Lie Beside Me

by Gytha Lodge

  ‘Oh.’ She thought she caught a good-natured shrug out of the corner of her eye. ‘You aren’t rubbish. There’s not much to say. He’s been in and out of hospital, and it’s been a bit … shit. There isn’t a lot anyone can do.’

  ‘I could be a better friend,’ Hanson countered, glancing at him and then away again. ‘A bit more supportive.’

  Lightman seemed to think for a moment, and then replied, ‘It’s difficult. I don’t always find it easy to take offers of support. I hate thinking about my dad, so I avoid talking about it, too, and it always feels … awkward.’

  Which wasn’t entirely unlike how she felt when it came to telling Jason about Damian, she thought, surprised both at finding some point of similarity with Ben’s reticence, and at his willingness to volunteer that much information about himself.

  ‘Makes sense,’ she said, and then she added, with a slight grin, ‘I mean, you being awkward.’

  She heard Ben’s slight laugh, and it made her smile properly. It had been months since she’d made him laugh. It always felt like a victory, with Ben. And not just, she thought, because he looked like the school heart-throb she’d grown up trying to impress.

  ‘But what about you?’ he asked her. ‘How are things?’

  ‘Oh, they’re all right,’ she said, feeling the beginnings of heat in her cheeks. ‘I’m overdue spending time with my mum, and I seem to be incapable of doing laundry at the moment. Other than that, fine.’

  Ben nodded, glancing over to her and then back at the road. She was poised for him to ask about Jason, but instead he said, ‘What about the awful ex? Has he been making life difficult?’

  ‘Oh …’ Hanson found herself lost for anything to say. How had he known to ask that question? Hanson hadn’t mentioned Damian since late last year, and she hadn’t told anyone about the way her life seemed to have imploded. Not anyone.

  She was still framing an answer when her phone buzzed, and she grabbed it like a lifeline.

  ‘Just Domnall,’ she said, opening her messages with a forced laugh. ‘He wonders whether we’d like to get some Krispy Kremes for tomorrow on the way home.’

  Ben shook his head. ‘Not unless there’s pizza waiting for us when we get back.’

  ‘Yeah, good point.’ Hanson took her time typing out the reply, and then, once finished, she turned away from Ben to look out of the window, as if they’d never begun a conversation about Damian. As if things were absolutely fine.

  Jonah sat in one of the comfortable beige chairs in the entrance hall to the mortuary, wondering about Issa. There was grief there, and it currently took the form of denial. Six or seven times on the drive over, Issa had begun a sentence with, ‘If it’s not him …’ and Jonah had struggled to find the right words in reply.

  He would have been more comfortable asking him formal questions. There was a lot to ask him at a better time. It was difficult to ignore that Issa had sent at least two extremely angry messages to Alex.

  Anger at one’s partner was clearly not always a motivation to commit murder. Men were also murdered by their partners less often than women were, though it happened more frequently in same-sex partnerships. Added to that, Issa’s messages had seemed to suggest that he hadn’t known where Alex was.

  But Jonah wondered whether there were more messages from Issa, and exactly what they said. Following proper procedure, he hadn’t made any attempt to unlock or look at the phone itself. That was a job for the tech team. So the only messages he’d seen were the ones on the lock screen.

  He’d already made a request through Detective Chief Superintendent Wilkinson for the technical team’s work to be fast-tracked. The DCS had agreed that would be appropriate, and Jonah hoped they would have data about Alex’s whereabouts and communications later this afternoon.

  With that thought, Jonah’s phone buzzed. He’d switched it to vibrate while they were in the mortuary, but he felt that he needed to be in contact with his team. When he checked the screen, it turned out to be not his team but his significant ex, Michelle.

  He felt an uncomfortable squeeze in his stomach at the sight of her name. An unwelcome reminder of the last time he’d seen her, and the guilt he’d felt about it all since.

  Her message was brief and apparently casual.

  Hi. Would you be free for a quick call today at some point? I could use some advice.

  He let out a sigh, strongly suspecting that it was an excuse to make contact again. If he had to guess, he’d say that Michelle had probably just gone through a break-up and was feeling vulnerable. She was reaching out to him because he’d shown himself to be interested, even after a year apart.

  He wondered whether he should reply at all, and if so, what the hell he should say, but before he could decide anything, his phone buzzed again with the insistent vibration of a call.

  He glanced towards the door into the rear part of the building. There was no sign of Issa returning from IDing the body, so he made his way to the front door to take the call.

  ‘This is Charlie,’ he heard, in the nightclub owner’s unmistakable Sheffield accent. ‘We spoke earlier at the club? I’ve looked through the footage, at the door, and your victim left at one thirteen.’

  Jonah nodded to himself. ‘That’s great, thank you. Is he with anyone?’

  ‘No,’ Charlie said, ‘but you know I mentioned the brunette? The really drunk one? She left just before he did. It looks like he may have been following her.’

  Jonah glanced towards the rear room of the mortuary, where there were sounds of movement. ‘Can you send me a still of the girl? We’ll need the video too, but if you could get that straight over, I’ll see if anyone recognises her.’

  ‘Sure,’ Charlie said. ‘I’ll do it now. Is your email …?’

  ‘On the card I gave you,’ Jonah said. But he told him what it was anyway.

  As he hung up, Issa was being led to one of the chairs by the manager of the mortuary, a woman Jonah had unbelievable respect for. Issa’s face was white, pinched and terrible, and Jonah felt an awful lurch of vicarious grief.

  ‘Take a few minutes to rest,’ the manager said, as Issa sat, heavily. He looked close to vomiting, and Jonah wondered whether it was the physical sight of Alex that had done it, or the sudden and complete loss of his desperate illusions. It was no longer possible to ask if it might not be Alex; Issa had seen his husband’s body with his own eyes.

  Jonah wondered, too, whether denial had been Issa’s way of escaping what he had done. He wouldn’t be the first killer to convince himself he hadn’t hurt anyone.

  ‘I …’ Issa turned his head, and stood again. ‘I need … some air.’

  ‘Sure.’ Jonah watched Issa leave by the main door, and went to fetch him water in a paper cup. As he was filling it from the cooler in the corner, an email arrived from Charlie. It had two large video attachments, which he knew his phone would take a while to download. But there was also a still, presumably of the drunk brunette.

  It was clearly too soon to show Issa an image of someone Alex may have known, but Jonah was curious to look anyway. He opened it, his left hand pressing the button awkwardly and his right hand on the cup.

  He came close to dropping his phone as he opened the attached image. The girl leaving the club was, unquestionably, Louise Reakes.

  10

  Louise

  You probably want to know why I didn’t stop drinking straight away. Right after I realised there was a strange man pawing at me, and that I had no idea how it had happened.

  I did actually stop, for a while. I managed a week. But it was torture. Every time you and I saw each other, I felt stilted and awkward and dull. After the third time you’d looked at me strangely and asked if I was feeling OK, I told you I’d been under the weather, and then I sank three glasses of gin.

  I decided I’d have to wean myself off the sauce more slowly, and learn to behave the same way around you once I was sober. But I didn’t really believe I could.

  I did, at least, c
ut down on drinking the rest of the time. I explained to April that I couldn’t get blind drunk ever again because the guy in the club had scared me. It was easier, I told her, just not to start drinking in the first place. She genuinely seemed to understand, and not to think I was boring. She told me she’d look out for me better in future, but that she respected my decision.

  That didn’t mean she didn’t keep tempting me, though. Every time it was her round, she’d arch an eyebrow at me before paying, as if to ask if I wanted a shot in that non-alcoholic cocktail. The shameful truth was that I did. I really did. But I didn’t trust myself.

  It’s possible that I didn’t quite trust April, either. I knew some of her behaviour was bad for me. The way she would sometimes arrive to meet me in what she liked to call Predator Mode, which I’ve never once told you about. I didn’t think you’d want me to spend so much time with a serial cheat who would periodically home in on some guy while we were out and leave me to get a cab home.

  But I didn’t worry all that much about it. I was more responsible now. I didn’t need her to stay the whole night and keep an eye on me. I wasn’t drinking, and I was in control. There would be no more guys with their hands all over me.

  It all seemed manageable until, three weeks after Dina got engaged, you proposed to me.

  I’m not blaming you for proposing. I’m really, truly not. My first rush of unbelievable happiness on that Iceland trip, when you dropped down in front of me in the shadow of Gljúfrabúi (I had to look up how to spell that again) was one hundred per cent real. You looked beyond handsome, more so because you were clearly nervous. You cared so much that I accepted you.

  And that ring you chose. God, it was wonderful, Niall. It was like you’d somehow been there every time I’d sighed over someone else’s sparkles, and understood that I would want something slim enough and small enough to wear when I played. You hadn’t gone for some great big, flashy stone like the one Dina was waving around, but for something I would genuinely love.

  I’ve never told you quite how grateful I was for that, Niall. It was that, as much as anything else, that made me cry as I said yes.

  That night was without doubt the most wonderful one I’ve ever spent. Discussing where we would hold the wedding, and what we would do with decor; who the bridesmaids would be and who you’d like as your best man. And, beyond that, talking about kids for the first time. About having the child I’d craved for more years than I’d like to admit.

  You told me, that night, that I’d make a wonderful mother. That you could see me already, teaching them music and juggling my part of the childcare with work. I loved how you added that you’d take paternity leave too. That you wanted to be part of it all.

  When we wandered out into the cold night and stood wrapped round each other, I felt as if everything was perfect. Everything.

  It was only later that panic started to set in.

  It actually started a little while after you’d dozed off half on top of me. I felt a sudden rush of sadness at not having my mum around to tell, and then I imagined how she’d react if she were still alive. And for some reason, in my head, my wonderful, deeply missed mum asked a terrible thing. She asked if you’d thought of proposing before Dina got engaged. Whether you were just doing it to make a point.

  My real mum would never have been so cruel. This was purely my subconscious talking. Or perhaps it was Her, because I’d certainly had enough champagne that night for my drunk persona to make something of an appearance.

  It only took that thought to drive me straight from contented joy to total paranoia. I started imagining that these two proposals were really just some kind of conversation between you and Dina. A dialogue that I had no part in. You were toying with each other, I thought. And her new fiancé and I were just collateral damage.

  By the time I arrived back in the UK I was a wreck. I think you put a lot of it down to the overexcitement of our engagement. I was grateful that you did. There was no way I could talk to you about this. I knew you would be furious with me, and I was more than afraid that you might call the whole thing off.

  All this was in my mind the night Drunk Louise did something truly terrible. Something that might still, to this day, turn out to be worse than I thought.

  And I knew none of it at first. I knew only that April and I had gone out, and that I had woken up in pieces, with what must have been the worst hangover I’ve ever had. Worse even than that first one.

  You spent the morning laughing at me and making me tea. You weren’t angry, even then. You were happy with my explanation that April had bought us a lot of champagne to celebrate, that I just hadn’t eaten enough to cope with it. You were cheerfully accepting of it all, until we were curled up on the sofa watching Lawrence of Arabia, and my phone buzzed.

  I saw the message flash up on my home screen at the same time you did.

  Hi Louise, it’s Matt. It was so great to meet you last night. Let me know if your free to hang out later. I’d love to see you again.

  However bad you felt right then, Niall, I can guarantee that I felt worse. It felt like my whole world was falling apart. I couldn’t help looking at you, and I saw when your cheerful face became hard. Cold. Furious.

  ‘What the actual fuck, Louise?’

  It must have been bad, for you to swear like that. I mean, even with your slightly gendered view of the appropriateness of swearing, I’ve almost never heard you do it.

  I was silent for a long time, and then I shook my head. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know who that is.’

  The silence was terrifying. And when you said ‘Give me your phone’, it didn’t sound like you.

  I was actually too frightened of you to argue. Even though I knew it might make everything worse.

  I was shaking as you opened my messages, and something awful happened to my heart as I saw that I’d messaged this guy first, with the word ‘hello’.

  I watched your face, and I cringed away from you. There was nothing in your expression except rage. It twisted your face into something else, and for the first time I thought you might do something violent. Did you teeter on the edge of it, Niall? Because it looked like you wanted to put your hands round my throat. I’d like to know if I’m right.

  It was words you lashed out with in the end. Asking if I was a drunken whore. Asking why the hell I’d said I wanted to marry you when I really just wanted to screw around. And on, and on, until eventually, crying so hard I could barely say it, I told you to ask April what had happened.

  I was terrified when you called her, but I also desperately needed you to stop. To pause.

  April reported what she’d said later on. She told you to stop being stupid, apparently. That obviously it was just some asshole taking my phone. No, of course I hadn’t given anyone my number. No, I hadn’t flirted with anyone. There had just been some guy who was keen on me and he had clearly crossed some lines.

  I know it helped, what she said. But nothing was ever quite the same after that. Not for you, and not for me. Because April admitted to me, privately, that she had no idea whether I’d given him my number. She’d been too busy with his friend. That’s something I never told you, either, and I feel like it stands against me now, a terrible judgement on my character. Or at least on her character. On Drunk Louise’s.

  That message from a strange man was the beginning of your interrogations. My alter ego suddenly lost her charm in your eyes, and my hungover, sober self lost all your sympathy. You waited for me to overdrink, and you attacked me for it, though I tried so hard to stay the sober side of the line and almost always succeeded. I really did try, Niall. But I couldn’t cope without it. I was so afraid you would see through me, and leave me. And simultaneously afraid that you’d never wanted me, and that everything was still about Dina.

  And, of course, the more you criticised, or gave me the silent treatment, the more anxious I became, and the more I needed the alcohol.

  I say anxious, but what I really felt was a combination of
fear and profound sadness. My life started to look hopeless.

  The worst part was when we talked about kids again, two weeks after that incident. You were so cool. Unemotional. You said we obviously weren’t going to be ready for that for a while.

  I could see in your expression that you didn’t trust me to have your children any more, Niall. And it felt like you’d driven a knife into me.

  11

  The DCI’s phone call came half an hour into the journey, and Hanson felt nothing but relief. She wondered whether Ben, who had driven in silence for the last twenty minutes, felt the same. There was nothing in his expression to suggest that he was uncomfortable. But then there never was.

  ‘Chief,’ Lightman said.

  ‘It looks like Louise Reakes may not be as unconnected as we first thought,’ the DCI told them in a slightly muffled voice. ‘She was in the same club as Alex Plaskitt last night, and he left shortly after her.’

  ‘Interesting,’ Ben said, at the same time that Hanson said, ‘Wow, OK.’

  ‘I’ll be asking O’Malley to bring her in,’ the DCI went on. ‘Where are you two now?’

  ‘Still fifteen minutes from Phoebe Plaskitt’s house,’ Hanson said, with a sudden lift in her spirits. ‘Do you want us to come back?’

  ‘No, you carry on,’ Jonah said. ‘She’s expecting you, and, whatever happens with Louise Reakes, I want to know more about Alex.’

  ‘Right,’ Hanson said, her brief hope shattered. ‘Can do.’

  The silence felt worse once the phone call was done, and, after a minute, Hanson leaned forwards and pressed the button for the radio. ‘Are you OK with Radio Four?’

  ‘Sure,’ Lightman said, equably. ‘Whatever you like.’

  Louise Reakes’s manner was a little defiant. She seemed genuinely outraged to be back in the station. But Jonah was certain he detected a note of panic beneath the affront.

  ‘I don’t understand why I’m here,’ she said to Jonah, as soon as the tape was running. O’Malley, alongside him, was tapping on a laptop, and Louise gave him a look of irritation before she gazed back at Jonah.