The Family Lie

by P L Kane

  ‘Pay by card?’ he said to the lad, who definitely wasn’t old enough to be selling the hard stuff.

  The youth, whose face was a landscape of pockmarks and pus-laden spots, shook his head emphatically. ‘Cash only.’ Mitch saw when he opened his mouth that he also had a brace. The poor devil. Mind you, he’d probably come out the other side of it looking like some kind of model.

  Mitch checked his wallet and found he only had a couple of notes left, and the brandy would wipe most of that out alone. Luckily the rest of it didn’t come to that much. ‘Is there anywhere around here I could draw some more out? A hole in the wall?’ he asked, and the boy looked at him as though he was mad. ‘Never mind, I’ll figure it out.’

  Thanking him, he took the plastic bag and strapped it to the back of his bike – then clambered on again and went home.

  After parking the Honda round the back and locking it, he entered the house via the front, still half expecting to find his dad inside waiting for him. That was never going to happen, not now, and the thought of it made him want to open that brandy right away.

  What stopped him was the sound of the cat padding along the landing, then down the stairs again, yawning as it went. ‘Hey,’ he said to it. ‘I hope you’ve had a more productive day than I have.’ The black feline reached him and began to rub up against his legs again, probably in anticipation of more fish. ‘Not today. Today you’ve got …’ He took out the packet of dry food and read from the side: ‘Chicken-flavoured chunkies. Hmm, doesn’t that sound appetising?’ He exchanged glances with the cat, who didn’t appear impressed.

  It – because he still didn’t really know what sex the animal was – looked even less keen once he’d ripped open the packet and put a sprinkling into a cereal bowl, before placing it on the floor. It took one sniff, then walked off. ‘Please yourself,’ said Mitch.

  He had to admit, he felt the same about his lasagne – which he nuked in his dad’s old microwave. It looked like it had been manufactured by the same people as his computer. The finished meal didn’t resemble what was on the box in any way, shape or form. Indeed, all it served to do was remind him again of the sight in that morgue, the burned edges of it especially. He jumped when he felt the cat winding itself round his legs under the table.

  ‘Bloody hell! What, you want this?’ He put the plate on the floor and the creature went straight for it. ‘Knock yourself out, mate.’

  At least one of them would eat well that teatime. Mitch resisted the brandy for the moment, which was staring at him from the side where he’d dumped it, and sorted out the litter – chucking the used newspaper – then wandered through to his dad’s study once more.

  ‘Organized chaos,’ he said to himself, as he looked around again. But in here there might be a clue as to who’d want to cause his father harm. It was worth having a look, especially now that he’d moved all the photo albums out of the way. Thomas Prescott’s bookcases, of course, contained tomes covering all sorts of topics – mainly stuff about those conspiracies he was so fascinated with. Had one of those old investigations landed him in trouble? Got him on the radar of someone he shouldn’t have been? But how to narrow that down? The old man’s interests were so wide-ranging.

  Mitch decided to try powering up the old computer first. Maybe there was something on that which could help, an article he’d been working on? A book even? He’d always talked about writing one when he had the time. Mitch pressed the on button, a big round thing on the front of the tower, and sighed when nothing happened. He was just about to use the tried and tested method of giving something a good old whack when it didn’t work, and he noticed it wasn’t even plugged in.

  Rectifying this, Mitch tried again and was successful. He even got the monitor to come on, which was a square button this time. But he was celebrating too soon, because it blue-screened and he had to reboot the whole system to get it to work. Then he discovered it was password-protected. Mitch sat back in the chair, playing with his bottom lip. He leaned forward, tried a few of the obvious ones. His mother’s maiden name, ‘Green Acres’, the name of the brandy he’d found in the drawer and had been drinking the previous night. Then he tried some date of birth stuff, his dad, his mum, even his own … The last one he tried had been his sister’s, which worked – and it made him think that he really did need to ring her up and fill her in.

  But not just yet. Now he’d broken in, he had work to do.

  Bella could wait a little while longer.

  Chapter 9

  Bella had waited there for ages.

  Sitting in Golden Sands station, waiting to see her friend. No, not friend really: acquaintance. Someone she’d met last summer when he’d been working a case she’d accidentally become entangled with, sort of at right angles. Without meaning to.

  She’d sat there most of the morning, after she’d woken up on the floor of her caravan. She’d felt battered, had obviously been knocked over, knocked unconscious in the middle of the night by that person in her home. The intruder, the one she’d thought of as a monster. She still couldn’t say why that description sprang to mind. Her first thought had been to call the police, but of course she had no phone at her place, not even a mobile. Those were pointless here anyway; there were whole areas of Golden Sands where you couldn’t get a signal at all, the caravan park being one of them.

  The payphone then, up in town – but she thought to herself if she was going up there anyway, she might as well go straight to the horse’s mouth, so to speak. To someone who owed her a favour, who she’d given a heads-up to in the past.

  So she’d got dressed, head still thumping – but strangely a bit easier – and climbed into her lime green Beetle, starting her up and driving to the police station here.

  She’d asked to see the man in question, said it was important, and been told in no uncertain terms that she’d have to wait. That’s what she’d done, waited and waited. And the more she’d thought about it, the more she wondered whether it was a good idea to even report this at all. A lot of people thought she was a weirdo anyway, that she saw things which weren’t there (actually she just heard things, but it was splitting hairs), and others might think she even deserved it.

  Eventually, as she was about to give up and head off again, rising to make for the door, he’d appeared. He was younger than her, maybe only slightly older than Mitch, but the events of last summer had definitely caused him to grow up somewhat. Had turned him into a man, if you wanted to use such an outdated phrase. Not only had he helped take down a murderer, he’d also found love. Whether that love was reciprocated was another matter, and one of the reasons – Bella suspected – that Detective Sergeant Ashley Watts looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

  As he opened the desk and came through to the waiting area, he brushed back that flop of hair he thought was so stylish, but which actually made him look like a reject from the ’80s. All he needed was the white or silver suit and he’d fit right in on the set of Miami Vice: a show she remembered watching on reruns with Mitch when they were young.

  ‘Bella?’ he’d asked as he drew nearer. ‘I haven’t seen you since …’ He looked down, obviously recalling the disastrous incident all too clearly. She’d been assaulted that night, as well, by the object of Ashley’s affections no less. Though the woman had been practically paralytic at the time, and had a real problem with her particular profession. ‘I’m sorry to keep you waiting, we’re flat out working on this forgery ring that … Doesn’t matter, DI O’Brien’s keeping me busy, let’s just say. Now, what’s all this about?’

  ‘I didn’t mean to bother you, DS Watts, but—’

  ‘Ashley, please. Or Ash if you like.’

  ‘Ashley then. I just didn’t know who else to turn to. You see, I was attacked last night.’

  ‘What?’ He said it a little too loudly, drawing the attention of everyone else in the waiting area. Watts could see by her face that she didn’t want this spreading around everywhere, so he pulled her o
ff to one side where they could talk privately. ‘You what?’

  ‘I was attacked,’ Bella repeated. ‘There was someone in my caravan. My home.’

  ‘Have you reported it? Officially, I mean?’

  ‘I-I don’t want to make a fuss. Can we just keep it between us for now?’ She didn’t know why, but for some reason that was important.

  ‘I guess, if that’s what you really want. Were there any witnesses to it?’ he asked next.

  ‘No, I was alone. I live alone.’

  ‘Yes, right. Okay.’

  ‘I thought maybe you’d be willing to come and have a look.’

  Watts checked over his shoulder, as if waiting for his boss to pounce on him. Bella knew all about DI O’Brien. She also knew the woman was a lot nicer than she preferred people to think, that she wouldn’t mind Watts taking a break to help an old … friend.

  ‘I figured that seeing as I helped you out that time, put you on the right track last year, that—’

  ‘Yes. Yes, all right. I do need to return that favour, Bella. Especially as you never pressed charges against …’ Watts nodded, went back to the desk and told the uniformed police officer on duty to relay a message to his inspector, that he was taking an early lunch.

  Then he’d accompanied her back to the caravan to cast an eye over it. The first thing he’d done was check the door and the windows. ‘No sign of forced entry anywhere, but really we should be getting people to come and take a look at this, Bella. There could be—’

  ‘Just you, Ashley. Please.’ Bella still didn’t know why she was so insistent on that. But for some reason she needed to keep things between them, and she trusted Watts.

  ‘Okay, if that’s what you really want,’ he said again. ‘And nothing was taken? You’re sure?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I really don’t have very much to take.’

  ‘So, tell me again, you woke up and heard noises. Came out into this bit of the caravan and …’

  ‘There was a shadow, a figure in here. I could see the outline, its shape.’

  ‘Outline?’ His voice said that he was struggling to believe her version of events. Then he looked left and right, trying again to work out how they might have gained entry to her place. ‘What were you doing just before you heard the noise?’

  ‘I was asleep,’ Bella admitted, and she looked down as she remembered the dream.

  ‘All right. So, is it possible you were a little groggy? We’re all a bit like that when we first wake up. God, I can barely open my eyes – they’re practically glued together. Need my first cup of coffee of the day before I can even … I’m rambling, aren’t I?’

  She nodded, then winced. The thumping in her head was intensifying once more. ‘I didn’t imagine it, Ashley.’

  ‘Not saying you did, Bella,’ he told her, but there was a hitch in his voice that said otherwise. ‘I’m here, aren’t I? I’m just not sure—’ Wincing again, she leaned against the side of the caravan for support. ‘Hey, hey, you don’t look so great. I think maybe instead of coming here we should have got you to Golden Sands General.’

  ‘It’s not from the attack.’ She hadn’t told him about the blackout, about the time she’d lost – and didn’t now. There’d been no blurred vision, hadn’t even been much of a bump. That wasn’t the important thing, it would just distract him. Make him question her judgement even more. ‘I’ve been having these headaches recently, even before all this and—’

  ‘Listen, you sit down and I’ll put the kettle on. Make us both a brew. That usually helps with everything.’

  ‘I’m good,’ she said to him. ‘I just want to know who did this.’

  Watts sighed deeply. ‘Well, that’s going to be a bit difficult – especially if you won’t let me bring anyone else into it. I’m good, but not that good.’ His laugh told her that he didn’t really believe he was that great anyway, his insecurity still shining through.

  ‘But what if they come back?’

  Watts rubbed his own shoulder, not really sure what else to say. ‘If it’s any comfort, I doubt they will. They had every opportunity to burgle the place and didn’t. Like you said, there really isn’t anything much to pinch. No offence.’

  ‘None taken.’

  ‘And I’m assuming they didn’t, you know, do anything to you, because you would have said. Wouldn’t you?’

  ‘They didn’t,’ she assured him, finding his coyness quite sweet.

  ‘So that wasn’t the motivation.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m struggling here now.’

  Bella was too. The more Watts talked about it like this, in the cold light of day, the more she began to question what had happened herself. What possible reason could there have been for it? Pure malice? She had no idea – but still, it had happened. Hadn’t it?

  ‘I’d love to put someone outside to keep an eye on the place tonight, but we’re a bit stretched. What am I saying, we’re always stretched!’ Another laugh, this time at the limited resources of Golden Sands police. ‘But I could stop by later on, if you like. Check on you. Or, y’know …’ He was eyeing the couch, as if working out how comfortable that might be to sleep on. ‘I live alone as well, nobody would miss me for a night.’

  It was tempting, but Bella shook her head. She liked her privacy too much, didn’t even know her neighbours here at the park that well – the ones who were permanent residents, not the holidaymakers. Wasn’t sure they wanted to know her. And Bella could stand people in her van for short bursts, but all night? Not to mention a guy. ‘I don’t think Robyn would be too impressed, do you? She’d probably deck us both if she knew you were even here talking to me.’

  Watts shrugged. ‘Who knows! I haven’t heard from her in a while.’ He looked so sad then, heartbroken, even at the mention of Dr Robyn Adams. The psychologist who’d blown into their lives the previous summer, to help her cousin Vicky; a woman Bella was still helping. Watts had fallen for Robyn in a big way, only for her to return to the city she came from: Hannerton. Back to her uni teaching and police consultancy. A woman who’d drunkenly hit Bella, though she hadn’t taken the matter further.

  Bella patted his arm. ‘She’ll be back in touch, trust me.’

  Watts looked hopeful then, in spite of himself. ‘Is that the whole …’ He tapped his temple, more usually the symbol for people being crazy, but she guessed in this instance he meant her ‘abilities’, as Vicky had called them.

  Bella shook her head, though it pained her to do so. ‘It’s a bit on the fritz at the moment, I’m afraid. Call it woman’s intuition, Ashley. You’re a good guy, she’d be mad to let you go.’ They exchanged a look then, and Bella broke it off first, dropped her hand from his arm. Definitely a bad idea for Watts to spend the night.

  As there really wasn’t much else he could do – Bella wasn’t sure what she’d expected Watts to do in the first place: come in like Sherlock Holmes and announce the names of the intruders because of some minute clue she had missed? – she thanked him and drove him back to the station.

  ‘Call me if you need me, okay?’ he said. She didn’t tell him she had no way of doing that, even as he gave her his card with all his numbers on.

  So now she sat here again and waited, in her home. Her head throbbing more than ever. Waiting here to see if the shapes, the outlines, would return.

  Waiting all alone.

  In the dark.

  Chapter 10

  Even with all that information, even after everything he’d learned, he was still as much in the dark as before.

  After gaining access to his dad’s old computer, Mitch had trawled through his files – gravitating towards the ones that had been accessed in the last few months first. The topics Thomas had obviously been most interested in. Somewhere in those, Mitch felt sure, there would be a reason for why he’d died. Why he’d been killed?

  He’d narrowed it down to three, the initial two subjects not a huge surprise because of their links to this location. The first was increased incidents of lights, both in t
he sky and in the woods at Green Acres. Lights that may or may not have been UFOs. Mitch had been aware of this area’s connection to flying saucer sightings since he was old enough to be aware of anything. Reports of strange glows, ramblers disappearing – some came back and said they’d lost time, others didn’t and were still missing. His father was compiling some sort of database on it all, it looked like. Fascinating stuff, and something he could definitely have got a book out of, if his mind hadn’t started to deteriorate, that is.

  Mitch wasn’t sure he held much stock in such things himself. Bug-eyed monsters coming down from Planet X to suck your brains out? It was the territory of ’50s and ’60s sci-fi movies featuring men in rubber suits. Yet there was a lot of evidence out there that could, as Mulder and Scully might say, make you ‘believe’. Project Blue Book, Area 51, and all that. The government, especially in the US, historically went to great lengths to keep it all under wraps, allegedly even bumping people off. But here, in Green Acres? Mitch found that very hard to believe.

  The next topic was witchcraft. The inspiration for low-budget horrors now instead, kids out in the woods screaming at twigs! Though again, Mitch couldn’t deny the long history Green Acres had with it all, especially back in the Middle Ages when witches were hunted and killed by the likes of Matthew Hopkins, the notorious Witchfinder General. Back then, they’d thought witches – and warlocks, let’s not forget the male counterpart – were in league with Satan himself, even worshipped him at ceremonies called Sabbats which made a mockery of the Christian religion. Things like witch’s marks, which often were created by the hunters themselves via a method called ‘pricking’, dunking, and torture were prevalent. Most of the victims were just innocent women, some of whom used natural remedies to cure all sorts – though that was hardly grounds to execute them.