Lies of the Dead

by Shauna Bickley

  Lies of the Dead

  Shauna Bickley

  To Linzee, Emma and Naomi

  for listening when I talk about my writing ideas

  To Sophia and Olivia

  for giving me the excuse to watch the latest children’s films

  Table of Contents

  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

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Writing the Stars

  Still Death

  Lives Interrupted

  Copyright

  What would you risk to find the truth?

  How well do we know those closest to us? When Liam kills himself, his older brother Tom needs to know why suicide was the only solution.

  Tom and his sister Andi search for answers, but don’t know who they can believe. Are Liam’s friends and associates the people they claim to be? Tom and Andi are propelled into a world where their ideas of right and wrong don’t exist, and where people demand what neither of them possesses.

  Liam’s legacy of deceit is dangerous, and when Andi and her twin daughters are threatened, Tom realises that truth may have too high a price.

  Chapter 1

  Tom

  The knock on the front door sounded loud in the darkness. Tom jolted upright and squinted at the clock. Just after five. Who visited at that time in the morning? Another knock.

  ‘Okay, okay. I’m coming.’ He stumbled out of bed, pulling on jeans and a sweater from where he’d left them on a chair the night before.

  Jack Pollen, the local policeman, stood in the porch.

  ‘It’s a bit early for a social call. What’s up?’ Tom shivered in the cold morning air.

  ‘Can I come in?’ Jack would make a great poker player, his expression gave nothing away.

  Tom opened the door wider and nodded towards the living room. He followed Jack along the hallway. ‘What’s happened to get you out this early?’

  Jack pulled a dining chair away from the table, and perched on the edge. ‘Your brother staying in the village?’

  So it was Liam. Typical. ‘Not that I’m aware of. His last visit was just before Christmas.’ What had Liam done now? ‘Have you tried his cottage?’

  Jack nodded. ‘No one there. Does he still work in London?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When were you last on your boat?’

  He answered automatically, still groggy with sleep. ‘I took a group out fishing the day before yesterday.’ Why would Jack want to know about that? ‘What’s it got to do with Liam?’

  ‘Jago and Old Bill recognised your boat as they came back from fishing. It was out by the headland. They couldn’t see anyone and didn’t get any response, so they went to check.’

  ‘The Kalina?’ Whatever Tom expected, it wasn’t this. He sat on the arm of the sofa, staring at Jack.

  ‘Yes. There wasn’t anyone on-board. They radioed for help and brought her back. I’ve looked around, seems fine, no damage. Did you let anyone take Kalina out?’

  ‘No. I’m the only one who sails her. Or Liam, when he’s here. Why all the questions about Liam?’

  ‘We found some clothes on Kalina, together with a wallet, phone and keys. Liam’s driving licence was in the wallet, and I found this.’ Jack pulled a plastic envelope from his jacket pocket, and handed it to Tom. It held a single sheet of paper.

  Tom frowned at the words, as if they should make more sense.

  I’m so sorry about everything. Liam.

  What was that supposed to mean?

  ‘Is it Liam’s handwriting?’

  Tom nodded. ‘Where are the other things you found?’

  ‘Down at the station.’ The corners of Jack’s mouth turned down, as if apologising. ‘At the moment we’re not certain of anything, but you’ll need to confirm whether they belong to Liam.’

  ‘And if they do?’

  ‘Let’s see if they’re Liam’s first.’

  Tom pulled on a fleece top, and followed Jack to his car.

  They used a renovated cottage for the station, with a police sign nailed to the outside wall. The reception desk looked out of place in the living room, but Jack strode straight through to the small back room he used as an office. There was barely room for his desk and chair, but somehow he’d also squeezed in a filing cabinet and a visitor’s chair. Tom’s gaze settled on some clothes in clear plastic bags.

  ‘Are they Liam’s?’ asked Jack.

  Tom studied them. ‘Can’t say for sure. They’re the type of thing Liam wears.’

  Jack pulled out some plastic envelopes from his desk drawer. They contained a brown leather wallet, a mobile phone and two plastic cards. The raised letters on the credit card spelt William Trethowan, and the driving licence showed the same name, with a picture of Liam on the hard plastic.

  ‘Liam always hated the name William. Used to go on to Mum about it all the time.’ He was babbling. Concentrate on the card details. ‘He uses this bank, but I don’t know the account number. The date of birth on the driving licence is correct.’

  A young policeman brought him a mug of tea and a couple of biscuits. He took a gulp of the hot sweet liquid. Jack made a few phone calls, and Tom tried to concentrate on Jack’s part of the conversation, but the volume seemed to ebb and flow like bad radio reception. There’s got to be some mistake. This can’t be happening.

  At some point, Jack put down the phone. ‘Are you ready to go to the marina?’

  Tom picked up his jacket, and they set off through the village.

  ‘We’ve checked Kalina,’ said Jack. ‘Didn’t find any sign of a struggle or damage. Look around, but try not to touch anything.’

  ‘What am I checking for?’

  ‘Anything out of the ordinary. Anything different.’

  Tom took a deep breath, and climbed aboard. Kalina rocked gently as he moved around. If what Jack implied was true, surely he would feel something. Notice something. But everything was in place.

  More people were about now. Jago and Old Bill stood in the shadows of a building. Lily Williams and Oscar, her rough-haired terrier, watched from the quay. The pale spring sunshine reflected on the pebble-thick lenses of her glasses.

  ‘Can I go out on Kalina?’ asked Tom.

  ‘Not yet.’

  Tom walked over to Jago and Old Bill.

  ‘Want to look at where we found her?’ asked Jago.

  Tom nodded.

  He followed the two older men onto Rough Rider, aching to take control. As Jago sailed the boat out of the harbour, Tom gripped the handrail, his knuckles white.

  The stiff gusts of wind stung his face, and the salt tang was sharp. If Jack hadn’t visited, it would be a beautiful day to be out on the water. The early March air was fresh, and he pushed his hands into his pockets, as Poldrayth receded into a blur of houses clinging to the hills.

  The coastguard, and others from the village, joined them in the search. Through the morning, Rough Rider sailed in ever-increasing circles around the area where Jago and Old Bill f
ound Kalina.

  Tom kept Jago’s binoculars pressed against his eyes, but he saw nothing in the rolling waves. Crackles and bursts of sound came from the radio, and each time a voice spoke he jerked to face it, but there was no news.

  He didn’t argue when Jago turned his boat towards the coast, late in the afternoon. He and Old Bill would be tired from their night’s fishing. Other people were still looking.

  Back at the police station, Jack was on the phone. Tom slumped on a chair until the older man finished.

  ‘I’ve tried the phone numbers you gave me for Liam. I only got his voice message on the home number, and he hasn’t been into work this week. Apparently he left a message to say he was sick. No one at work has spoken to him. I’ve checked the hospitals, but they haven’t treated anyone of his description. They’ll let me know if that changes.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Nothing at the moment. The London police are checking his home address, and they’ll speak to the neighbours. We’ve searched the marina, but haven’t found anything.’

  Tom gestured at the brown leather wallet. ‘Was there anything else in it?’

  ‘No, just the driving licence and bank card. Is that usual?’

  Tom shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It seems strange. I’ve got loads of junk in my wallet.’

  ‘His mobile phone needs a password.’

  ‘Can I try?’

  ‘We’ve already checked for prints,’ said Jack, as he handed over the phone.

  Tom typed in Liam’s birthday in several combinations, but none worked. He tried a few other dates without success, until he tapped in his mother’s birthday. A chord of notes tinkled and the screen showed the message Hello Liam. His shoulders sagged.

  ‘It’s his.’

  He played around with the icons until he found the contacts. There were barely a dozen names. Strange. When Liam visited the last time, he’d shown Tom all the things the phone could do. The contact list had been long. Tom couldn’t find anything else. No texts, no voice messages – nothing.

  Back at home, Tom wandered around the house, until finally, he called Liam’s flat in London. He counted the rings, and sighed when the voice message in Liam’s cheerful, slightly mocking tone began: ‘Hey I’m not here, you know what to do and when.’

  He stumbled over his words, not sure what to say, or if his message would ever be heard.

  The house was too quiet. Nothing unusual, but now it irritated him. He preferred being outside, or working on Kalina. The television pushed back the silence, but still he paced around the rooms. When the phone rang, he raced to answer it.

  ‘Tom Trethowan?’ asked a sharp city voice. ‘Liam Trethowan leases an apartment through us. I’ve left messages on his home phone, but he hasn’t returned any of my calls. His lease is due for renewal at the end of next week. I need to talk to him.’

  ‘How did you get my number?’

  ‘He listed you as a contact. Does he want to extend the lease? If not, he’ll have to clear out his stuff.’

  ‘He’s not here at the moment.’ Tom couldn’t bring himself to say more.

  ‘Do you know if he wants to keep the apartment on?’

  ‘I don’t.’

  The man exhaled noisily.

  ‘How much to extend it for a month?’

  ‘He can’t. He needs to renew the lease. The minimum period is six months.’ The man quoted a figure.

  Bloody hell, he could live on that for a year.

  ‘If he isn’t renewing,’ the man continued, ‘he must vacate the apartment by the end of next week.’

  ‘That soon.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said the man, not sounding at all sorry. ‘As I said, I’ve left him messages.’

  Tom wrote the man’s number on a scrap of paper and hung up.

  He needed fresh air and space. It was cold, and he zipped up his jacket as he strode down the path. He cut across the field behind his house, rather than go through the village, and climbed over the gate on the far side of the field. Liam’s cottage sat at the end of a quiet lane.

  Tom wandered around the garden a couple of times, before knocking on the front door. Stupid. He had a key to the house. Every week he opened the doors and windows, and mowed the lawns, as Liam only visited a few times a year.

  Everything in the cottage looked the same as the previous week. He locked the door and went home through the village, ignoring the questioning glances. The gossip line had obviously been busy.

  Jack rang late that evening. Liam’s London flat was empty, and the neighbours hadn’t seen or heard anything for several days, maybe a week. They’d assumed he was away.

  ‘Was anything bothering him?’ Jack asked gently.

  ‘No. We last talked about a month ago. The usual Liam chat. Nothing ever bothered him. That’s why I don’t understand this.’

  *

  The next morning, Jack let Tom take Kalina out. Tom spent the day in the area where Old Bill and Jago had found the boat. He forced himself to go to the pub later, and shook hands with the men who’d looked for Liam. He bought them all a drink. After thanking him they fell quiet and shuffled their feet. The silence was painful. Tom didn’t stay long.

  Jack had nothing new to report. No bodies had washed up along the shore, and no one matching Liam’s description had been admitted to hospital. Liam was now officially missing. They were monitoring his bank accounts, and the airports.

  ‘Why are you checking the airports?’

  ‘It’s just procedure. Have you told Andi?’

  Tom shook his head. He wasn’t ready to ring his sister yet. Liam wasn’t the type of person to kill himself. Nothing would make Liam even consider the idea. He’d talked himself out of problems in the past, and had an unshakeable belief in his ability to charm people to his way of thinking. This was a huge mistake.

  ‘Does Andi still live in Bristol?’ asked Jack.

  ‘Yes. Do you think he… do you think Liam is dead?’

  Jack hesitated. ‘Not my place to speculate at the moment. What do you think?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s like a headline in the newspapers, not something that actually happens to you.’

  ‘Everyone has a different breaking point.’ Jack pushed some papers around his desk.

  ‘So you do think he’s dead.’

  Jack’s silence gave Tom his answer. Tom said goodbye, and left the small building. He looked at the moored boats for long minutes, before he turned and trudged up the hill.

  Chapter 2

  Andi

  Andi sat in the restaurant, waiting for her friend Erin. It was early, but she glanced out when anyone passed the window. She’d selected this restaurant as it was quieter than their other favourites; the high-backs of the padded bench seats lending a private feel to each table. She took a sip of her wine, and then pulled out her phone to check she hadn’t missed any calls.

  The waitress placed a small basket of bread on the table. Andi checked her phone again. Come on, Erin. She picked up a bread roll and crumbled it on her plate, as she stared out of the window.

  A few minutes later Erin arrived, and Andi waved.

  Erin pulled off her coat and sat down. A worried frown replaced the smile. ‘I thought you were slim enough without going on a diet. You can overdo it, you know.’

  ‘Diet? No, probably stress. Not something I’d recommend. It’s Steven and the twins.’ Damn. She hadn’t wanted to drop that into the conversation straight away. ‘Sorry. Shall we order?’ She picked up the menu and scanned it.

  The waitress appeared, ready with her pencil and notepad. Soup would do, and chicken. Vegetables? Who cared – whatever the chef cooked.

  Erin took longer selecting, and ordered roast mushrooms followed by salmon. Once the waitress left, she picked up her glass of wine. ‘So, tell me.’

  ‘Steven wants the girls. He wants to take them away from me.’ She swallowed, trying to get rid of the lump in her throat.

  ‘Is that what he said?’
>
  ‘No. He wouldn’t come straight out and say it, but that’s what he means.’

  ‘What did he actually say?’

  ‘He wants joint custody.’

  Erin put her glass down, and reached across the table to squeeze Andi’s hand. ‘Do you really want to hear what I think?’

  ‘That’s why I’m here.’

  ‘I know you and Steven pretty well. I’m sure he doesn’t want to take Sophie and Kristen away from you. I can appreciate how you feel, but think about it from his point of view. He’s used to seeing them every day, and now he only has a couple of hours a week. He loves them as much as you do.’

  The waitress appeared with their entrées, and Erin stopped as the girl put the dishes on the table.

  Andi stared at the rising steam, and then pushed the bowl of soup to one side.

  ‘Sophie and Kristen love both of you. The worst thing you can do is use them.’

  ‘Use them?’

  ‘To get back at Steven. Talk to them. Find out what they want. They’re fifteen, give them a say in their life.’ Erin cut into the large roast mushroom. ‘Talk to Steven.’

  Andi rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘He wants the girls to stay with us week about.’

  ‘It sounds to me like he wants to be a part of their lives.’

  ‘I think they’ll want to live with him permanently.’

  ‘Have they said so?’

  ‘No, but when they come back from Steven’s, they’re always going on about what a great time they had.’

  ‘It’s hard to compete against a Saturday afternoon at the cinema or shops when you’re working full-time. If they spend more time with Steven, they’ll see life with him isn’t all treats.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose.’ Andi took a gulp of wine. ‘I’m sorry if this sounds stupid.’

  ‘It’s not stupid. We all need to talk about things and get them into perspective.’

  The waitress asked if they were finished. Andi nodded, and pushed her untouched soup across the table.