Sea of Lies

by Rachel McLean

  “The other men left the farm, you know. I’m the only one there.”

  “Why should I care?”

  He shrugged. “I’d rather be here.”

  She leaned on the glass, bringing her face close to it. Her fist was clenched, and she feared she might smash through it. “You get back to your farm. God wants us to be left alone, without any outside interference.”

  He cocked his head. He regarded her for a moment. “She’s in love with Martin.”

  She felt her fist tighten. Was he not listening? “No she isn’t. She’s got Sam.”

  “Who’s Sam?”

  “It’s none of your business!” she cried. She looked behind her; best to keep her voice down. “I have to go. If I hear you’re still here this evening, I’ll send my husband after you. And his friends.”

  “He doesn’t scare me.”

  “He should. You and your friend Martin.”

  “He isn’t a murderer. Martin. Tell Sarah that.”

  “What are you on about?”

  “He was arrested. For murdering two boys. Young men. But he didn’t do it.”

  “If she thinks he did it, she’ll stay away from him.”

  “She deserves to know the truth.”

  “And why would you know the truth?”

  “Because I was there. I know what happened.”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Sarah heard the front door slam. Feet stamped up the stairs.

  Those weren’t Dawn’s footsteps.

  She pulled away from her door and sat on the bed, pushed up against the wall. If Bill was here, Ted might have got to him. Pounding up the stairs like that meant he was angry. Had Bill told him about her and Martin?

  Her heart was pumping, her flesh shivering, as he threw the door open.

  “Why is that man here?”

  She wrapped her arms around herself. “What man?”

  “You know what man. Bill Peterson. He brought the boat back. Did he take it from you? Was he working with Martin?”

  “No!” She flung her arms aside, pushing up on the bed. “Martin’s not what you think.”

  Ted stepped inside the room. It felt claustrophobic with him in here, his head inches away from the sloping ceiling. “So what is he? Your precious Martin?”

  “He’s not my precious anything.”

  Ted loomed over her, his face pale and his eyes bulging. She shrank back, folding her arms around herself in protection.

  “I know men like that, girl. They’re bad news.”

  She gritted her teeth.

  “Are you listening to me?” he demanded, the colour returning to his cheeks.

  She nodded.

  “He left you, didn’t he? He abandoned you. That’s why you came back.”

  “It didn’t happen like that.”

  “So why wasn’t he with the other bastard?”

  Her mouth felt dry, her tongue swollen. “He was arrested.”

  Ted blew out a long breath. “See? Bad news. Thank God you got away from him when you did.”

  She nodded, sniffing back a tear.

  Ted went to the door. “So how come Ruth isn’t back yet?”

  “It wasn’t Robert’s death they arrested him for. Two others, names I didn’t recognise.”

  Ted raised his hands to his temples, his fists clenched. “I’ll kill him, the little shit. If he laid a hand on you—” He turned to her, his eyes questioning.

  “No.” She fought to keep her face under control. “No, Dad. He did nothing. He was arrested, and I came home. On Ben’s bike.”

  “Ben doesn’t have a bike. What are you on about?”

  “I don’t know. But Bill said he’d brought it to the farm.”

  Ted shook his head. “Fuck.”

  She stood up. “Can I come out now? I need the loo.”

  “No. I don’t trust you.”

  “Please. I’m desperate.”

  He spun to face her. “I said no! Why doesn’t anyone give me any fucking respect around here?”

  He reached out and grabbed her hair. She screamed. He stared at her, nostrils flaring. She met his gaze. Stop, she thought. Let go.

  He pushed her to the floor, spitting on the carpet.

  “He’s a killer. Stay away from him.”

  She said nothing but pulled herself up to sitting.

  He took a step towards her. “You hear me?”

  She nodded. “I heard you.”

  “And?”

  She could feel her lungs tightening, her breath coming out in gasps. “You’d know about that though, wouldn’t you?”

  He let out a yell and hit her across the cheek with the back of his hand. She fell backwards, slamming into the bed.

  “Respect, girl! You don’t talk to me like that.”

  He turned and clattered down the stairs, his footsteps echoing in the empty house. She watched him, blinking away tears. Her cheek throbbed and her shoulder ached from where she’d hit the bed.

  But he’d left the door open.

  She ran down the stairs. She had no idea where he’d gone. He could be in the hall, waiting for her.

  She had to risk it.

  She stopped at the bottom of the stairs. Ted was in the living room, slumped on the sofa. Staring out at the growing dusk. His shoulders rose and fell heavily.

  She grabbed the door handle, her eyes on him. He stood up. He rounded the sofa and sped to her, slamming the door shut, almost shutting her hand in it.

  She grasped the door handle, pulling as hard as she could. He stared at her.

  “Come into the living room,” he said. “Talk to me.”

  His voice was low now, his cheeks had lost their colour. But she’d heard this tone of voice before.

  He turned the key in the front door lock and pocketed it. “Living room. Now.”

  She bowed her head and hurried into the room, anxious to keep ahead of him, out of his reach. She perched on the arm of the sofa.

  He sat in the armchair opposite her.

  “Where’s your mother?” he asked.

  Sarah shrugged.

  “Tell me.”

  She thought of Dawn, arriving home to this. “She told me she wouldn’t be long. Maybe she had to go to the shop.”

  “It’ll be closing soon.”

  “That means she’ll be back soon.”

  He turned towards the window.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he said. “The sky. The sea.”

  She said nothing.

  “Nearly losing you has made me appreciate what I should be grateful for.” He leaned forward and grabbed her hand. She pulled on it but his grip was tight. Her heart rate picked up.

  “Don’t be scared, girl,” he said. “I won’t hurt you.”

  She stared out of the window, not making eye contact.

  “I’m glad you’re home,” he said.

  Yeah, she thought. So you can lock me up. So you can hit me. It wasn’t much better than what they did to her at the farm.

  She looked at him. She’d seen him do this before, with her mother. Go from ninety miles an hour to nothing in the blink of an eye. He wouldn’t hit her again. Not tonight. “Can I ask you something?”

  “You can ask.”

  She stared ahead. “After I left, in the boat. With Martin. You were worried about me.”

  “Of course I was.”

  “Did you tell the police I was gone?”

  “The police?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s not what I’d do. Not what any of us here would do.”

  “I don’t mind, Dad. I understand you were concerned. You wanted me back. You’d do anything you thought might bring me home.”

  He tightened his grip on her fingers. “I never called the police, Sarah. How would I? We don’t exactly have a phone.”

  “I just thought, maybe Jess…”

  “Jess doesn’t have a phone either.”

  “But they came here.”

  “They did.”

  “
Did you speak to them?”

  “Not about you.”

  “Are you sure, Dad?” She gathered her courage. “Did you tell them where to find Martin? So they could arrest him?”

  He’d been grinding his teeth; she didn’t notice until he stopped, plunging them into silence. “No.”

  “But somebody did.”

  “They did you a favour.”

  She didn’t respond to that. “But if you didn’t, then who did?”

  “I did.”

  She spun round to see Dawn standing in the doorway. Her face was flushed with cold and she was peeling off a headscarf. Her lips were pinched together and her face had a tightness, a smooth hardness, that Sarah had never seen before. Sam was standing behind her, looking sheepish.

  “I did, Sarah,” she repeated. “I told them where to find him.”

  Chapter Fifty

  The police cell was cleaner than Martin had expected. Instead of being lined with filth, it smelt strongly of disinfectant. He wondered who had been here last, and if the disinfectant had been necessary for some reason.

  He’d been in here for hours and still they hadn’t told him why. When he’d arrived, there’d been a repetition of the charge – murder of Jacob Cripps and Zahir Ali – but when he asked when, or who they were, the detective had looked at him with irritation.

  He counted the rows of bricks lining the walls, desperate to occupy his mind. When that was done, he counted the pockmarks on the tiled floor. Sixty-three. Just under twice as many as there were rows of bricks.

  There was a high window in the corner, with obscured glass. He thought of Sarah in her cell back at the farm, the moss-hazed glass of the outhouse windows. He’d done that to her, played his part.

  Whether he’d committed the crime he’d been arrested for or not, he deserved punishment.

  He tried to push out the thought of her waking to find him gone, the deep sense of betrayal she would feel. She’d trusted him and he’d left her. Never mind that it hadn’t been voluntary. He thought of the flowers he’d picked, tossed to the floor in his desperation to hide.

  He heard footsteps outside his door and rushed to it, placing his mouth close to the cold metal.

  “Hello?”

  The footsteps stopped.

  “Please, I need to speak to someone! I don’t know why I’m here.”

  The footsteps grew closer. “Pull the other one, mate. I’ve heard ’em all.” A female voice, edged with the harsh tones of a smoker.

  “No, really. I’ve been arrested for murder, but I don’t know who the people are I’m supposed to have killed.”

  “People? You’re happy to shout around these cells that you’re a serial killer, are you?”

  “I’m not a serial killer. I’m not a killer at all.”

  He thought of Robert and felt his stomach churn.

  “Is Ruth Dyer here?”

  “Shut up.”

  “I need to know. She’s a – a friend of mine. I need to know if she’s OK.”

  The hatch slid open to reveal a pair of brown eyes. “Will you shut the bugger up?”

  “What about Ruth Dyer?”

  The eyes narrowed. They wore heavy mascara and blue eyeshadow that reminded him of his mum when she was going to the farmers’ dances.

  “She was released. This morning. I’m not telling you anything else.”

  The hatch slammed shut.

  Martin slumped onto the bench at the back of the cell, wondering why Ruth had been released. Had she told them she’d been acting in self-defence, or something different?

  He heard the rattling of keys and then the bang of the door opening. He sat straight.

  The policewoman stood in the door, her head cocked to one side. “Come on then.”

  He stood up. “Where are you taking me?”

  “To see your solicitor. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t have a solicitor.”

  She shook her head: another idiot. “You’ve been allocated one. Lucky you: it normally takes longer than this. Come with me.”

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Sarah rose to face her mother. Sam stood behind Dawn, his mouth agape.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “For Ruth, of course. They needed someone else to arrest. He was the best choice.”

  Sarah had told Dawn nothing about what had happened in the farmhouse kitchen, about Martin throwing himself on Robert. Ted had arrived right at the end, and couldn’t have seen it all.

  “Why him?”

  “It couldn’t be anyone from the village. They needed someone to blame. Two birds with one stone.”

  Ted was trembling. “How could you?”

  Dawn looked at him, puzzled. “I thought you’d be pleased with me.”

  “We don’t talk to police. Not after the way they’ve betrayed us in the past.”

  Dawn’s face dropped. “I don’t see it like that.” She drew herself up. “What would you rather I did, let Ruth go to prison?”

  “Co-operating with them… it’s not what we do.”

  “Well, it worked.”

  “Did it?” asked Sarah. “Have you seen Ruth come back?”

  “Give it time.”

  Sarah stared at her mother. “Did they tell you anything about why they were looking for him?”

  “They didn’t say anything like that. It was my idea.”

  “But they didn’t…?”

  Ted grabbed Sarah’s wrist. “You’re hiding something.”

  She looked at Sam. Help me. “No. I’m not.”

  Sam squinted at her. “You’ve got a bruise. On your cheek.” He reached his hand out and Sarah shrank back.

  Sarah looked at her father. He was glaring at her mother, his eyes full of warning.

  “She fell,” said Dawn. “I brought you here because it’ll do her good.” She gave Sarah a look that brooked no defiance.

  Sam shrugged. “OK.” He gave Sarah a nervous smile.

  “Right,” said Dawn, her voice sharper than Sarah had ever heard it. “Sarah, I think you and Sam should take a walk together.”

  “A walk?” cried Sarah. “A promenade, like an Edwardian lady and gentleman? I hardly think this is the time.” She caught Sam’s sigh. “Sorry, Sam. Nothing personal.”

  “You’re not going anywhere,” said Ted. “Sam, go home lad. Don’t come back till I say you can. Alright?”

  Sam nodded vigorously and turned for the door. Dawn reached round and grabbed his fingers. He was too polite to pull out of her grasp.

  “No,” she said. “I think Sarah needs some air. We can’t trust her on her own. But we can trust young Samuel here.”

  Sam hunched his shoulders. Sarah felt for him; this was probably the most excruciating thing he’d ever experienced.

  “Ted,” said Dawn, “let her go. Just for half an hour. He’ll take care of her, won’t you Sam?”

  “You know how I feel about all this,” said Ted. “You got no business, leading young Sam on.”

  Dawn let go of Sam’s fingers and took a step towards Ted. “If they go, you can deal with me.”

  Ted twisted his lips but said nothing.

  “You’re angry with me,” said Dawn. “I’d rather you didn’t tell me just how angry, not with the young people here.”

  Sarah felt like her mind was going to tear itself apart. “Mum, why are you doing this?”

  Dawn smiled at her. “Like I say, a walk would do you good. And Sam here will keep you out of trouble. Go.”

  Sarah looked at her father. He looked from her to Dawn and back again. “Go,” he muttered.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Sarah hurried out of the house, Sam alongside her. The door closed behind them and she looked back at it, confused. Scared.

  What would her father do to her mother, after she’d stood up to him like that?

  “Let’s be quick,” she told Sam. “Maybe down to the edge of the beach and back. Quick as we can.”

  She sped off, leaving him t
railing in her wake.

  “Sarah!” he called. “Stop. I don’t need to walk. We can just talk.”

  She stopped. “Where?” It was cold out, and almost completely dark. The sky was clear, stars visible in the blackness of the night sky. She could barely make out the shapes of the houses, and was going more by memory than sight. Racing to the beach wouldn’t be a wise idea.

  “There’s a bench, by the JP.”

  “That’s a bit public.”

  “It’s dark.”

  “Even worse. Someone could listen to us.”

  “OK. Where do you suggest?”

  “Come with me.”

  She grabbed his sleeve and pulled him to the back of her own house. There were two garden chairs out there, to the side of the sliding doors. The doors were heavy and the curtains closed. Her parents would never think to look out here.

  She lifted a chair from its position against the wall and unfolded it as quietly as she could. Sam followed suit with the other one. He sat down and blew on his hands.

  “We could always go to my house,” he said. “Mum’s got a fire going.”

  She thought of his cosy home, full of people who loved each other. “No,” she said. “This is better.”

  “Fair enough.” He tugged on his coat sleeves, dragging them over his knuckles. The coat was a grey fleece, a size too small for him.

  “What d’you want to talk about?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. Whatever you want. Martin?”

  “Why would you want to talk about Martin?”

  “Dunno. Understand the enemy, and all that.” He grinned.

  “He’s not the enemy.”

  “I don’t mean it like that. Just that he’s my rival.” He paused. “For you.”

  She leaned back, wanting to laugh. One man was a double murderer and the other was dull enough to satisfy her mother. He was kind though. Trustworthy. And he looked at her like she was some kind of minor deity.

  “Did he really kill Robert Cope?” Sam asked.

  She huddled into herself. “It’s complicated.”

  “Well if he didn’t, then who did? Not Ruth, surely.”

  “Like I say, it’s complicated.”

  “Bill?”