk, and already the distance

  between the call and this new place where Ted needs to

  get back to the lead story makes me feel better. They’re

  right. It’s random. Probably someone with a grudge against

  the paper – someone who didn’t like a story. Court case

  maybe? Back to work…

  ‘Sorry, Jack. I should have shrugged it off.’

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  ‘Don’t be daft. Just don’t answer 301 for the rest of the

  day. I’ll pick it up. Just in case he gets off on it and tries again. Bastard probably gets a wank out of it.’

  I grimace.

  ‘Sorry, Alice. TMI.’

  ‘No. You’re right. I’m fine now, honestly. Think I’ll

  fetch a decent coffee from next door. Fresh air. Want

  another?’

  ‘Yeah. Cappuccino, please. Want me to come with

  you?’

  ‘No. I’m good now.’

  I lean left to nudge Adam, making a cup-tipping mo-

  tion, but he shakes his head, still engrossed in his story.

  I grab my bag and head downstairs, grateful at last to be

  out on the street. There is a soft breeze, the buzz from

  the traffic. The roar of a motorcycle. The bleeping of a

  pedestrian crossing. Familiar sounds and a familiar bustle,

  which make me feel settled again.

  It is only when I get to the café next door and see

  through the window the owner writing my name on a

  small cup – my usual order – even before I step inside,

  that I feel a shift again in my stomach.

  ‘You psychic suddenly, Giovanni?’

  ‘No. Guy just rang in your order. Said, Alice will need

  a double espresso. She’s on her way…’

  ‘What guy?’

  ‘Dunno. One of them in your office playing prank.

  You nice girl, Alice. You want to tell them boys to grow

  up.’ He is wagging his finger.

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about. What guy?

  What prank?’ I am thinking of Jack but he’s not one for

  messing about.

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  I Will Make You Pay

  ‘The joker with one of them voice changer thingies.

  Creepy.’ He snaps a lid on my drink and pushes it towards

  me. ‘You tell them boys in that office of yours – they can

  ring in orders but no pranks. What if one of my girls picks up the phone? Eh? Not nice.’

  7

  CHAPTER TWO

  Alice

  Just a few hours later and I am home, waiting for Tom.

  This new and paranoid version of myself.

  I have checked both doors and all of the windows. I

  have set the landline to caller display. I have turned off

  location services on my mobile, I have reset my pass-

  words for Facebook and Twitter and have switched my

  Instagram account to private. I have made an appointment

  for a security company to check over my rented two-bed

  first thing tomorrow. I have ordered a ‘police-approved

  personal alarm’ which should arrive in the morning post.

  In short, I have done all the things the police have ad-

  vised – along with googling pepper spray, which they

  most definitely did not.

  Still I do not feel safe.

  Though the police were thorough and kind, the bot-

  tom line as I sit here alone is sinking in.

  Alan from the press office brought a woman detective

  sergeant from CID. She took statements from me and the

  coffee shop staff next door. At first all this official fussing felt good; as if it would lead to something positive. I’m not sure precisely what I expected – but a full stop of some

  kind? Pretty soon I realised, as Alan and the policewoman

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  I Will Make You Pay

  exchanged knowing little glances, that they were going

  through the motions as a favour to my editor.

  ‘So what happens now?’ I asked.

  The awkward pause and their expressions said it all.

  Turns out that unless I can suggest an obvious suspect –

  someone I’ve upset through a story or someone who’s been

  hassling me – nothing much happens now. The report goes

  on file. And we just wait…

  The important thing from here is to be vigilant and gather evidence, Alice. If he calls again or anything unusual happens, you must keep very precise records. Bring us right up to date.

  The best hope, of course, is that this was just some random nutter who guessed about the coffee shop.

  What surprises me most of all is they don’t seem

  especially worried he might be actively watching me. I

  am. That’s what’s worrying me most of all.

  I mean – how did he know I’d be at the café? What

  my order would be? The police say these kinds of indi-

  viduals often punt a bit. It wouldn’t take rocket science

  to guess reporters use the café next door. The guy may

  have phoned previously with an excuse to check on my

  regular order, to spook me. Or just made a guess.

  But he used my name when he phoned t
he café. Knew I

  was going to the café…

  And yes, they said, this made it more of a worry and

  they were taking it very seriously. That was when they

  gave me this big to-do list of general precautions. The

  security visit and personal alarm, blah blah blah. They gave me leaflets.

  But since arriving home I’ve been surfing websites

  about this – stalking and anonymous threatening calls –

  and it makes pretty depressing reading.

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  Teresa Driscoll

  Seems these callers know very well that they have

  the upper hand.

  The police can’t give you a bodyguard. Or a new car.

  Or a new address. And unless and until things ‘escalate’

  (I don’t even like to think what the hell that means), it

  seems they can’t actually do very much at all.

  Basically, I’m on my own with this.

  I look around the room again and then stand up to

  pace. I draw the curtains, even though it won’t get dark

  for another hour. I make another coffee and then realise,

  even smelling it, that I have drunk far too much coffee

  today and pour it down the sink.

  Finally I am sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the

  bolt that is pushed across the top of the back door, when

  I hear the key in the front door.

  I find that above all I am deeply disappointed in myself.

  So that by the time Tom walks into the house, I have

  burst into tears.

  ‘Hey, hey. I came as quick as I could. So, what’s hap-

  pening with the police? What did they say?’

  I let him hold me for a moment but then pull away,

  wiping my face with my sleeves. Once more I feel both

  ridiculous and embarrassed; I don’t like anyone, not even

  Tom, seeing me like this.

  Jack phoned him from the office, apparently, while I

  was with the police, and he’s keen for more details now.

  ‘Look, I still don’t know if I’m simply overreacting,

  Tom. To be honest, I’m all over the place.’

  I babble that it is probably just some saddo who’s hop-

  ing for this precise reaction, which is why I wish I could buck up.

  I sit down on the sofa, and Tom sits alongside me

  and takes my hand. At first he is reassuring. He seems to

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  I Will Make You Pay

  think it was probably random. Someone who hates the

  paper. But as I share more of the story, about the call to

  the café, he suddenly looks more alarmed.

  ‘So you’re saying they phoned the café as well? This