Deceit

by KERRY BARNES

  Before he was out of the door, Les grabbed his arm. ‘Are you going to see if that boy of yours is really your baby?’

  Justin couldn’t have felt more hurt, if he’d tried. ‘Of course.’

  ‘And tell me, Justin, do you love that boy?’

  Justin nodded. ‘Yes, I really do.’

  ‘So does it really matter, then, if he’s your own flesh and blood or not?’

  It was a leading question. Justin knew then that the chances of Ben being his baby were next to zero. He would go and see for himself.

  Chapter 21

  As Justin drove towards his home, his stomach was in knots and his hands trembled. Not being hard himself, he never liked violence and had never fought before. He had been living with a real nutcase. Dark images of a scene from Fatal Attraction came to mind, and he visualised Lucy standing behind the door holding a knife. He shook himself out of the thought.

  There was no reason to doubt Les and that photo on the wall of Joan and of Kara as a baby certainly gave him so much to think about. He cast his mind back over the past few months and tried to see things more clearly, but so much tainted his thoughts. As he pulled up at the traffic lights in Chislehurst, he impulsively took a detour back to the flat. The keys had still not been handed over, and there were boxes that needed to be taken home.

  As he approached the stairs, he could see the remnants of the police tape that had sealed off the old lady’s flat. A chill froze him to the spot. He stared for a while, recapping what the officer had said, that they would question Lucy. At the time, he took it to mean if she knew of any comings and goings, or if she’d seen any strangers lurking about. The police, however, hadn’t been to the house to question her, at least not while he was there.

  As he went to put the key in the lock, he shivered, as if there was a monster hiding behind that door. To add to the eerie atmosphere, the wind encircled him, and he shuddered again. Once inside, he instantly switched the lights on. It then dawned on him that he really was a weak man. The mirror in the hallway showed his face; he looked closer, and for a second, he didn’t recognise himself. It wasn’t the grey flecks in his hair or the lines around his eyes but the sad, pathetic expression. And his gaunt cheeks and shorter dull lank hair didn’t help either.

  He could almost feel Kara running her hands through it, smelling of her favourite tropical scents. So much had changed, including himself. It was such a difference from his former self that he felt ashamed, guilty, and worthless.

  He pulled himself away from the reflection and headed upstairs where the remaining boxes were. Two smaller cartons belonged to him, and there, in the corner, alone and in the darkness, was an even smaller one belonging to Lucy. On closer inspection, he noticed just how many times she’d sealed it with tape. He turned his eyes to the others that seemed to be marginally sealed and then back to hers. After finding out so many secrets in such a short time, his brain was now in detective mode, and he wanted to search the flat. But for what? He didn’t know, but he needed to make sure there were no other secrets like the one that burned away in the back of his mind, a secret that if true would make him explode with fury and want to kill Lucy himself.

  He ran back down the stairs to search for a knife, but they had cleaned out the kitchen cupboards beforehand. He would have to use his keys and painstakingly open the heavily taped box. As he kneeled down beside it, he noticed the wardrobe door open, and at first, he thought the base seemed higher than the door. He looked more closely and realised that what should have been the baseboard that held the wardrobe in place was in fact a loose shelf. He lifted the board and noticed the large space under it was not dusty with cobwebs as he expected but it was clean and tidy. Inside were two empty wine bottles. His eyes were then drawn back to the box he was about to open.

  Five solid minutes it took to cut through the tape, but finally, he was able to lift the lid. He stared at the papers, letters, and silly love notes, and then his eyes widened as he spotted paperwork with his name on it. It was his company annual report for the last tax year, showing how much money his business had made. In a manila folder was a copy of the deeds to his house. As well as a notebook, a valuation report was included, showing what appeared to be all his assets and their current value. Underneath the sums was a division figure of fifty per cent. Also enclosed in the folder was a copy of their wedding certificate and their son’s birth certificate.

  Slowly, the picture was coming together. He sat back and stared in disbelief. It was there in black and white: everything Lucy needed to claim half of all his assets. She was his wife and the mother of his child; if she wanted a divorce, she could easily be awarded these holdings by any court of law. ‘What a fucking bitch,’ he mumbled to himself, still in shock.

  As he moved the papers aside, his eyes rested on a phone and the charger. He’d never seen the mobile before. Perhaps it was broken or an old one from an upgrade because Lucy had her Swarovski-crystal-encrusted phone on her all the time, playing Candy Crush Saga. Something told him to plug it in. While he waited for the phone to charge up, he continued to search through the box.

  He pulled out what he initially thought was a notebook only to find a diary. On closer inspection, he saw it was Lucy’s diary. The first few pages seemed confusing. They were written by a Dr Spinks, asking her to recall significant events, her motivations for her actions, and her feelings at the time. Justin’s hands trembled as he was about to enter the world of Lucy Fairmount, afraid of what he might discover.

  From just a few scribbled notes he established that his wife was one very mixed-up woman. She was angry with the world and everyone in it. She believed no one loved her, her own mother had abandoned her, and so she continually reinvented her life to escape reality. He flipped through hundreds of pages, and near to the end, he was startled when he saw Kara’s name. His stomach turned over at the vile hateful words. I wish Kara was dead – I deserve her life and everything that goes with it – Justin – the house – money – the life. And you, Mother dearest, are such a fucking sucker. Really, Joan, I should hate you the most. Shame you had to die. I was quite enjoying sunny Australia.

  As he glared at the words, a sudden bleep made him jump. The phone was charged. Moments later, the phone bleeped again and then bleeped a few more times. He checked the screen. For a second, he was puzzled, until he realised there were several unopened text messages.

  As he opened the first text, he almost dropped the phone. It read: Hello, Joan, I hope you are well. I haven’t heard from you in a while. Text me when you can, love Mollie.

  The next text read: Hi, Mum, I am in Papua New Guinea, will call when I get home, missing you, love Kara xx. It was sent the day Kara left Papua New Guinea, when her mother was already dead and buried.

  Justin felt choked up, as tears streamed down his face. Oh, what have I done, Kara? You poor thing. His eyes were still gaping at all the messages, when, suddenly, a noise from downstairs startled him, and for a second, he froze. He hurriedly placed the phone back into the box and quietly went to the bedroom door to listen. He could feel his bowels stirring. Why should he be scared? He was more than capable of handling himself, and if it was Lucy, taking her on, one-on-one, would be a doddle.

  The footsteps were now trudging up the stairs, but they were heavy, not light like Lucy’s. He waited nervously and unarmed. Coming into view was a man he didn’t recognise, but in a state of shock and confusion, Justin remained glued to the spot as if his legs were welded to the floor.

  ‘Justin Fox?’ asked the man, who waited a good ten feet away.

  Justin looked the man over, trying to recall if he’d ever met him before. He seemed harmless enough, but, reassuringly, he also had an air of authority about him.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Right, I’m Bruce Williams, a private investigator for Kara Bannon. Actually, her lawyer engaged my services, and today we had a call that indicates that your wife, Lucy Fairmount, may have been the carer for Kara Bannon’s mother, Joan Bannon.
Do you know anything about this?’

  ‘How did you get in?’

  Bruce looked over his shoulder. ‘The door was open. I hope you don’t mind?’

  Feeling a little spooked, Justin stepped back. ‘Do you have any ID on you?’

  Bruce smiled. ‘Yes, I do.’ He rummaged inside his tweed jacket and pulled out a card. ‘I was a detective for the Met, but now I do private work.’

  Justin snatched the card, but his trembling hands didn’t go unnoticed by Bruce. ‘Hey, look, are you okay, mate, because you look a little out of sorts?’

  Justin slowly nodded and relaxed his shoulders. ‘Well, Mr Williams, I’ve been doing some digging myself, and I think you may have everything you need in that box over there.’

  Bruce tilted his head to the side. ‘What’s going on, mate? By the way, call me Bruce.’

  ‘Bruce, I’ve discovered that my wife, Lucy, is nothing but a dangerous psychopath who probably needs fucking locking up.’

  ‘Where is she now?’

  A good question. Justin realised he had no idea. ‘I left her at the prison. Christ, that was hours ago.’ He looked at his watch and raised his eyebrow. It was four o’clock in the morning.

  ‘I know a café that serves a good coffee. Why don’t you and I get a drink? You can tell me what you know, and let’s see if I can help.’

  ‘No, I’m fine.’

  Justin grabbed the box and handed it to the detective. ‘I haven’t been through all of it, but there is enough in there to tell me that the bitch married me for my money and she was Kara’s mother’s carer. What the hell she did to her mother, God only knows, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there was foul play, not after hearing about Lucy’s antics from her very own father’s lips and then reading her diary and the phone messages …’

  Bruce peered inside the box. ‘Do you mind if I have a look?’ As he lifted the lid, he looked sideways at Justin. ‘We received a phone call from Kara, you know. She said that your wife handed Carl Meadows Joan Bannon’s ring.’

  Justin’s face was drained as he nodded. ‘Well, so he says, and right now, Bruce, I think I believe him.’

  Bruce was tired himself. He’d taken on the task on Stuart’s behalf, and yet, hitting constant dead ends was making him feel like retiring completely. Perhaps the Met had been right, and he’d outlived his role. ‘Shall we take this to the kitchen? My eyes are not as good as they used to be.’

  Justin felt his eyelids droop and would agree to anything, providing he didn’t have to think anymore. The kitchen fluorescent light livened him up, though, and he watched like a kid as the detective carefully removed the contents of the box. He set aside all the paperwork, and then he rifled through Lucy’s diary, pausing at intervals, as he scrutinised some of the entries. He was very careful handling the mobile phone, using a cloth to hold it at the corner to ensure his prints weren’t on it. Then, at the bottom of the box, he found a small yet exquisite jewellery case. He looked up at Justin. ‘Was this Lucy’s mother’s or grandmother’s?’

  Justin stepped closer to get a better look. ‘I wouldn’t know. I’ve never seen it before, but, to be perfectly frank, there’s very little I know about my wife.’

  Bruce sensed the anger as Justin spat out those cold words.

  As Bruce opened the lid of the nineteenth-century wooden inlaid case, he frowned. There, inside, was a pill bottle, the label clearly showing the name of Joan Bannon. Beside it was a bracelet. From Bruce’s knowledge of jewellery, he guessed it was also nineteenth century. A little hobby of his was antiques, and, in particular, he was fascinated with jewellery. He was a collector of pocket watches and thought jewellery from around 1700 to 1800 rather interesting and especially how they were hidden and protected through the wars.

  ‘Well, Justin, this is certainly evidence that Lucy had been in contact with Joan Bannon.’ He pointed to the empty pill bottle. ‘It also seems that she acquired a very valuable bracelet. That’s not to say, though, they weren’t passed down to her by someone named Lilly.’ He pointed to the inscription on the bracelet.

  ‘I wouldn’t know. As I said, I never really knew her at all.’ His distress was written across his face. It was clear that Justin was fraught with worry. Bruce noticed how the man’s hands were still trembling as he ran his fingers through his hair. Then, Justin gasped. ‘Oh my God! Lilly! The lady downstairs who died was called Lillian, so I guess Lilly was her. I bet Lucy murdered her and stole that bracelet!’

  Bruce gripped Justin’s shoulders. It was all too much for Justin to absorb. ‘Listen, we don’t know that for sure, do we? You’re tired. Don’t get carried away. It could be a coincidence.’ Bruce was more interested in the phone. ‘Tell me, what do you know about the phone?’

  Justin painstakingly repeated everything he’d read from the messages and then broke off. ‘Christ, Bruce, I really have fucked up. Do you know, I’ve been living in a bloody trance. My work is going down the pan, I can’t concentrate, and yet, for some idiotic reason, I’ve gone along with this woman’s ideas, plans, and lies. What a fool I’ve been.’

  ‘Well, mate, from what you’ve said, this Lucy is a master of strategy. Some women are, and we as men can be blinded by their real intentions. I know my wife has me doing stuff – you know, decorating and such like – somehow making me believe it was my idea. I still fall for it. Anyway, mate, that doesn’t help your problem.’ He lifted the jewellery box, only to find another one inside which was not so ornate. He lifted the lid and shook his head. ‘Fucking Rohypnol!’

  Justin snatched the packet and held it to the light. ‘That’s the date rape drug, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, it is, although it’s not just used for that. In smaller doses, it’s like having a drink. It’s used for recreational purposes, but why she would have it, I don’t know.’

  With his throat now tight, Justin gasped for breath. ‘Tell me, Bruce,’ he asked, agitatedly and taking a deep breath, ‘if a man was given this, could he perform? I mean, could he have sex?’

  ‘I doubt it very much. Why?’

  ‘Because I woke up in her bed. Twice. In fact, having not remembered a bloody thing. I reckon Lucy drugged me … Oh, Christ, if she did, then everything is a lie.’ Justin appeared shell-shocked from his discoveries. He staggered back against the wall and his body slid to the floor until he was sitting with his head in his hands.

  Bruce replaced the box inside the larger one and sat next to Justin. ‘Listen, mate, you are tired, you need to get some rest. I’m going to call the police, let them take this up, because, right now, we can’t do much else. Let’s hope they find something in that box to unravel this mess.’

  ‘I fucking hope they lock her up.’

  Bruce looked at the box and sighed. ‘I’m not sure there’s anything that they can use to confirm any offence. Let’s take this one step at a time, Justin. I need to make a few calls.’ He stood up, and with his notebook and pen, he carefully wrote the name of the drug and dosage that was written on the pills for Joan Bannon. ‘Firstly, I need to call the coroner in Australia to see if there were large enough doses of this drug in her system to kill her. The authorities over there are taking this very seriously, let me tell you, and apparently, they are sending over some report from a second coroner. He’s looked over the blood samples taken at the post-mortem. So, look, you go and get some rest, and hopefully later today, we will have a clearer picture as to what is actually going on here.’

  Removing his hands away from his face, Justin frowned. ‘How can they know for sure? Joan was cremated, by all accounts.’

  Bruce nodded. ‘Yes, she was, but they would have taken blood samples from the autopsy and kept the results on file. It’s just routine.’

  ‘I can’t believe I was living with a real-life nutter.’

  ‘Hold on a minute, Justin, we don’t know that yet. It could all be innocent, well, perhaps not innocent, but there may be an explanation for all of this. Look, we can’t be sure that your wife was even in Australia.’<
br />
  Justin’s eyes met Bruce’s. ‘Oh, yeah, she definitely was. It’s all there, in the diary. And Carl Meadows has just told me he found an airline ticket receipt in her old flat, showing that Lucy had recently been there.’

  ‘Where do you think Lucy would go?’

  Justin looked up. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know. It was strange. I took Lucy to see Kara in prison to discuss custody of our daughter. When I got there, I found out that Carl, who also goes by the name of Rocky, was visiting his sister. But this guy confronted us and an argument started. If Lucy has disappeared, it might have something to do with a ring that Lucy gave him in part payment over a debt she owed him. When Kara recognised that ring as her mother’s, Lucy looked mortified. She was out of that visiting room like a bat out of hell.

  ‘Anyway, outside the prison, she stood there in the pouring rain and refused to get in the car. Then, inexplicably, she took off. I don’t think for one minute she will return home, well, to my house, knowing how much trouble she’s in. I hate to admit it, but I’m a bit nervous of going back there myself. These last few hours have given me the right creeps …’ He paused and sighed. Bruce could hear his voice crack. ‘I’m just so tired, I can’t even think straight. Christ, I feel like a fucking sissy.’

  ‘No, no, Justin, let me tell you this. If half of what you believe is true, then it would be better for you to stay elsewhere, until we find her.’ Bruce could completely understand because the idea of Lucy pretending that Joan was still alive weeks after she’d died was eerie to say the least, and finding the Rohypnol and the diary made matters worse. He concluded that on the face of it, Lucy was a dangerous woman and possibly a psychopath, with devious goals in mind.

  ‘Right, Justin, have you got anywhere to go?’

  Slowly, he got to his feet. ‘Yeah, my mum’s, if she’ll let me through the door after how I’ve treated her lately.’