The Deadly Truth
Valerie Keogh
Copyright © 2020 Valerie Keogh
The right of Valerie Keogh to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance to the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published in 2020 by Bloodhound Books.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
www.bloodhoundbooks.com
Print ISBN 978-1-913419-80-6
Contents
Love crime, thriller and mystery books?
Also by Valerie Keogh
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Acknowledgements
A note from the publisher
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Also by Valerie Keogh
Psychological thrillers
The Three Women
The Perfect Life
The Dublin Murder Mysteries
No Simple Death
No Obvious Cause
No Past Forgiven
No Memory Lost
No Crime Forgotten (coming November 2020)
For my sisters, Heather and Deirdre.
With love.
Whispers
Soft hushed words
Often sweet
Sometimes vindictive
And venomous
Echoing
Over years
Their evil
Never fading.
Anon
1
It always started the same. Quiet, inoffensive whispers that tickled Melanie’s ear and made the tiny hairs at the back of her neck stand on end. She would try to ignore the sound, hoping it would go away. But it never did and when she opened her eyes there would be a mouth close to her ear. Blood-red lips, tiny, startlingly-white teeth. Every time, she would shake off the sand of sleep, focus on the sibilant sound and try to make sense of what was being said.
‘I can’t hear you,’ she’d plead. Every single time. ‘Speak up.’
And the lips would grow bigger, cartoon-like, and the blood-red lipstick would leak into the miniscule creases that radiated from the mouth. But no matter how big they got, the whisper stayed eerily soft.
‘I don’t understand,’ she’d cry, her voice loud and harsh.
The cartoon, clownish cupid’s bow would vanish to be replaced by narrow lips contorted in anger.
‘Please.’
The lips would twist, then open wide to expel foul air, and as Melanie recoiled, a louder sound would be driven out of the mouth from some deep hidden place of anguish. It would ricochet around the room, the volume rising until the deafening screech dragged an answering cry of torment from her and she would reach out with two trembling, pleading hands and beg over and over again to be told what the voice was trying to tell her.
The answer would come then, falling into the silence of the night, into the dream in which she tossed and turned as she tried to escape. Quietly said words that never lost their power, words that finally woke her, jerking her upright, the curdling stink of fear all around her as she listened to them echo around the room.
You’re a murderer.
Every time, she hoped for a different answer, for the whole thing to have been a mistake, to wake and find that the reality was different, that all the bad things in her life were only there in her dreams.
And every time – every single time – she would sit with her hands pressed into the bed as the echo of the whispers grew fainter and sob for the one stupid mistake she had made, that one childish action she’d never managed to either forget or forgive herself for.
How could she?
She was a murderer.
2
Melanie Scott’s fingers tightened on the empty wine glass she held as she let her gaze drift around the table. She couldn’t help the surge of pride; she’d done it, despite everything, she was here in this pretty ghastly restaurant celebrating her amazing achievement… a junior partnership with Masters Corporate Law.
Although Blacks, a trendy London restaurant, was popular with Masters staff, she’d never been in it before. It was too overtly masculine for her taste; all dark wood and shiny brass fittings. Most of the clientele were employees from the surrounding finance and law offices, all of them trying too hard to look as if they were enjoying themselves even as their hard assessing eyes swept the room to see who else was there… who was celebrating… who looked to be drowning their sorrows.
The other junior partners, who had dragged her here to celebrate her promotion to their ranks, were quaffing bottles of expensive wine. As a rule, she didn’t drink much and her head was buzzing from the few glasses she’d had. She’d asked the waiter for water, twice, but there was no sign of it coming. Looking around, she tried to catch his eye as he flitted past but instead caught the attention of a tall, handsome man leaning nonchalantly against the bar. A pint glass in one hand, he raised it towards her and smiled.
For a second that felt like an eternity, she locked eyes with him and then, embarrassed, she looked away. Moments later, she risked a quick look from the side of her eyes to find he was still staring in her direction. Her cheeks flushed with colour; she wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or annoyed. It wasn’t the kind of thing that normally happened to her. She gave a soft chuckle that was lost in the surrounding noise. It was the kind of thing that never happened to her. Maybe now that she was a partner, there would be more time for a little romance in her life. It had been way too long.
Her colleagues on both sides were deep in conversation and, from the snippets she overheard, business was being discussed. It was one of the reasons she tended to avoid these outings, the talk invariably circled around work and she spent enough time debating mergers and acquisitions during the course of the day without wanting to spend the evening doing the same. Especially tonight, an evening when she was supposed to be celebrating.
Picking up her bag, she murmured the ladies to no one in particular and slipped away, resisting the temptation to glance towards the bar to see if the man was still there, if he were watching. A smile curved her generous lips. How silly she was being. She was almost forty, not fourteen.
The ladies’ room was, unusually, empty. It was also quiet and
cool. She washed her hands and held them under the dryer as she stared into the mirror. Not bad, she supposed, tilting her head to check her hair. She’d pinned it into a tight chignon that morning and not a hair had dared go astray. It was a bit severe; she wondered about unpinning it and letting it fall loose around her shoulders. Her colleagues would be surprised at such a deviation from her usual corporate image; they might pass comment or think she was being flirtatious. No, she smoothed a hand over her head, she’d leave it as it was. With a step to the side, she checked her figure in the navy pencil skirt. She was a member of a gym but seldom had time to go, but as she rarely had time to eat either her weight was much as it had been when she was younger. Turning face-on again, she touched up her lipstick.
The man at the bar was incredibly handsome. Her silk shirt was buttoned to the neck. She reached up and opened the top three buttons, hastily buttoning up the lower one when the gap revealed the lacy edge of her bra… she wanted to look sexy not tarty. With a sigh, she fastened the next and met her pale-blue eyes in the mirror with a rueful smile. Honestly, one glance from a good-looking man and she was acting like an idiot. Her eyes softened. An idiot, maybe, but there had been something… a connection of sorts. She was certain she’d not imagined it. Almost certain.
Stepping back into the dimly-lit, noisy restaurant, she lifted her chin, took a deep breath and looked towards the bar, wishing she’d been brave enough to let her hair down, a toss of blonde locks would have been the perfect flirtatious come-on. But it would have been wasted. The man was gone. She almost laughed. What had she been thinking? He’d probably been looking across the room at someone else. Brushing aside a dart of disappointment, she chose instead to be amused at her silliness and headed towards the bar. ‘A mineral water,’ she said to the bartender, opening her bag to search for her purse.
‘I’ll get that,’ a deep voice said, causing her to look up, then to drop her bag in confusion.
Typically, it landed upside down, dumping all the rubbish she kept inside in a pile on the floor. She bent to pick it up and so did he, but he was quicker, scooping the contents back inside and handing it to her with a grin that widened when he saw her flush of embarrassment. ‘Nothing too naughty inside,’ he said.
She wanted to say there was nothing at all naughty inside when she met his eyes. Warm brown with flecks of hazel, they softened as he smiled. He was teasing her, she realised, and she gave what she hoped was a flirtatious smile, not a grimace. This wasn’t a game she was good at.
He turned to pay the bartender, then slid the glass of water along the bar towards her. ‘Here you go.’
‘Thank you.’ She held the glass to her mouth and took a sip, taking another while she watched him. Up close, he was even better looking than she’d thought. Dark hair, ever so slightly too long so that it curled over the collar of his shirt, those amazing brown eyes and a firm mouth that looked as if it often smiled.
‘Hugo Field,’ he said, reaching out a hand to take hers.
He held it too long, his thumb caressing the back of her hand in slow sensuous circles. Melanie felt a frisson of lust hit her that seemed to numb her brain and make the rest of her body tingle. Blinking rapidly, she pulled her hand away. Okay, she needed to call a halt to this man’s gallop. ‘Melanie Scott.’ She took another drink, hoping the cold water would reach parts that seemed to have suddenly overheated. ‘Thank you for the water.’ She kept her voice even with difficulty and nodded towards her table of colleagues. ‘I’m with a group of people so I really should be getting back.’
He tilted his head a little and smiled. ‘You sure? They don’t look as if they’re missing you, if you don’t mind me saying. Why don’t you stay here?’
Melanie drew herself up. ‘No,’ she said, firmly and unapologetically, her voice a little cooler. ‘I need to return.’
He held a hand up quickly. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to push. It’s…’ He stared at her with those ridiculous brown eyes, eyes she could drown in. ‘It’s just that you look like someone I’d like to get to know.’
Feeling a flash of heat across her cheeks, she looked away. ‘Unfortunately, it’s my party,’ she said, looking back to the table, knowing that if she didn’t return, they’d not really notice, but it was her party and she wasn’t going to leave early.
‘A birthday?’ When she shook her head, he reached out for her left hand, lifting it to stare at her ring finger, dropping it quickly before she’d a chance to complain. ‘Not an engagement party, I’m pleased to see.’
Once again, his touch had electrified her, darts of heat shooting from her hand to parts she’d almost forgotten she had. ‘It’s a celebration,’ she said, stumbling over her words, her tongue suddenly feeling too big for her mouth. She took another drink. ‘I’ve recently made junior partner in the firm I work for.’
‘You’re an accountant?’
She shook her head, wishing once again she’d been brave enough to let her hair down. ‘A lawyer, a corporate lawyer to be exact.’ She hadn’t needed to be specific, but she wanted him to be impressed. Corporate lawyers were an elite group, top of the pecking order. Melanie Scott, she wanted him to know, to be quite clear about, wasn’t a woman to be messed with.
He lifted his drink and smiled. ‘Well then, Melanie Scott, corporate lawyer, newly-minted junior partner, if you won’t stay with me now, how about meeting me for dinner some night?’
Wasn’t this all a little unbelievable? What was that trite expression – if something looks too good to be true, it usually is. She looked around the busy restaurant, a slight frown appearing between her eyes, suspicion lurking in her next words. ‘You were here on your own?’
‘No, I too was with some colleagues. They left to return home to their wives. I was finishing my drink and was about to leave when I looked across the room and saw you. Staying to watch you seemed infinitely preferable to returning to my empty apartment.’ He laughed then, a contagious sound that brought an answering smile to her lips. ‘Bloody hell, I sound like a right sad weirdo.’
‘No,’ she said, liking his honesty. ‘You sound nice.’ She reached into her bag, unzipped a pocket and took out a business card. ‘My email address. I’m in and out of so many meetings, it’s impossible to have my phone switched on. I always check my emails though, so it’s the easiest way to contact me.’ It wasn’t the truth. She simply didn’t like giving out her phone number to people she didn’t know, no matter how incredibly attractive they were.
With a final smile, she thanked him again for the water and headed back to her colleagues, feeling his eyes following her, resisting the temptation to look back. She doubted if anyone at the table had noticed she’d gone. Or maybe one person, she realised, catching a woman’s eye across the table. Jane Robinson, the only other female partner.
Jane had been the first to congratulate Melanie on her promotion. ‘Another female to dilute the testosterone-charged meetings will make my life so much easier,’ she’d said. That might very well be, but Melanie had noticed Jane chose to sit the other side of the table from her rather than beside her. Obviously, she wanted the testosterone diluted, not removed.
Jane’s amused look and raised eyebrow told her she’d seen the encounter at the bar. Melanie gave a careless shrug but felt a level of satisfaction. Maybe Jane would see there was more to her than the quiet woman who beavered away in her office.
It was another hour before the party finally broke up. Melanie, who had watched Hugo leave with a twinge of regret, was bored by the end and wanted to go home. Luckily, they all insisted that as guest of honour she could have the first taxi. With a fixed smile, she thanked everyone for their good wishes and climbed in, the smile fading as soon as it pulled away. She slumped back and shut her eyes, feeling herself drift off as the taxi negotiated London streets and traffic, then it stopped and she was outside her apartment in Fulham.
‘Can you wait until I’m inside?’ she asked, adding a generous tip when the driver grunted a yes. Gathering her bel
ongings, she climbed out, realising too late that it had started to rain, big cold drops peppering her blouse as she made a run for the door. With a wave of thanks to the driver, she turned the key and stepped inside, feeling the warmth hit her with a sigh of pleasure.
The two-bedroomed apartment she called home was the ground floor of an Edwardian house. The upper apartment, with its front door down a side passage, was owned by a businessman who spent most of the year in Hong Kong. Melanie had met him only once in the three years she’d lived there. She’d liked the apartment as soon as she had viewed it and when she’d stood in the spacious lounge, and the estate agent had opened the French windows into the small private garden where espaliered fruit trees covered every wall, she knew she had to have it. Luckily, the rest of the apartment was perfect; a small kitchen, a well-appointed bathroom and two good-sized bedrooms. It had stretched her budget to the maximum but it was an oasis of calm in what was often her crazily exhausting world and she’d never regretted it.
Heading straight to her bedroom, she undressed, hanging her suit up and throwing her blouse and underwear into the laundry basket. She half-heartedly removed her make-up and minutes later was crawling between the sheets. Almost asleep, her eyes snapped open on a gasp when she heard a ping from her mobile alerting her to the arrival of an email. Normally, she’d have set it to do not disturb but she’d forgotten, or maybe she’d hoped Hugo would contact her. It had to be him. Who else would send one so late?
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