Tell Me A Lie (The Dan Forrester series)

by CJ Carver

  ‘Nobody important,’ she lied.

  He gave her a narrowed look. ‘Like I believe you.’

  Momentarily she regretted giving him the name but if she didn’t ask, she’d never get any answers.

  ‘I don’t suppose you fancy coming for a drink sometime?’ he said.

  ‘What, so you can pump me for information?’ she snorted. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Are you usually so suspicious?’

  ‘Only with men who give me a false ID.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘I can see how you might find that off-putting.’

  ‘What’s your real name?’

  He put his head on one side as he surveyed her. ‘I’ll tell you if you join me for a drink.’

  ‘Sorry.’ She was stiff. ‘I’m not open to that sort of bargaining.’

  ‘What a shame. I thought you were more adventurous than that.’ He shook his head with a faintly sorrowful look before walking away. Lucy looked at the mother and daughter, then back at Blain, dithering over who to stick with, but with Dan’s tracking devices burning a hole in her handbag, she decided she’d better go after Blain. Find his car and slap a tracker on it before he buggered off.

  Outside, the drizzle had turned to rain. She saw Blain talk to one of the uniformed policemen and when he moved out of sight, she went to the cop and said, ‘You don’t know which is Blain’s car, do you?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘That man, there.’ She pointed him out.

  ‘Sorry.’

  Lucy trailed after Blain until, to her relief, he beeped open a sedan and opened the boot. She watched him grab a waterproof jacket and pair of wellies from the boot, put them on. When he began to head for the east side of the house, she realised he was probably going to see Aleksandr’s body. Great, he’d be gone for at least twenty minutes.

  Lucy sped to his car, a boring old grey Vauxhall. She’d expected him to drive something more exciting, like a sports car or performance coupé, but the vehicle could have been pulled from any police pool around the country. Perhaps that’s where it had come from? She hurriedly made a note of the number plate. Then she ducked down and, pretending to fiddle with her shoe, stuck the device behind the left front wheel.

  Easy.

  Feeling pleased with herself, Lucy returned to the house where she rang Mac, and then texted Dan to tell him: Tracker attached as requested. She spoke with a couple of cops from the investigating team but learned nothing further. She was wondering if it was time to leave when she saw Blain return. At his side walked Elizabeth. Her tears were under control and she was talking to him earnestly. Margaret watched unhappily from the porch.

  Blain appeared to be protesting but Elizabeth wasn’t having it. Finally, he flung up his hands. Made a call. After he hung up, he nodded at the two women but he didn’t look pleased. Finally Blain unlocked his car and climbed inside. Lucy watched Elizabeth watching him drive away. Her expression was strange. It held grief and anguish but there was something else there as well. Lucy didn’t know what it was. Hope? Yearning?

  Was Blain having an affair with Elizabeth? It would be a bit weird if he was – there had to be twenty years between them – but Lucy had learned over the years never to be surprised by human nature. Was he really a friend of the family? She was pretty sure he was delivering money between Aleksandr and Adrian Calder, so he had to be a trusted acquaintance. Or was he an employee of some sort? Maybe a relative?

  She walked over to Elizabeth. ‘Hi,’ she said. The woman might have been nearly sixty and stricken with grief but she was still incredibly beautiful. Her hair was threaded with silver but still held its auburn colour and her skin was unlined, nearly flawless. She was tall and as slender and elegant as a racehorse and made Lucy feel like a Shetland pony in comparison.

  ‘You’re with the police,’ Elizabeth said politely.

  ‘Yes. I’m terribly sorry about Aleksandr.’

  The woman’s mouth spasmed but she held it together enough to say, ‘Thank you.’

  Lucy looked down the drive where Blain’s Vauxhall was cruising between arches of mature beech trees. ‘May I ask what your relationship is to Nicholas Blain?’

  ‘Oh, he’s a friend of Adrian’s. He’s helping the family out.’

  ‘I see,’ Lucy said. ‘How do they know each other?’

  Elizabeth put a hand to her forehead, suddenly looking frail. ‘I’m sorry, but I really don’t feel very well . . .’

  Margaret swooped to her daughter’s side and Elizabeth let her put an arm around her waist and help her back inside the house, but their body language was stiff and awkward and although Lucy felt briefly sad for Margaret, she had no doubt she’d borne her own part in their seemingly uneasy relationship.

  She would, she decided, return another time and talk to Elizabeth. She wanted to iron out the family ructions. Find out exactly what had gone on. They were niggling in her mind as bubbles of mauve and white.

  Her phone rang while she was walking to her car. A number she didn’t recognise.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi. It’s DI Penman here. Sorry it’s taken me so long to get back to you.’

  It took her a moment to place who he was but then she remembered the other family annihilation near Bristol and her wanting to see if Oxana Harris was associated to Adrian Calder in any way. She said, ‘Any luck?’

  ‘Sorry, no. But I thought I’d give you a call in case you’ve found anything your end.’

  ‘Zilch,’ said Lucy. ‘I can’t see there’s any connection between our cases, except . . .’

  ‘What?’ His voice sharpened.

  ‘Well, Adrian Calder has Russian links. And isn’t Oxana a Russian name?’

  ‘She’s from Ukraine, not Russia.’

  ‘Even so . . .’ Lucy couldn’t say why, but she was reluctant to drop the idea that the two cases might be related.

  ‘Look, I’ve got to go.’ The DI suddenly sounded harried. ‘But I’ll keep an open mind, OK?’ Which on balance was all she could ask for.

  In her car, Lucy checked the satnav on her phone and saw that it would take her a couple of hours to get to London. Jacko, with Mac’s approval, had agreed that since it was the weekend – Sunday tomorrow – she could go and visit her mum, as long as she was back in Stockton first thing on Monday. Before she started her journey, Lucy checked to see if the tracking device was working and felt a little thrill when she saw that Blain’s car – a little red dot on her Google map – was heading south-west along the A11. She frowned. For some reason she’d expected him to head north. Where was he going? She felt a smug smile emerge when she realised she’d soon find out, thanks to Dan’s gizmo.

  Lucy was beetling around the M25, already looking forward to a curry and a pint with her mum at their local, when Dan called. His voice was tense.

  ‘Where are you?’ he asked.

  ‘Er . . .’

  ‘Are you still in Norfolk?’

  ‘No. I left a while back. I’m actually going to see my mum –’

  ‘Where are you?’

  Shit. She’d better sharpen up. She was talking to the man whose investigation was at the behest of MI5.

  ‘I’ve just turned on to the M25 from the M11 and am heading west, for –’

  ‘Turn around. I want you heading south, after Blain. He’s just passing Purfleet.’

  ‘But that’s in the opposite –’

  ‘If I was closer, I’d do it myself,’ he cut in. ‘I need you to catch him up. Get close to him. You’ve got his signal on your phone?’

  ‘Yes.’ Not that she should use the phone when she was driving but if this was an emergency, maybe the Police Federation wouldn’t throw her into jail if she had an accident.

  ‘Get after him. Fast, Lucy. I don’t want you hanging around, OK?’

  ‘OK.’

  He hung up.

  Lucy took the next exit and looped back on to the M25 to head back the way she’d come. She quickly called her mum and told her she
’d be late, but that she couldn’t say how late. Luckily she had a fairly chilled mother who didn’t freak out and just said, I’ll see you when I see you, love, and if you’re really late, let yourself in as usual. And that was it.

  Lucy booted her car until she was doing just over eighty miles per hour. She kept her eyes peeled for cameras – the M25 was notorious – and tried to keep her speed up but it was difficult. Rush hour was at its peak and the lanes jam-packed with commuters heading home. She fought her way south, occasionally glancing at her phone, Blain’s signal, and after a little while realised she was, miracle of miracles, catching him up. Slowly but surely she was narrowing the distance between them which meant he had to be keeping to the speed limit or below.

  Darkness had fallen. Lucy followed Blain and when they switched south-east along the M20 towards Faversham, Lucy saw she wasn’t far behind Blain, perhaps five miles between them.

  She’d just passed a sign to Ramsgate and another to Canterbury when Dan called again. ‘I know where he’s going.’ His voice was clipped. He gave her the postcode which she punched straight into her TomTom. Not recommended to do while driving, but what the hell.

  ‘Drive straight there,’ he told her. ‘It’s a safe house. There’ll probably be a blue VW Golf in the driveway. There’s a woman and child staying there. I do not want Blain anywhere near them, OK? Take them out of the house immediately and drive them away. Do not let them stop to pack. You’ve got to be fast, Lucy. I’m ringing the police but I want you there first, OK? Call me the second you know you’re all safe.’

  Holy crap, she thought. This is serious.

  ‘Can’t you ring them?’ she asked. ‘Tell them to get out?’

  ‘I don’t have a number. There’s no landline, just a public phone box down the road.’

  ‘Who are they?’ she asked.

  ‘My wife and daughter.’

  Lucy was so surprised she fell speechless.

  ‘Jenny and Aimee. Tell Jenny Brimstone if she hesitates.’

  He didn’t say any more. Simply rang off.

  Brimstone. Lucy’s adrenaline soared. She pressed down on the accelerator. Speeding tickets be damned. Dan’s family was in danger. She had to beat the cops there. Protect his wife and daughter. But why? What was Blain going to do? And why didn’t Dan have his wife’s mobile number? Were they separated or something?

  A car suddenly pulled out in front of her without indicating, forcing her to brake heavily and causing the car behind to blast its horn. She broke out into a sweat. She mustn’t speculate or try and guess what was going on, she had to concentrate on driving. No point in getting herself killed as she charged to the rescue.

  She was doing ninety-five miles an hour when she drove beneath a gantry studded with speed cameras but she didn’t ease her foot off the accelerator. All she could hear was Dan’s voice, I want you there first, OK?

  When she spotted Blain’s car ahead, her pulse pounded but she didn’t slow. She was fifteen minutes from her destination according to her satnav. Would it be enough time to get Jenny and Aimee out of the safe house before him? She had to hope so. Blain was driving steadily in the middle lane, doing just over seventy she guessed. She rocketed past him with her head turned slightly to the right and praying he wouldn’t recognise her or her car. If he did, then she would simply have to race him to the safe house.

  Heart thundering she glanced in her rear-view mirror, waiting for him to pull out and give chase but no headlights loomed behind her. Nobody drove close, wanting to overtake. She was the fastest car on the motorway and, please God, there weren’t any motorway cops around.

  Lucy sped through Canterbury, trying to make progress without endangering anyone. She wished Dan was driving; he was trained for high-speed pursuits. She dropped her speed further. The last thing she needed was to have an accident or, God forbid, hit a pedestrian.

  At last she was free of traffic and charging along a country lane. Before each corner she dipped her headlights to see if any headlights were coming the other way and floored the accelerator when it looked clear. Soon she passed a farm then crossed a river and as her satnav intoned, you have reached your destination, she spotted a cottage on the right and yes! A VW Golf parked on the gravel to one side. The sign read Sparrow Cottage.

  Lucy jammed her foot on the brakes. Left the car in the road, partly across the driveway, to stop anyone from blocking her exit. As she ran to the front door security lights snapped on, briefly blinding her and making her stumble. Blinking fast, she was raising her hand to knock on the door when a fearsome barking sounded on the other side. Christ, she thought. Dan never mentioned a dog. Let alone one that sounded HUGE.

  The dog suddenly fell silent.

  Lucy rapped briskly on the door. She called, ‘I’m Lucy Davies, a police officer. I’m a friend of Dan’s and –’

  The door was flung open. A slender woman in jeans, with sheets of ice-blond hair, stood facing her. She was barefoot. A rottweiler stood at her side. It looked at her silently.

  ‘I know who you are,’ the woman said.

  ‘Jenny Forrester?’

  ‘Yes. What is it? Why are you here?’

  ‘We’ve got to go. It’s an emergency. Dan’s on his way but I was closer.’ Lucy’s mind flashed over what she could say and decided on the fastest route. ‘He said to say Brimstone.’

  What little colour that had been there drained from Jenny’s face. She said, ‘We’re not safe here any more?’

  ‘No. You’ve got to leave immediately.’

  ‘Christ.’ She spun round and pelted into the cottage, feet flying. Lucy followed fast.

  ‘Aimee, honey,’ Jenny swept into a small sitting room with a blazing log fire. ‘I’m really sorry but we’ve got to go. Daddy just rang. It’s another emergency, OK? He’s sent Lucy to help us. She’s a policewoman.’

  The girl was a miniature of her mother. Straight blond hair, heart shaped face, bright blue eyes. She stared at Lucy, round-eyed.

  ‘Hi,’ said Lucy. She smiled. Aimee didn’t smile back. ‘Your Daddy’s on his way, but we have to go now and meet him. He’s in a big rush, so we don’t have time to pack.’

  ‘Daddy?’ the girl’s face lit up.

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘I need to get Neddy because Neddy has to come too, he goes everywhere with me –’

  ‘I’ll get him, darling,’ Jenny said. She sent an urgent look to Lucy. ‘You go with Lucy now and I’ll be out in a second.’

  ‘Is Poppy coming too?’ the girl asked.

  ‘Of course,’ Jenny said. ‘Now go.’

  Jenny raced out of the room.

  Lucy’s heart was beating fast – we’ve no time to waste! – but she kept her expression calm as she held her hand out to Aimee. ‘Better do as your mum says. She’ll bring Neddy in a moment.’

  ‘OK.’ Aimee put her hand in Lucy’s then turned to the dog saying, ‘Come on, Poppy.’

  Achingly slowly, they walked outside. Aimee asked Lucy to put the dog on the back seat of her car, where the girl then joined it. It was one hell of a squeeze but at least they were in. Lucy helped Aimee to buckle up.

  Where was Jenny?

  As she shut the rear door, Lucy heard a car engine. Her pulse spiked as she saw headlights approaching.

  Lucy raced into the house and yelled, ‘Someone’s coming!’

  ‘On my way!’ Jenny shouted.

  Lucy glanced over her shoulder to see the headlights sweeping over the rear of her car.

  She couldn’t wait any longer.

  ‘We’ve got to go!’ Lucy shouted. ‘Hurry!’

  As Lucy turned she heard Jenny racing down the stairs but she didn’t wait. She pelted back to her car. Leaped inside and started the engine. Opened the passenger door in readiness.

  A car pulled up behind her. Switched off its headlights. The security lights continued to blaze. Lucy’s stomach hollowed as a man climbed out. Blain.

  Jenny raced across the drive for Lucy’s car.

 
Blain stood still for a moment, as though he was assimilating what he was seeing, and then he moved quickly to block her.

  Jenny tried to get past him but he moved from side to side. He had his hands held high and he was talking fast, but Lucy couldn’t hear what he said. Jenny was shaking her head at him and looking distressed.

  Lucy began to get out of the car but paused when she saw another car arrive behind Blain’s. Was it Dan? She put a foot inside the car and levered herself quickly up.

  Her hopes crashed.

  It was a Ford Mondeo.

  The same Ford Mondeo she’d seen outside Irene’s house last week. Horrified, she watched two people climb out and into the security lights. A good-looking couple in their thirties, the man with a broad face and cleft chin, the woman small and lithe. They weren’t wearing tailored clothes tonight, but dark trousers and fleeces, black soft-soled shoes.

  Every synapse in her body screamed Run.

  Ivan and Yelena Barbolin.

  The FSB agents were here.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  When Jenny saw another car arrive and a couple climb out, saw the man was holding a handgun low against his side, she screamed at Lucy. ‘Get Aimee out of here!’

  The policewoman didn’t hesitate. She ducked back into the car and slammed her door shut but to Jenny’s horror there was a flurry of activity inside the vehicle – she couldn’t see what was happening – and then Poppy exploded into view.

  Everything went crazy.

  The Rottweiler went straight for the man who’d said he was Nicholas Blain. Leaped through the air to land on his back, sending him sprawling to the ground. The air was filled with roars and growls from deep within the dog’s throat.

  Jenny made a move to run for Lucy’s car but it was already moving, accelerating away. She’d never catch it up. Instead she began to back away. Sod Brimstone and Dan’s instructions. She was going to return to the cottage and call the police. She spun and tore for the house. Flew through the door, slammed it behind her. Locked it. Hauled her phone out of her back pocket. Dialled 999.

  Blain’s screams followed her. Help! Get it off me!