Medea's Curse by Anne Buist Page B

abusing
Amber and driving her to it rather than actually killing Bella-Kaye?
    Was Tiphanie feeling the same as Amber had, or was the situation different? Feelings
of guilt could add to the pain. Natalie thought she had glimpsed that mix of emotions
in the brief encounter on the streets of Welbury. But what was the shame or guilt
for? For going back to bed and allowing Chloe to wander? Harming her as Amber had
harmed Bella-Kaye? Or for not protecting her from Travis?
    ‘Hey Natalie, open the fucking door!’ It was Tom’s voice shouting from downstairs.
    Immersed in the notes, Natalie hadn’t heard the doorbell. Or rescued the coffee.
She turned it off and went to let him in.
    ‘Want some dinner?’ Without waiting for a response he pushed past with his takeaway
bags. It smelled like Chinese: Tom liked cooking as much as Natalie did.
    ‘Didn’t see anyone outside again did you?’ she asked.
    Tom shook his head and waited. Natalie hesitated.
    ‘Nat, I know that look.’
    She explained about the USB warnings.
    ‘So who’s behind them?’
    ‘No idea.’
    ‘Yeah but what type of person?’
    Natalie laughed. ‘I’m not a profiler, Tom.’
    ‘You understand weird people. What sort of person would send notes like that?’ He
grabbed some plates and cutlery and laid out the Chinese food on the coffee table.
    Natalie was more used to the history unfolding in a way that allowed her to make
sense of the crime, rather than working backwards from the crime to understand the
criminal. But she knew about stalkers. For the first time she let the idea incubate.
She’d been wishing the problem would go away, but it apparently wasn’t going to.
    ‘Depends on what the intent is.’
    ‘Mad or bad?’ asked Tom between mouthfuls.
    ‘Bad, which is to say personality-driven rather than a psychosis. Could be a delusional
disorder but I sense he wants to enjoy the feeling of power. Sits at home and gets
his jollies by imagining how uncomfortable I’m feeling.’
    ‘Sexual?’ Tom flexed his substantial biceps. He wasn’t tall, but he’d done a lot
of working out in his youth and had more than once appointed himself as Natalie’s
protector.
    Natalie shrugged. The predatory and resentful stalker types came to mind. ‘Not enough
evidence to say. If it is sexual’—she added incompetent suitor and intimacy seeking to the list of possibilities—‘then it’s more about power, getting back at a dominating,
critical and maybe abusive parent; mother, I would guess. He is probably still scared
of her—hence the need to project his anger at someone he isn’t scared of but believes
he has power over in some way.’
    ‘Sorry I asked. Just tell me, does that put you in danger?’
    Natalie’s immediate response was no . She stopped herself. Not just the content of
the notes, but the fact that he had sent them over three weeks, suggested repressed
anger. She’d assessed murderers who had given less warning than this. ‘Yes. Potentially.’
    ‘You want me to move in for a while?’
    Natalie shook her head. ‘If it escalates I’ll call.’
    She took some time out to eat, trying to think of anything other than her stalker.
    ‘Shaun’s asking us for a favour,’ Tom said through a mouthful of sweet and sour pork.
    ‘Let me guess. Singer in the wedding band is sick again.’
    ‘He needs us both. Singer’s got an interstate audition and she’s taking the drummer
with her.’ Natalie raised an eyebrow and he shrugged. ‘They’re married. Anyway, it
leaves him in the lurch for the next gig.’
    Natalie finished her Chinese.
    ‘Some sort of corporate ball. “Proud Mary” and “Brown-Eyed Girl”.’
    ‘Tom, since when did I start to look like a ball type of person?’
    ‘He needs the money.’
    Tom knew she’d agree, though three sets of seventies covers was not something to
look forward to.
    He gave her the date. Horribly close. Shaun owed them.
    Declan was finishing a session with an emergency patient and Natalie took