Chapter 2: The Man Who Wasn't on the Plane
I kept three cars between us and the taxi whenever traffic allowed.
Every time the driver changed lanes, I waited before following. When we reached a roundabout, I took the exit after his. I wasn't trying to conduct some dramatic pursuit. I was trying to avoid being noticed by a man who might already suspect that his daughter had betrayed him.
Sophie sat rigidly in the passenger seat.
She hadn't cried again.
That frightened me more than the tears.
"Can I call Grandma?"" she asked quietly.
I glanced at her.
"Which grandma?""
"Dad's mum.""
I felt a cold knot form beneath my ribs.
"Why do you want to call her?""
"Because Daddy said Grandma knew.""
The taxi's brake lights flashed ahead of us.
I eased off the accelerator.
"Knows what, darling?""
Sophie looked down at her hands.
"He said, 'Your grandmother agrees this is the only way.''"
My fingers tightened around the steering wheel.
"Did you hear him say anything else about Grandma?""
"He said she would make sure everything was ready.""
I knew Daniel's mother, Patricia, well enough to recognise her habits.
She was sixty-two, impeccably dressed, and proud of the fact that she had raised Daniel alone after his father died. She never forgot a birthday, never arrived at a family gathering without bringing something expensive, and never missed an opportunity to remind me that she understood her son better than I ever could.
Our relationship had always been strained, but never openly hostile.
She had attended our wedding in a pale blue dress and given a speech about how Daniel deserved a woman who would support his ambitions.
She'd smiled when she said it.
I'd smiled back.
At the time, I'd assumed it was a harmless dig at my job.
Now I wondered what else she'd been trying to tell me.
The taxi turned into a residential estate not far from the main road.
I knew the area. Daniel and I had lived in the same town for nearly nine years, and our house was only a short drive away.
The cab continued through a series of quiet streets before stopping near a row of shops.
I parked two streets away.
"Stay here," I told Sophie.
She immediately grabbed my sleeve.
"No, Mum.""
I turned to her.
"I won't go far. I just need to see where he's going.""
"Please don't leave me.""
The fear in her voice stopped me.
I reached into the back seat, pulled out her school cardigan, and wrapped it around her shoulders.
"I'm not leaving you. I promise. But I need you to keep your head down and stay quiet.""
She nodded.
I watched the taxi through the gap between two parked vans.
Daniel got out.
He paid the driver in cash, then walked towards a narrow side street that led back in the direction of our house.
I expected him to continue towards the main road.
Instead, he disappeared behind a row of garages.
I waited.
One minute.
Two.
Three.
Then my phone buzzed.
Daniel.
Everything okay at home?
I stared at the message until the letters blurred.
He wasn't asking whether we were safe.
He was checking whether we had returned.
I typed a reply.
Not home yet. Stopping for coffee. Flight all okay?
The response arrived almost instantly.
Yes, boarding now. Signal might be poor later. Love you.
I felt physically sick.
He was lying to me while standing somewhere in our neighbourhood.
I sent a screenshot to my work email.
Then I opened the location-sharing app and checked that my dispatch partner could still see where I was.
A message from her appeared.
I've alerted my supervisor. Police need to be contacted directly. Don't confront him.
I knew she was right.
I also knew that, until a few minutes ago, I would have struggled to explain why I thought my husband might be planning something terrible.
Now I had a child's statement, suspicious messages, a missing suitcase, and a man who had apparently abandoned an international flight before pretending to board it.
I dialled 999.
The operator answered.
"Emergency. Which service do you require?""
"Police, please. My name is Emma Carter. I'm a 999 dispatcher, and I believe my husband may be planning to cause a gas explosion or another serious incident at our home. My eight-year-old daughter overheard him discussing it, and I've just watched him leave the airport without boarding his flight.""
The operator's voice changed slightly.
"Are you and your daughter somewhere safe at the moment?""
"We're in my car, parked two streets away from where he's gone. He doesn't know we're following him.""
"Can you give me your location?""
I did.
I gave her Daniel's full name, his description, our home address, and the details of the life insurance policy. I told her about the water heater and the text messages.
I made sure she understood that the threat involved a possible gas leak.
"Please don't approach him," she said.
"We will send officers to your location and arrange for someone to check the property. Are there any other people who might have access to the house?""
I thought about the spare key hanging inside Patricia's kitchen cupboard.
"My mother-in-law has a key.""
"Do you believe she may be involved?""
"My daughter says she heard my husband mention his mother. I don't know what that means yet.""
"All right. Stay where you are if you can. If you see him carrying anything suspicious, tell us immediately.""
I thanked her and ended the call.
Then I looked at Sophie.
"Police are coming, sweetheart.""
She didn't look relieved.
"Will Daddy go to prison?""
I swallowed.
"I don't know.""
"But he's our daddy.""
"I know.""
She stared through the windscreen.
"Maybe he doesn't want to do it anymore.""
I wanted desperately to believe that was possible.
Maybe Daniel had changed his mind.
Maybe there was an innocent explanation for the missing suitcase and the lies.
Maybe the petrol can and the crowbar would turn out to be part of something unrelated.
But I could no longer afford to build my decisions around what I wanted to be true.
I started the engine and drove towards our street, stopping well short of the house.
The curtains were closed.
The upstairs windows were dark.
Everything looked ordinary.
Our little brick house had never seemed especially remarkable to me. My father had helped us renovate it before he died, spending weekends replacing damaged floorboards, repainting the kitchen, and fixing the garden gate.
He'd loved that house.
He'd also been a practical man who trusted locks less than he trusted evidence.
After a bicycle disappeared from our driveway in 2021, he installed a motion-activated light above the back patio with a built-in recorder.
Daniel had complained about it.
"It looks like we're living in a prison," he'd said.
Dad had simply shrugged.
"Then don't steal anything, son.""
Daniel had laughed.
I hadn't thought about that exchange in years.
Now, as I watched the house from the parked car, I found myself silently thanking my father.
His light might be the only witness we had.
I checked the time.
7:51 a.m.
The police had my location, but I had no idea how quickly they could get to us.
I sent my dispatch partner another message.
He's near our house. Please make sure someone knows the address and the suspected gas threat.
She replied:
They know. Stay away from the property. Officers are being dispatched.
I placed the phone on my lap and watched the back of our house through the narrow gap between two neighbouring gardens.
Nothing moved.
Then a figure appeared at the far end of the street.
At first, I barely recognised him.
He was wearing an old brown jacket and dark work trousers. His head was lowered, and his hands were covered by thick gloves.
He moved quickly, checking over his shoulder as he approached the narrow passage beside our house.
Then he stepped into the light.
Daniel.
My husband.
He carried a red petrol can in one hand and a crowbar in the other.
For one suspended second, I couldn't breathe.
The petrol can swung beside his knee.
The crowbar caught the morning light.
He paused at the corner, looked both ways, and slipped through the side passage towards our back door.
Sophie made a small, strangled sound beside me.
"That's Daddy.""
I pulled her down as she started to rise.
"Stay low.""
"But—"
"Stay low, Sophie.""
I called 999 again.
"My husband is at the property. He's carrying a red petrol can and a crowbar. He's approaching the rear entrance. The suspected gas hazard is inside the house.""
The operator asked me to confirm my location.
I gave it to her again, my voice sharp and controlled despite the pounding in my chest.
"Officers are on their way," she said.
"Do not approach the property.""
"I won't.""
I watched Daniel disappear behind the house.
Then I remembered another detail from the conversation Sophie had overheard.
He'd said nobody would suspect anything because he'd be miles away.
He had planned to create an alibi.
The airport.
The flight.
The business summit.
If something happened at our house, he could claim he had been hundreds of miles away.
Except he had never boarded the plane.
And I had watched him come back out.
My phone vibrated again.
A message from Patricia.
Emma, darling, are you home yet? Daniel said you were going straight back. I need to speak to you about something important.
I stared at the screen.
My mother-in-law had contacted me less than a minute after Daniel reached the house.
I hadn't told her where I was.
I hadn't told her that I had followed her son.
I hadn't told anyone except the police and my dispatch partner.
I looked up at our house.
Then I looked back at Patricia's message.
A new one appeared.
Please answer me, Emma. It's about Sophie.
I felt a cold, unfamiliar certainty settle over me.
May you like
Whatever was happening, it wasn't just about the water heater.
And Daniel wasn't working alone.
