The Lies They Told

by Jay Nadal

  “And did he?”

  Ben shook his head and bowed. “Jack did it. I heard him tell my mum.”

  Karen suspended the interview.

  “What do you think?” Jade asked, as they loitered in the corridor outside.

  “Unless we find any gunshot residue on his clothes, then it’s hard to link him to Taylor’s murder. There’s no DNA evidence linking him to the crime scene. Other than a vile hatred of the man, and a desperate need to protect his mum, we haven’t got enough to hold or charge him for now.”

  “Shall I release him for the time being, boss?”

  Karen nodded and swallowed her frustration. She left Jade to wrap up the interview and see Ben outside whilst she headed up to the canteen which overlooked the front of the building.

  She stared out to the busy street below and watched as the taxis weaved in and out of the stationary delivery vans. Cyclist couriers whistled and sped into oncoming traffic in their haste to get to their destinations before the close of business. And office workers poured out of the glass monoliths that reached towards the sky. Everyday life continued all around her. Many of those she observed never realised that whilst they went about daily life, they were just yards away from robbers, fraudsters and murderers. The dregs of society.

  This was her life, dealing with low life scum, day in and day out. Listening to their lies, their deceit and unwrapping their motives. She was part of a thin blue line, a line getting thinner after years of austerity, stripped back to nothing more than a shell by successive governments. Cases took longer to investigate, and available resources were allocated based on crimes that either impacted society the worst or had the greatest chance of being solved.

  She sipped her coffee and scrunched her face as the bitterness hit the back of her throat. “This is gross,” she fumed, and then she froze.

  Karen left the cup on the ground, and raced through the building, taking the steps as fast as she could. “Get out of my way,” she shouted as she charged through officers coming the other way, much to their consternation, before she exploded out of the front door. She glanced across the road but couldn’t see them. “Shit! Fucking bollocks,” she shouted, as her eyes tracked up and down the road. Had her eyes played tricks on her? Had dehydration and fatigue made her see things that weren’t there?

  No, she was adamant. She was sure she had seen Ben leave the front of the building and cross over the road to meet Dean Macholl.

  21

  The windows had steamed up long ago. The distinct smell of vinegar soured the air as they both picked through their portion of fish and chips. It wasn’t much, but it was still food, and Molly was grateful for that. They sat in silence, each with their own thoughts, as grime music pulsated through the speakers in the doors.

  Molly lightened the mood by drawing a smiley face on her passenger window. If she had one wish, she wanted a smiley face like that all the time. She washed down a mouthful of food with a gulp of Tango and burst out laughing when a burp escaped. Harry turned and smiled at her. She wished she could tell Harry everything. About how frightened she was of Finchy and the way he touched her, and his threats of gang-raping her as an initiation ceremony. But Harry took on everyone’s problems. Ben always confided in him, she always moaned to him, and yet, Harry had no one he could lean on.

  She felt his pain, and his anger. Harry didn’t have family, but then again, she knew that family wasn’t always the answer. He never spoke about his mum. Molly knew that as he grew up, it was just him and his mum, until she died. She learnt not to ask or probe too much. On the few occasions she’d asked, her questions were met with a wall of silence, and an anger in his eyes. However, as they got to know each other, he started to reveal small details, the reasons why he did what he did. But Harry was tough, one of life’s survivors. And whenever she or Ben moaned to him, he would always reassure them both that everything would be okay, and he would take care of them.

  The thought of going back home and checking on her mum crossed her mind, but she imagined that her mum would be sprawled out across the sofa, her eyes dancing and her mind floating in a drug induced state. She gritted her teeth through the sadness as anger prickled her skin and saddened her mood.

  Scrunching up his chip paper, Harry wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “That was pukka. That filled the gap. What do you want to do now?”

  Molly wasn’t sure. Sometimes she felt numb, unable to think straight or decide. Some days she wanted to cry, and other times she wanted to scream and punch everyone in sight.

  “I don’t wanna go home at the moment. Can we drive for a bit?”

  Harry nodded, winked, and squeezed her thigh. “Anything for you.” He turned the key in the ignition, and revved his car a few times, before dropping off the handbrake and wheel-spinning away.

  Today of all days, she could have done without this. She had texted Debbie not long after finishing her interview with Ben, and had confirmed, with reluctance, that she would meet her at a bar near Liverpool Street. Sleep deprived, hungry, and in a shit mood, the thought of standing in a bar filled with thirty-somethings, City professionals with big egos, and even bigger wallets, wasn’t something she looked forward to.

  She tried to convince herself that there was still time to back out. It would be easy to fob off Debbie with a text saying that she was manic at work, and would be stuck in the office for a few more hours… blah-blah. She had done that a few times in the past, and they had been genuine excuses, but her mind fought with her conscience as she gritted her teeth and drew in air. Go in, turn around, go in, turn around, don’t let her down, you’ll regret it, stop being so selfish, I need something to distract my mind.

  Worried that people were looking at her as she stood in silence staring at the doors to the bar like some weirdo, she pulled her shoulders back, took a deep breath and pushed through.

  A thousand conversations echoed around the bar and hit her in the face. It was a long, dark bar, situated opposite Liverpool Street station in Central London. The Railway Tavern provided a convenient stop-off point for commuters who wanted a quick drink before heading home. Established in 1736, it carried the charm and sophistication of a pub from a bygone era. A brown and green marble facade framed the outside. Inside, the dark wooden floors, and wood panelling bounced the sound in all directions. The familiar smell of ale and pub grub wafted around her as Karen squeezed through the thick gathering of bodies as she inched towards a bar. The men were in trousers and open-necked shirts, their sleeves rolled up towards their elbows, the women dressed in dreary grey and black, standard fashion for working in the City.

  She found Debbie by the bar, chatting to a group of City types. Raucous laughter exploded amongst them, and for a moment she felt awkward about joining them. The thought of the conversation stopping, and half a dozen pairs of eyes training on her, left her uncomfortable. It wasn’t too late for her to backtrack and bail out because Debbie hadn’t turned to see her yet.

  “Fuck it,” Karen muttered.

  She tapped Debbie on the shoulder, and her friend turned to greet her with a big smile, her eyes widening in excitement. They hugged like long-lost friends. Debbie squealed something incoherent, her words lost in the bubble of noise around them. The next few moments happened so quickly that Karen couldn’t take much in.

  Debbie spun back around and introduced Karen to the group she had been talking to. The men smiled, and nodded politely, but Karen knew they were checking her out with their eyes. She even caught one or two of them glancing at their phones but using it as a ploy to look her up and down.

  Why did men do that?

  “Oh my God, it’s been so long. How have you been?” Debbie asked, as she leant against the bar and waved a tenner to catch a bartender’s attention. “What do you want?”

  “Just a Diet Coke. I think I’m a bit hung-over from last night.”

  Debbie stared at her friend, a mixture of horror and annoyance distorting her features. “No way. I’ve not seen you
in weeks, and you want a soft drink? There is no way I’m letting my mate have a soft drink tonight. Besides, give it an hour, and this lot will be buying the drinks.” She nodded back in the group’s direction.

  Karen really wasn’t in the mood for this. Normally, she wouldn’t have hesitated, but men in general were grating on her last nerve.

  “Okay then, get me a Kopparberg cider.”

  “Flavour?”

  “Strawberry and lime, please.”

  “That’s my girl,” Debbie replied as she screamed along the bar to get some attention.

  Debbie was a little shorter than Karen, vivacious and bubbly. She kept her bleached blonde hair long, and always in a ponytail that framed her dark brown eyes, and blemish free skin. Karen admired Debbie’s toned body, the result of sweat and effort in the gym five days a week before work. She was attractive and rarely short of male company. The men loved her, and she loved the attention.

  Wherever possible, they tried to coordinate their diaries, so they could catch up over a drink or a meal. They first met when they were doing their time at Hendon training college. Debbie did five years in the Met before she resigned, deciding that it wasn’t the career for her. She took a job as a PA for an insurance firm in a glass building in the City known as The Gherkin. They had both laughed over its name. It reminded them both of a giant torpedo, or as Debbie put it, “a huge glass vibrator”. Karen had choked on her drink at the visions that sprung to mind.

  “Shall we go back and chat to those guys?” Debbie asked. “You never know where it might lead? Wink wink, say no more!” Debbie nudged Karen in the ribs and shrugged her shoulders.

  If Karen considered herself bad, she knew Debbie was worse. Debbie had often referred to Karen as her wingwoman, but on this occasion, the thought of copping off with another bloke didn’t appeal to her. Truth be told, she wanted the one drink, and then head home to feed Manky, grab a shower, and crawl under her duvet. Sleep was calling her name.

  “Listen, I can’t stay for long. I’ve got a massive case on at the moment. And I need to go home and do a bit of work. You know what it’s like.” Karen hated lying, but she hoped Debbie couldn’t see through her weak attempt at an excuse.

  Debbie pulled a face of disappointment. “Oh, come on, we hardly get out. You’re beginning to sound like an old woman. Next you’ll be telling me you need to go home to feed the cat and put on your slippers.”

  Debbie wasn’t far from the truth, and Karen hated letting her down.

  “I’ll stay for a one or two more drinks, but then I really must go. I’m sorry. But as soon as this case is out of the way, I promise that we’ll go out, and I’ll pay.”

  Debbie smiled before they continued to catch up on each other’s lives, and their work. Because of Karen’s work, she couldn’t say too much, so let Debbie do most of the talking. And Debbie loved to talk. For the next hour she talked about her work, her bosses, the people she fancied at work, and her plans for a holiday to Bali next year. Karen nodded all the way through, adding a few oohs, and aahs for effect.

  Karen swigged more cider and felt herself relax. The tension she carried in her chest eased, and she felt the muscles in her shoulders loosen.

  “So, you haven’t told me yet. Is there a man in your life?” Debbie was sniffing the titbits of gossip.

  Karen shook her head. “You know me. I’m too much of a heartbreaker. The last thing I want is a bloke giving me puppy dog eyes. Sod that.”

  “God, you’re a harsh woman. I swear you get worse by the year. You sure you’re not knocking on the door of the big change?”

  Karen pulled a face. “Oh my God, how old do you think I am? I’m not redundant in that department you know. I still love a good shag. But when it suits me.”

  “I’m sure you used to be a bloke in a previous life. You are definitely a love them and leave them merchant.”

  Karen and Debbie both laughed as Karen agreed it wasn’t far from the truth.

  Debbie made her excuses for a few minutes whilst she visited the loo and came back to tell Karen that the men had invited them on to a club.

  The thought of spending a few hours in a dingy club, with men rubbing up against her didn’t tantalise her. And the thought of seeing Debbie locking hips and lips with some fella was something she didn’t want to see, either. Seeing it as a perfect opportunity to make her excuses, she tapped the dial of her watch with one finger and told Debbie that she needed to get back.

  Debbie accepted that with reluctance but urged Karen to make time for her as soon as possible. Karen agreed, and told Debbie to be careful, and to call her this evening if she needed bailing out. Debbie appreciated the sentiment but promised she would be okay.

  With that, they both hugged, and Karen left. Stepping out on to the pavement, she blew out her cheeks. She felt bad for leaving Debbie, but there was so much on her mind that she knew she wouldn’t be able to relax and enjoy the rest of the evening. She walked across the road to the station and headed down towards the Central Line platform to get her train back to Epping. With luck, she would be home and in bed before midnight.

  22

  The noise engulfed her, completely capturing her brain, rendering any logical thought or conclusion impossible. Her body twirled and jerked as she fell. Her head hit the carpet with a thud as her body followed a second later. The force of hitting the floor winded her for a moment. Her body ached, and her mind felt numb. Three bottles of cider had left her dead to the world, her mouth feeling like the rug by her door, bristly and rough.

  Her phone rattled as it bounced across the glass surface of her coffee table.

  The cogs in her brain spun, making sense of things, desperate to catch up with her movements. This is so not my bedroom. It took a few more moments for her to realise that she was on the floor in the lounge, and somehow, she must’ve fallen asleep on the sofa not long after getting in.

  She jolted awake and rose to her knees, hanging on to the sofa for support. Her mind was a melting pot of confusion as she glanced around in the darkness, the only illumination from the screen of her mobile phone. “I’m here; I’m around. Who is it?” she muttered wildly to herself.

  She grabbed her mobile, desperate to stop the ringing, as it pierced her brain. With one eye open, the other reluctant to join in, she hit the green icon before closing her eyes again.

  “Yeaaah… Karen here.” Her voice was harsh and gravelly as if she had just gargled on a glassful of pea shingle.

  “Sorry to disturb you, ma’am. This is Duty Sergeant Atwood. I tried DCI Skelton first as the SIO, but…” there was a hesitation in the man’s voice, “but the DCI told me to call you, and said in no uncertain terms, not call him again.”

  Karen massaged her temples as she listened to the sergeant. That sounds like Skelton, only dealing with police business when it suits him. Tosser, sprang to mind.

  “What’s the time?”

  “It’s four forty a.m., ma’am.”

  “Oh my God.” She groaned. She had been asleep for four hours.

  “I’m sorry to wake you up, ma’am, but I need you and your team to attend a scene as soon as possible.”

  The sense of urgency and seriousness in the sergeant’s voice brushed away the final cobwebs of sleep as she narrowed her eyes and continued to listen.

  “Our officers were called to the apartment of Dean Macholl. There’s been a shooting and a fatality.”

  “Fatality?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Dean Macholl was the fatality.”

  The news sent Karen’s mind into a wild vortex as theories were thrown out of the window, and fresh ideas were thrown into the mix. The alarming news extinguished a major line of investigation in the space of a few hours. And yet she thought she’d just seen him less than twenty-four hours earlier. Living and breathing, stood across the road from the station.

  Karen cut the call, telling the sergeant to alert the rest of her team.

  She ran to the bathroom, and leant into the mirror. Itchy a
nd bloodshot eyes, and a white furred tongue greeted her.

  “God, I look like rat shit. In fact, rat shit probably smells better than me,” she continued, as she cupped her hands over her mouth. She puffed an exhale before sniffing the air, and screwing up her face.

  Flicking on the basin tap, Karen splashed handfuls of cold water on her face, the chill jolting her senses, and awakening her. She glanced up towards the mirror, but was disappointed, as the same tired face and small eyes stared back at her. “Sod it. It will have to do.”

  Karen ran a brush through her hair, doing her best to flatten it out, the bristles catching on the knots. She then rummaged around in her cupboard for something quick to throw on. A pair of jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt would have to do. A pair of white, grubby Converse trainers finished off her urban chick look.

  At this time of the morning, the Central Line wouldn’t be running. Despite her reluctance, she jumped into her Mini Paceman. Epping to Shoreditch was almost an hour, but with empty roads and sunrise, she hoped to be there in a little over thirty minutes. She sped out of Epping towards the forest.

  The familiar line of blue and white police tape confirmed her destination as she drove down Columbia Road. When she had last been here, she’d discovered that the road played host to one of London’s most visually appealing markets. Columbia Road flower market took place every Sunday with overflowing bucketfuls of beautiful flowers, houseplants, herbs, bulbs and shrubs. She imagined how colourful and fragrant the street would be as Londoners flocked to enjoy the bustling crowds, spectacular sights and scents from the many stalls.

  On a day like this, that natural wonder seemed a distant contrast to the gloom and sombreness of the street as she pulled up behind a long line of squad cars. The garish yellow facade of the apartment block did little to lighten the mood. Several officers milled around, keeping early morning spectators at arm’s length.