The Lies He Told: a gripping psychological suspense thriller

by Valerie Keogh

  I blinked, unsure if I’d heard correctly. ‘What?’

  ‘I said you’re free to go.’ Hopper held a hand up. ‘Unfortunately, your home is a crime scene so you’ll not be able to return to it for another day or two.’

  ‘A crime scene. Yes, yes, of course.’ I was saying yes but didn’t understand what was happening and shut my eyes briefly in the hope it would reset my thought processes. Opening my eyes, I shook my head. ‘I feel like I’ve been kidnapped by characters in my books, Detective Inspector Hopper.’ I reached up and pushed a lock of hair behind my ear feeling the tremble in my fingers as I did so. ‘Are you able to tell me whose fingerprints you found?’

  ‘Let’s say we have a couple of people helping us with our enquiries and leave it at that.’

  ‘Of course, you can’t tell me, I know that.’ I wanted to cry, felt a sob building and swallowed hard, unsure if I was crying for myself, Toby or for whatever unfortunates were caught in this nightmare. ‘I’m feeling a little…’ I shrugged, unable to think of an appropriate word.

  Hopper seemed to understand. ‘Is there someone you can call? Somewhere you can spend the night?’

  There was easy sympathy in her voice now I was no longer a murder suspect. ‘Yes. Thank you.’ I snuffled noisily, felt in my pocket for a tissue and blew my nose. ‘I can go to my sister’s.’

  ‘Good.’ Hopper pulled out her notebook. ‘If you’ll give me the address. We may have more questions for you.’

  And I was free to go. It felt so strange I wondered if it were a trap. If they were waiting for me to attempt to leave, then they’d shoot me and say I was killed while trying to escape. Or was that the storyline of a movie I’d seen a long time ago?

  Hopper got to her feet but she must have seen the confusion in my face. ‘There’s a constable outside, she’ll show you to reception when you’re ready to go. Take your time.’

  Befuddled, I stayed seated until the detectives left, their footsteps fading as they walked down the corridor, doors banging behind them somewhere in the distance.

  I don’t know how long I sat there. Perhaps I’d have stayed longer if a young man pushing a mop and bucket hadn’t opened the door.

  ‘Sorry, I need to wash the floors if you’re ready to go.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ I jumped to my feet. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to sit so long. I’m ready to go. I–’

  I stopped myself from talking with difficulty, gave a silly laugh that might have been a titter and left with another murmured, ‘Sorry.’ Outside, a bored constable leaning against a wall straightened when I appeared and I apologised again. ‘I’ve kept you waiting. I’m so sorry.’

  Sorry for everything. For being so stupid. For being so very, unbelievably stupid.

  55

  Misty

  I took a taxi from the police station to my sister Ann’s house. It was a toss-up as to which sister to descend upon, either would have been delighted to have opened their doors to me, but Ann was the more pragmatic of the two and likely to be the more sympathetic.

  It was late by the time the taxi pulled up outside the house in Hounslow. I paid the fare, got out and walked up the short garden path to the front door where I took a deep breath to gird my loins. It was an expression my editor had recently highlighted in garish yellow. Perhaps she’d been right but here, after the day I’d had, it seemed curiously appropriate. I’d gird my loins and tell my conservative sister everything.

  The ring of the doorbell was answered almost immediately by my brother-in-law, Derry, who took one quick look through the two inches allowed by the safety chain, shut the door and opened it wide again a moment later.

  I guessed my dilemma was written across my face because he pulled me into his arms and shouted up the stairway behind for his wife. The quick sympathy was my undoing and I slumped in his arms, burying my face in his shirt as I sobbed.

  ‘What’s happened?’ he said, leading me to the family room at the back of the house.

  The sound of Ann’s feet thudding on the carpeted stairway gave me time to draw a breath and I had myself in control again before she appeared, hair tousled and wearing a crumpled pair of pyjamas. Her scrubbed clean face creased in worry when she saw me.

  ‘My God, what’s happened?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I pulled away from Derry’s arms and held a hand towards her. It was caught between her warm ones and I was tugged, unresisting, into a tight hug that was another undoing. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said again, my words thick with tears. I snuffled against her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry for descending on you but I’m not allowed home for the moment.’

  Derry hovered and reached a hand to pat both our shoulders. ‘I’ll get some brandy. You look like you could do with some.’

  Ann kept her arms wrapped tightly around me, swaddling me in comfort as she whispered in my ear. ‘Whatever it is, we’re here for you, okay?’

  The family ties that bound us together, my anchor in times of trouble. My sisters had always been there. They always would. This was my life. Toby Carter had been an anomaly. I listened to reassuring repetitive words of comfort, ones I remembered our mother saying many years before when we were distressed for any reason – a scraped knee, the cruelty of friends, our first loves, our failures – and all the tension of that day and the days before left me in a whoosh.

  Only when we were sitting around the table, with Derry’s idea of a healthy amount of brandy in tumblers in each of our hands, did I tell them everything. I kept my eyes on the brandy, taking miniscule sips as I spoke. ‘So that’s where I stand,’ I said, lifting the glass and emptying the last drop.

  ‘Here,’ Derry said, stretching behind him for the bottle. ‘I don’t think one is enough, not for this.’

  ‘I knew that Toby guy was trouble. I said it to you, didn’t I?’ Ann looked to her husband for agreement. When he nodded, she turned back to me. ‘So they don’t think you’ve anything to do with it, despite your daft confession?’ She reached a hand for my arm and patted it gently. ‘Honestly, how silly you were to think such a thing. You haven’t a violent streak in your body. I bet it was that old girlfriend of his, the woman who attacked you months ago. I bet she’s responsible.’

  ‘But why bury him in my garden?’ The garden of my lovely house, where I’d expected to stay forever. It was spoiled now. I’d have to move. ‘I’ll have to sell up,’ I said aloud. ‘I can’t stay there not knowing what has happened.’

  ‘Don’t do anything rash.’ Ann’s hand closed around mine. ‘Stay here with us for as long as you like, then, since you can work from anywhere, maybe it would be a good idea to go away for a few months. Rent an apartment with a stunning view somewhere warm and sunny. Afterwards, when all the fuss has died down, you can get on with your life. It’s not as if the body is still going to be there, after all.’

  I met Derry’s eyes and we both laughed at Ann’s prosaic way of looking at things. But she was right. Toby was gone. It was foolish to allow him to cause me any more pain.

  56

  Misty

  Ann’s spare bedroom was a pretty room with a comfortable single bed and a large window overlooking the sprawling garden at the back of the house. To my surprise, I slept better than I had in a long time. I’d liked to have believed it was a clear mind, but I think it was the generous amount of brandy I’d consumed.

  We had talked until the early hours. I’d told them the full story again, adding bits of detail as I remembered.

  Ann had dismissed the idea that I had lost a few hours the night Toby was killed. ‘You were writing,’ she pointed out. ‘You always lose hours when you’re deep into your characters’ lives, especially when you’re almost finished a book. And as for the paperweight being on the floor… didn’t it sit on that shaky pile of papers on the edge of your desk?’

  It did. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well then. It probably rolled off days before and you never noticed.’

  Ann’s common sense was what was needed to put my fears into perspecti
ve. Anyway, her version of events was as believable as mine, and hers was the one I desperately wanted to believe.

  I pulled a borrowed robe over matching PJs and went downstairs in search of coffee. Ann was sitting at the table in the family room with the salmon pink pages of the Financial Times open in front of her. She closed it and smiled at me. ‘You’re looking much better this morning,’ she said, getting to her feet. ‘Sit, I’m going to make you your favourite breakfast.’

  ‘Coffee and toast will be fine.’ I reached for the newspaper and turned to the front page looking for any reference to Toby’s death. But it appeared the lofty pages of the FT weren’t concerned with the death of one man buried in a suburban garden.

  Ann bustled about the kitchen, opening cupboards and the fridge, maintaining a steady stream of inconsequential chatter as she worked as if afraid to leave a second’s silence. It was a soft lullaby that kept me calm without requiring more from me than the occasional yes or no. I had no idea what she was making, having no clear recollection of having a favourite breakfast. It didn’t really matter, it was nice to be fussed over and I’d eat whatever it was she was troubling herself to make.

  ‘There you go,’ Ann said, putting a plate of pancakes in front of me with a jug of what my nose told me was maple syrup.

  ‘Oh wow! I can’t remember the last time I had this. How lovely.’ I looked up from the plate to her smiling face. ‘I can’t believe you remembered.’ On a family holiday in Cornwall, many years before, I had insisted on pancakes every morning, telling everyone they were my favourite breakfast.

  Ann put an arm around my shoulders and pulled me in for a hug. ‘That’s what big sisters are for.’

  I poured a little syrup onto my plate.

  ‘You may as well finish the lot,’ Ann said. ‘It’ll only go to waste.’

  ‘We can’t have that.’ I emptied the jug and handed it to her with a smile. ‘This is so good,’ I said, and proceeded to clear the plate. Finally, I sat back with a groan. ‘That was yum.’

  ‘You ate them as if you’ve not eaten in days.’ Ann took the plate away and came back with a pot of coffee. ‘I’ll have to feed you up while you’re here.’ She poured two mugs of coffee, pushed one and the milk jug towards me before sitting beside me. ‘I told Ursula everything. She sent her love.’

  ‘I guessed you would.’ I smiled. No secrets. It was the way it had always been in their family until recently, until Toby’s arrival in my life made secrets necessary.

  ‘She wanted to come over but I asked her to wait a day or two, give you time to recover.’

  ‘I’m surprised she listened to you!’

  Ann laughed. ‘It took a bit of persuading.’ When the doorbell pealed, she looked up to the kitchen clock and got to her feet. ‘Probably the postman, back in a tick.’

  A deep male voice was followed by Ann’s, then silence before the male voice came again. More urgent this time. I was so relaxed that it didn’t strike me as strange that my sister would be having a protracted conversation with the postman. It wasn’t until I heard her coming back that I paid attention. One set of footsteps had gone out, more than one was returning.

  I had pushed back the chair and got to my feet before they came through the door.

  Ann was first, her hands clasped together in front of her chest as if in prayer. Worry lines creased her forehead and her lips were pressed tightly together. Two uniformed officers filled the space behind her, their expressions neutral.

  ‘We need you to come with us, Ms Eastwood,’ one of them said politely.

  Politely. I wondered how fast that would change if I refused to go. ‘What’s this about?’

  As if they had to take turns to speak, the other officer replied, ‘We were simply asked to bring you in and don’t have any details I’m afraid.’

  Ann had walked to stand beside me. She pulled her hands apart, clenched each into a fist and rested them on her hips, elbows sticking out. ‘That’s not good enough. So basically, you’re a taxi service!’

  I might have found my sister’s aggressive mother stance amusing had I not been worried by the unexpected arrival of the police, but then I saw fear flicker on her face and hurried to reassure her. ‘It’s okay, Ann. Detective Inspector Hopper said she might have more questions for me. These guys are simply doing their job.’ I looked back to the two officers. ‘I’ll need to dress. Five minutes, okay?’

  ‘Take all the time you like, miss. There’s no urgency.’

  ‘Go, have a shower.’ Ann gave me a gentle shove. ‘I’ll make them some coffee, they’ll be fine, I won’t eat them.’

  The two officers didn’t look reassured but I knew my sister’s flashes of anger never lasted longer than a blink. She was more likely to insist on cooking them breakfast.

  DI Hopper had said that she might have more questions, but I’d assumed she would visit me to ask them, not that I would have to go back to the police station. Unless, of course, they’d had the post-mortem results and there was something that pointed a finger directly at me.

  Fear uncurled. I had been fooling myself, lulled by my sister’s belief that I couldn’t have done anything so violent as to throw that damn paperweight.

  But what if I had?

  What if I had killed Toby and then rung someone to help me? Who would I have called? I stood under the shower and let the water cascade over me. It washed away my confusion.

  I don’t love you anymore, Toby had said, the words poisonous barbed arrows he’d aimed without care.

  They had hit their target and spread a devastating toxin to every cell in my body. I’d disintegrated and reached for something solid to hold on to, my fingers closing over the cold, smooth glass paperweight. I wasn’t a violent sort, Toby wouldn’t have expected me to hit back and it was reaction rather than action that sent it sailing through the air. I hadn’t deliberately aimed to hit him… at least not consciously.

  He hadn’t time to duck out of its way. The paperweight hit the side of his forehead and fell to the floor with a thud.

  I could still see Toby’s comical surprise, his mouth a wide O, eyes bugging. He’d raised a hand to his head and grinned foolishly as it came away dry. With a laugh, he picked up his bags and walked away. Leaving me.

  The shower in Ann’s main bathroom was powerful; I held my face up to the spray and let the water whip me as I remembered that night. His words… my actions. I had thrown that damn paperweight, but I hadn’t killed him. Relief made me laugh, an edge of hysteria creeping in as the laughter continued. Tears washed down my face, fell into the shower tray and raced away.

  57

  Misty

  It was a different interview room, slightly smaller and shabbier, more akin to the ones described in my books. I tried not to see it as a demotion indicating bad news. I checked my watch again. It was a minute later than the last time I’d looked. Fifteen minutes I’d sat there, tension creeping around me and tightening its hold on my heart and stomach so that one beat loudly and the other tightened and burned with an acid sting.

  I’d rung the solicitor on my way. She arrived shortly after me looking, if possible, paler than the last time I’d seen her. She dropped a slim briefcase on the table and sat in the chair beside me. ‘Have you spoken to anyone yet?’

  ‘No.’ I twisted my hands together. ‘But there’s something I need to tell you.’ My tale was hesitant, faltering. ‘I meant it when I told the police I couldn’t remember what had happened, but this morning it came back to me. I did throw that paperweight at Toby and I think it did hit him, but not hard, there was no blood or anything and he picked up his bags and left me.’ I threw the solicitor a smile.

  It wasn’t returned. Pale eyes considered me for a moment. ‘They would have brought you in today for a reason.’ She pushed a lock of heavy ginger hair behind her ear, reached for her briefcase and withdrew a plain A4 pad and pen. ‘No doubt they’ll soon enlighten us.’

  I sighed, it was probably silly to be looking for reassurance fr
om a woman who was there simply to look after my legal rights, but I wished she were a little more supportive, a little friendlier.

  I wished she’d been chattier too. Efforts to start a conversation were met by monosyllabic answers that made me give up after the third attempt. For the next ten minutes we sat in silence and when the door opened, I jumped to my feet and greeted the two detectives like old friends with an inappropriately cheerful hello. I immediately felt foolish, especially when the younger one, Collins, curled her lip. Her disdain, Hopper’s obvious sympathy, I didn’t like either and took my seat, keeping my eyes down.

  Introductions were done again for the record and I was reminded that I was under caution.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, although an answer wasn’t really required. I met DI Hopper’s eyes and decided to be blunt. ‘Why am I here?’

  ‘We appreciate you coming in to help with our enquiries,’ Hopper said, as if I’d had a choice. ‘We’ve had some reports come in which have thrown up a few issues we need to resolve.’ She opened the file she had brought with her and took out an A4 sheet that she slid across the table. ‘You recognise this?’

  I looked at the photograph. ‘Yes, it’s my paperweight. I should tell you–’

  The solicitor held up a hand to stop me, then leaned over to whisper in my ear.

  I pulled away from her and shook my head. ‘No, I don’t agree, it’s best to let them know.’ I took a deep breath, looked across the table and met Hopper’s eyes with a slight smile. ‘This morning, I finally remembered what happened that night.’ The smile faded as I put my hand on the photograph and imagined I could feel the chill of the glass the moment before I flung it across the room.

  ‘I did throw the paperweight at Toby and I think it must have hit him a glancing blow because he raised a hand to his head.’ The memory of that last moment seeing him alive almost overcame me. I supposed it would linger for a long time. I took my hand from the photograph and rubbed my head the way he’d done that night. ‘He took his hand away, looked at it, then waved the same hand at me. There was no blood. He didn’t speak to me again, simply picked up his bags and left.’