The Deadly Truth

by Valerie Keogh

  She didn’t want his damn drink, or to feel a smidgeon of pleasure that he’d remembered what she’d had the last time; nor did she want to feel grateful that he realised it was exactly what she needed.

  ‘You look like you want to throw it at me,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure what I’ve done to make you feel like that but I would suggest, if you want to throw something, make it the water, if the price is anything to go by, Lagavulin is too good to throw away.’

  His expression was one of amusement. Again, she wanted to slap him.

  He must have seen the twitch in her hand or the anger on her face because he leaned forward, so suddenly as to startle a yelp from her. ‘What the hell is going on?’ he said, then sat back, his hands held up, palms outward. ‘I’m sorry if I got the wrong end of the stick, okay? I get it. This is business only. That’s fine with me.’

  Without thinking, she reached for the glass and took a sip of the smoky whisky to steady her nerves. ‘I know all about you,’ she said, her voice low, trembling with emotion. ‘I know what you’ve been doing.’ She lifted her chin and tried to make her expression as fierce as she felt. ‘You’ve failed. I’m stronger than Cherry was, you’re going to have to do it yourself.’

  He shook his head, reached for his glass and downed half the contents in one. Wiping a hand over his mouth, he looked at her with a closed expression. ‘I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about, and I don’t know anyone called Cherry.’

  ‘Pah,’ she spat out. ‘And I suppose you don’t know Eric Thomas either?’

  Quinn blinked, looking puzzled. ‘The man outside your office?’ No wonder she’d been so easily fooled, Quinn was a very good actor. ‘Yes, him, the man you were chatting to so amicably and who went with you without any fuss. I did wonder at the time why, but now I know. You know him.’

  There was silence for a few minutes. She sipped her whisky and watched him, waiting for him to shrug in resignation, to acknowledge that his game was up. When he didn’t, when he continued to sit frowning as if he really didn’t know what was going on, she was goaded into saying more. ‘I know it’s been you sending those emails, and please don’t bother lying.’

  He shook his head.

  ‘You admit it?’

  Another shake. ‘I don’t know what bee you have in your bonnet,’ Quinn said slowly, ‘but something seems to be terribly wrong here. I’m just not sure what it is. You seem to believe I’m involved in something dodgy. I’m not, but I’m too tired to waste my energy arguing. I came because I foolishly thought you’d felt the same attraction as I did the last time we met.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘I thought that was why you’d asked for me specifically. Now,’ he said, checking his watch, ‘if you’d like to tell me the details of the job, I can get home.’

  ‘There’s no damn job,’ she snarled. ‘And you can’t go, the police want to speak to you. They’re coming here at seven thirty.’

  ‘The police? Why do they want to speak to me?’

  This wasn’t working out at all how Melanie had planned. He didn’t look the slightest bit guilty for what he’d put her through. In fact, she thought looking at him closely, he looked fed up and vaguely irritated. ‘Hugo Field was murdered. Stabbed.’

  ‘Hugo Field? The man you told me about?’ Quinn’s frown deepened. ‘Why do they want to speak to me? I didn’t know the man. I’ve never met him.’

  ‘They want to speak to you because I told you about what he’d done… stealing that information from me. What was it you called it… catfishing?’

  He stared at her. ‘Please, don’t tell me they think I’m some kind of vigilante, that I killed him out of some idea of vengeance?’ When she said nothing, he groaned. ‘Seriously? I felt sorry for what you’d gone through but I barely know you and, believe it or not, I’m not a violent person.’

  ‘That’s not what I’ve been told.’

  Quinn drained his pint and put the glass down with a snap. ‘I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, but if they said I was the violent sort, they were lying.’

  ‘Yes, well, funnily enough, I prefer to believe her not you, and thanks to Caitlin, I know all about you. That you’re from Leeds, that you were thrown out of the police force. I know every damn thing.’

  Shaking his head, he stood and looked down at her, his voice cold. ‘I’ve never been to Leeds; I left the police force because I found I could make more money in the private sector. Whatever else you’ve heard, that’s the truth. Now, if the police want to speak to me, tell them to contact me, I’m not hanging around.’ He walked away without another word.

  ‘I’ll ask Eric, he’ll tell me the truth about you,’ she said loudly, causing him to stop, turn and glare at her. She flinched, feeling a dart of fear that faded as he shook his head and left the pub. She sat back, ignoring the eyes turned her way, the whispers. Nothing had gone as planned. Now, not only had she no proof that he was responsible for what was going on, but she’d put him on his guard.

  It was almost seven thirty. She’d wait for DI Elliot and tell him everything, about Wethersham, her hand in Matthew’s death, the emails, every damn thing.

  Decision made, she sat and waited but at seven forty-five, with the pub filling around her and the noise levels high, she decided it was time to leave. It seemed not even DI Elliot could be trusted.

  She stumbled from the pub, forgetting she’d planned to ring for a taxi until she was several yards away. Looking around the empty street, she walked more quickly, breaking into a jog, then a run as she rounded the corner into Bloom Park Road. Her kitten heels weren’t designed for speed, she slipped and would have gone over on her ankle if she hadn’t reached for the wall to prevent her fall, her breath coming in noisy gasps. There was nobody around, the street quiet, deserted. Or was Quinn hiding somewhere, waiting for her? She kicked her shoes off, left them there and ran to her apartment.

  25

  Inside, Melanie whimpered as she put the safety chain in place and backed away from the door. The evening had been an absolute disaster. ‘A disaster, an absolute fucking disaster.’ She didn’t normally swear but her nerves were frayed.

  She switched on all the lights as she passed and went into the kitchen where she pulled off her coat and threw it over the back of a chair. ‘An absolute disaster.’ Every time she thought there was light at the end of the tunnel, the stupid tunnel branched off and she was left in darkness all over again. She stood, staring across the room, unable to think. The kitchen door was open and it was several seconds before she processed what she was seeing on the floor of the hall. Blood was smeared along the pale wooden floor.

  Terror sent her heart thumping. Blood… bloody steps… Groaning, she looked down at her feet, lifting one, then the other. Her tights had been shredded in the short run from where she’d kicked off her shoes and somewhere, she’d walked on something sharp. She hadn’t felt anything and it wasn’t painful now but blood was oozing from a deep cut on the sole of her right foot. The bloody footsteps were hers.

  It seemed to be the final straw; she sat and started to cry, the hopeless, forlorn cry of someone who has reached the end of their tether.

  Minutes later, the ringing of the house phone broke through her sobs. Her mobile was still switched off, she guessed it was Caitlin ringing to ask what happened with Quinn. Snuffling, she stood, and using her left foot and the heel of her right, she hobbled across to pick it up.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, trying to instil some strength into the one word. ‘Hello.’ Less strong this time and when there was still no answer, any attempt at bravery vanished. ‘Leave me alone,’ she shrieked into the receiver and dropped it on its cradle, backing away from it, hoping with every breath left in her that it wouldn’t ring again.

  When it didn’t, she almost sobbed with relief and limped to the kitchen to search for a dressing for her foot. She found one and sat to apply it to the wound but when she saw the dirt on her feet, she groaned, stood and made her way slowly to the bathroom. A shower would have
been the ideal solution but it was a noisy electric one, she wouldn’t be able to hear if anyone tried to break in. She gulped at the thought of being so vulnerable. Instead, she sat on the edge of the bath, quickly washed and dried her feet and applied the dressing to the cut. She used the damp towel to wipe the bloodstains from the hall and kitchen floor, threw it into the washing machine, then sat and wondered what she was going to do.

  If she didn’t choose to end her own life, would Quinn arrange an accident? Maybe he’d lie in wait for her in a week or two when her guard had dropped. It would probably be easy for him, Caitlin said he was no stranger to violence. Opening her bag, Melanie took out her mobile and switched it on. Three messages from Caitlin, each more frantic than the next, wanting to know about Quinn.

  Melanie’s phone battery was running low. She reached for the house phone and dialled Caitlin’s number from memory. ‘Hi,’ she said, when it was answered almost immediately.

  ‘Melanie, you dark horse,’ Caitlin said. ‘Out with Liam Quinn!’

  ‘He rang and asked me out for a drink,’ Melanie lied. ‘I thought I might as well go, see what he was like away from work.’

  ‘And then I go and spoil it for you with that information. I am sorry.’

  Melanie sighed. ‘It doesn’t matter, I won’t be seeing him again.’

  There was silence for a few seconds, then Caitlin’s voice, quieter, more sympathetic. ‘You won’t? Oh no, is that because of what I told you?’

  ‘To some extent, but it was more that we didn’t seem to have much in common.’ Melanie yawned loudly, hoping her friend would get the message.

  ‘You sounded a bit odd earlier when I spoke to you. Are you sure you’re okay?’

  Melanie was far from okay, her life was a maelstrom from which she seemed unable to escape. ‘I’m fine, just tired, Caitlin. It’s been a stressful few days.’

  ‘Of course it has. If you’re sure you’re all right and since you’ve no juicy gossip, I’ll let you get your beauty sleep.’

  ‘Okay, goodnight, talk soon.’ Relieved to have been let off so easily, Melanie sat back. What to do now? She couldn’t wait around to see what was going to happen. Perhaps she should go to the police. She was sure Quinn was responsible not only for Hugo’s death but indirectly for Cherry’s and for the campaign of intimidation against herself. Unfortunately, she had no facts, nothing concrete at all, and as DI Elliot had said, they dealt with facts, not emotions. She could imagine Elliot, his garish tie swinging as he insisted it was all circumstantial.

  But Eric had warned her against Quinn, so he must know something. She’d told Quinn she’d speak to Eric and ask him. It had been an empty threat but maybe that was exactly what she should do. Speak to him, get him to admit that it was Quinn that he’d warned her against trusting and find out exactly what he knew.

  Then she’d go to DI Elliot.

  A decision made, of any sort, gave her some consolation. She was going to do something. When the house phone rang, she gasped, holding her breath, releasing it on a shake of her head. It would be Caitlin having forgotten to tell her something. Melanie picked it up. ‘Hello.’

  Nothing. But the line wasn’t dead. Pressing the phone close to her ear, she was sure she could hear a faint inhale and exhale. ‘Hello?’ The sound she heard increased in volume. A deep, heavy gulp of air and a long hissing release sound. She dropped the handset back into its cradle and stepped away, shaking her head as she moved. ‘Bastard,’ she said to it, backing from the room.

  All the lights were still on, the front door a full stop at the end of the startlingly bright hall. She’d leave all the lights on, go to bed and burrow under the duvet. It was a good plan, and she’d taken a step towards her bedroom when she was stopped by a faint, unidentifiable sound. It seemed to be coming from the front door. A rustling sound. Leaves blown against it by the wind, perhaps. She stood staring, willing the noise to stop but it didn’t, instead it grew louder, the rustle changing to a rattle, then to a banging. Someone was outside the door. Quinn? He knew where she lived. So did Eric Thomas.

  She cried out when she heard a new sound. The scratching, scraping sound of metal on metal. Someone was trying to put a key into the lock. It wouldn’t fit, would it? Despite the new lock and the keys all safely in her possession, she half-expected the door to open and push against the safety chain. She imagined long fingers creeping around the door frame, fingers strong enough to grab hold of the chain and pull it from the wall, then he’d be inside and vengeance, at last, would be his.

  With her imagination in overdrive and her breath hitching noisily as she imagined those ghastly fingers closing around her neck, it was a few minutes before she realised the sounds had stopped. She held her breath, her hand pressed over her mouth and listened to the heavy, thick, unfriendly silence. She knew, whoever it was, Quinn or someone else, they were on the other side of the door, waiting.

  Slowly, her eyes still fixed on the door, she backed up, slipped into the bedroom and shut the door quietly. It wasn’t until she’d pulled the chest of drawers across that she let her breath out in a shuddering sigh. She lay on the bed and pulled the duvet up over her head. In the dark warmth, she told herself that she was stronger than Cherry.

  Melanie covered her mouth with a corner of the duvet so that anyone listening couldn’t hear her sob.

  26

  Melanie slept fitfully, waking at every real and imagined creak and squeak, throwing off the duvet and her robe during the night, too hot, too trapped. Finally, when the first light of day crept around the sides of the curtains, she swung her feet to the floor and winced as she put pressure on her damaged foot. She twisted it around to see. The dressing had come off during the night but it was no longer bleeding; she’d live.

  It was easier to be brave in the morning; she pulled on her robe, shoved the chest of drawers out of the way and opened the door to look down the hall. Her imagination had really got the better of her the night before. There’d been nobody there. Of course there hadn’t. To convince herself, she took the safety chain off and opened the front door. It was a bright, if chilly, morning. Nothing out of the ordinary. She was about to shut it when she noticed scratches on the shiny new lock. It hadn’t been her imagination at all, someone had tried to get in. Someone who didn’t care that she was there, who didn’t see her as a threat.

  Or had it been a deliberate attempt to frighten her? If that had been the reason, it had achieved its aim. She slammed the door shut so hard the sound reverberated through the apartment and followed her into the kitchen. She needed coffee.

  While the kettle boiled, she had a quick shower. Fifteen minutes later, dressed for work, she sat in the kitchen with a mug cradled between her hands.

  If she spoke to Eric could she persuade him to tell her the truth?

  It didn’t seem like she’d anything to lose.

  She rang for a taxi to take her to the office; there were too many places between her apartment and the station where she was vulnerable, narrow walkways and overgrown gardens where someone could hide, ready to pounce or drag her inside. The station itself heaved with danger. A taxi from her door to the door of Masters would be slower, but safer.

  It arrived on time, tooting its horn when she didn’t immediately open the door. Setting her alarm, she locked up and dashed the short distance to the taxi and wrenched open the door. She tumbled inside, drawing a stare from the driver which she ignored as she looked up and down the street as far as she could see. There was nobody lurking, the street looked empty. But there were so many places someone could hide, how did she really know?

  Paranoia was making her irritable, restless, and incredibly jumpy. When the taxi was stopped in traffic or at lights, she shut her eyes, afraid to see a leering ghoulish face at the window. No matter how many times she told herself she was being stupid she couldn’t seem to regain any equilibrium.

  Outside her office building, she paid the fare and hesitated with her hand on the handle before pushing it open a
nd walking straight-backed and tunnel-visioned to the door, taking the broad steps at a run. In the reception lobby, feeling safe, she looked around for Dan. She owed him an apology for the way she’d spoken to him the day before. To her surprise, he wasn’t there, instead a security man whose name she didn’t know gave her a once-over before directing his attention back to the door.

  Approaching the reception desk, she smiled a hello at Petra, their front-of-house manager. ‘Dan on a day off?’

  ‘No, he rang in sick. Tummy bug or something,’ she said. One overplucked eyebrow rose almost to her hairline as she reached out with long, brightly-coloured nails for her keyboard.

  Tummy bug? Melanie had worked for Masters coming up to seven years and she couldn’t remember a day when Dan hadn’t been there. There seemed to be so little in her life she could depend on; his absence, innocent though it may be, unsettled her. She was even more unsettled when she examined her thoughts. Innocent though it may be. Did she really think Dan’s absence was suspicious?

  Maybe she’d been right and his words the other day had held a threat. She felt the strands of paranoia tighten. In her office, she sat and stared at the wall. Dan? She shook her head. Ridiculous. She’d known the guy for years. Dan had always seemed to be one of the good guys… but hadn’t she thought the same of Quinn?

  She was going around in circles. She’d speak to Eric, find out what he knew about Quinn and go from there.

  Decision made, she rang the car showroom but although she tried several times, each time it went to answerphone. What kind of a car showroom didn’t have someone to answer the phone? She tapped her fingers on the desk in frustration. Now that she’d made the decision, she didn’t want to put off speaking to him. Picking up her desk phone, she ordered a taxi, then pressed the number for Rona’s phone. ‘I’m going to be gone for the rest of the day,’ Melanie said. ‘Any problems, you can email me, okay?’ She half-expected to be quizzed on where she was going so was pleasantly surprised when the reply was an unconcerned, That’s fine.