The Darkest Lies: A gripping psychological thriller with a shocking twist

by Barbara Copperthwaite

  The olive-green marshland was covered in weird and wonderful plants hardy enough to survive the harsh, salty conditions. I tried to remember some of the names you had told me: sea aster, purslane, sea-blite, couch grass. A flock of brent geese gabbled gently and constantly, like gossipy old women, as they breakfasted among the meres, the shallow saltwater ponds. Although I couldn’t see them, you and I know that dangerously hidden beneath the springy undergrowth further in were meandering tidal creeks several feet deep. They made their sluggish way to the shallow, silt-filled beginnings of the North Sea. Across the other side of The Wash, far in the distance, Hunstanton hunkered down on Norfolk’s coast.

  What the hell would a thirteen-year-old girl be doing here in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night, Beth? Someone must have abducted you, brought you here against your will.

  Searching for answers, I made a ninety-degree turn and trudged along the mud track at the top of the sea bank. Frozen puddles gave way beneath me with a crunch and splash.

  After ten minutes, with the sun sitting fully above the horizon, I could see white tape that cordoned off a distant area. As I grew closer, the wind making the rectangle bulge convex then concave, the tape no longer seemed pure white, but blue and white. Closer again and words became distinct: ‘POLICE: DO NOT CROSS’. They shivered in the wind, meaningless, now that the authorities had collected all the forensic evidence they needed from the scene.

  That was where my daughter was dumped like a piece of rubbish. It had taken me over fifteen minutes to walk there from the car park. Surely someone couldn’t have carried you all this way? But you weighed almost nothing, and if the man were strong, it would have been easy enough.

  I quivered like the police tape as an image flared in my mind. You, thrown over a powerful shoulder. Unconscious and bleeding. Your head lolling and bobbing in time with your attacker’s step.

  On my right was the mere you had been floating in. My imagination kicked in again. You were walking alone, engrossed in watching a fox or badger or some such. You tripped. Stumbled in the darkness. Hit your head and rolled, unconscious, into the mere. Is that what happened?

  No. Not in those clothes, those ridiculous boots. And you had been wearing make-up. You’d clearly dressed up for someone and met them elsewhere, then been brought here by them – you wouldn’t have come to the marshes in those clothes.

  Who brought you here, Beth? Who knows these marshes? Villagers? But they barely come here, because there’s nothing to see for miles.

  I looked around, hoping to find some clue: something, anything that would explain what had happened. Something the police had missed and only a mother would spot. In the distance the skeleton of a young sperm whale that had been stranded and died stood out against the skyline. You had been so upset at its death. The local authorities had no choice but to leave it to rot as the mudflats were too dangerous for a vehicle. Nearby there was a single sycamore tree, twisting away from the sea and reaching towards Fenmere as if imploring someone to stop the wind from bullying it and warping its growth. Neither the whale nor the tree offered any clues as to what had happened to you.

  At the sycamore’s base sat a teddy bear and a couple of bunches of flowers.

  A shrine to you, Beth.

  My stomach flipped. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. It was as though you were dead. But you were alive. You were going to be fine.

  I was being silly. It was nice, really, and kind of people to be so thoughtful. I forced myself over to it and read the notes. The Clarkes, of course; the teddy was from them.

  Miss you, read the note.

  Jill Young and her brood: Thinking of You.

  The Jachowski family had left no note, simply their names on a card tucked among the blooms. Huh, that was unexpected. The Polish family had moved to the village about a year before. They seemed nice enough, but the most we’d ever said to one another was ‘hello’. Do they know you, Beth?

  Finally, I turned to leave. And as I did, something plucked at my clothes. I gasped. Looked around wildly. It was only the wind. Just the wind. But it had felt exactly like you were tugging at me for attention, the way you had when you were little.

  I pulled my hood up and ran, stumbling, back along the sea bank. The wind playfully tugged at me again, pulling my hood down and… Was that a person, watching me? I turned, squinting. Yes, someone in the distance. A man. Even at that remove, it was possible to tell from the way the person stood, and their stocky build and tall frame, that my watcher was male.

  I ran again. This time the wind pushed me on, seeming to want to help.

  Eighteen

  By the time I’d reached the main road, after a hurried forty minutes of speed-walking to get away from the person watching me, I’d calmed down and silently scolded myself for getting so spooked. Despite constantly looking over my shoulder, he had not followed me. But something more practical worried at me: what if, when Jacob’s secret came out, the police decided to try to pin your attack on him?

  I’d have to find the real culprit.

  The most obvious place to begin was Chloe. Surely she knew something about what you had been up to that night? I refused to believe you hadn’t confided in your best friend. She might not want to break confidence, though – particularly to the police.

  I’d talk with her, make her understand.

  Once across to the other side of the village, silly nerves kicked in. Fiddling with one of the toggles on my coat, as I always did when fretting, I knocked on the Clarkes’ door. The toggle popped off just as the front door swung open to reveal me bent over. I straightened quickly, and Ursula, understandably, looked surprised to see me doing a jack-in-the-box impression.

  ‘Melanie! Is everything all right? Is Beth okay?’

  ‘She’s fine, yes. Well, no change.’

  Her face tightened, clearly unsure of what to say. Her platinum hair fell in waves to her shoulders and framed her chunky face. She was made-up perfectly, with thick eyeliner and hot-pink lipstick. I stopped playing with the broken toggle of my coat.

  ‘No news is good news, eh?’ she managed finally.

  We looked at each other. Her hand still rested on the door, blocking my way.

  ‘Umm, may I come in? I was wondering if I could have a quick chat with Chloe.’

  ‘Now isn’t a good time. I’m about to drive her to school – we’re horribly late. Then I’ve got to open the café.’

  ‘Yes, I can appreciate it’s not a good time. I’m not having such a great time myself.’ My voice was brittle.

  Her eyes widened, and she hurried me in, apologising.

  She left me standing awkwardly in the immaculate lounge – everything cream, apart from a pillar-box-red sofa and scarlet picture frames – and as I sat down I suddenly realised I was still in my pyjamas. I decided to keep my coat on in case they thought I was a lunatic.

  When Ursula and Chloe emerged a few minutes later, the teen gave a half-smile and a little wave of her hand. With her long limbs and already impressive chest, she was turning into a mini-me version of her mum. She’d also inherited Ursula’s lack of waist, her body square rather than curvy, despite Ursula seeming to consider herself Fenmere’s answer to Marilyn Monroe. In a bid to look different from her mother, Chloe had recently dyed her long hair a strange shade of burgundy. It clashed nastily with the red leather sofa as she sat beside me.

  Her navy-blue uniform was neat and tidy and her school bag lay at her feet, ready to go at any moment. Still, she made herself comfortable by pulling up her feet, while Ursula perched next to her on the arm of the sofa.

  ‘How are you doing?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m okay…’

  ‘You’re not in trouble.’ I smiled gently. ‘But I need to ask: is there anything you know about that can help me find out who hurt Beth?’

  Chloe shrugged. Her mum’s fingers twitched on her shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

  ‘Was there ever a plan that she’d stay here on Friday,
the night she got attacked?’

  ‘No, she’d never meant to stay,’ said Ursula.

  I bit down my frustration. ‘Chloe?’

  ‘No, Mum’s right. Beth never asked to stay here that night.’

  ‘Steve was away on a business trip, you see – well, an excuse to go golfing, really,’ added Ursula. ‘So we had a lovely girlie night in together, didn’t we? We’d been looking forward to it ever since Dad said he’d go away, eh?’

  Chloe nodded. ‘Sorry. I do want to help, Mrs Oak.’

  ‘I know. It’s not your fault. Look, did Beth have a secret boyfriend? Or a crush? Someone who was interested in her? Maybe someone who fancied her, but she wasn’t interested in him?’

  The questions tumbled from me, even as I warned myself not to overwhelm Chloe. She looked calm, though. Her maturity impressed me.

  ‘Right, I think Beth did fancy someone,’ she admitted. Her fingers played with the strap of her bag as she spoke. ‘But she wouldn’t tell me who. So I kept teasing her about it, and she’d blush and get mad at me. It was funny.’

  ‘Any idea who?’

  Another shrug. ‘Aleksy Jachowski had started talking to us on the bus to school, like. I think he fancied Beth, but she told me she wasn’t interested in him.’

  ‘Could she have been meeting him?’ I pressed, remembering the flowers from the Jachowski family left at the shrine on the marsh.

  ‘I don’t know. I… I just, like, so can’t believe this has happened… How is she? I’m sorry, Mrs Oak, but I’ve told you and the police all I know.’

  ‘Everything? Come on, I know what I was like at your age. My best friend and I told each other all kinds of things, and nothing would have made me give up one of our secrets to an adult.’

  ‘I’m not a child. I do understand how important this is, you know. Is… is she going to be all right?’

  Being upbraided by a kid I’d known since she was knee-high stung me. ‘She’ll be fine. But until you have kids yourself, you won’t understand what I’m going through. Please, who was Beth meeting that night? You must have some idea.’

  Ursula stood abruptly. ‘That’s enough. We’d love to help you, but Chloe’s tired, she’s upset and has to go to school now. She doesn’t have anything else to say.’

  ‘Ursula, please. Just a few minutes more.’ I leaned round her to look at Chloe.

  ‘This is so important. The tiniest thing could make a difference. Were there any new friends Beth had made lately, boys or girls? Any reason at all why she’d be on the marsh? Anyone she might have met who’d take her there?’

  My voice grew louder as frustration and desperation took hold.

  ‘Melanie, leave her be. Chloe’s had enough.’

  ‘So have I! So has Beth!’

  ‘Look, me and her dad are splitting up.’

  That stopped me in my tracks.

  Ursula sighed. Chloe stared at the floor, fingers clutching the bag strap. ‘I know it’s nothing compared to what you’re going through, but between that and what’s happened to Beth… It’s a lot for someone to deal with at Chloe’s age. You have to understand: I must protect my daughter.’

  ‘I… Yes, of course, I understand that.’

  That’s what I’d failed to do: protect my daughter. That was the thought that brought tears to my eyes, calling quick apologies over my shoulder as I fled the house.

  But at least there was a name now – Aleksy Jachowski, the seventeen-year-old son of Polish immigrants. Him, and the sinister figure who had been watching me on the marsh.

  Nineteen

  BETH

  FRIDAY 22 JANUARY

  Beth shivered as she quickly got changed in the freezing cricket pavilion. Her fingers were numb as she backcombed her hair. Stuffing her rucksack out of sight behind a tangle of practice nets, she hesitated, then pulled her coat back on. It ruined the look of the fashionable little outfit she wore, but she was too sensible to face the cold without it.

  Besides, she wouldn’t be wearing her coat for too long, hopefully. As soon as she got where she was going, she’d slip out of it.

  The goosebumps she got at that moment had nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with excitement. This was it: the night her relationship changed forever. She couldn’t wait to take things to the next level. When her friends at school found out, they’d be so totally green.

  ‘Ready?’ whispered a voice in the semi-darkness.

  ‘I was born ready,’ Beth said, sounding far more confident than her flipping stomach would let her feel.

  Twenty

  The front door had barely closed before Jacob threw himself at me.

  ‘Where have you been?’ he gasped, squeezing me in a bear hug until every sinew in his body pressed against me. ‘I’ve been worried sick. You didn’t take your mobile with you.’

  ‘God, I’m so sorry. I needed some fresh air.’

  ‘Anything could have happened to you,’ he said, bursting into tears.

  Good job he didn’t know I’d been on the marsh, or he’d have been even more worried. I decided to keep shtum about everything – including my visit to Chloe Clarke.

  ‘Hey, it’s okay. I’m okay,’ I replied gently. ‘But… now we have to go to the police station and tell them the truth about you.’

  He ran his hand over the blond stubble of his head fretfully. His face had aged over the past week, new lines appearing around his tragic blue eyes. We had both been pushed beyond endurance. He heaved a sigh.

  ‘Look, it’s not worth it, Mel. It’s got nothing to do with what happened, and I’ll just get into trouble.’

  ‘It’s “not worth it”? Telling the truth about the night our daughter was attacked “isn’t worth it”?’

  ‘Don’t be like that.’

  ‘Like what?’ My words cracked like a whip. ‘We’ve already discussed this. When this comes out – and it will – people are going to suspect you of lying about everything. They’ll think you had something to do with Beth’s attack, unless you come clean now.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘It’s always the family people suspect first.’

  ‘You might be right. Let me think—’

  ‘You’re not thinking, Jacob; you’re doing it. If you don’t, I will. You’ve got the time it takes me to pack Beth’s things for hospital to agree with me.’

  I couldn’t believe your dad was being such a coward, Beth. He and I had always tried to set you a good example about doing the right thing. What a joke.

  In a fury, I stomped up the stairs to your room. And stopped. All emotion drained from me, leaving only terror behind. Who was I to talk of your father’s cowardice when I was so scared of your bedroom, Beth?

  Do you want to know a secret? It took every single ounce of courage, squeezed up tight into a ball, to turn the doorknob and step into your room, Beth. I tiptoed across the dirty clothes strewn on the floor, feeling guilty for picking them up and putting them into your wash basket as I went. I was another person invading your privacy, coming into your room without asking. At least I left untouched the clothes across that uncomfortable pink chair. I stood in the middle of your room, taking in the posters of wildlife and pop stars. Breathed in your perfume, Daisy, that hung in the air – another Christmas present you had begged me for. Guilt punched me.

  I should have kept you safe. I had failed you.

  Hunched over in pain, I snatched up random bits and bobs you might like with you in hospital. Pulling down a favourite poster to take, and swearing at the rip I made in your wallpaper. Ran out, crying, slamming the door behind me.

  Overnight bag packed, I forced myself upright, wiped away the tears and came down the stairs.

  ‘We’ll go straight to Leeds,’ I said. Jacob’s face relaxed, relief spreading over it. ‘From the police station,’ I added firmly.

  It was time for the truth finally to come out.

  Twenty-One

  Fifteen minutes or so later we parked at Wapentake police station. The
ugly five-storey creation of concrete slabs had been pebble-dashed in an attempt to soften the harsh rectangle, which also incorporated the magistrates’ court. Stairs outside led up to the reception on the first floor, where Jacob asked to speak to DS Devonport.

  As soon as he made his confession, the pair of us were separated. The small room they put me in was windowless, cell-like and painted a pale grey. I sat on an orange plastic chair, instantly feeling guilty for no reason. I would never make a master criminal, I decided.

  ‘Mrs Oak, can you talk us through events on the night of your daughter’s disappearance?’ asked Detective Constable Alan Musgrove.

  So I told him again about you asking to stay at Chloe’s house. About me not bothering to check whether or not this was true because it happened so often. Lately I’d simply got out of the habit – you two lived in each other’s pockets, and besides, you and Chloe were growing up and I’d thought you could both be trusted. That’s what you’d been relying on, wasn’t it, Beth? Habit and trust making me lazy. You had taken advantage of that to lie and manipulate me. Why?

  What time we set off. Our conversation about superheroes inspired by wildlife. You skipping away from me. Once again, I went over those painful last moments of seeing you truly alive and vital. I hadn’t imagined for a second that the next time I saw you, my daughter, you’d be lying lifeless in a hospital bed.

  They quizzed me about your clothes, of course. About whether or not you were carrying a bag.

  ‘For the hundredth time, yes, she was. I’d thought it contained her overnight things to stay with Chloe. In fact, it must have been her make-up and clothes for some kind of night out. Have you found Beth’s rucksack yet? Or her coat?’

  ‘Not yet. She wasn’t wearing make-up when she left the house?’ the detective checked.