The Lies He Told: a gripping psychological suspense thriller

by Valerie Keogh

  ‘Careful,’ Misty warned. She wiped a muddy hand over her forehead. ‘It’s not going to be easy getting him inside.’ She squatted, got her arms under Toby’s armpits, and hauled him up into a sitting position. ‘Okay,’ she grunted. ‘You need to grab him under his knees again, and when I say go, we lift. Once we get him on the top, we can simply push him in.’

  Gwen looked at the height of the flat edging stones. Three feet, at least. ‘We’re never going to do it.’

  ‘Not with you standing there like a bloody spare wheel we’re not! Just do as I say.’

  The mobile phone light had gone out, Gwen set it running again.

  ‘Quickly now,’ Misty said. ‘Wait for my signal.’

  Toby wasn’t a big man, but no lightweight either. A memory of his weight pressing Gwen into the mattress suddenly shot into her head, making her groan as she pushed her arms under his knees.

  ‘Now,’ Misty said, grunting as she pushed up with Toby’s upper body clasped in her arms. Gwen staggered under the weight, her head bent almost to his crotch, stumbling when they managed to get the body onto the flat top and falling forward. For a horrifying second, her face was buried in his groin, making her pull away with a cry of despair.

  ‘We did it.’ Misty’s voice was almost gleeful. ‘Right, let’s get on with it.’ Without waiting for Gwen’s help, she put her hands on the body and pushed.

  Gwen stared, her mouth slightly ajar as nothing happened, the body seemingly wedged in place. Then with a soft shushing sound, it slipped inside.

  Misty grabbed the spade to begin the task of putting the soil back on top.

  ‘Wait.’ Gwen held a hand up to stop her. ‘The holdalls. There’s room for them alongside.’ At the nod of agreement, she hurried through the gate and around to the front door where Toby had dropped his bags only a short time before. A lifetime before. Gwen shivered, then looked up and down the street. It was so quiet. The surrounding houses in darkness, the occupants all sleeping peacefully. They wouldn’t be having bad dreams of bodies buried in their gardens.

  The bags were heavy: filled with all the expensive clothes Toby had loved, the handmade shoes, the silk ties, the monogrammed gold cufflinks. They banged against Gwen’s legs as she took them down the dark passage to the back garden.

  Misty hadn’t waited. A mound of soil already covered Toby’s face and chest. Gwen had a pang of regret she’d not said a final goodbye.

  ‘Hurry!’ Misty hissed.

  Gwen pushed the holdalls beside Toby’s legs, squashing them down as much as she could.

  Using the spade to balance, Misty jumped on top of the bags and stamped them down with her feet. ‘Better.’ She climbed back onto the edge. ‘Let’s get this finished.’

  In the darkness, Gwen couldn’t read Misty’s expression. She guessed it was probably the same as hers, horror mixed with relief. A sudden thought had her squeak, ‘Stop! What about his mobile? We can’t have it ringing from his grave.’

  ‘I have it, don’t worry. I’ll get rid of it later.’

  ‘Okay.’ There was no further reason to delay. A spadeful of soil was thrown in and landed with a splat on the bags, the noise loud in the silence of the night. As everything was covered it became soil-on-soil quiet.

  Finally, the shrubs were planted back in a line and pressed in place with the heel of muddy hands.

  Misty brushed the soil from the edge. ‘Looks as good as new.’

  ‘What about this?’ Gwen indicated the mound of extra soil that still remained on the ground.

  ‘I’ll get a trug from the shed and get rid of it. There’s a compost heap behind the shed, most can go there.’ The lower legs of Misty’s trousers were laced with soil, her shoes caked. She used the side of the spade to scrape the encrusted mud away. ‘I’ll tidy up and it will be as if we’ve never been here.’

  Never been here? They’d buried a man. Gwen almost admired the woman’s coolness.

  ‘Now, all you need to do is go home and forget that this ever happened. Toby never arrived at your house and you assume he changed his mind. You’ve never been in this garden. We’ve never met.’

  Unable to think of words to suit this crazy, bizarre situation, Gwen settled for parroting what Misty had said. ‘We’ve never met.’

  There were no more words between them. Leaving Misty to tidy up, Gwen took a final look at Toby’s resting place, then put her mobile into her pocket and left.

  51

  Gwen

  ‘And that is it.’ Gwen used two hands to lift the disposable cup to her lips where it trembled against her front teeth as she tried to take a sip. It was almost cold, but perhaps it was something she’d have to get used to. Letting her standards drop.

  She looked across the table, smiling despite the situation when she saw surprise in the wide, heavily kohled eyes of the younger detective and the look of… was it sympathy… in the eyes of the other. ‘It all sounds crazy, doesn’t it?’

  ‘A bit.’ Hopper folded her arms across her chest and stared at Gwen. ‘So according to you, Toby Carter simply keeled over like a domino.’

  Gwen took one hand from the cup and rested the heel of it on the table. ‘Like this…’ She let her hand drop flat. ‘No sound, nothing.’ She remembered thinking he’d wanted to have sex there in that dark, damp side passage and had been turned on by it, had even reached down for him, her hands creeping over his body. The detectives didn’t need to know that. ‘While I was standing there, wondering what to do, Misty turned up. I suppose I must have looked shocked because she took over immediately and bent down to feel for his pulse. It felt like an eternity but it can’t have been more than a few seconds before she got to her feet and confirmed he was dead.’

  ‘Why didn’t you ring the police? You could have explained he’d fallen over. It was probably a heart attack or stroke. A post-mortem would have proved that and you’d have been off the hook.’

  Gwen put the cup down and pushed her fists into her eyes. How could she explain that she hadn’t wanted the police digging into her past, into George’s death, maybe adding two and two together and coming up with the correct answer. ‘It would have got into the papers.’ She took her hands away. ‘Can you imagine the headlines? Art gallery owner, Gwen Marsham, discovered in seedy tryst with dead man.’

  ‘So, instead, you decided to bury him?’

  Gwen sighed again. ‘It was Misty’s suggestion. She made it sound like a good idea.’

  A sneer curled the painted lips of the younger detective. ‘A good idea?’

  Gwen eyed her with dislike. ‘You had to have been there.’ She pulled the cup back and sipped the dregs of the cold coffee.

  Hopper tapped the desk, bringing Gwen’s attention back to her. ‘Let me get this straight. You and Misty Eastwood buried Toby Carter in the garden on Myrtle Road.’

  Gwen was staring into the coffee, she looked up with a frown. ‘No, not Misty Eastwood.’ She flapped a hand. ‘I’m sorry, I should have explained. When the woman joined me, I assumed it was Misty. Not a sister as Toby had led me to believe, but a girlfriend, lover, whatever you want to call it.’

  ‘Hang on.’ Hopper raised a hand, her face twisted in lines of confusion. ‘Are you saying the woman who helped you bury Toby Carter wasn’t Misty Eastwood?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. I didn’t realise my mistake until the next day when I called around to the house and a woman I’d never seen before answered the door.’ Gwen smiled at the memory. ‘You can imagine my shock. I had to think on my feet to spin a believable tale but she seemed to accept what I told her without question.

  ‘I could have left it at that. After all, when we buried Toby we’d agreed never to speak of it again, as if it had never happened. But…’ She sighed. ‘I was worried she might have changed her mind. That’s why I’d called to the house, to get confirmation that what we’d done would stay between us, to swear her to secrecy.’

  Gwen had lain awake the whole night, horrified at what they’d done. She’d gone
around to the house, not only to swear her partner in crime to secrecy but to get reassurance that what they’d done had been the right thing to do. To be faced with a stranger had rattled her but she’d recovered and by the end of her conversation with Misty, she knew exactly who had helped her dispose of Toby’s body.

  52

  Gwen

  The discovery that Misty Eastwood wasn’t involved in burying Toby Carter’s body seemed to throw both detectives. Their reaction brought a brief smile to Gwen’s lips. She saw DI Hopper’s eyes fix intently on her face and wasn’t surprised when the astute woman said, ‘You found out who it was, though, didn’t you?’

  ‘It wasn’t hard really in the end. It had to be one of Toby’s women and when Misty told me about the previous girlfriend’s violent attack, she seemed to be a likely candidate. I called around and sure enough I was right.’

  ‘Babs Sanderson?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Gwen shook her head and frowned. ‘After we buried Toby, Babs had said we’d never speak of it again, never acknowledge what we’d done, that it would be as if it had never happened. And it was bizarre. In the twenty minutes or so that I was in her apartment, it was never mentioned. I tried to ask her how she knew so much about Misty’s back garden but she wouldn’t even allow that question. I left, thinking that our secret was safe and that everything would be okay.’ Gwen lifted both her hands and let them drop noisily to the table. ‘It was my idea to put the bags in with Toby, thinking it was better to get rid of them. If I hadn’t you’d never have known about me.’

  ‘No, we’d have arrested Misty Eastwood instead.’ Hopper’s voice was sharp. ‘You should be pleased you’ve prevented that injustice.’

  ‘Pleased?’ Gwen huffed a laugh. ‘Nothing about any of this pleases me, detective, but yes, I wouldn’t have wanted her to suffer for what we did. Tell her I’m sorry.’

  ‘I will. You need to get yourself a solicitor. A good criminal one, okay?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Gwen shook her head. ‘What happens now?’

  ‘We’re still waiting for the results of the post-mortem to see exactly how Mr Carter died. When we do, we’ll discuss your case with the Crown prosecutor and decide what charges will be brought against you and Ms Sanderson.’

  ‘I can go?’ Gwen felt a surge of hope that quickly sputtered and died in the face of the detective’s emphatic head shake.

  ‘We’ll need to keep you for a while yet, I’m afraid.’ Hopper tilted her head towards the younger officer. ‘DS Collins will take you to the custody centre and you’ll be given a room to stay in overnight. We have twenty-four hours before we are obliged to charge or release you, Ms Marsham, but I’m convinced we can proceed before that.’

  Gwen felt her legs wobble when she stood. Unwilling to show weakness, she held onto the table for a few seconds as if lost in thought and ignored Collins who stood impatiently waiting.

  ‘I suppose there is nothing else to say,’ Gwen said finally. She took her hands away, straightened her shoulders and followed the rigid back of DS Collins deeper into the bowels of the police station.

  Gwen was handed over to what she considered to be an inappropriately cheerful custody sergeant where she answered a ream of questions and handed over her handbag and her stiletto heels. In case she attacked someone with them? She couldn’t imagine doing so, but then she could never have imagined being back in a custody centre.

  ‘I need to ring my solicitor,’ she said when he wanted to keep her phone.

  ‘Right. I’ll give you a minute.’ He moved an inch away, his jowly chin sinking onto his chest, a bored look in his eyes.

  She turned her back to him and rang the solicitor who’d been handling her business affairs for years. ‘I need help,’ she said when the assistant put Gwen through.

  If the solicitor was taken aback at the abruptness of the request, she didn’t comment, merely saying, as she always did, ‘We’re here for you.’

  ‘I’m in police custody. I may be charged with burying a body.’ They couldn’t charge her with killing Toby, could they, it had been an accident. ‘A man died, but it wasn’t my fault.’

  ‘Okay.’ One word dragged out to give the solicitor time to gather her shocked thoughts. ‘We have a criminal defence solicitor in the company. Her name is Heather Fitt. She’s one of the best. I’ll contact her and ask her to get there as soon as possible.’

  Gwen felt some of the tension of the last couple of hours ease a little. ‘I’m in Croydon police station, in the custody centre.’

  ‘Fine, don’t speak to anyone until Heather gets there.’

  There seemed to be no point in telling the solicitor that Gwen had already emptied her soul to the police. ‘Okay, thank you.’ She handed the custody sergeant her phone, signed a slip for her belongings and was brought into a cell. It wasn’t luxurious, by anyone’s idea, but they’d improved since her only other stay in a cell some twenty-odd years before. She’d still been high, she remembered, and had giggled for hours before falling into such a deep sleep they’d had to shake her hard to wake her the following morning.

  She wasn’t giggling this time.

  The thin mattress on the built-in bed didn’t look too enticing but she was weary. She took the single blanket, put it underneath the flat pillow and lay down with her arm across her eyes.

  Voices, shouts and other unidentified noises drifted from outside but inside the small cell, the silence pressed down on her. The creeping darkness of inevitability was filling her head. There was no way out of this mess that didn’t reflect badly on her, that wouldn’t destroy her business and her reputation.

  The tears started, trickling from the corners of her eyes to run into her hair.

  Foolish tears.

  From a sad, pathetic woman who had believed that this time… this time… she’d found a love that was the stuff of dreams, of fairy tales, of the happy ever after she seemed to have been searching for all her life.

  Sad, pathetic and foolish.

  53

  Babs

  Babs sat in the interview room with her hands clasped behind her head. She tried to fix her expression into one suitable for the occasion… sorrowful, maybe even distraught… anything but the smile that insisted on appearing despite her best intentions. The two detectives opposite didn’t have the same problem, they both looked grim. Babs dropped her hands, pushed them into her coat pockets and waited with little interest to hear what they had to say.

  ‘The body of Toby Carter was discovered buried in the garden of a house on Myrtle Road,’ DI Hopper said when the formalities had been completed. ‘Gwen Marsham says it was your idea to bury him.’

  Babs barked a laugh. ‘Does she? Such an elegant woman but such a liar.’

  Hopper took a sheet from the file in front of her and slid it across the table. ‘For the record, I’m showing Ms Sanderson a photograph of the spade that was found in Misty Eastwood’s garden shed.’

  The legal aid solicitor who’d been assigned to Babs reached for it first and examined it knowingly before handing it to her client.

  ‘Your fingerprints are on the handle of this spade, Ms Sanderson,’ Hopper said. ‘It was found in the garden shed. And the soil on the blade is consistent with the soil around Mr Carter’s body.’

  The solicitor held a hand up. ‘Is there a question there anywhere, detective?’

  Hopper glared at her. ‘This isn’t a damn courtroom.’ She waited until the solicitor dropped her eyes before turning her attention back to Babs. ‘We have a witness who puts you in the garden, and your prints are on the handle of a spade that was used to dig the grave where Toby Carter was buried. It’s pretty cut and dried really.’

  Babs looked from one detective to the other and sniffed. ‘There doesn’t seem to be any point in my saying anything then, does there?’

  ‘It’s your opportunity to give your version of events on the night Mr Carter died, Ms Sanderson.’

  ‘I think I’ll pass, if it’s all the same to you.�
��

  ‘That’s your prerogative, of course. We’ll have the post-mortem results tomorrow, following which we’ll be discussing what charges to bring. Until then, make yourself at home in our custody centre.’

  Babs allowed the smile to break through then. Did they really think she’d be intimidated by spending a night in a cell? Nothing mattered anymore. Not the charges they’d be bringing. Not the loss of her job or the final demands that had necessitated putting her Streatham apartment on the market. The sale of it wouldn’t be sufficient to cover her debts but she found it hard to care about that either.

  They’d found Toby’s body.

  Babs wasn’t a fool. She knew what that meant.

  54

  Misty

  I sat in the interview room with my face resting in my cupped hands. There was no solace in the darkness: characters, real and imagined, ran through my head in a full-colour continuous loop.

  The solicitor had left an hour before but as she’d barely spoken to me since the detectives had left, her absence made no difference. ‘Nothing is going to happen tonight,’ she’d said, leaving me her card. ‘You can leave a message and I’ll be in touch in the morning. We can go from there.’

  It was another hour before the door opened suddenly, startling me. I dropped my hands to the table, my eyes wide as I watched the two detectives come in. Their inscrutable expressions gave no indication as to what was happening outside the room.

  They resumed their seats as if only seconds and not hours had passed. It was momentarily disorientating and only Hopper’s calm voice as she spoke for the record stating the time grounded me.

  ‘Sorry for the delay, Ms Eastwood. For the moment, you’re free to go.’