Perfect Little Lies (DS Nick Bailey & DC Zoe Hall Thriller Series Book 1)

by S A Tameez

  He leaned over and kissed Stacey’s forehead. She felt cold. And a sudden chill ran through him as if transferred from his ice-cold wife.

  “I’m so sorry,” he whispered into her ear, meaning every word. He was sorry, sorry for not being there for her when she needed him the most. Sorry for being absent even while present. But mainly sorry for not telling her he was cursed to never have a family. That this wasn’t her fault, it was his. He had caused this before and now he had done it again. And he selfishly never told her about the curse. Had she known, she would have never even tried and that would have been for the best.

  “I’ll leave you alone,” the doctor said as he left the colourless room. He left and Nick didn’t notice. His mind was fixed on the beautiful soul that lay before him. She brought light to his dark world and saved him from losing his mind. But what had he ever done for her? What was he to her? Too absorbed in himself to even think about what she needed – what she wanted.

  She looked serene. Calm. At peace.

  She didn’t need him – not then and not now. She was fine without him – it was him who needed her. He couldn’t be there for her when she needed him and what use was he now? He imagined her in their home, wailing in agony. Desperately trying to call him – crying when the call went to voicemail. Relying on him was foolish – she should have known he would let her down. He always let her down.

  Nick woke with a gentle knock on the door. His eyes darted around the room in shock as he absorbed the surroundings. It wasn’t a dream. This was actually happening.

  “Mr Bailey,” a lady wearing a long grey skirt and a white shirt walked in, “Hi, my name is Gemma, I’m the duty doctor today. I will be joined by a few colleagues, and we will be running some tests on your wife shortly.”

  “OK,” Nick said. His voice was croaky, and his neck was murdering him from falling asleep slouched in the chair.

  “Would you mind if I asked you to step out into the waiting room – we will not be long.”

  Nick looked back at his wife and a rush of emotions surged through him almost bringing him to tears. He stood up and allowed his back and neck muscles a few moments to adjust before dragging his feet towards the waiting room. The pain in his soles was the worst he had ever felt it.

  “Can I get you a drink? A tea, some water, perhaps?” Gemma asked as he walked past her towards the door. Nick didn’t look at her. He didn’t want to see the sympathetic expression that doctors gave, it never looked genuine. Robotic. They see people dying all the time – they give loved ones the bad news on a regular basis. He ignored her question and left.

  He wasn’t sure whether the waiting room was actually cold or whether it was just him, but he felt his body shiver uncontrollably. He looked at the water dispenser at the end of the room like a man on a desert seeing a mirage. His throat was sore with dryness.

  He reached for his phone and answered instinctively as it vibrated in his pocket.

  “Nick,” Zoe said, “I know what you’re thinking… and I’m sorry, I know it’s a ridiculous time to call but… we got him. We found the guy AKA the Sailor, AKA George Clooney.” He heard the excitement in her voice but felt nothing. For a moment, it felt as if she were talking to him about something in another life, a life he vaguely remembered and cared very little for right now.

  “That’s great,” he said faintly.

  “You alright?”

  Nick didn’t respond. He wasn’t OK. Nothing was OK. His wife was in a coma… What if she never wakes? What if this was it? He never got the chance to say goodbye. She never got to see their baby, never got to hold him because he would die too, like Michael did.

  “Nick?” Zoe said, “What’s going on?”

  “I… I’m sorry, it’s just Stacey… there’s been some complications and… We’re at St Thomas' Hospital.” Nick fell silent, scared that if he said another word he might break into tears.

  “Jesus Christ! What happened? Is she OK? And the baby?”

  “The baby’s fine,” Nick responded, “It’s Stacey, she’s in a coma.”

  “What? Oh my God. I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do? Can I bring you something? Anything?”

  “No, thank you. I’m fine, honestly. Just in shock.”

  “Of course, that’s completely understandable.”

  “Can you do me a favour… can you please let Harold know that I will not be in tomorrow. He’s expecting me to take paternity, so he’ll be fine. But please, don’t tell him about Stacey yet. I’m not sure I want everyone knowing just yet.”

  “Sure. But listen, don’t worry about anything, focus on your family and take care of yourself.”

  “Thank you,” Nick said and then hung up.

  He couldn’t worry about anything else even if he wanted to. Stacey was all he could think about.

  Chapter 29

  Zoe sat frozen for a moment. She couldn’t imagine what he was going through. The fear of losing someone again would be torturing him. Judging by what losing his son had done to him, this wouldn’t be easy.

  It was life. Everyone suffered differently, but everyone suffered.

  Life had a way of punishing good people. It was like a long story, some parts you could edit, and some were set in stone – for better or worse.

  She imagined him sitting alone, worrying himself sick. It was 3 a.m. and she hadn’t slept. The sensible thing would be to stop drinking coffee, head home and allow sleep to overcome her. A few hours of quality sleep were much better than 8 hours of restless sleep. In fact, she functioned much better with less sleep. Less than 5 hours was not great but over 7 hours was murder. The last time she slept for 8 hours she couldn’t think straight for most of the day that followed. The last time she slept 8 hours was the last time she took the prescribed sleeping pills. They knocked her out like they were supposed to, but the aftermath was unbearable.

  The drive home would be short and sweet. Not many vehicles out on the roads at this hour. A few night couriers and the odd drifter. She drove past St Thomas' hospital. He told her he didn’t need anything – there was no reason for her to be parked in the hospital carpark and yet there she was. In the hospital parking bay with the engine turned off.

  He was alone there. Hurting. She could visit him. Comfort him, reassure him that things will be fine. Perhaps she could grab him a drink or even a sandwich. Not that he would have an appetite at a time like this. But eating something helps, Zoe’s mother would always say to her. It’s our instinct to not eat when we are stressed. Eating sends signals to the brain that you’re safe. It helps with nerves. She never believed her, nor did she ever eat when she was stressed to test the theory. It was strange how wisdom and advice sprung to the mind when thinking of others but could never be given to yourself in a time of need. It was as if your mind blanked out any reasoning and logic to allow misery to flow. Perhaps the pain and heartache were ways your mind kept you human, a bizarre coping mechanism to exercise emotions and feelings to prevent you from becoming a robot.

  It would be weird to just walk in there – besides, she wouldn’t know what to say to him. She would say something insensitive or stupid and make things worse.

  What would he think if she just barged in on his life and at a time like this? He didn’t want to see anyone, he made that much very clear.

  She called him at ridiculous hours of the night and now she was sat here like a stalker.

  What was she doing? Nick didn’t need her – no one did.

  Is that what this was? She was so desperate for someone to need her that she forced her way into people’s lives. Her ex didn’t need her, she was simply a pastime and she clung onto him like he was a lifeboat. She wanted the life she fought against, she wanted to love and be loved. She wanted to need and be needed. She wanted a family.

  She pulled the rear-view mirror towards her and shook her head at the pathetic woman who stared back at her.

  Start the car and go home! She told herself.

  She kicked her shoes off and th
rew her keys on the table as she walked into her house. Instinctively, she turned the kettle on and sat on the sofa. She should be heading straight to bed. That was the plan. It was 4.07am. She could drop a text saying she would be late into the station and have a lie in. No one would complain about that. She was there more than she wasn’t. But the combination of Nick’s situation and the excitement of tracking George Clooney down wouldn’t allow her to do that. Sleep or no sleep, 9am, she’ll be at her desk, organising the trip to Gerard’s Secondary School.

  She reached for her phone and cancelled the alarm. 7.15am. She wiped the drool of her face. The couch was comfortable, the position she had fallen asleep in not so much. Still in her smart clothes, untouched mug of tea on the coffee table. Sometimes when the mind was clogged and making bad decisions, the body takes control of the ship. She must have shut down.

  Aside from feeling a little stiff and disgusted that she slept without brushing her teeth and flossing, she was feeling refreshed and energised.

  An extra 3 minutes brushing and flossing, a 4 mile run, a quick shower, a fresh coffee and she was back on the road heading to the station.

  She strode straight to Harold’s office and knocked on the door.

  Harold was on the phone but gestured for her come in. He pointed at a chair, and she sat down.

  “I know,” he said speaking into the phone, “We need to get more uniformed officers patrolling around the problem areas, but the budgets are killing my resources here.”

  Zoe gazed around impatiently. She wanted to tell him about Nick being in hospital and about her taking a team of officers to Gerard’s Secondary School to get their suspect and then get on with it but here she was, sat here, impatiently waiting for him to finish his conversation. She couldn’t stand the thought of the politics of reducing budgets in Policing and Education. Increasing education fees, reducing teacher salaries is a sure way of causing chaos and then reducing Police budgets when crime is on the rise, well, that’s just adding to the anarchy. She didn’t complain about it, even though complaining was a very British thing to do. She was confident that she couldn’t do anything in the way of fixing the problems in the country, nor would she want the responsibility. No, she was fine where she was. She had read Orwell’s Animal Farm enough times to know how easy it is to become the pigs.

  “Sorry about that,” Harold said as he hung up the phone, “If it’s two things that will kill me, it’ll be my wife and these unworkable budgets. And I’d rather it be the bloody budgets,” he snarled and then slurped his coffee. “So, what’s the latest?”

  “Nick is off for a bit. He told me to let you know.”

  “Oh, unlike him. Everything OK? He’s not got the man-flu, has he? It’s a real bastard around this time of year.”

  “No, it’s Stacey – she’s in hospital… you know, baby…”

  “Oh yes, of course. Is everything alright with her. She’s a lovely girl, that one.”

  “Yes, everything’s fine. He said everything’s fine – he didn’t give me any other details,” she lied.

  “He’s a bit of a private guy like that.”

  “Also, we have a lead on a suspect. The man who was identified by the witness has now been confirmed as a teacher in Gerard’s Secondary School, Dominic Hudson.”

  “That’s great news. You bringing him in?”

  “Yes, I was planning on taking a few officers and bringing him in this morning.”

  “That’s a good shout,” he said, “Keep me updated,”

  “Will do,” she stood.

  “Oh, and about Nick. I don’t want to call him and disturb his new father time. So, if he calls, tell him I said congrats and the new father manual is in the post.”

  “Will do,” she smiled. A smile that disappeared immediately as she turned around. If only he knew what was really going on with Nick. They were friends, more friends than her and Nick were and yet she knew the truth and Harold knew nothing. She felt deceitful. Not lying exactly but withholding the truth. Most would consider that lying, she would. It was true, everyone lies.

  The team was briefed – 3 male uniformed officers and one female. She could sense their disapproval when they were informed about the history teacher who she believed was a notorious serial killer. It sounded ridiculous – but more ridiculous things have happened, she reminded herself.

  This was either a complete waste of time and valuable resources or they were about to enter dangerous territory. If Dominic Hudson was The Sailor, he was incredibly dangerous – they would have to be cautious, especially as this was a place filled with children. The other concern, of course, was the parasites, the Press. She had to be careful not to draw too much attention to the investigation. Not that she gave a toss about that stuff, but she was learning about the ropes that hung people when they tried to do the right thing without following the correct procedures.

  Zoe didn’t call ahead as she didn’t want anyone getting a whiff they were coming. They parked outside and rang the bell for the reception. The door buzzed and they were let in. The lady at reception was already on the phone to the head.

  It’s exactly what she would do, Zoe thought. Schools often taught their staff to point the Police and Press in the direction of the head. It’s the safest option.

  “How can I help you?” a tall, skinny man with receding hair and a tweed jacket approached them.

  “Hello, I’m Detective Sergeant Zoe Hall,” She flashed her warrant card.

  “OK, I’m Jeremey Peterson, the Headmaster of this school. Can I ask what’s going on?”

  “Yes, of course. We’re here to speak to Dominic Hudson. We believe he is a teacher here, at this school.”

  “Dominic,” he said, “Yes, he was a teacher. An exceptionally good teacher but he left us almost a year ago. Health reasons.”

  Shit!

  “Do you have an address for him on file?”

  “We should do… but what’s this about? He’s not in trouble, is he?”

  “I’m afraid we can’t give you any information,” she said impatiently, “But we really need his last known address, if that’s possible?”

  “Of course,” he said, “Just bear with me a moment and I will look it up.”

  He returned a few moments later with a piece of lined paper.

  “Thank you,” Zoe said and left the school, heading for the address noted on the paper.

  “Can one of you call in and let control know that there’s been a change of plan – and give them the address,” she said to the officers.

  “Erm, you sure we shouldn’t head back to the station?” One of the officers said, “I think we’re supposed to—”

  “I’m sure we’re supposed to, but right now, we don’t have time. The headmaster might be friends with our suspect and might just give him a friendly call to see if everything was alright.”

  “Ah, I see your point.”

  “Don’t worry,” she smiled, “If anyone asks, just blame me.”

  Everyone else does.

  They parked their unmarked silver Vauxhall Astra outside the property and rushed towards the door. There was no clear way to the back of the terraced house, so they all stood at the front. When Zoe banged on the door, it opened with the force.

  She looked at the officers and nodded.

  “Police!” they shouted as they barged in. It was dark inside and smelt of vanilla candles. Zoe recognised the smell as it was her mother’s favourite fragrance.

  Behind the first door they opened, they were faced by the George Clooney look-a-like.

  “Dominic Hudson?” Zoe asked standing in front of the man who calmly sat on a large, brown one-seater sofa. He was staring into a book as if he hadn’t noticed them come in. She couldn’t quite see the title of the book, but it was tattered and blue – with a sailboat on the cover. A sharp chill ran through her as he glanced up and smiled.

  “How can I help you officer?”

  “Are you Dominic Hudson?”

  “In the flesh,” h
e said with a smirk, “I’m impressed. I wasn’t sure if you would end up here. I’m not going to lie, I had my doubts, I really did. But it seems you guys are rather tenacious. I admire that.”

  His voice was deep and authoritative, calm yet frightening.

  “What do you mean?” Zoe asked as she looked into his hazel eyes. He looked much better than he did in the pictures. His skin was flawless as if he were wearing a concealer and his hair was without a strand out of place. Picture perfect.

  “Tell me,” he said putting his book down on the arm rest of the sofa, “Was it the old lady?”

  “Was what the old lady?” Zoe asked. She wasn’t sure what was going on. The copper in her wanted to put him in cuffs and drag him to the station but she was intrigued.

  “The old lady, the one who saw me?” he raised his arm, exposing the watch, “She described the watch and that’s what led you here. There was no other way you could have ended up here. Not that I’m not happy to see you, mind. I’m thrilled. I would even offer you a cup of tea if I thought you would accept the offer.”

  Zoe’s heart was now racing. It didn’t feel real. She was in a crime novel faced by a calm and composed monster.

  “Dominic Hudson, I’m arresting you on suspicion of murder.” She said, worried that he was trying to get inside her head. “You don’t have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you don’t mention when questioned something you later rely on in court.” She knew how psychopaths worked, she studied enough of them. He was dangerous. His demeanour told her that immediately.

  “Don’t worry detective,” he said, “I will do as you ask and say whatever you want me to say.” He stood and raised his arms without breaking eye contact.

  One of the officers placed handcuffs around his wrists and escorted him to the car.

  She looked at the remaining officers. They looked pale.

  “Stay here but don’t touch anything,” she said, “I’ll call in Forensics and a search team. Wait for them while I get,” she stopped herself from saying George Clooney, “Mr Hudson booked in.”