Blinding Lies

by Amy Cronin

  “I’m working.”

  “On a Sunday? Where?”

  Myles set down his coffee cup and looked at Anna seriously. She felt a shiver of anticipation – in the time she had known Myles, he had never looked so solemn. His grin was gone, his mouth a thin line.

  Anna decided now was as good a time as any to bring up something that had bothered her lately.

  “OK, you can answer that later. But I’ve been meaning to ask you something about the night Elise attacked us. When I brought you and Janet the memory key.”

  “What about it?”

  “You and Janet already knew the security detail had been stolen. I’m right, aren’t I?”

  Myles scratched his head. He looked around the hotel, playing for time or weighing up something. Eventually, he leant across the table and spoke in a soft voice.

  “Yes, you’re right.”

  “I get why Janet would know that information, she was Chief Superintendent. But not you …”

  “Do you remember I said I worked for the Special Detective Unit?”

  Anna thought of the man in a dark suit and glasses outside the church a few weeks ago. She realised she was holding her breath.

  “Well, I do,” he said, “but I work a little higher up than I originally let on.”

  He stopped and swallowed a lump in his throat.

  “I’m not in a position to elaborate about my job any further. Let’s just say I work for the State and leave it at that.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Myles groaned. “Oh, come on, Anna!”

  “Do you work in Phoenix Park?”

  At the mention of the Garda Headquarters location, Myles shook his head.

  “That’s classified, sorry.”

  “Are you in the Defence Forces? Or in military intelligence?”

  Myles shifted in his seat, and Anna couldn’t tell if it was because of their conversation or if his injured leg was making him uncomfortable.

  “I was stationed in Cork to assist with security for the political conference. That’s all that’s relevant really.”

  Anna narrowed her eyes and Myles had the good grace to look contrite.

  “I guess there’s no harm in telling you what I can. I was undercover. We knew there had been a security breach, and that the security details of the political conference had been both accessed and downloaded. What we didn’t know was by whom. Or why. We were very keen to establish who the buyer for the information was, and even more interested in knowing who the target was. We still are very keen to find that out. Hopefully, Elise Taylor will start talking, especially if it means reducing her sentence.”

  Anna was stunned into silence. She realised her mouth was opening and closing repeatedly, and she made a conscious effort to stop. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing, and she suddenly felt incredibly sad. She had never seen or heard Myles so serious, and so professional. She missed his brown eyes dancing with laughter, his relaxed conversation. She wondered if she really knew him.

  Suddenly he reached across the table and grabbed both of her hands, holding them firmly in his own. He smiled at her warmly.

  “I didn’t lie to you, Anna. I could only tell you what I was permitted to. And besides, nothing’s changed. I want to keep meeting you for coffee, and dinner, and whatever else you’ll meet me for!”

  He raised one eyebrow and a large grin spread across his face.

  Anna shook her head, fighting the smile that pulled at the corners of her mouth. Myles was so fun, so intriguing, and someone she wasn’t ready to stop seeing yet. Whatever his job, she knew she wanted to be around him. But her smile quickly faded … the last few weeks had taught her that no one was who they seemed to be.

  Anna was still intrigued about Kate’s true motive and questioning her innocence. She tossed and turned at night, wondering what had become of her childhood friend. Then there was Elise Taylor, a respected detective; she had let down those who trusted her, in the worst possible way. Now Myles, the carefree surfer and casually dressed detective, was a serious intelligence officer, and had hidden the truth, albeit for good reason.

  Myles sat back and let Anna’s hands drop, his expression thoughtful. He seemed to be weighing something up in his mind again, trying to come to a decision.

  Anna silently watched Myles reach down and pull a file from his briefcase. He sat now with his hands over it, an expression on his face that, if Anna hadn’t thought better, was nervous. Myles looked at her with something akin to apology in his eyes.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Myles inhaled deeply and adjusted his glasses. He sipped coffee and fussed with his napkin, folding it over and over.

  Anna sat still, quietly waiting, unable to look away from the file on the table. She was terrified to speak in case he changed his mind about telling her whatever it was he was debating telling her.

  Finally, he was able to speak.

  “Anna, I remember what you told me about your parents – how they are missing now ten years, how you wanted to hire a private investigator to search for them. In the course of my job I have access to files and records. I hope you’ll forgive me … but … I looked up the file on their disappearance.”

  Anna’s blood ran cold. She could feel her heart beating inside her chest, pounding a quick rhythm.

  “And?” she whispered, not sure she wanted the answers she had craved for ten years.

  Myles closed his eyes for a few seconds. He appeared to be steadying himself.

  “I could get fired for this, but … the investigation looks solid. Every lead was followed up, and every angle was covered. The detective in charge was as baffled as anyone, and he made entries in the files right up until he retired.”

  Anna’s shoulders sagged – she had hoped for something more.

  “It’s just …” Myles adjusted his glasses again. He took a deep breath. “You said your parents were English?”

  Anna nodded. She kept her hands folded in her lap to stop them shaking.

  “And you have no other family alive today, apart from your brother?”

  Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded again. It was little more than a jerk of her head – she was beginning to feel paralysed by fear and anticipation.

  When Myles spoke, his voice was so soft that Anna had to lean forward to hear him.

  “Your mother disappeared before, Anna. What I mean is, that night ten years ago was not the first time she disappeared.”

  Anna was aware of a loud buzzing noise in her ears.

  “Do you know your mother’s maiden name, Anna?”

  Myles’ question threw her into confusion – what a strange thing to ask! She was about to answer that of course she did, until she realised that she didn’t actually know the answer. Her mother had always been Helen Clarke. Anna had been too young to ponder on anything else. Myles sensed the truth and didn’t press her. Instead, he answered his own question.

  “Your mother was born Yelena Vasilieva in 1956 in the Russian town of Omsk. She was the daughter of a successful businessman. When she was a child the family moved to Moscow, where her father gained more prominence as a supporter of Khrushchev. Your mother was a promising cellist. She played with the Moscow Orchestral Reserve throughout her teens. In her early twenties, she visited London with the orchestra and some time on the night of September 4th 1978 she disappeared.”

  Anna was unable to breathe. All the sounds within the café ceased to exist.

  Myles slid the file across the table. Anna unfolded her hands and picked it up, willing her shaking fingers to work, to open the file. Her vision felt out of focus.

  Inside was a photocopy of a newspaper article. The headline drew her attention.

  Moscow Orchestral Reserve Wow at the Royal Albert Hall

  The words danced and flashed before Anna and she made no further attempt to read the short article. Set under the headline, and taking up most of the page, was a black-and-white photograph of a group of what were presumably the musician
s, standing outside the Royal Albert Hall. The men and women stood there smiling broadly, dressed in an array of thick coats and fur hats.

  Anna instantly found her mother’s face. Yelena Vasilieva was of average height and build, with soft features, and large oval eyes. Her hair was bundled into a fur hat, but Anna had no doubt it was her mother. Her coat was thick and knee-length, with four large black buttons. Although the image was black-and-white, Anna knew that coat was a bright, fire-engine red.

  Anna touched the image of her mother with a trembling finger. She had never seen her mother this young. There were no photographs of her mother’s childhood, because she had always said she left them behind her, and now that her parents were dead, she had no way of retrieving them. She wondered if that part of her story was true. If anything she knew of her mother was true.

  Her face suddenly felt wet; she touched her cheeks and found them moist with tears. She wiped them and turned the photocopied page over. A second sheet, another photocopy from the same newspaper, was dated one week later, and featured a photograph of Yelena Vasilieva, alone, standing beside her cello. It appeared to be a promotional shot, perhaps used in advertising for the orchestra. The headline was thick and bold:

  PROMISING RUSSIAN CELLIST DISAPPEARS

  Closing the file, Anna stared at Myles with dry eyes. After ten years of tears and anguish, enduring a cruel mystery, here lay secrets she could never have imagined. Lies were unfolding into truth on the pages before her. Lies that had kept her blind for too long. Her heart hardened, her back stiff, Anna made up her mind.

  It was time to discover the truth.

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