One Little Lie

by Sam Carrington

  ‘Don’t worry, but speak quickly, Connie – things are moving rapidly here.’

  ‘Oh, okay,’ Connie said, flustered by Lindsay’s statement. ‘I wanted to say something about Verity Payne, the woman who took in contraband for Kyle Mann.’

  ‘Yes, we’ve taken her statement. She’s going to be charged, Connie.’

  ‘Will it be taken into account she was conditioned? That she shouldn’t have been in contact with prisoners?’

  ‘She’s got a solicitor. She’ll be well briefed, I’m sure.’

  ‘Right, well I’m not sure if she said, I’m guessing not, but I was the one she gave a mobile phone to, so that Kyle could message me. I think Tom now has Kyle’s mobile – he contacted me through it the other day.’ Connie sucked in a lungful of air, waiting for the reprimand.

  ‘Jesus Christ, Connie. Really? Well, that’s fan-bloody-tastic, isn’t it? Why didn’t you tell me? Withholding information—’

  ‘I didn’t know it was in Tom’s hands.’

  ‘But you knew Kyle was breaking the law having a mobile phone in prison, Connie. Shit, I haven’t got time for this now.’

  ‘I’ll give a statement,’ Connie said. ‘Don’t get angry.’

  ‘I’m not angry. Well yes, actually, I am.’ There was a pause – Connie could hear Lindsay take a deep breath. ‘Hopefully there’s no harm done,’ she resumed, her voice calmer. ‘We had a breakthrough with the gaming community: someone came forwards to say they’d been targeted – groomed, pretty much. And they gave details, which, together with Verity’s evidence and an anonymous call giving a rough location as to the suspect’s possible whereabouts, means we’ve got a solid lead.’

  ‘You know where Tom lives?’

  ‘We’ve narrowed the area significantly – surveillance teams are there now along with Mack. I don’t think it’ll be long before we pinpoint his precise location.’

  ‘So, you know who the fake Alice is as well then?’

  ‘Look, I’ll fill you in once it’s all over, okay? All you need to do is stay well away from everyone involved, Connie. Can you manage that?’

  ‘Well, yes. I don’t know where she is, do I? Therefore, I can’t get involved.’

  ‘No, I guess not. Anyway, have to go, our team’s getting ready to move. See you tonight.’

  The words See you tonight echoed in Connie’s ear. Lindsay sounded confident she really would be home. That this case, and its linked one, would be tied up. Connie had her fingers crossed that Lindsay’s optimism wasn’t misplaced.

  The caller ID on Connie’s mobile was withheld. That wasn’t unusual – it was the case with many prospective clients. But when Connie answered and heard the voice on the other end of the line, she took a sharp intake of breath.

  ‘Help me, Connie.’

  The words sent a shockwave through her.

  ‘Hello? Alice?’

  ‘It’s Angela.’

  ‘Angela,’ Connie repeated – saying her name to imprint it in her mind. Finally, she had the real identity of fake Alice. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Been better,’ she said. Her voice sounded echoey. ‘I’m a bit lost, Connie, you know?’

  The sadness in Angela’s words tugged at Connie’s heart. Yes, she could imagine she did feel lost, afraid of what her future held – of what Tom’s did.

  ‘Where are you now, Angela?’ Clearly, Lindsay and her team hadn’t got there yet.

  ‘At home. Sitting outside Tom’s room.’

  Connie realised this was the first time her client had been completely honest with her, not obscuring her own or her son’s identity. What she was telling her now was the truth. Was it because she knew it was over, because she felt defeated? Connie tried to remember things Angela had told her over the sessions. She quickly accessed the notes she’d made in ‘Alice’s’ client file on the computer, her shoulder cradling the phone against her ear.

  ‘What’s Tom doing?’ Connie asked as she scanned the file.

  ‘He’s sleeping.’

  ‘Are you sure, Angela? It might be that he’s out, and that’s why it’s quiet?’

  ‘No, no. He’s definitely in there. I made sure of that. Didn’t want him to harm anyone else. Didn’t want harm coming to him.’

  That sounded ominous, but Connie pressed on. She didn’t want her to put the phone down.

  ‘Okay, well, it’s good that he’s safe. Are you safe, Angela?’

  ‘Yes, I’m fine. I wanted to know if you could help us? Keep Tom from going to prison?’

  ‘I can help in a way.’ Connie needed to be careful what she said, she didn’t want to give false hope, promise something she couldn’t deliver. ‘I can talk to the police and tell them about your reasons for not coming forwards. I can also write a statement about how you felt you were let down, how when you tried to get help with Tom you were turned away. But other than that, I’m afraid I can’t stop the police from taking Tom into custody, Angela. He’ll be assessed there though, he’ll get the support he—’

  ‘But they’ll take him from here, from me, won’t they?’ Connie heard the desperation in her voice as it cracked. She must feel as though her control was slipping away.

  There was no point Connie lying. ‘For the moment, yes.’

  ‘I’ve let him down, then.’

  ‘You haven’t let him down. He is an adult, he’s made his own decisions, acted of his own accordance – you didn’t make him do the things he’s done.’

  ‘But we both know I didn’t stop him either, and even when I knew he’d done wrong, I didn’t do anything about it. There were no consequences to his actions. Not until now, anyway.’ The power came back to her voice as she said this, and Connie sensed the shift in her state of mind. Without seeing her, she couldn’t be sure, but it seemed to Connie that there was every possibility Angela may act rashly. Could she talk her through this episode – at least keep her on the phone until Lindsay’s team arrived there?

  ‘And the consequences now are?’ Connie had to keep her talking.

  ‘I’ve drugged him. Tied him up, locked him in his room. And today I met Deborah, and she knows who I am. She’s bound to have called the police. They’re going to be coming now. Those are his consequences, but what are mine?’

  ‘I really don’t know, Angela.’ Connie’s mind scrambled for the right thing to say. It sounded as though Angela had come to a critical point; the fact she’d drugged and bound her son showed an escalation in her thinking – panic. In that frame of mind, she could be dangerous. Connie wanted to blurt out questions: what had she done to Tom, where was he, what had she given him, when? But in order to help him, Connie had to play it safe – and talking about Deborah would buy some time, perhaps keep her calm. After all, it sounded like she’d finally achieved her goal after months of trying. ‘You say you met Deborah? How did that go?’

  ‘Not as I wanted. You were right. I knew you were, but when the opportunity was right there, I had to take it. I had to try. I knew she might not forgive me, but I thought she’d at least understand where I was coming from. I thought she’d accept we are alike, that we’ve both lost our sons, you know?’

  There was a gap – a silence followed by a bang – then Angela’s voice came back louder and more urgent.

  ‘She didn’t, though. Maybe one day she will. After.’

  ‘After what?’

  There was no response from Angela, but Connie could hear movement, shuffling. A key in a lock?

  ‘Angela, what are you doing?’ she shouted.

  ‘He’s coming round, Connie. I have a chance to save my son. I have to take it.’

  ‘Angela, don’t do anything hasty, I can get you help, I can. But Tom can’t be trusted to stop killing. Don’t let him go, let the police take him. Please, Angela. He needs professional assessments. Let me get that for him, for you. Where are you? I’ll come to you right now.’

  Angela’s voice, slow and steady, calm, stated her address, then added, ‘You’ll be wasting your time, though. Tom
will be long gone.’

  The phone went dead.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND NINE

  Connie

  Connie didn’t waste time putting her coat on or phoning Lindsay; she’d told Connie her and the team were about to make a move, so she wouldn’t pick up the call anyway. Running up through the town centre, pushing past people, dodging cars as she crossed the roads, Connie’s mind worked quickly. She had to try to assess the situation as soon as she reached Angela’s house. She had to ensure she wasn’t putting herself or Angela – or the police’s investigation – in jeopardy. As loud as Lindsay’s voice was in her head – the one screaming ‘leave well alone, do not get involved’ – Connie’s instinct remained stronger. With luck, the police were already there preventing Angela from helping Tom escape. But she had to make sure.

  If she could get there quickly, then she might be able to give her professional judgement – at least see that Angela was handled correctly before they took her away, too. Having Connie there as support, a familiar face, might go some way to easing the situation.

  As Connie approached Castle Street, she could see police vehicles at the end of the road, their lights flashing, casting blue shadows on the walls of the surrounding houses. She ran, and as she reached Angela’s house, caught sight of Mack.

  ‘Mack!’ she shouted, her breathing shallow from the running. ‘What’s happening? Where is Angela?’

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Mack’s voice was harsh.

  ‘Angela called me, about ten minutes ago. She needs help, Mack. I think you should let me go in first.’

  ‘No way, Connie. That’s out of the question. We don’t know what we’re dealing with yet and Lindsay would rip my nuts off if I let you in. Tom Killion could be armed, so you’re not going in there, putting yourself and the team at risk.’ He grabbed Connie’s arm, pulling her clear of the doorway.

  ‘She said she’d drugged him,’ she panted. ‘She locked him in the basement. But she said he’s regaining consciousness. I think she’s going to help him escape.’

  Connie watched helplessly as a team of armed officers prepared to enter the property. Mack moved away from her, informing the team of this new information. Connie followed him.

  ‘Let me in after them, Mack, please. I can be of assistance here.’

  ‘With respect, Connie, you’re more likely to get hurt, and I’m not having that on my conscience. Sorry. Lindsay told me to secure the house with my team. I’m not having you make me look a twat just in time for her to see when she reaches the scene in a minute. Now, move.’ This time, he grabbed both of her upper arms and shifted her away from the cordon.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND TEN

  Angela

  I knew Connie would be helpful. It’s such a shame I didn’t start seeing her earlier, before things got out of hand with Tom. It’s too late for her input now, she won’t get here in time. Anyway, as much as she believes she can help, she can’t – speaking to her confirmed that.

  There are no noises coming from inside his room now. I think something must’ve just fallen; it wasn’t Tom coming around at all. I need to go in and check him, though.

  I fetch the keys to all three external locks – the basement light catches them as I turn them over in my hand; they are shiny-new, a bright silver. The locks are tight.

  As I finally unlock and unhook the last padlock, I hesitate.

  What if Tom’s behind the door with a heavy object, waiting to pounce and attack me? I quickly pop the padlock back, click it in place. I’ll get a knife, just in case.

  As I return from the kitchen with the large carving knife, I see blue lights glowing through the glass of the front door. Am I too late?

  Adrenaline shoots through me and I run down the basement steps with a new purpose. Armed and prepared, I unhook the lock once more and, my breath held, gingerly open the door. He’s on his side on the bed, eyes closed. I continue to stare from the doorway, listening for rhythmic breaths which might indicate he’s asleep, not merely pretending. The water bottle lies empty on the ground beside his bed.

  He must’ve drunk it. I wonder how long ago; how long I have until he wakes.

  Whether I’m waiting for him to wake, or for the police to burst through the doors, it’s painfully obvious I haven’t got long with him. I perch on the edge of the mattress, looking down at his face. He’s perfect: his skin soft and blemish-free, his hair thick. His long eyelashes rest on the tops of his full cheeks. He is my baby. My flesh and blood.

  I brought him into this world on Wednesday 16th November 1994. He’ll be twenty-four next birthday.

  As I stroke his face with the backs of my fingers, he stirs and mumbles. I grip the knife more tightly.

  ‘Please. Let me out,’ his voice slurs.

  He has no energy. His limbs move slightly, but they seem loose and useless. I think I gave him too much sedative. I let the knife drop to the floor. I’m not going to be needing it – I’d only brought it in to shock him anyway, and maybe gain some time. He’s not going to hurt me.

  ‘Darling, I can’t. You know that.’ I bend my head to kiss his cheek. ‘I have to protect you, like you want – you said it’s what you wanted, didn’t you?’

  ‘But … not—’

  He loses his words. Instead he moves his eyes to look at me. I see the pain, the pleading within them. I can’t bear it.

  A noise from upstairs.

  A banging.

  They’re coming.

  I get up, shut Tom’s door and lock it from the inside.

  They’ll take him, imprison him for the rest of his life. He stares at me, and an understanding passes between us.

  ‘Mum …’ He’s attempting to lift his head, trying to get up. ‘Let … me … go.’

  There’s only one way I can do that.

  Hatred stirs up conflict, but love covers over all wrongs.

  ‘I brought you in to this world, Tom.’ A pressure consumes my chest. I reach across him and pull the pillow from under him. ‘I’m the reason you’re in this situation … It’s up to me to get you out of it.’ I grip the corners of the pillow, my knuckles as white as snow-capped mountains. ‘This is for the best. I love you, Tom,’ I whisper into his ear, before placing the pillow over his face.

  He struggles beneath me, but I’m stronger than him this time. Maybe he doesn’t have enough fight in him. This is what he wants – he too must know it’s the right thing.

  I feel his muscles slacken.

  I hold his body next to mine as the life slowly leaves him.

  Forgive me God, for I have sinned.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND ELEVEN

  Connie

  The firmness of Mack’s words, and his grip on her, convinced Connie to back off.

  ‘Okay, okay, Mack. You can let me go now.’ She rubbed at her arms.

  ‘Make sure she stays there, will you?’ Mack instructed a uniformed police officer. Then he followed the team in.

  Connie moved her weight from one foot to the other, her heart still racing. She checked her watch, straining to hear what was going on. Minutes later she saw members of the team rush out.

  Had they been too late? Had Angela and Tom escaped?

  ‘What is it, Mack?’

  Mack’s expression was neutral, but his features seemed to have lost shape, his jawline slack. Connie could hear a mixture of sounds and voices, police radios, and now, creeping closer, ambulance sirens. She watched as paramedics were ushered inside the house, itching to get inside too, to see Angela. Was she hurt? Or had she done something reckless, like attempted to take her own life?

  ‘Let me go in, Mack.’

  ‘No, Connie. It’s a crime scene.’

  ‘Did he escape? She let him bloody go, didn’t she? I tried to get here quickly to stop her—’

  ‘Connie.’ Mack’s hands grasped her shoulders firmly and he lowered his face to hers. ‘He didn’t escape. Not in the way you mean anyway.’

  Connie frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
But the question hung unanswered in the space between them as her attention shifted to Lindsay and DC Clarke getting out of their car. Connie took a deep breath awaiting a reprimand as they rushed over to her and Mack.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Lindsay’s eyes narrowed at Connie, before shooting a contemptuous glance in Mack’s direction. But she didn’t give her time for a response. ‘Stay out here, Connie. You’re not here in an official capacity.’ Lindsay turned her back and prepared to enter the house with Mack and Clarke.

  Connie’s mind raced. What on earth had happened in there? People were going in, but no one was coming out; there seemed to be little urgency. More people in white paper suits littered the small lawn, some taking photos, some preparing to go inside the house.

  Connie waited. She should probably go home, watch the unfolding events on the news, but she couldn’t. Not now; she was committed. She had to know. The time passed slowly, with Connie walking back and forth along the narrow road, not daring to venture far from the scene in case she missed something vital. Finally, there was movement – figures were exiting the door with a gurney between them. But it wasn’t the paramedics. She followed the progression of the zipped body bag as it was carried then placed just inside the plain black transit van. Connie burst forwards, running towards it.

  ‘Who is that? Is it Angela? Tell me!’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ the older of the two men said. Connie presumed he was the police’s designated undertaker. ‘Who are you?’ He spoke softly, probably aware of the fact she may be a family member or friend.

  ‘I’m Connie Summers, Angela’s psychologist.’

  ‘You’ll have to speak with the SIO, sorry.’ And the undertaker turned away from her as he slid the body fully into the back of the vehicle. Connie continued to watch in shocked silence as a police car escorted the van, and the body, away from the scene.

  What the hell had gone on inside that basement?

  ‘Connie!’ Lindsay’s voice cut through the crowd.

  Connie pushed through to get to the front garden, the policeman giving her a warning look not to come too near the scene.