Normal: The Most Original Thriller Of The Year

“I’m sorry?” I replied.

“Insomniac?”

Green rolled her eyes. “Get to the point,” I said, forcing her to hide a smirk.

Fairey smiled graciously. “What were you doing driving around the red-light district at three in the morning?”

Finally, a question I could answer truthfully. “I was on my way back from the seaside,” I told him. “I spent the evening with...” With what? “A friend?” Accurate description or not, I’d said it aloud and it was in Fairey’s book.

“Name?”

“Annie.”

“Annie...?” He stopped scribbling, looked up at me expectantly.

“Yes,” I replied.

“Surname?”

“Almost certainly.”

“Address?” He laughed.

I recited it as well as I could remember.

“I take it you only recently met?”

“Yes, that night,” I confessed. “We...you know. Just talked.”

Green’s hand fell away from her mouth, and she stared at me in undisguised bemusement. Like her, I had no idea why I’d said that.

Whatever, Fairey seemed unconcerned. “I understand,” he said with a dismissive wave. “Listen, how about we take a quick look at that Transit, and then we’ll let you get on with your day?”

I liked the sound of the latter, at least.

The van was empty but for the load straps and a large, plain cardboard box. On the top of the box was a folded woolen blanket. “Box of blankets,” I said.

“May I?” Green preemptively ignored her superior’s silent admonition and stepped up onto the load bed.

“Be my guest.” I smiled, mentally locating the garden fork hung on the wall three feet behind me.

“Thank you,” she said, rubber soles squeaking against the steel floor as she strolled over to the box, squared her jaw and carefully lifted one corner of the blanket. Finding another beneath it, she lifted the second blanket to reveal a third. “Box of blankets.” She nodded.

“What’s under those blankets?” Fairey asked, indicating what was quite plainly a sheet-draped car occupying the opposite side of the garage.

I heard Green nudge the box with her foot as I turned. “My car,” I said, sounding rather unnecessarily uncooperative even to myself.

“Looks like an Interceptor,” he decided, unperturbed.

“Good guess,” I conceded.

“Mind if I look?”

I don’t know why he bothered asking; he was already across the garage and peeling back the covers before I could utter, “Knock yourself out.”

Green hopped down from the back of the van. “We’ll be here all bloody day now,” she remarked, nevertheless casting an appraising eye over the Jensen’s scruffy gray flank as she swept past. Quite rightly, she was unimpressed.

I followed her to the threshold, where she gazed out beyond the house to the barn midway across the field. “Nice place you’ve got,” she noted. “What’s in the barn?”

“Flatbed trailer, workbench, assorted lumps of wood, a fiberglass speedboat without an engine,” I informed her. “Tours are free if you want one.” Maybe not Belgrade. Maybe somewhere warm, like Las Palmas or Santo Domingo.

She stared a moment longer, then shook her head. “I’ll take your word for it,” she said, reaching into her jacket pocket and pulling out a pack of Juicy Fruit. “If he’s off the clock, so am I.”

Fairey had found the bonnet unlatched and was staring aghast at the jumble of disconnected wiring within. “Oh, bloody hell,” he said.

Green and I made a show of checking our watches. Clearly, we both wished I were alone.

“If you do happen to think of anything that might help us—”

“I’ll be sure you’re the first to know.” I shook Fairey’s hand as I walked him out of the garage; his grip was decidedly limp and more than a little clammy.

He nodded. “And get that engine fixed.”

I gave him a weary salute as he and Green walked back to their car. Waited until Fairey had one leg inside before calling after him. “Actually, there is one thing,” I said.

Green slumped into her seat and slammed the door behind her. Fairey, after a brief hesitation, withdrew his leg and strolled back into my personal space, leaning in close, offering his confidence. “Sure,” he replied. “What is it?”

“Save me a walk and shut the gate on your way out, would you?” I gave him my brightest smile. “Helps keep the undesirables out.”

Fairey laughed. “No worries, bud,” he said, and returned to his muddy Mondeo.

Under the fourth blanket, Kerry was none the wiser.

CHAPTER NINE (#ulink_a28b7381-409b-50c5-ae5b-958ffe89d7b4)

She awoke to the creak of lush green pines swaying gently against a beautiful, clear blue sky. She lay on her back in the grass, surrounded by bluebells and lingering frost, eyelids fluttering against the morning sun, wet hair splayed out like the shadow of a halo. She looked almost serene as she took in the ice water dripping from the trees, the soft cooing of wood pigeons. She watched her breath rising into the crisp, cold air with a dreamy fascination. And when her eyes settled on me, standing patiently over her with a welcoming smile, the recognition seemed anything but startling. She simply smiled back and took a long, luxurious stretch, looking for all the world like the contented lover she might once have been, woken from a sensual dream to the thrill of a blossoming romance, her loneliness, for now at least, behind her.

“Where are we?” she murmured, shivering a little. She rubbed her bare knees together and tucked her hands into the opposite sleeves of her coat.

I flicked the dregs of tea from my cup and screwed it back onto the thermos, tossed it into the van and locked the door.

Kerry’s expression grew quizzical and she craned her neck to peer off into the depths of the wood. “Did you kill me?” she asked.

“No,” I replied.

“I don’t understand. Where are we?”

“We’re in the forest, in a place called Emily’s Wood.”