Fakes and Lies

by Jane A. Adams

  ‘You think so? That would be good. So far as we can see it all went cold very quickly. There was nothing on the news after the first few days, anyway.’

  ‘And the investigator we employed doesn’t think the police have made any progress,’ Annie said. She’d been very quiet while Bee had been present.

  ‘Patrick said you were having all this looked into,’ Naomi said. ‘Any chance I might have a chat with your investigator?’

  ‘Do you really want to get involved?’ Bob sounded doubtful.

  ‘I feel as though I am already, in a small way. And as I told Bee, I still have the skills I used to have.’

  ‘I’ll set it up,’ Annie promised. ‘His name is Alfie Kounis. He used to work for my guardian.’

  ‘Ah, right,’ Naomi said, thinking about the man who had raised Annie after her parents died. A man of great influence, it turned out, and whose guidance and protection had come at a very heavy cost to Annie.

  ‘Alfie’s a good man,’ she said. ‘You’ll get along fine, I think. I’ll give him a call tomorrow. You might have caught up with your inspector friend by then.’

  Naomi agreed that she might, and she and Patrick left soon afterwards.

  ‘You really do like her, don’t you?’ she asked Patrick as they drove away.

  ‘Bee? Yes, I do. She’s a bit strange, but I suppose people say that about me too.’

  It had been a while since Patrick had had a relationship, Naomi mused, and the last one had proved to be problematic. But it was time he tried again. Though he had some close female friends at university, Patrick was quite shy around girls as a rule and never good at making the first move. She hoped that Bee wasn’t too strange.

  She was looking forward to talking to DI Karen Morgan and also to meeting this Alfie Kounis. She felt as though half of her brain had been asleep for far too long.

  NINE

  It was good, Naomi thought, to be with friends and looking forward to a relaxing and unpressured evening, nothing more complex to think about than the choice of film and pizza topping. This was a habit she had fallen into since Alec started his new job. A couple of times a month she joined Harry and Patrick for a film and pizza evening and they took turns to choose the film.

  She found that people were surprised when she told them of her love of film. ‘But you can’t see it!’ was the usual objection, and most people failed to get it even when she explained that she could get as wrapped up in a good story now as she ever could before. Fortunately, Patrick and his dad needed no such explanation and had both been trained to provide extra commentary when a visual was particularly important.

  Tonight’s choice was the latest Star Wars film and she’d gone for a Four Seasons pizza and a couple of glasses of wine. It was late by the time the film was over.

  ‘You want to stay?’ Harry asked. ‘The spare bed’s made up.’

  It always was, Naomi thought. The tiny little box room didn’t have space for much more than a single bed and a chair, but Naomi often did stop over on film nights.

  ‘Yes, I think I will, thank you.’

  ‘Good,’ Harry approved. ‘I’ll let Napoleon out the back to do his business.’ They’d taken the big black dog out for a walk along the promenade earlier in the evening and he too was now ready for bed, sprawled out on the blanket Harry kept for him.

  Patrick’s phone chimed, letting him know he had a text. ‘Bee,’ he said. ‘She says thanks for today, and confirms about Sunday.’

  ‘Good. She’s off to the wedding tomorrow?’

  ‘Think that’s what she said, yeah. She seems to have come round to the idea that her dad might have been up to his old tricks.’

  ‘I think she has to,’ Naomi agreed. ‘The only way she’s going to get to the truth is if she’s open to it being something she might not want to hear. Freddie Jones sounds like a fascinating man. Though I’d think he’d be frustrating too. I’m not surprised Bee’s mother took the stand she did.’

  ‘I get that,’ Patrick agreed. ‘What I don’t get is why she kept his identity secret all those years. It wasn’t like she’d had a one-night stand or didn’t know who he was, or that he didn’t keep in contact. Lots of kids have absent fathers but at least they know who they are and where they are. They still get some contact.’

  ‘They still get birthday and Christmas presents, you mean,’ Naomi teased.

  ‘That’s important, when you’re a kid,’ Patrick argued. ‘Kids are mean. They’ll ask you at school what you got from your mum or dad or whatever.’

  ‘I suppose they will,’ Naomi said. ‘Not that you ever had to worry about that, did you?’

  Patrick laughed a little self-consciously. ‘No, but I worried about maybe having to worry about that, you know. When Mum and Dad split up and I had to go and live with her, I really thought maybe Dad would, you know, not be there. Stupid, but when you’re a kid you think about these things a lot.’

  Naomi nodded. ‘I suppose you do.’ As it happened, Patrick’s sojourn with his mother and stepfather had been short. His mum had taken him to live with the new family in Florida and Patrick had hated it. He’d decided that he also hated his mother and his stepfather and his new step-siblings and that she, with her new family, didn’t need him any more. After about eighteen months he’d come to spend the summer with his dad and simply refused to go back. He’d been eleven at the time and Naomi hadn’t been reacquainted with Harry at that point, but she’d heard about the arguments that had followed his decision. In the end, the new stepfather had intervened and suggested they give it until Christmas and then see how everyone felt. Naomi had the suspicion that he’d made the suggestion as an attempt at reverse psychology; Patrick would want to do exactly the opposite of what the hated stepfather suggested. If that had been his intention, it had backfired spectacularly. Patrick had stayed with Harry. Patrick’s mother had been furious and hurt.

  The following summer Patrick had agreed to go to Florida, provided he held on to his passport and his open return ticket. In the end he had stayed for the summer and come home with a much more accommodating attitude. Phone calls to and from the States – now replaced by Skype chats – happened twice a week and included all the ‘steps’, father and siblings. Harry had even been over to stay on occasion, though he had insisted on getting a hotel. The fact that his ex-wife had run off with Harry’s now ex-boss still rankled, Naomi knew, but they rubbed along in what she thought of as a civilized manner.

  ‘That first Christmas you moved back must have been difficult,’ she said.

  ‘It was. I’d changed so much in the six months Mum didn’t know what I was into any more and when Dad told her to give me vouchers so I could buy art stuff, she though he was deliberately trying to trip her up. But she kind of listened to him and I was really happy. I called her up on Christmas Day and she cried on the phone but it was the start of it all being better between us, you know. I’ve never been sorry about coming back here.’

  Naomi nodded. Patrick and Harry had endured their moments of conflict, as she knew well. But they’d also grown incredibly close and Naomi was grateful that they’d drawn her into that closeness.

  Harry came back in with Napoleon. ‘It’s starting to rain,’ he said. ‘I’ll give him a rub down.’

  Naomi smiled. This was second home for her canine companion. Harry kept an old towel handy to dry him off, dog food and bowls in the cupboard under the sink and a ready welcome for the pair of them.

  Harry had once speculated that his relationship with Naomi might progress further than friendship, and there had been moments when she had wondered too. Harry was safe and familiar and still her best friend’s big brother but, in the end, that had been the problem. She had loved Alec differently and eventually he had been her choice. Harry had slipped back into the role of closest friend and she never ceased to be grateful for that.

  She often wondered if she’d be jealous, should Harry find someone he could have more than that with. She hoped she’d have the grace not
to be, but was honest enough to know that she probably would.

  TEN

  Binnie had been watching Beatrix Jones’s flat off and on for several days, not as a spell of constant organized surveillance but more because he thought that was what he should be doing. It was part of the role he was playing, staking out the suspect, victim, whatever … he wasn’t sure what part Bee would be playing in this particular game as yet, but he didn’t really care. Binnie was having fun and that was all he was bothered about. He’d seen her come back the previous afternoon and watched as she’d nipped out to the corner shop for bread and milk – he knew that because she’d not bothered with a bag, just carried her shopping home, one item in each hand.

  Later, he’d seen her lights go on and the curtains close and, through the sliver of a gap between the curtains, seen the flicker of the television. He tried to guess, from the pattern of flickers, what she might be watching. He checked the TV schedule on his phone and decided that the speed of flickers equated to one of two action films. It frustrated him that he couldn’t narrow this down further. He wanted to know. Bruce Willis or Tom Cruise. Was she more of a Bruce or a Tom kind of girl? Sian would have gone with Bruce Willis, he thought. He wondered briefly what Sian was up to that evening, then remembered it was one of her nights for working in the local pub. He toyed with the idea of leaving his surveillance and heading back for last orders. It would be worth it just to see the look on her face. Binnie smiled, thinking of the pain he was causing to his one time friend and playmate. Stuck-up little snob she’d turned out to be. Just like all of them. Stuck up and living scared; Binnie had left all of that behind. Binnie had seen the light. Fear was for losers.

  The lights went out just after ten but she left the television on, the flicker slower now – though, when Binnie checked, he could see that neither film had ended. It dawned on him that either he had been wrong – and that was something he could not accept – or she had turned over to watch the news in preference to watching the end of the film.

  A slow fury rose in Binnie, starting in the pit of his stomach and rising through his chest and into his throat and then his head. His arms, resting on the steering wheel, shook with the force of it.

  ‘Stupid bint,’ Binnie said. ‘Stupid, stupid, stupid bitch!’ this time punctuating each word with a blast on the car horn. He should go up there, bash down her door and then bash her down as well. Didn’t she know anything? You watched the film to the end. Anything else was disrespectful and just plain wrong.

  The sound of the horn had attracted attention in the quiet terraced street. Light flooded out as curtains were drawn back – Bee’s included. A man shouted at Binnie and Binnie’s fury, relieved only slightly by his assault on the steering wheel and horn, escalated again. The need to hit something, the desire to inflict pain; for Binnie that desire overrode almost all other concerns.

  Almost, but not quite. Binnie had a job to do. Mustn’t blow it, mustn’t get it wrong or it would be Binnie on the wrong side of the pain.

  It was a logic he could understand, even het up as he was. He started the engine and drove away.

  The next morning Binnie was back in position, watching the little flat once more. He was surprised to see a taxi draw up and the girl come out carrying a small wheelie suitcase. She was going somewhere, but judging by the lack of heavy luggage, probably not for long.

  He followed the taxi to the station, cursed the lack of street parking that meant he couldn’t follow her inside and then drove away, taking the route that led back past her flat.

  Not so early now and people were up and about, taking kids to school and themselves off to work. Not the best time, Binnie thought; he could be cautious and logical when he needed to be. Tonight, then. He’d not been ordered to search her flat but sometimes it was good to use your own initiative and while she was away he might as well take a look around.

  Binnie drove away, well pleased with the decision. He’d be careful to make sure she never knew he’d been there, but maybe he’d take a souvenir. He licked his lips in anticipation.

  The following morning, Patrick dropped Naomi and Napoleon home on his way in to uni. She hadn’t been awake enough to eat breakfast at Harry’s so she made up for it now and checked her emails while eating toast and cereal. She’d been a bit slow to use assistive technology when she’d first lost her sight. It had felt like the final acknowledgement that her world had changed for ever and that, somehow, she was never going to be the person she’d once thought she recognized as Naomi, ever again. As time had gone on, however, sense had prevailed. Her phone and computer had been chosen for their inbuilt voice input and read back capabilities and for what software could be added easily and she had bought a reading machine for use at home. Patrick had put a couple of apps on her phone for her which harnessed the phone’s camera and used it like scanning software. True, she sometimes got the positioning wrong and only scanned half a document, but she was getting better at it.

  She instructed the computer to log on to her emails and read the headers and was delighted to find that she’d got an email from Karen Morgan.

  Excited now, Naomi took another gulp of her coffee and then told the computer to open that email, wondering why Karen hadn’t just texted or called her phone.

  The reason was soon revealed.

  Hello there Naomi. What a blast from the past you are! I tried to call you but kept getting number not recognized. This is the number I’ve got but it wouldn’t surprise me if the idiot that took your message wrote it down wrong. I swear, he doesn’t listen half the time.

  One digit wrong, Naomi thought. At least the mysterious idiot had got her email right.

  So, what can I do for you? Give me a call tonight. You won’t catch me earlier, I’m in court all day but I’m looking forward to a good gossip! I hear on the grapevine that you finally married that Alec that kept hanging round? Wow, he must have upped his game. Nice enough guy but not what you’d call dynamic. Oh my God, I’ve just realized how long ago that was. Scary stuff, Naomi. Scary stuff indeed.

  Looking forward to hearing your voice after all this time. After seven, OK?

  Karen

  Naomi smiled. She was a little frustrated at having to wait until the evening but she too was looking forward to hearing her friend’s voice. Though even using the artificial voice of the read back she could hear Karen’s tone breaking through. She’d forgotten Karen’s low opinion of Alec. Strange to recall how shy he’d been around women back then. She wondered how Alec would feel if he should happen to meet up with Karen again. He’d been gracious enough – maybe even a tad overenthusiastic – when they’d spoken about her but, back when they’d all been in training together, Alec hadn’t been all that keen either. Karen, he felt – and Naomi could not help but agree at the time – wouldn’t have known serious if it fell on her.

  Something must have changed, Naomi thought, for Karen even to be still in the police force, never mind to have made DI. But then, Alec had changed beyond recognition and so, she supposed, had she.

  She finished her cereal and refreshed her coffee. ‘You never know what life’s going to throw at you, do you, Napoleon?’

  The big dog wagged his tail, beating it steadily against her leg.

  ELEVEN

  Hot on the heels of the email was a disappointment. Alec called and told her he might not be back until the Sunday afternoon. The company he now worked for ran high end event security and they were short handed for the weekend and wanted Alec to head up the control room. It was easy work, if long hours, at a private party that sounded to Naomi more like a fully-fledged rock concert. He’d finish about six a.m. on the Sunday morning, grab some sleep and then head home. ‘I’ve been offered double time and a bonus for unsocial hours,’ he told her. ‘Didn’t think I could really turn it down.’

  She agreed, though she was a little disappointed not to have him home as planned.

  Her mood threatened a downturn but was rescued by Annie calling to say that Alfie
Kounis had agreed to meet up with her on the Friday afternoon, if she could manage that. Maybe for a late lunch?

  She named a restaurant that Naomi had heard about but never been to. ‘Bob will try to be there to make the introductions,’ she said. ‘But he can’t stop; he’s off to an auction. He’s spotted a couple of engravings he fancies.’

  ‘More cartoons?’

  ‘I think so, yes. Though where he’s going to put them … he’s already covered all the wall space on the upstairs landing and halfway down the stairs.’

  Bob collected political cartoons, when he could get them. He sought out work from the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries but he wasn’t averse to later work either, engravings of original artwork.

  ‘Are you OK for getting there and back? We can arrange for a lift.’

  No, Naomi told her, it was fine, she could get her usual taxi. George Mallard, who ran a local family firm, was taking her to her regular slot at Citizens Advice, where she gave what legal advice she could to those in need of it. She could hang on there for an hour longer than usual and then get George to take her to the restaurant instead of straight home.

  That sorted, and feeling both excited and rather virtuous in her independence, Naomi went to tidy the kitchen and then plan her day until she could phone Karen Morgan. More background research into Freddie Jones and the murky world of art forgery seemed to be in order. A good excuse to buy books too. And then a walk on the beach with her guide dog, who now knew the route so well he could probably manage it on his own.

  Binnie studied the photographs he had taken of Bee’s tiny flat. It was almost a bedsit, saved from that description by the fact that the broom cupboard of a kitchen had a separate door.

  That she had chosen to live in a place like this – even your average student would think twice about it, Binnie reckoned – puzzled him. He knew she had money in the bank from when she had sold her mother’s place and she’d be coming in for whatever Freddie Jones had left – and Binnie had good reason to believe that would be a substantial amount – so why choose to rent a dump like that?