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

by Barbara Copperthwaite

  ‘Ah, er, a coffee would be lovely, thanks.’

  She bustled into the kitchen. I took the opportunity to have a nose round from my seat. The place was tiny, the furniture tired, but it was clean, tidy and clearly well looked after. The ancient brown carpet had threadbare whorls here and there, which Marcie had tried to hide beneath a large purple rug. A huge television took up most of the space on the wall opposite the window I sat beneath. Marcie’s lounge was too small for any other seats apart from the sofa.

  A photo in a silver frame on the mantelpiece caught my eye. It was of Marcie and Glenn, laughing at the camera. Her angular face looked tiny beside his round one.

  Marcie reappeared and handed me a mug.

  ‘Right, what can I do for you? Is it something to do with Glenn?’ As she asked, she perched on the edge of the sofa, her body turned towards me, our knees almost touching.

  I took her in, trying to get a sense of her, trying to figure out how best to broach the subject of Glenn and the notebook. She wore a pale denim shirt, untucked, over black leggings, and on her feet were fluffy slippers with cat faces on. It was the slippers that did it, along with the photo of her and Glenn; this was a nice woman, I decided. There was an air of desperation about her, too; she wanted to be liked. She was so utterly different from the hard-faced bitch Glenn had painted. Well, he might not have any feelings for her any more, but judging from the photo on display, Marcie was still in love with him.

  Going on my gut, I suddenly decided how I’d tackle this problem. I’d try to charm the information from her. I smiled my best ‘I’m a journalist and want to win you over’ smile, and popped the mug down.

  ‘Well, Glenn’s done so much for us, and we want to do something nice for him, you know? He talks about you, a lot.’ I almost winced at that blatant lie. Marcie tilted her head to one side, curious as a cat. Pink splotches of colour bloomed up her pale neck and cheeks as she blushed in surprise and pleasure. ‘So I wondered if there was anything I could do, to help smooth things between the two of you…’

  Marcie bit her lip then looked at me, shaking her head.

  ‘Is that what he wants? Really?’

  Her voice was a whisper, but the hope in it shouted. I felt dreadful, but told myself this was to help another mother, desperate for answers. A mother like me, who had lost her child. Eventually I’d just have to find a way of letting Marcie down gently after needlessly building her hopes up.

  ‘Of course that’s what he wants,’ I soothed.

  ‘But Glenn just walked out one day. He’d been in a funny mood for months before. Distant. And picking rows with me all the time. Then suddenly things seemed to improve. They were great for a few weeks, until…’ She shrugged. Her eyes were wide, appealing to me desperately. ‘He just walked out on me. Packed a bag and said he was leaving and wouldn’t ever be coming back.’

  A tear balanced on the black rim of her eye, then tumbled down her cheek. She wiped at it, clearly embarrassed.

  ‘Sorry,’ she sniffed.

  ‘No, I’m the one who should apologise. I’m sticking my nose in where it’s got no business. I wanted to help.’ I took a calculated gamble, moved as if to stand.

  ‘No, it’s lovely of you,’ she sniffed again. ‘But… are you sure it’s what Glenn wants? What’s he said?’

  ‘Oh, well, he’s told me a lot about how much he misses you, but that he feels too ashamed to come back after the way he walked out.’ The lies flew out of my mouth.

  She gave a watery smile, sat a little straighter.

  ‘Honestly? I mean, I know he’s not perfect, and, well, he’d have to make some changes, not take me for granted so much, maybe take me out once in a while, but, well, I might be willing to forgive him.’

  ‘So, do you mind me asking… What exactly happened between the two of you? It was back in September, is that right?’

  ‘January,’ she corrected.

  ‘He didn’t leave you until January? I must have got my wires crossed. I thought he went in September. To go travelling?’

  ‘Travelling! That takes money. We haven’t even travelled to Skegness for a day trip in years.’

  My mind raced at her answer. So Glenn had definitely been lying about being in Australia. I knew it! He had moved straight to Wapentake after leaving his wife in January.

  Marcie gave a sad sigh, collecting herself.

  ‘He’d been out of sorts for about six months. But then there was all that terrible business. You’ve seen it in the news, you know, about that little girl, Tiffany Jones, getting snatched off the street in the middle of the night? Horribly murdered.’ She shuddered. I did too. Another poor girl meeting a violent end. But I couldn’t allow myself to get upset about it, or connect with it emotionally – to do so would give the game away, and it was too important for that. So I forced myself to keep my journalist head on, pleased the subject had come up so easily. Marcie had presented it to me on a plate.

  She leaned closer, lowering her voice as if worried she might be overheard.

  ‘Our neighbour’s girl was mates with the poor mite, you know. Terrible business. Well, she and Glenn have always got on well. Honest, he’s like an uncle to her, buys her presents, gets through to her when her parents can’t; it’s a gift. He even helps her with her phone and computers and stuff – he’s good that way.’

  ‘Is this Katie? Your neighbour’s girl’s name is Katie?’

  ‘That’s right! The one you got confused about; thought she was Glenn’s daughter!’ She chuckled at my foolish ‘mistake’. ‘Thing is, Katie was devastated by Tiffany’s murder. I mean, they weren’t close, but they knew each other, texted sometimes, and something like that’s bound to upset a child, isn’t it? So Katie’s parents asked Glenn to keep an eye on her, too, and it seemed to snap him out of his mood. He was like a different person for a while. Couldn’t do enough for me. But then one night he just upped and left me. Out of the blue. Said he couldn’t stand to live here any more. Couldn’t stand me any more.’

  She hunched in on herself again. Her hair fell around her face, but I could hear her crying. I took her hand.

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ I hesitated. ‘Did Glenn know Tiffany? Had he ever met her?’

  Marcie shook her head, high forehead crinkled at the question.

  ‘I thought he might be upset about her death, and that had made him act out of character, leaving you,’ I improvised. ‘He’s, er, really good with kids, isn’t he?’

  Her bottom lip quivered as she nodded her reply. ‘Loves them. Has a real way with them, you know? It’s such a shame we never had any. We tried, but we couldn’t. My fault,’ she added hastily. ‘My fault.’

  This was all well and good, but how the hell was I going to ask about the notebook, Beth? As I thought, I ran over the conversation, buying time by sipping my coffee. Suddenly a fragment of the conversation floated up. Something that didn’t fit.

  ‘Did you say Glenn helped Katie with her phone?’

  ‘He’s a whizz at stuff like that.’ Marcie looked proud. I looked confused.

  ‘Glenn’s useless with phones, it took him forever to get the ringtone off Roza’s mobile,’ I muttered to myself.

  ‘Oh, he’s still nicking ringtones, is he?’ Marcie smiled. Shook her head indulgently. ‘He did that with Katie too. Downloaded her ringtone to cheer himself up. Something to do with Bluetooth or something. Oh, I did laugh at him, wanting the same ringtone as a twelve-year-old kid.’

  For some reason, that made me go cold. I felt as if I was missing something vital, just at the tip of my fingers. All I had to do was stretch, and I’d be there.

  What if Glenn had got Tiffany’s number from Katie’s phone?

  ‘Did Tiffany come round much? To visit Katie?’ I asked.

  ‘Don’t know. Got the impression she’d never been round, actually. Like I say, they weren’t close, but close enough for Katie to be hit hard. Don’t expect anyone you know to die, not at that age, do you?’

  I blinked rapidly a
t the inadvertent reminder of your own tragically short life. Chewed hard on the side of my cheek to stop the tears and made myself concentrate on Tiffany. I wouldn’t – couldn’t – think about you.

  If Glenn had never seen Tiffany, why would he target her? Then again, maybe Marcie was confused, and the girl had often visited Katie. Maybe Glenn had simply found the notebook on the street and had no idea it belonged to a murdered child. Maybe he knew the person who had hurt her.

  That was a whole load of maybes.

  Frustration built; I needed to know more.

  ‘What about the notebook? Glenn’s pink notebook?’ I blurted.

  Marcie looked at me like I was mad.

  ‘The bright pink Moleskine notebook that he always carries with him?’ My voice was urgent now. ‘Do you know where he got it from? When did he start carrying it? It was after Tiffany disappeared, wasn’t it?’

  She flicked her yellow hair off her shoulders suddenly. Her eyebrows, so pale they were almost invisible, pulled together sharply.

  ‘What are you on about? Why are you asking all this? I don’t know anything about a notebook.’

  She stood. ‘I’ve, er, just remembered that I’ve got to nip out now. Sorry. Tell Glenn he can call me any time. And, er, I hope your girl gets well soon.’

  Damn! I had completely freaked her out with my strange questions. I made myself calm.

  ‘Thank you,’ I murmured, standing too. ‘I’ll pass the message on to Glenn.’

  Marcie opened the door. Reached up and patted my shoulder hesitantly as I walked past her.

  ‘You must be under a terrible strain with your girl being so ill. I’ll keep everything crossed for her. Being a mother is such a blessing.’

  I hurried away, tears threatening again. I couldn’t think about you, Beth. Not yet. Wouldn’t think about never seeing you again. Never hearing you. Never holding you… Much easier to pretend you were still in hospital, and that I’d visit you later.

  Instead, I jumped into my car and popped to a chemist, then started the journey home, my head exploding with thoughts.

  Ninety-One

  When I had lived in Dunkirk, Nottingham, my neighbour’s teenager, Katie, had been the perfect patsy.

  I was good with kids, and her parents often came to me, begging me to speak to her when they had problems. They called me ‘the voice of reason’, and were always amazed that she listened when I talked to her. But manipulating children and adults was something I had studied from an early age.

  For years I had been satisfied with torturing innocent animals, but ever since my teens a fresh longing had been building inside me. I wanted to prove my power over life by killing a child. They are so treasured by the world, such a symbol of hope and purity.

  But I didn’t want to just do it once, and then get jailed. If I were to be able to do it again and again, I would have to be careful. So I had taken my time, perfecting my plan. Watching people and their complicated, pointless emotions, so that I could insinuate my way into their lives and gain access to their treasures with their blessing. Building up to the point where I could pull off my project.

  My second wife, Vicki, had got in the way last time I had got close to my goal. I’d made a stupid mistake, using my home computer to look at some interesting photographs on a very secret and specialised site. When Vicki had found them, she had thrown me out, but been too embarrassed to call the police for fear of what people would think of her, married to a man like me.

  Annoying, but it had taught me a valuable lesson.

  Marcie had not been as sharp. And I had been smarter this time. Hidden my tracks better, and slowly got to know young Katie’s parents. When they asked me to babysit her or be her ‘voice of reason’ when she was playing up, she had no clue they were encouraging their daughter to talk to a monster. They had no idea how often I fantasised about squeezing the life from her.

  Chatting to her helped me refine my plan.

  I’d been speaking to Katie’s parents one day when I heard an unusual ringtone. It was my big chance, and I seized it.

  ‘That’s really cool – or do I sound like a big kid myself?’ I asked Katie. ‘Where can I get a ringtone like that?’

  She had grinned, glowing at the attention, as usual. I got the impression she didn’t get much at home – kids like that were easy targets for people like me.

  ‘’S’off the internet. There’s a site,’ she shrugged.

  ‘Hmm, I’m not very good with technology. Could I get it off your phone instead? Download it somehow? That way, if I have any problems, you’re here to help.’

  No one seemed to find it odd that I apparently couldn’t figure out a website but knew enough about technology to transfer the ringtone from one phone to the other. Idiots.

  ‘Sure.’ She offered her phone to me, and I looked at her mum to make sure everything was above board. When she gave me the go-ahead, not even remotely interested in what I was doing, I almost laughed out loud.

  ‘Do you want to do it?’ I double-checked, proffering her child’s phone.

  ‘Oh no, I’m probably worse than you at that sort of thing!’ she chuckled. Just as I’d hoped.

  That’s the thing about people: the more open you are about what you’re doing, the less they ask questions. If I had tried to be sneaky about getting my hands on her daughter’s phone, she would have been instantly suspicious, but because I was doing it right in front of her, she couldn’t have cared less.

  Fingers working quickly, expertly, I got started. I opened up Katie’s contacts and quickly Bluetoothed the lot over to my phone.

  ‘Hang on, I’m in the wrong place,’ I lied to cover myself, not that anyone was looking closely. ‘Here we go. Have I… Have I managed it?’

  I looked round at the blank, stupid, unsuspicious faces as I showed them my screen. Shrugs all round.

  ‘Could one of you call me to check?’

  Katie did that. My phone rang with that ridiculous new tone. Proof that I had done what I had said I’d done. No one was suspicious.

  Stupid sheep. Never realising there was a wolf among them.

  As I walked away, I couldn’t stop the smile spreading across my face. I had a huge cache of children’s numbers, thanks to my cunning. I was spoiled for choice over who to target with my text messages.

  While deciding, I bought a disposable phone and transferred the numbers to that before deleting them from my usual phone. To make extra sure nothing could ever be traced back to me, I made it known to everyone that I had ‘lost’ my old phone and got a different one, same number, when in reality I’d stamped on it until there was nothing usable left of it, then chucked the bits in various bins scattered around town. Now I had my new phone, free of any evidence, and my new burner phone that had the youngsters’ phone numbers on.

  A few days later, at around 11 p.m., I decided to start my experiment. I wanted someone vulnerable, bored, easily hoodwinked. And once I got the ball rolling, I knew I’d have to act fast, so sent texts to several different numbers at once.

  Who would get back to me first? I’d no idea what any of them looked like, but it didn’t matter. One girl was as good as another.

  Ninety-Two

  In the car, the miles home barely existed. The horror grew inside me as I thought of Glenn. Thoughts flashed past me faster than the white lines on the road.

  He’d lied about Marcie being a bitch.

  He’d lied about having a daughter.

  He’d lied about the notebook.

  He’d lied about being out of the country when Tiffany was murdered.

  He’d lied about being useless with technology.

  I’d thought it was odd when such a self-confessed technophobe made the connection between Snapchat and spreading the word about the raves. It didn’t fit with the Glenn I knew at all. But it fitted the person Marcie knew: the technical whizz.

  Everything was circumstantial. But now I knew there was a connection between Glenn and Tiffany. He had been close by w
hen she was killed. He had her notebook. He was a liar, a manipulator.

  But was he a murderer?

  I warned myself to calm down. Possibly I was adding two and two and making five, as I had with James Harvey. Perhaps I was convincing myself there was evidence of Glenn being a killer when in fact he was a totally innocent man.

  For the past two weeks I had spent countless hours with him. We had worked side by side, become so close. Never once had I picked up anything sinister from him.

  The doodles probably looked nothing like Tiffany’s, I told myself once again. But there was only one way to be sure. I’d have to get a look at that notebook. Then I’d know for certain. My foot pressed down on the accelerator and I urged the miles to disappear.

  As much as I tried to think of Glenn, you were smashing through the wall of questions I hid behind, Beth. A fever flash of grief made me tremble, blurring the cars in front of me dangerously. I shook with it, forcing my hands to grip the wheel tighter, to try to blink the tears away so that I could see. They fell faster than I could clear them. I put my trust in you that you would either keep me safe or let me crash and burn so that we could be together.

  Was I losing my mind? Had your death pushed me over the edge, Beth?

  ‘Just let me solve this last mystery,’ I begged you. ‘Just let me get justice for this girl, like I got it for you. Then I don’t care what happens.’

  Ninety-Three

  The kid was as fast as a striking snake, I had to hand it to her. From the edge of the pothole I picked up a lump of loose tarmac the size of a grapefruit. Raced after her, exhilarated.

  Adrenaline flowed as I gave chase. These were the bits I loved to replay in my mind over and over.

  Feet running. Screaming for her mother. Begging for mercy. The sound of a watermelon smashing. A huff of breath. Legs giving way.