Circle of Lies

by Paul J. Teague

  The rides were in silhouette against the backdrop of a partial moon. The terrifying mouse ride to their right, the wooden ranch directly ahead, a merry-go-round to the side; Charlotte remembered it all. They’d spent many a day off in this place, youngsters in love, enjoying the rides, snuggling up close in the ghost train, and feeling sick after eating too many doughnuts.

  She reached out in the darkness for Will’s hand and gave it a squeeze, treasuring her years with him. Remembering this place and the fun they’d had there made her appreciate him all the more.

  The big dipper was located towards the back of the park. Charlotte remembered standing there with Will, watching the trucks come around, trying to work out if she had enough courage to take a ride. The framework which supported the tracks had been made of wood. That had surprised her; she’d expected it to be constructed out of metal.

  ‘You can see the timber moving as the trucks come round. It doesn’t look safe to me,’ she’d said to Will, looking at how high it was. By modern standards it was laughable, but in the 80s it had seemed so daring. Will had patiently reassured her that the structure was fine and that it was all about engineering and supporting loads. In the end, she’d gone on the ride once, been terrified and vowed never to go on a big dipper ever again.

  They worked their way round to the back of the tracks. Lara Turnbull hadn’t been precise about the place where her husband died, but seeing the structure in front of them, even in the darkness, it was clear where it must have been. The tracks went up and down, curving around a circular course, but at the far corner, the metal structure returned to ground level. Harvey Turnbull had to have chosen that as the spot where he would take his life.

  As Will put out his arm to steady Charlotte in the darkness, Steven Terry became silent. He stopped as the track took a ninety-degree turn on the furthest corner and began to breathe deeply, as if he’d been struck by a panic attack.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Charlotte asked, concerned by the sudden change.

  ‘This is it. This is the place,’ he said. Under the influence of drink, his voice had been more informal and relaxed; he was back to his commanding stage presence now.

  ‘My God,’ he said. With what little light they’d got, Charlotte could see his eyes were closed. Will shrugged his shoulders at her, and she was annoyed with him; how could he not find this anything but compelling?

  ‘This was no suicide. I sense only fear and horror here.’

  ‘Surely that’s how he’d have been feeling before he died?’ Will suggested.

  ‘No, I’ve been to places where people have taken their own lives before. There you feel despair, sadness, loss, helplessness. An act of extreme violence took place here. The man who died in this spot was in a frenzy of terror. Without doubt, he did not take his own life.’

  ‘Is it possible his was not the only suicide to take place here?’

  There was silence for a few a moments.

  ‘It is possible,’ Steven began. ‘These are echoes I’m picking up. I can’t attach them to a particular person. It may or not be this man. But something terrible happened here. A poison was spilt in this place that runs deep throughout this whole town. And I’m scared that this is what you’re involved in. Please tell me your secret is not connected with these deaths.’

  Before Will or Charlotte could reply, they were suddenly dazzled by two bright torch beams.

  ‘Stay where you are, please,’ came a voice from behind the lights. ‘We’re police officers. You do know this is private property?’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  For a couple who were keen to avoid contact with the police as much as possible, Will and Charlotte were failing miserably. The three of them were sitting in the back of a police car on their way to Morecambe police station when Will’s impatience flared up.

  ‘I told you we shouldn’t have broken in,’ he muttered to Charlotte, who was sitting to his right-hand side.

  ‘You’re an adult,’ Charlotte whispered back to him. ‘You didn’t have to come if you didn’t want to.’

  ‘I didn’t have much choice; I couldn’t very well abandon you, not in the state you’re in.’

  ‘What state is that?’ she snapped. ‘I’ve had a couple too many, but I know exactly what I’m doing.’

  Steven Terry intervened.

  ‘You needn’t worry about this trip to the police station,’ he told them. ‘It’ll just be a routine matter. I’ve got past form in this area. We weren’t doing anything, we didn’t damage anything, and we didn’t steal anything. It’ll be a storm in a teacup.’

  ‘The problem is, we’ve got form too,’ Will replied.

  ‘Yes, and that’s both of us, remember?’ Charlotte said, a little louder than she’d intended.

  ‘Everything all right back there?’ the police officer who was driving shouted back to them.

  ‘Yes, all’s well, Officer,’ Steven answered on their behalf.

  Charlotte lowered her voice to continue the conversation.

  ‘It was you who got into trouble first, after your scrap in the pub.’

  ‘Yes, but after that, we had your theft of that chap’s moped to deal with,’ Will added.

  ‘I was trying to rescue our daughter at the time; it hardly counts!’

  Charlotte was getting annoyed with her husband now; they’d been through this several times, and she’d had no choice in the matter. Will’s run-in with the police had been of his own making.

  ‘Let’s focus on what we achieved from the visit,’ Steven Terry interjected. ‘I’m as certain as I can be that you’re right about Harvey Turnbull’s death; I don’t believe it was suicide.’

  ‘I don’t want to insult you, Steven, but there’s not a lot of fact to base that theory on. It’s just speculation on your part. We might just as well read the tea leaves.’

  Charlotte found Will’s dismissive attitude of Steven Terry to be grating. She liked the man and believed he had some sort of talent or ability. Will hadn’t seen the context in which he’d discovered Fred Walker’s body. She couldn’t begin to explain what it was that Steven Terry did, or how he did it, but she was certain there was something there. Will’s cynicism didn’t help.

  ‘I get this all the time. Will, it doesn’t trouble me that you struggle to accept what I’m saying. I would just ask that you keep an open mind. If what I’m saying is correct—and I believe it is—then it could place a number of people in a lot of danger.’

  Charlotte didn’t want to discuss the details of their own situation in the back of a police car. Steven Terry knew she and Will were hiding something. That was why she was so convinced he was for real. She daren’t share their history with him, when they didn’t know whether he could be trusted. But she’d seen things that Will hadn’t; he’d be less sceptical if he wasn’t so preoccupied with his forthcoming job interview.

  It took very little time to drive to the police station. The three of them were escorted into the bland, concrete building, which evoked a strong sense of seventies architecture. Inside, it almost smelled of that decade. The decoration was functional and sparse; every surface possible had been scratched or scribbled with graffiti, despite the presence of police officers. There were advisory posters on display in the reception area warning against lax home security or confidence tricksters doing the rounds in the resort, and others seeking information about several local criminals who’d been involved in an array of crimes from burglary to assault. Charlotte felt instantly depressed.

  The two officers had ascertained that Charlotte, Will and Steven were far from being criminal masterminds, and didn’t even feel the need to supervise them as they left them in the reception area.

  ‘We’ll just get a ticking off, maybe a warning,’ Steven said. ‘It must be a quiet Friday night in town. I’m surprised they even bothered bringing us in.’

  ‘I don’t think they would have if we’d had a car,’ Will replied. ‘I suspect it was easier for everybody. If they could have got a car number pl
ate, it would have helped them to tie us to any other activities that might have taken place. With us being on foot, I think they’ll just want to take our details and be sure who we are. It’s just an embarrassment. Imagine if this got into the local paper.’

  A police officer came out into reception. Charlotte recognised her immediately.

  ‘We’ll be on first-name terms with this lot soon,’ she whispered. She felt giggly about it, but she didn’t want to make things worse with Will; he was prickly enough already.

  ‘I think we’ve seen you here before, haven’t we?’ the officer asked.

  ‘I’m afraid so, yes,’ Will replied. Charlotte thought he looked like a naughty child summoned to the head teacher’s office for a telling off.

  Will was taken through the door to the interview rooms first, followed by Charlotte. She knew this drill already; Morecambe police station was more familiar to her than she would care to admit. She thought back to the questions and probing after Lucia’s kidnap. They’d all got their stories straight, they’d stuck to them consistently, and everything had gone just as they’d hoped. They’d all had a lot to lose. Jenna was lucky that she got off so lightly; Pat Harris took the biggest hit, due to his use of violence and a previous criminal record.

  Charlotte thought about Jenna again; she’d been in a bad way. Had they done the right thing? George had seen her finish Bruce off; she and Will hadn’t seriously harmed him, as they’d believed they had for so many years. That had come as a massive relief to both of them. But they’d all kept quiet, and George had hidden the body. And it was George who covered it all up, by writing Bruce’s supposed note of resignation.

  No, they’d done the right thing. They’d managed to protect Jenna from the worst of the kidnapping charges and spare her from being jailed as a killer. She had a lot to thank them for, in spite of her present predicament.

  Before they’d relocated to Morecambe, if Charlotte had been taken into a police station, she’d have been terrified. Like most people, she’d only ever had positive interactions with the police. Now, sitting in that interview room, she felt calm and in control. They hadn’t done anything. They were middle class and trustworthy, and the privilege that it afforded them would have the three of them out of there in no time.

  She answered the normal questions—name, address, date of birth, what they’d been doing there—and waited for the information to be corroborated on the police database. The interviewing officer immediately made the connection with Charlotte and the kidnapping, then asked a few questions about how her daughter was recovering. She knew then that she’d receive nothing worse than a warning.

  They had agreed between themselves in the back of the car that they wouldn’t give the real reason why they were on private land. Another lie. To Charlotte, they were all white lies. But how many could they tell? She worried that they’d slip one day, and the truth would be revealed.

  ‘So, you were re-living your youth at the leisure park site?’ the police officer asked, concealing a small smirk.

  ‘Basically, yes,’ she answered. ‘I’d had a little too much to drink and probably led Steven and Will astray. It’s all my fault, really. We didn’t mean any harm by it.’

  ‘And what about Mr Terry? He should have seen it coming, shouldn’t he?’

  Charlotte smiled. If the officer was making clairvoyant jokes, that probably meant the interview was coming to an end.

  ‘Steven Terry has past form in this area,’ the officer continued, with a more serious expression. ‘He was involved in a serious case in Blackpool. It’s not the first time he’s broken into a boarded-up premises in search of information. DCI Summers speaks highly of him, however, so we won’t be taking this matter any further. However, you do understand that if we get any reports of theft or damage on the site, we may have to interview you again?’

  Charlotte nodded.

  ‘You won’t,’ she said. ‘We’d barely been in there for five minutes before your officers apprehended us.’

  ‘About that,’ the officer continued. ‘The next time you break into private property, you might want to try being a little more inconspicuous. The two officers spotted you clambering over the fence as they drove along the promenade. You were hard to miss, apparently.’

  ‘It wasn’t the most dignified break-in in the history of the criminal underworld,’ Charlotte admitted with a rueful smile. They’d been ridiculous. At least they’d given the late Friday shift a good laugh to help them through the night. She reckoned it would make a refreshing change from drunkards.

  As the officer returned Charlotte to the reception area, she saw that Will was not yet out from his interview, but Steven Terry was deep in conversation with somebody in the seated area. It was DCI Summers. She walked up to them.

  ‘You’re working late, DCI Summers,’ she said.

  ‘Hello, Charlotte. Steven has just been filling me in on your escapades this evening. Please try to keep out of trouble. We have enough bother with the local ne’er-do-wells on a Friday evening.’

  Steven looked at Charlotte. ‘I’ve been telling DCI Summers about my instincts regarding Harvey Turnbull. I hope you don’t mind?’

  Charlotte wasn’t certain if she minded or not. On balance, she thought it was probably safe information to share.

  ‘It couldn’t have come at a better time,’ DCI Summers continued. ‘I’ve been looking at the old files on Harvey Turnbull’s case. That’s why I’m here so late. I already suspected foul play, and this tends to confirm it now.’

  Will had joined them as they were speaking, but didn’t say anything while DCI Summers finished her sentence.

  ‘Surely you take all this clairvoyant nonsense with a pinch of salt?’ he said at last.

  ‘Hello Mr Grayson,’ DCI Summers said. ‘On the contrary, I’ve worked with Mr Terry before. I was very doubtful about him at first, I admit that. But having worked with him on another case, I take what he says very seriously. And what he’s just told me is going to be an invaluable help to us in progressing the murder case involving Fred Walker.’

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Charlotte had known better days cooking the breakfasts on a Saturday morning. She was regretting her decision to enjoy a couple of glasses of bubbly the night before.

  She had finally got to her bed at around one o’clock, after DCI Summers had arranged for them to get a lift back to the guest house. Things had been tense between her and Will, too. He still blamed her for leading him on, unable to believe that somebody like DCI Summers would hold a charlatan like Steven Terry in such high esteem.

  ‘Since when did the police start listening to mystics and fortune-tellers?’ he’d muttered to Charlotte, as he removed his trousers to get ready for bed. All Charlotte could think of was sleep.

  ‘They’ve used people like Steven Terry for years. Sometimes it can give them a breakthrough in a case. Didn’t you hear about that case in Blackpool he was involved in? Besides, he just helped to confirm what the DCI was thinking. It’s hardly like they’ve put him in charge of the investigation.’

  ‘I don’t know how he does it, but I just can’t believe it. We live in an age of science and evidence. That man belongs with the fortune-tellers and seaside entertainers. I like him, but I can’t take him seriously.’

  Will had still been complaining about Steven Terry when Charlotte drifted off to sleep. She didn’t particularly care to hear Will’s thoughts on the matter; they’d just have to agree to disagree on the subject of clairvoyance.

  The early morning alarm at six o’clock had come too soon. It felt like her head had barely touched the pillow. Breakfast didn’t start until 7.30 on a Saturday, but Isla’s working hours meant that she wouldn’t be in until eight o’clock that morning, leaving Charlotte to set up the kitchen and be ready for the early risers.

  Guests didn’t normally begin to surface until eight o’clock, and usually Charlotte enjoyed the silence, busying herself in the kitchen and the dining room, alone with her thoug
hts while the guests and her family were still tucked up in bed.

  However, as she checked the rashers of bacon in the fridge and counted out the eggs, she heard movement out in the corridor. She closed the fridge door and walked over to the dining room. A single female guest was sitting at a table set for two people. Her back was turned to Charlotte, but she was wearing trainers and running gear.

  ‘Good morning,’ Charlotte said, still not sure which of the guests had decided to come down so early.

  She turned to smile at Charlotte. It was Daisy Bowker.

  ‘You’re up early,’ Charlotte said. ‘Are you an early morning runner?’

  ‘You have a Saturday morning parkrun along the promenade. There’s no way I’m missing that while I’m in town. I need to eat early, to give my breakfast a chance to settle before I run.’

  At least Daisy was there for leisure too. Charlotte hoped it might distract her from digging too deep for information about her half-brother.

  ‘I’ve not heard about that,’ Charlotte replied.

  ‘It takes place every Saturday along the promenade. It’s a lovely location for a run. It doesn’t come as far down as your guest house. Maybe that’s why you’ve missed it. Come with me, if you want. It’s not just for runners. You can walk it if you like.’

  ‘I think I’m too unfit to do that…’ Charlotte began. She stopped half-way through her sentence. She’d cursed her lack of fitness a few times that week. And she wanted to keep Daisy close to her, so she could monitor her progress in finding information about Bruce Craven.

  ‘You can walk it?’ she said.

  ‘Yes, honestly. I’m not very fast. I’ll walk with you if you want? It’ll be nice to have some company. It starts at nine o’clock.’

  Charlotte thought about it as she looked out of the lounge window. The weather was calm outside. It could take her breath away when the wind was blowing along the sea front.