The Worst Lie

by Shauna Bickley

  ‘I won’t tell anyone.’

  As Lexie walked away from the building, she pulled out her phone and rang Helen.

  ‘Did you ever tell Gareth about Madelaine’s affair with the person at university?’

  Helen sounded too exhausted to be angry at being asked the question again. ‘No, I didn’t. You’re the only person I’ve ever told.’

  ‘I think you should.’

  ‘What? Tell him now? Why?’

  ‘I’m pretty sure the information is going to come out. Better he hears it from you. It happened a long time ago. He came to terms with the fact Madelaine slept with Kurt, he’ll live with this.’

  ‘He might be able to live with the knowledge of another affair, but what about the fact I’ve kept it from him all this time?’

  Lexie stopped for a moment in the middle of the pavement, people veering either side of her. ‘If you think that’ll be a problem, tell him you found out from me.’ She bit her lip. ‘It’s another lie, but if you think it will be better.’

  The silence on the other end of the phone lasted so long that Lexie thought they’d lost the connection.

  ‘Does this have something to do with the murders?’ Helen asked eventually.

  ‘Unfortunately, yes.’

  There was another long silence until Helen spoke again. ‘No more lies or omissions. I’ll tell him.’

  22

  Lexie Wyatt

  Nettleford, Dorset

  2018

  The summer days were beautiful, with no sign of the weather breaking. As Lexie dug the spade as deep in the ground as she could and turned over the soil, puffing with the effort in the sticky heat, thoughts of Renelle and Spike flowed through her mind. It felt like an insult to enjoy the beautiful day when they couldn’t. She had decided to turn the far corner of the back garden into a vegetable patch, and while the physical work kept her busy, her mind picked away relentlessly at the recent events.

  They had to find out the truth. Without a doubt it would hurt, but surely it was worse to go through life not knowing, especially if the shadow of suspicion hung over people close to you? Could you live constantly questioning those you loved? Lexie knew she’d always want certainty.

  Things niggled away at the edges of her mind, but each time she tried to settle on one it became as elusive as the early morning mist.

  Lexie reached the end of the patch she’d marked out and rested one foot on the spade, admiring her work. It would do for now.

  After putting away the tools, she washed her hands and grabbed her phone. Where had she left her notebook? Lexie wandered through the hall to the lounge. She had to work out this puzzle. The back of the house was a little cooler as she’d partially closed the blinds to shade the rooms, and it was dim in contrast to the brightness outside. The lounge door was ajar and dust motes danced in the gleams of light. Stars at night. Of course. How could she have missed that?

  Lexie stood there for a few minutes considering the implications of what she’d just grasped. If she was correct then it went some way to answering her question of how a person could live with killing someone else.

  Back in the garden, she sat in the shade and checked through her notes, following the lines of connections that to anyone else would resemble a tangled web. Challenging and testing each of her suppositions against what she knew. As she had guessed, this wasn’t entirely about the friends.

  She picked up her phone and skimmed through her photos until she reached the ones that Eden had sent her of the weekend at Little Stillford. She zoomed in on one of the photos to study Renelle. It was hard to believe she was dead. Life was so transient.

  Turning back to her laptop, Lexie checked through her previous searches and then read all her notes, muttering under her breath. That weekend at Little Stillford she had searched the newspaper archives and found the report of the accident and information about Cathy Doyle’s last evening, and discovered that Cathy’s parents were dead, but there was something else just before that. Lexie leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes trying to recall the conversation she’d had with the owner of the gift shop. The woman had known Cathy Doyle, talked about the girl’s parents and how the villagers had helped in the aftermath of Cathy’s death. What had she said? The usual things like cooking meals, helping with jobs in the garden, and yes, she remembered now, taking the others to school. The others?

  Lexie opened the folder containing her photos of the newspaper items and read through the accident report. Not what she was looking for. She studied the follow-up report and finally the obituary. That’s where it was.

  The notice ended “With all our love Mum, Dad, Cliff, Jackie, Auntie Sarah and Uncle Lew.”

  Cathy Doyle had other relatives. Nothing surprising in that, but it was something she hadn’t yet considered. No one she’d met so far had the name Doyle. That could mean they weren’t involved with the deaths, but Lexie couldn’t believe that the hit and run had absolutely nothing to do with the deaths. That was a coincidence too far.

  She searched through websites and social media searching for Cliff and Jackie Doyle, and for Sarah and Lewis Doyle. Nothing.

  Lexie leaned back in her chair, pondering the lack of information and possible reasons. Auntie Sarah could have a different surname through marriage. Sarah or Lew might have died during the intervening years. Even if their name was Doyle she probably wouldn’t find anything about a natural death as it was a relatively common name. Cliff or Jackie could be dead, but surely not all of them. Not everyone wanted to publish their private lives and thoughts on social media but it was unusual not to find something for one of them. Lexie’s thoughts roamed wildly but then came back to her assumptions around Auntie Sarah (Doyle or not). Marriage and a change of name could apply to Jackie as well, but that wasn’t the only reason for a name change. Cathy’s death in an accident, followed by the death of their parents wasn’t shameful, but it might be a reason why the siblings would want to distance themselves and changing their name would be one way to do that.

  There were both legal and illegal means, depending on the reason for changing your name. In her previous job Lexie had worked with a client who’d grown up in a family with gang affiliations. During the time she worked with him, he told her about changing his name as he felt the association could hurt his new business, and, when she asked, he talked about the process involved.

  If Cathy Doyle’s siblings had simply started using a different name, or changed it illegally, it would be impossible for her to discover, but if they’d wanted legal documents such as passports in their new names then it should be possible to trace. The media company that owned Tempo magazine had investigators more experienced than her but this wasn’t for a magazine article, and that would take more time than she probably had at the moment.

  Lexie dragged her laptop to the table on the patio and started working. Previously when she’d been researching information about the group her search terms were very broad, resulting in a deluge of results. She had to get smarter. Today she’d work solely on a possible legal name change for Cliff and Jackie Doyle.

  Every now and then she grumbled to Max about her research skills and her lack of patience. In turn, he wagged his tail and gazed adoringly at her. Lexie’s skills had improved since working at Tempo, but she needed some help if she was to make up the time that she’d already wasted. Her pulse raced as if somewhere a clock was ticking. Anita, the magazine researcher, had taught her a lot, but while Lexie wasn’t bad, Anita was an absolute whiz at digging out information from the databases they were able to access, and Lexie always compared herself unfavourably to her colleague.

  Anita answered on the first ring. Perhaps she was waiting for a call. With that in mind, Lexie got straight to her request.

  ‘I’m doing some research on a family called Doyle, specifically Cliff and Jackie Doyle, and checking the possibly that one or both of them have changed their name. I could really do with some help.’

  ‘I haven’t got long, Le
xie, perhaps only a few minutes. I’m waiting for Brett to arrive with a job he needs for the newspaper print run, but until he’s here I can help.’

  Lexie logged onto the network remotely, and Anita guided her through the extended processes and search conventions the tech guys had recently launched on the Webber Media databases.

  ‘What you might find more useful are some new web resources the company has recently gained access to,’ said Anita. ‘One of the guys has been working on those benefit frauds and another on people smuggling and fake IDs. We’ve found the new sources super useful. I’ll send you the links and set up an account for you.’

  Lexie thanked her and worked with some of the new search functionality until Anita messaged her the other details.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ she muttered as the sun moved overhead. ‘Am I wasting my time?’ She pushed her hair back from her face and stretched her aching back. The garden chair wasn’t the most ergonomic seat, but she couldn’t be bothered going inside right now. Max padded around, occasionally shoving his head on her lap for attention.

  ‘Yes Max, you’re a lovely boy but this is important.’ She skimmed through the next page of results, muttering under her breath. ‘Wallis S, Wallis U, Walsh D, Walsh N, Walsh X, Walton A, Walton E,’ and clicked the link to the next page. Lexie mouthed three more names before stopping. ‘What?’ She clicked the back button barely able to believe what she thought she’d seen. ‘Walsh X.’ Her hand trembled as she selected the link. ‘Oh my—’.

  She stared at the screen wide-eyed before pushing herself up, knocking the chair over in the process.

  ‘Yes!’

  An exultant fist pump. She circled the same patch of lawn several times. ‘I’ve found her, Max. I’ve found Jackie Doyle.’ Max bounded around her legs in excitement. She bent down and rubbed his ears. ‘Jacqueline Doyle changed her name to Xena Walsh. Not a hunch. Not an idea. Proof.’ She shouted out the final word. She’d always felt Xena wasn’t the type of name that a small-town English mother would have given her daughter at that time. Perhaps now, since Warrior Princess, but not then.

  Lexie rushed over to her phone and swiped through until she reached the photo taken of the group at Little Stillford, this time zooming in on Xena. Her sandy hair was pulled back in a loose knot, accentuating her clear skin and high cheekbones; some good make-up habits there. Having children interrupted a lot of that. Lexie zoomed in further. Most of the outfits that Xena wore that weekend had high necklines. This particular one was a little lower, a boat neck, and peeping out from behind the dark material was a silver necklace. She had seen it before. The picture of Cathy Doyle at the beach. Lexie studied her copy of the newspaper image against the photo of Xena. The necklaces weren’t just similar, they were identical. Either the two sisters had the same necklace, or more likely, after Cathy’s death, Xena took to wearing her sister’s.

  Buoyed by her success Lexie went back to her searching, but she couldn’t find anything linked to Cliff as Walsh. Max nudged her knee and she patted him absentmindedly. What if they’d chosen different names?

  Max, presumably disgusted at her current lack of attention now the excitement of discovering Xena was Cathy Doyle’s sister had died down, left her side and wandered around the garden. He sniffed back and forth along the line of the hedge where it bordered the track on the far side and then whined, staring across the garden at her.

  ‘Shush, Max, I’m busy. I can’t stop now.’

  Max wandered around to the front garden, but he soon came back and continued pacing.

  ‘Max, sit down. We’ve already been out for a walk this morning.’

  Her mood appeared to be affecting him as well.

  ‘I just need to work on this and then we can go out.’ She tried to ignore Max and returned to the search screens. ‘Not Walsh, but something else,’ she muttered.

  After all the earlier work, it didn’t take Lexie as long to follow the trail to Clifford Doyle.

  ‘I’m so stupid, I should have guessed, but I’ve finally found them, Max.’ She pushed the laptop aside and stood, dancing a short jig of excitement, and to stretch her stiff limbs. ‘I actually thought about the younger partners a few times but never took it further. Hunter.’ An image of the handsome man came to her mind. ‘Hunter was Cathy’s older brother. How did I not figure that out earlier.’ This time Max wasn’t impressed and continued patrolling the hedge. Lexie strode around the back garden, ignoring him, and worked through this new discovery putting it against what she already knew.

  Munroe was Mrs Doyle’s maiden name. The siblings had changed their names a year after their parents died. At that time they were probably only wanting to distance themselves from the tragedy, but later they must have concocted a plan for hunting down the person responsible for killing their sister. Their new names would have come in useful then. Knowing this made an enormous difference to the way she’d been thinking about the deaths.

  ‘Max, for heaven’s sake. Come here. The heat is making you restless.’

  For once, Max didn’t obey her. He remained near the hedge, staring first at it and then at her. His edginess transmitted itself to her and she fetched the small stepladder from the shed and checked over the far side of the hedge. ‘There’s no one there, now are you satisfied?’

  He disappeared between the fruit trees at the far end of the garden and reappeared a few minutes later carrying a tennis ball.

  ‘Is that what all the fuss is about?’ She shook her head at him for disturbing her train of thought over a ball.

  In the newspaper article Lexie had read about Cathy Doyle’s death, her friend said they called Cathy the star girl because of the stickers she had placed on her cycle helmet and bike. Then, the night she and Nathan had dinner at the rental house, Nathan mentioned Tilly’s new bike and helmet. Eden had picked up on that, recalling the star decals shining and asking Spike if he remembered. That’s when Hunter got his evidence of who was involved in the incident that killed his sister, or enough evidence to satisfy him, at least.

  She had to warn Eden before Hunter returned from London. Eden would also have the phone numbers of the two detectives working on Spike’s death. They’d be the best ones to contact.

  Max left the tennis ball and disappeared around the side of the house to the front garden. His agitation was so out of character that Lexie followed him, but there was nothing out of place. She patted her pocket to check she had her mobile and then went to investigate the track. The gravel pathway was empty. As she came through the front gate, Max darted to the back garden and barked at her. His tension was palpable, but there was no one around. She’d go and talk to Eden. Take Max with her. After that she’d visit Nathan at the factory. The relative remoteness of the house now worried her even though she told herself Max was most likely jumpy because of the heat.

  Lexie hurried into the house to get the car keys. In the relative gloom compared to the outdoor brightness, she felt rather than saw the figure coming towards her.

  In those milliseconds of time and space, images she’d never seen of Madelaine, Renelle and Spike in death flashed through her mind. No! This couldn’t happen. She couldn’t leave Nathan and the children in this way.

  The back door was over a room’s width away, the front door a similar distance. The dark figure between her and it. Lexie turned and ran, but the man closed the gap before she’d crossed half the distance.

  He seized her wrist, pulling her round. Lexie hit him with her other arm, but he blocked the blow. She overbalanced, fell, yelping as her knee cracked against the floor tiles. Despite the pain, she pushed herself up. She was too vulnerable on the floor. She kicked at his leg but missed. His kick at her ankle was on target. A twist of her leg and she was down on her hands and knees again.

  The peace of the house and its location would be her undoing; there was no one to hear her.

  She sucked in a shaky breath and tried to clamber up. A hand on her back pushed her down, her cheek against the tiles.

  S
he couldn’t stop now. Pulled her arms underneath her, up onto her knees again. For a second, she remained there, dragging the hot air into her lungs, making out she felt worse. The fight had taken her into the kitchen entrance, several feet closer to the door. Lexie launched herself towards it. He seized her arm and pulled her back.

  She twisted, kicking him, this time made contact. His grunt told her she’d winded him. He staggered backwards a step, but snatched at her again, wrenched her round.

  Her head slammed against the door frame and lights danced in a whirl around her, pain exploding through her head. She tried to breathe, to stop the spinning shapes. Collapsed down to her knees, head on the cool tiles, anything to stop the dizziness. The flashing lights slowed, darkness overtaking them, until she sagged to the floor.

  23

  Lexie Wyatt

  Nettleford, Dorset

  2018

  ‘Lexie. Lexie. Can you hear me?’

  Pain jabbed its fingers into her head, like someone trying to scrape out her brain. Dark spots danced across her closed eyelids. Lexie groaned and tried opening her eyes. It took several attempts before they obeyed her. The dazzling brightness hurt, and she closed them again hurriedly. She shook her head to move the pain. Ouch. It didn’t work.

  Waves of nausea swept through her. Had she been drinking? She didn’t think so. But why else would she have such an awful headache? The second time she kept her eyes open for a few seconds. Her shoulders ached, and what was up with her arms and legs? A moment of terror. She couldn’t move. Stand up, she told herself. Shake your arms. Stretch. Move. Nothing happened. Her heart hammered against her rib cage as if it was trying to escape.