Saving Sophie: A compulsively twisty psychological thriller that will keep you gripped to the very last page

Copyright

AVON

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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2016

Copyright © Sam Carrington 2016

Sam Carrington asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008191818

Ebook Edition © August 2016 ISBN: 9780008191863

Version: 2018-03-01

In memory of my dad, Norman, and my mum, Mary.

Missed every day.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One: Karen

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five: Sophie

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven: Karen

Chapter Eight: Sophie

Chapter Nine: Karen

Chapter Ten: Sophie

Chapter Eleven: DI Wade

Chapter Twelve: Sophie

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen: DI Wade

Chapter Fifteen: Karen

Chapter Sixteen: DI Wade

Chapter Seventeen: Karen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen: Karen

Chapter Twenty: Sophie

Chapter Twenty-One: DI Wade

Chapter Twenty-Two: Karen

Chapter Twenty-Three: Sophie

Chapter Twenty-Four: DI Wade

Chapter Twenty-Five: Karen

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Sophie

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Karen

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two: Sophie

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four: DI Wade

Chapter Thirty-Five: Karen

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Sophie

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Karen

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty: Sophie

Chapter Forty-One: DI Wade

Chapter Forty-Two: Sophie

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four: Karen

Chapter Forty-Five: Sophie

Chapter Forty-Six: Karen

Chapter Forty-Seven: Sophie

Chapter Forty-Eight: DI Wade

Chapter Forty-Nine: Karen

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two: Sophie

Chapter Fifty-Three: Karen

Chapter Fifty-Four: Sophie

Chapter Fifty-Five: DI Wade

Chapter Fifty-Six: Karen

Chapter Fifty-Seven: Sophie

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Chapter Fifty-Nine: Karen

Chapter Sixty: DI Wade

Chapter Sixty-One: Karen

Chapter Sixty-Two

Chapter Sixty-Three

Chapter Sixty-Four: Sophie

Chapter Sixty-Five: Karen

Chapter Sixty-Six

Chapter Sixty-Seven: DI Wade

Chapter Sixty-Eight: Karen

Chapter Sixty-Nine: DI Wade

Chapter Seventy: Sophie

Chapter Seventy-One

Chapter Seventy-Two: Karen

Chapter Seventy-Three

Chapter Seventy-Four: Sophie

Chapter Seventy-Five: DI Wade

Chapter Seventy-Six: Karen

Chapter Seventy-Seven

Chapter Seventy-Eight: DI Wade

Chapter Seventy-Nine: Sophie

Chapter Eighty

Chapter Eighty-One: Karen

Chapter Eighty-Two: Sophie

Chapter Eighty-Three: DI Wade

Chapter Eighty-Four: Karen

Chapter Eighty-Five

Chapter Eighty-Six: Sophie

Chapter Eighty-Seven: Karen

Chapter Eighty-Eight: Sophie

Chapter Eighty-Nine: Karen

Chapter Ninety: DI Wade

Chapter Ninety-One: Karen

Chapter Ninety-Two

Chapter Ninety-Three: DI Wade

Chapter Ninety-Four: Karen

Chapter Ninety-Five: Sophie

Chapter Ninety-Six: DI Wade

Chapter Ninety-Seven: Karen

Chapter Ninety-Eight: DI Wade

Epilogue

Read On

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

Author Q&A

About the Author

About the Publisher

Prologue

Saturday

‘Shh … Don’t speak.’ He releases the strap of the rubber ball gag with his left hand. His right grips a chunk of long, curly hair. Pulling it, twisting it, so she can’t move her head. So tight, she can’t move away from him. So tight, strands of black hair extensions break and tear from her real hair, tiny popping noises oddly loud in her ear.

The gag makes a soft thud on the concrete floor, an innocent sound, incongruent with the function it has just served.

‘Stay quiet now. Still. It’ll be over soon.’

He pushes his head up against her temple, hard. The slick tackiness of his sweat covers her forehead as he presses against her, rubbing his head from side to side. The putrid odour invades her nostrils. She tries not to breathe. Fear takes over; a whimper escapes from her dry mouth.

‘No. No noise. I told you.’ His voice is raspy, menacing.

Her eyes are wide and swollen, wet with fresh tears – her face stained with old ones. She opens her mouth, just a little, daring to utter the words screaming inside her head: Please don’t kill me. He notices the slight movement of her lips and immediately presses his fingers against them, suppressing the words before they can be formed. Only her breath manages to leak through the gaps of his soft fingers; a stifled exhalation.

Her last.

CHAPTER ONE

Karen

The dog’s barking alerted her to the late-night visitors before the doorbell sounded.

Muffled voices drifted in as Mike opened the front door. Then another voice boomed out. Karen jumped up from the sofa, grabbed the dog and ran out into the hallway. She wasn’t expecting the sight that greeted her.

Wedged between two police officers was a bedraggled mess of a girl.

Sophie.

‘What’s happened?’ She rushed forward, dropping Bailey to the floor. The barking turned to growling; she ignored it, her attention fully on her daughter. Tears had left tracks down her over-made-up face, her lipstick had bled and feathered, spreading red beyond her mouth.

‘She’s not in any trouble, we had a duty of care to bring her home.’ Talking continued, but now in full panic mode, Karen switched off. What on earth has happened to her?

Sophie suddenly looked younger than her seventeen years; her little girl, barely able to stand, leaning against the porch wall as she attempted to move her mouth and produce coherent words. She failed.

Karen heard snippets of what the officers were saying as she fussed over Sophie – ‘… found wandering on her own along the main road in town …’ She dabbed at Sophie’s damp face with the cuff of her sleeve, ‘… all dressed in black … not safe …’ She took Sophie by the arms and looked into her black, wide-pupilled eyes. How much has she drunk?

The three of them remained standing in the porch, the door flung open – the police officers, tall, official, on the threshold. The neighbours’ curtains twitched. With shaking hands, Karen attempted to steady Sophie, whose black patent high heels slipped on the tiled floor. She didn’t look at Mike, only vaguely aware of him thanking the officers.

‘Why were you on your own?’ Karen shouted. ‘Have they left you again?’ She didn’t care about the police officers, the neighbours, or Mike’s warning words coming at her from her left; they were a blur.

Sophie stared blankly ahead, her eyes unfamiliar. The bright blue, lively eyes Karen knew so well were dark; void of emotion. Empty of anything. But a mother could see the scared young girl behind them.

This wasn’t the fallout of too much alcohol.

With the police officers gone, shocked voices erupted in the privacy of the living room.

‘What do you think you were doing, Sophie?’ Mike shouted, inches from her pale face. ‘You stink of alcohol.’ He recoiled.

‘I don’t know what she was doing …’ Sophie looked up, her eyes fighting to focus.

‘What who was doing, love?’ Karen crouched beside Sophie, her words calmer now, softer than those spewing from Mike’s mouth.

‘I don’t know who she is.’ Her speech clumsy; the syllables tripping from her lips didn’t appear to be linked with the form her mouth was taking. ‘How do I know why Amy wanted to be Amy?’

‘Have you taken something, Sophie?’ Mike moved forwards again, grabbing her by the arm, forcing her into a sitting position on the sagging, cream sofa.

‘No. No …’

‘Mike! She’s too drunk to know what you’re even saying.’ Karen searched his face for that hint of a memory, knowing they had both, in their time, been in a similar state. All teenagers got drunk, didn’t they?

‘So that makes it all right, does it? Karen – look at her. It’s ten thirty, she’s only been out of the house since six.’ He stood and paced the room. Then he slumped on the two-seater sofa opposite, rubbing at his face, running both hands roughly through his greying hair. ‘Anything could’ve happened to you, anything. Do you understand, Sophie?’ His words spat out, his face contorted – an ugly expression, one Karen had observed before.

The laughter came out in short bursts. Unnatural. Not Sophie’s light, contagious laugh: this one sinister, unnerving.

‘You think this is funny?’ Mike got to his feet, launching towards Sophie – half sitting, half hunching, her head lolled, practically on her chest, as if it were too heavy to keep upright. Perched on the edge of the sofa, it would only take one more forward motion and she’d be on the floor.

‘Please.’ Karen thrust the palm of her hand towards him. With her eyes narrowed, she willed him to leave the room; she wanted to deal with this in the way she thought best and his anger was a hindrance. She dragged her gaze from his. ‘Sophie, love, were you with Amy?’

‘What does it matter she wanted to be Amy?’ More of the same spilled from her. It was pointless; getting any sense from her seemed unlikely.

Karen took deep breaths to try to control the anger germinating deep in her gut. Sophie’s friends had clearly left her. It wasn’t the first time either – only three months ago Mike had been dragged out of bed to pick Sophie up at midnight because she’d been stranded in Torquay with no money when her so-called friends had gone off. The usual ‘it’s just teenagers these days’ didn’t wash, it was plain selfish – left it wide open for things like this to happen.

‘I need the loo.’ Sophie propelled herself forwards. ‘I need a wee,’ she drawled.

‘I’ll take you.’ Karen supported her, one arm around her waist, the other outstretched to aid her own balance as they made their way towards the downstairs cloakroom. They looked like a pair of children tied together, about to take part in the three-legged race. Mike, red-faced, strode the length of the lounge and back.

Karen waited outside the door with her head leant against it. This was going to be a long night. She heard the flush, then a clatter inside.

‘You all right, Sophie?’

More giggling, then Sophie emerged, half sliding, half falling through the door. Together they made their way back to the lounge. Back to Mike, still pacing big angry strides.

‘I need to get her to bed.’

‘You don’t say.’ He averted his eyes from them.

Karen manoeuvred Sophie to face the stairs.

‘Can you get her a glass of water, please?’

Mike huffed, before disappearing into the kitchen. Karen took Sophie up the stairs, struggling to keep control of the rubbery body; the laughing-one-minute, crying-the-next girl who, only a few hours ago, had left the house looking smart and beautiful in her new black dress. Karen scrunched up her eyes. She couldn’t cry now. Not yet. This wasn’t her Sophie. Not the Sophie who looked after her friends: picked them up when they fell, let them cry on her shoulder, took them home if they were drunk.

Why had they left her in this state? Or had Sophie left them? And she’d been rattling on about Amy; she’d seemed distressed about her. Karen’s chest tightened.

Where was Amy?

CHAPTER TWO

Karen sat with her knees up and her back against the soft velvet-covered headboard, tapping the screen of her phone.

‘What are you doing?’ Mike asked, walking around to his side of the bed.

‘Texting Liz.’

‘For God’s sake, Karen, it’s midnight. Leave it.’ He sat on the edge of the bed, peeling off his trousers. Small change from his pockets scattered on the wooden floor, clinking and rolling everywhere. ‘Darn it!’

‘I need to know if Amy’s home safe.’ Karen spoke the words quietly, thinking if she said them softly, he’d understand her need for reassurance.

‘Sophie’s so pissed up she wouldn’t have a clue who she’d been out with. Anyway, she obviously got separated from them and now they’ll be in the club until three. Do not worry Liz about it. Just go to sleep.’ He was tired. Irritable. Karen knew he hated it when she couldn’t let things go.

‘Yeah, right, like sleep is possible now. I think it’s more than just alcohol.’

‘Relax.’ He bounced up and down, settling himself and yanked the duvet up over his shoulder. He turned away from her.

‘Mike,’ she pleaded, adamant that the conversation should continue despite his warning tone. She had things playing on her mind: disturbing things. ‘Don’t you think she looked like she’d taken drugs? Or that someone had drugged her? The way she was talking …’

‘Are you for real?’ Mike flung the duvet back off, exposing his muscled torso, and sat up, eyes glaring. ‘Don’t you think the police would’ve been a bit more concerned if they suspected something untoward had happened? Just because you used to work with a bunch of screwed-up criminals, it doesn’t mean every time Sophie goes out she’s going to be targeted by would-be rapists.’

Karen smarted. ‘You were the one who shouted at Sophie, said anything could’ve happened – weren’t they your words?’

He rubbed his palms aggressively up and down his face, groaning.

‘I meant she could have been knocked over, ended up in a ditch somewhere, and yes, it did cross my mind someone could have taken advantage of her. But that clearly didn’t happen. What you’re saying is that someone purposely drugged her. I’ve no idea what goes through your head. Now please let me sleep, we’ll talk to her in the morning. It’ll all be some pathetic teenage drama, some stupid fall-out with Amy, that’s all.’ He returned to his position, facing the window with his back towards her.

A tear rolled down Karen’s cheek and hit the duvet cover. She stared at the mascara-stained drop for a moment, then ran her fingertip over it, smudging it. How could he be so insensitive? His irritation had pushed aside all he knew about her, her own traumatic experience: the attack, two years ago almost to the day. Had he forgotten why she was this way? She looked down absently. The cover would need washing now. She lifted her head, staring for a while at the back of her husband of twenty-three years. Then she continued the text.

Hi Liz, sorry to text this late, was wondering if you’ve heard from Amy? Sophie has been brought back by the police in a right state – I don’t know why she wasn’t with the others! I hope the rest of the girls have fared better. Text me when you get this please.

She put the phone on vibrate and placed it under her pillow. Snatching her sertraline tablets from the bedside table, she popped two in her mouth and swallowed without water, then went to check on Sophie.

CHAPTER THREE

Sunday

The chinking of plates and jingling of cutlery infiltrated Karen’s sleep. What time was it? The Sunday bells rang out from the church in the distance, the deep clanging tones coming and going as the wind carried them. She used to find the sound relaxing, reassuring even. Lately, though, it had become an irritation, a reminder of how long she’d lived in Ambrook. Moving from town ten years ago to gain the solitude that the tiny Devon village offered had seemed a good idea at the time. They hadn’t been able to afford any of the idyllic chocolate-box cottages, having to settle for the more modern, less striking semi-detached house instead. But the views of Dartmoor had made up for that. Now, even that didn’t interest her. She’d left it too late to move again, though, her current circumstances wouldn’t allow it.

Beside her, tiny tapping noises on the floor made her open her eyes. A heavy weight landed on her legs. Bailey scrambled to her face and planted his good morning kisses. She gave his belly a half-hearted rub. Then she bolted up to a sitting position. She turned to Mike’s side of the bed. Empty. He was the one crashing about in the kitchen. A glance at the alarm clock told her it was 8.45 a.m. Why hadn’t he got her up?

Pushing Bailey aside, Karen shoved her feet into her slippers, grabbed the dressing gown and walked along the landing. Pausing outside Sophie’s door, she listened for signs of movement, straining to hear breathing. Please let her be breathing. Don’t let her have choked to death on her own vomit. Karen laid a trembling hand on the door knob. She’d checked a couple of times during her own unsettled night, but it’d been over three hours since her last. She took a deep breath and opened the door.

On her tummy. Light-brown hair messily spread over the pillow and part-covering her face. In the exact position she’d left her. Karen could only hear her own breathing: rapid, shallow bursts of air. Why wasn’t Sophie making a sound? She reached a hand out, hovered it for a while before allowing it to lie gently on her daughter’s back. Warmth touched her fingers. Karen’s shoulders relaxed. Thank goodness.

‘Sophie,’ she whispered. Then more strongly, ‘Sophie.’

Sophie’s body wriggled under Karen’s hand, her eyes opened. Still dark, still unfocused.

‘What’s the matter?’ She wiped the wetness from her mouth with one hand, then turned over and sat up.

‘How are you feeling?’

‘Okay,’ she yawned. ‘Tired.’ Her brow knitted as she ran her hand along the side of the bed, up and down the mattress edge against the wall. ‘Have you seen my phone?’

Karen had left it in the kitchen, thrown down on the worktop following several failed attempts to access any messages that might shed some light on the situation.

‘Yeah, it’s downstairs.’

‘Oh.’ Sophie looked perplexed. Her phone never left her side.

‘How did you get home last night?’ Karen thought she’d play it cool. She wanted to hear it from Sophie’s mouth, wanted her to feel bad about causing so much distress.

‘Uh … Taxi?’ She swung her legs around and sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes scanning the room. ‘Where’s my handbag?’

‘Sophie.’ Karen’s voice, harsher now. ‘It’s downstairs as well. Look, you didn’t come home by taxi. Don’t you remember how you got back?’

Sophie looked straight ahead, and said nothing for a long time.

‘Must’ve got a lift, then,’ she said finally, looking at Karen. Her face appeared neutral; no sign of guilt, no indication of a sudden recalled memory of the police car.

‘Bloody hell, Sophie.’ Karen crossed her arms firmly.

‘What? I can’t remember, that’s all. I’m home safe, aren’t I?’ Sophie lay down again, pulling the duvet back over her. ‘I’m tired, I need more sleep.’

‘Tough.’ Karen’s face flushed. She’d been gentle enough, now Sophie’s matter-of-fact attitude bristled her. ‘I’ll tell you how you got home, shall I?’

‘Urgh. Please can you leave me alone? I’ll talk to you later.’

Karen stripped the duvet from her. ‘No, Sophie, we’ll talk about it right now.’

‘Fucking hell, Mum.’

‘I can’t believe you don’t remember.’ She lowered her face level with Sophie’s. ‘The police brought you home, Sophie. The police.’ She glared at her, waiting for a response, waiting for ‘I’m sorry, Mum’. But no. She gave nothing. ‘Are you going to say anything? Your dad went mental, you know.’

The smile spreading across Sophie’s face was like a smack in Karen’s. How dare she smile. Was Mike right? Did she think this was funny?

‘Okay, Mum. Enough. I get it. I shouldn’t have had so much to drink, I obviously annoyed you and Dad by coming home late, probably woke you up. I’m sorry. Joke over. But it’s not like you’ve never got drunk, is it? Now can you leave me alone to sleep it off?’ Sophie widened her eyes at Karen, ‘Oh, and don’t give me the tilted head crap, you always do that when you think someone’s lying …’

Karen jerked her head back upright. ‘Are you serious? Enough? I haven’t even started. It’s not a joke. And trust me, we were not laughing last night. You didn’t wake us up in the early hours. You were brought home at ten bloody thirty. How the hell could you have got into such a state so quickly?’ Before Sophie could retort, she added, ‘Maybe that’s why my head’s doing this crap.’ Karen cocked her head again, accentuating the move. She stopped talking, waiting for an explanation.

Despite Karen’s anger, the shock on Sophie’s face set her back. She really didn’t remember the police ride. A knot developed deep inside her stomach. She nudged Sophie across the bed so she could sit on the edge. She took Sophie’s hand in hers.

‘Why were you on your own? Where were your friends?’

‘I … I’m not sure. I don’t remember.’

‘Try. Please. It’s important.’

‘Why?’

‘You have to ask? You were found wandering around on your own, in a drunken state near the roundabout on the main road going out of town. Then, when they brought you back, you rattled on and on about Amy, talking utter rubbish – kept saying something about how you didn’t know she wanted to be Amy …’