The Camera Lies

by AB Morgan

  Rupert Van Dahl had already been asking questions of Naomi Woods for twenty minutes as part of his cross-examination. She was the last witness in the case of the defence and her testimony had generated far more interest in the courtroom than anyone else’s, or so it seemed to those seated in the public gallery. Konrad, who had been more impressed with his barrister as each day of the hearing passed, watched closely. He could tell by the jury’s faces that they approved of his barrister’s approach and his character, as well as his arguments. Rupert Van Dahl had subtly introduced reasonable doubt in Lorna’s favour and managed to emphasise Naomi’s guilt without compromising his role in the prosecution.

  ‘It was part of the plan.’

  ‘This plan seemed unnecessarily complicated. Did you ever consider that faking the kidnapping of Lorna Yates could have yielded better financial rewards than blackmail?’

  At last, Konrad caught a momentary flicker of irritation flash across Naomi’s face.

  ‘No. This was her idea. Not mine. She wanted to hurt him.’ Naomi raised a finger toward where Konrad was sitting.

  ‘The court will note, for the record, that Naomi Woods has identified the victim, Mr Konrad Neale.’

  ‘You say that the idea was the work of Lorna Yates, but is it not true that you bought the camera, you accessed the drug through your contacts in the sex industry, and you misled Freddie Neale into believing you were Chloe Jordan in order to use him against his own father. Let us not forget that it was also you who carried out the application of the drug, you who filmed everything, and you who delivered a copy of the film to the newspapers. Is that correct?’

  ‘Yes, but that was part of the set-up to avoid Lorna being identified as the culprit.’

  ‘Miss Woods, I feel I need to remind you that Lorna Yates was filmed by you assaulting and seriously wounding my client with a large knife. She cannot fail to have been identified.’

  There was a long pause during which a staring contest between Naomi Woods and Rupert Van Dahl took place. He won.

  ‘I put it to you, Miss Woods, that Lorna Yates was an innocent victim in this case and that the reason for your convoluted story is that you made several errors in your plan to bring about the destruction of my client’s life. You accidentally filmed yourself, you couldn’t resist sending threatening texts to him, and you have lied consistently in an effort to blame Lorna Yates who you knew had spent years trying to rebuild her life from a shattered childhood.’

  ‘Objection. My Lord, supposition.’

  ‘The jury will disregard that last comment. Mr Van Dahl please ensure your statements are based on fact.’

  ‘I do apologise, My Lord.’ Rupert Van Dahl looked down momentarily as if considering the risk of asking his next question. ‘The court has heard that you have no previous convictions and appear to have led a blameless life. What the jury hasn’t heard so far is that you gave evidence in the murder trial of your former employer, Helena Chawston-Hawley, that you were the last person to see Tessa Carlton alive when you both absconded from Willow Hall as teenagers, and that you were the person who found the body of Richard, the former colleague and younger brother of Helena Chawston-Hawley. Are these facts correct?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You seem to attract death, Miss Woods. Was it your intention to murder my client at the hands of Lorna Yates?’

  ‘No, just to disfigure him.’

  ‘At the hands of Lorna Yates.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant.’

  ‘No further questions.’

  ‘I thought I was going to be physically sick waiting for that bloody woman to give the verdict of the jury. Did she think she was on MasterChef giving the decision on who would make it through the competition to the next round? My heart still hasn’t recovered.’ Konrad held out his shaking hands as proof. ‘Thanks for giving us the place to ourselves last night, by the way. Much appreciated.’

  Barney raised his pint glass. ‘No problem, mate. Me and Netty booked a room at the Travelodge in Bethesda on the off-chance anyway. We were so knackered, we didn’t even go for a drink to celebrate. We grabbed a disgusting takeaway, ate it in bed and slept for hours.’ He slurped his beer before asking, ‘What did DCI Anwell want with you today? Can’t he give it a rest?’

  ‘Bloody excellent news is what he wanted to tell me, Barney old fruit. Naomi Woods, the evil bitch, is changing her plea to guilty regarding Freddie’s murder, which means we probably won’t have to go through all this agony again. For the icing on top of “the cake of good tidings”, the investigation into Tessa Carlton’s disappearance is being considered as a possible murder. No body yet.’

  ‘Fuck me.’

  ‘Language. The ladies will hear you.’ Konrad used his drink to indicate towards a corner table where Lorna was sitting with Annette, deep in conversation, punctuated by the odd hug.

  ‘How’s Lorna?’

  ‘Shell-shocked. A bit like myself, I suspect. We were mobbed on the way out of court by the press, as usual. Luckily Zachary had been contracted to drive me to and from the cottage yesterday, otherwise we wouldn’t have made our getaway at all. What a good man he is. He’d put chocolates, flowers, and a hamper full of food in the car, as well as a whole suitcase full of Lorna’s clothing… thanks to Annette for that. He even played music all the way back to the cottage, so we didn’t have to try to make conversation. I couldn’t believe he had taken the risk on the verdict. The only thing he said was, “never in doubt, Mr Neale”.

  ‘Well it wasn’t.’

  ‘It was agony. Still, it’s been good to know so many people had faith in our version of events. I had to turn my mobile off last night because I had so many messages plus an indecent proposal from Gorgeous George. Apparently, my scars turn him on.’

  Barney grimaced as he laughed in response. ‘That poor boy. Netty says you lead him on.’

  ‘Come off it, you don’t believe that for one minute. I even had a reasonably pleasant message from Delia.’

  ‘Now that’s unbelievable. How’s her new life in town suiting her?’

  ‘Dunno, you’ll have to ask Eliza. Here she comes, old soppy-bollocks in tow.’ Konrad forced himself to shake hands with Eliza’s boyfriend, Mason. The American accent still grated, as did the general boastfulness. Most of all, he despised the fact that his daughter’s chosen man had a weak handshake, like a wet fish, thus inviting Konrad to ratchet up his vice-like grip and make Mason wince. Barney did the same, much to his friend’s amusement.

  ‘Sorry we’re late, Dad. Mason had an important call from the States and it took longer than we thought.’

  Should have left the wanker at home then.

  ‘Never mind, you’re here now. Are you feeling okay about Lorna being with us?’

  ‘More than okay. I’ll introduce myself. You stay here and teach Mason about the delights of proper beer. He only drinks lager.’

  ‘Our pleasure,’ Barney piped up with a devilish grin spreading slowly across his face. ‘Mason, walk this way, lager boy, and let me help you with your future career. We can’t have you intellectual types drinking lager; no one in this country or the whole of the UK will take you seriously as a professor of anything unless you drink real ale. Lesson one: never drink halves, always pints. Now then, we’ll start you off with a golden ale. Looks harmless enough, doesn’t it?’

  Konrad was pretending to listen to Barney’s beer lesson, but his attention was captured by his daughter and Lorna meeting officially for the first time. He held his breath until interrupted.

  ‘Kon, another pint?’

  ‘Yes please.’ Konrad smiled amiably at the landlord who was clearly trying hard not to be overwhelmed by the famous faces in his establishment, ones that had appeared on the front pages of every newspaper in the UK that morning. He rustled up enough courage to ask, ‘Will you be staying in the area for a few more days?’

  ‘Most likely, until the dust settles. It’s been a long haul but I’m glad we’re finally able to venture out for a
drink, and you’ll probably see us again tomorrow unless the press get wind of where we are.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ve put a news embargo on the staff and the regulars. Any trouble from press intrusion and we’ll throw the bastards out.’

  41

  The BBC reporter pushed a microphone into Konrad’s face, catching him off guard as he descended the steps of the High Court in bright summer sunshine.

  ‘Mr Neale, how does it feel knowing your efforts have finally been rewarded?’

  Konrad was able to switch easily into his professional presenter persona. His expression remained serious.

  ‘I’m relieved of course, but mostly delighted that after four years Matthew Hawley has finally got the justice he deserves.’ He thanked the reporter, put on his sunglasses, and moved off into the crowded street, determined not to be collared for any further impromptu interviews. His diary was already full of scheduled attendances for chat shows, current affairs programmes and ironically for two real crime documentaries. One investigating the murder of Tessa Carlton, whose body was still missing, and the other investigating cases of crimes committed during states of automatism.

  That day in the High Court, it had been sobering listening to Naomi Woods again. Konrad had stared intently at her when she took the witness stand like a pro. This was the third time in the dock in eighteen months and Konrad wondered if the notoriety of her crimes was feeding repetitively into her psychopathy. She seemed to revel in the notoriety and play to the crowd.

  As predicted, she had pleaded not guilty to the murder of Helena Chawston-Hawley even though the re-examination of the evidence had resulted in the successful appeal by Matthew Hawley and in Naomi’s arrest for conspiracy to murder. She was found guilty.

  Allowing the courtroom to empty, he sat alone for a while in the gallery, not praying, but in quiet contemplation, savouring the end of the most dreadful chapter in his entire life. His thoughts were of Freddie and his tears were for himself.

  As he was crossing the lobby, heading for the High Court’s main exit, he was approached by Mrs Steele, barrister for Naomi Woods. ‘Mr Neale, could I have a word in private?’

  In a smart wood panelled room, the officious Mrs Steele handed over a package. ‘My client instructed me to give this to you in the event that she was found guilty today. There’s a short letter giving you permission to act as you see fit regarding the contents.’

  ‘That’s what old Iron Breeches said?’ Annette queried as she loaded the first of the DVDs into the player. She and Konrad sat in semi-darkness in the editing suite. ‘Just like old times this, isn’t it? Now the legal nightmares are done with, maybe we can actually finish the bloody documentary. The bosses are champing at the bit for us to be the first on air. Right, let’s see what the bitch has sent.’

  Annette reached for a large packet of peanuts and shook some out into her hand. She sat back to watch the monitor with interest as she popped a few nuts into her mouth.

  ‘I thought you were on a diet.’

  ‘I am. Hang on. Wait a minute. Before we do this, what if the DVD is an unabridged version of the night you and Lorna were attacked? You could have one of those mind melt-down moments and be lost for days again.’

  ‘Good point. You sit with your finger on the stop button and I’ll look away if it is.’

  They didn’t speak until the film started.

  ‘Where the hell is this? And who’s that?’ Annette asked, trying to make sense of the naked limbs on the screen.

  Konrad cocked his head to one side to compensate for the angle of the action in the film. ‘That looks very much like Helena being given a lesson by Naomi in the fine art of the blow job, using a strap-on dick.’ Konrad was mesmerised by the scene playing out in front of him during which Naomi could be heard making encouraging comments about Helena’s technique and then offering a suggestion about subtle improvements that she could make. ‘This means that Naomi knew exactly what Helena was doing. She taught her. Mistress and apprentice. Naomi helped her to catch and keep Matthew. I think I know where this is going.’

  ‘Do you? I’m too shocked to think anything,’ Annette said rolling out of her chair and heading towards the door. She checked the corridor outside and then returned to her desk. ‘Play the next one, but keep the volume down.’

  ‘Oh shit. That’s Josh with Helena riding him like a thing possessed. Listen. Naomi’s laughing while she’s filming it.

  ‘How sick is that.”

  ‘Turn it up a bit. A little louder so we can hear.’

  Konrad and Annette huddled together as they watched the scene change in front of them. They heard Naomi giving instructions. ‘Well done, both of you. Very enjoyable to watch, but Helena, you’re still rushing things. Take your time, swivel round and face the other way, enjoy the experience. Josh won’t remember a thing, but you’ll have the orgasm of your life. Then you can have another go on Daddy over there and we’ll see who’s the best in your opinion.’ The camera panned across the bedroom to where Matthew Hawley was sitting in a chair watching his son have sex with his wife under the instruction of Naomi Woods.

  ‘How long have I got?’ Helena asked, panting slightly as she looked towards the camera. Naomi continued to film her as she rocked back, and flicked her long hair out of her face. Helena wore a beaming smile. ‘I’m loving this.’

  Annette put one hand up to her mouth in shock. Konrad looked at her before pressing the stop button.

  ‘Tell me you’re thinking what I’m thinking.’

  ‘I can if you’re thinking that Helena and Naomi were abusing the father and the son for their own sexual pleasure, and it very much looks as if they drugged them.’

  ‘That would explain why Naomi became so angry when Helena made a real play for Josh. They wanted the same man. Mystery solved.’

  ‘I find it weird that when you watch Josh, he seems to be enjoying himself, but he’s drugged and won’t remember any of it.’

  ‘Let me assure you. It is weird.’

  ‘Whoever said “the camera never lies” was wrong.’

  The two friends sat in silence thinking about the implications of what they had in their possession.

  ‘What the hell are we going to do with these discs?’ Konrad asked. ‘We can’t show them as part of the documentary because neither of those poor men know they’ve been raped.’

  ‘You’re so right. It’s rape. Kon, this is so bad.’

  ‘I know. What are we going to do? If we give it to the police, Naomi Woods bags herself another trip to court and more fame for her evil deeds. But if we do nothing we’re complicit in not reporting a serious crime.’

  Kon and Annette pivoted their chairs to face each other.

  ‘What a deplorable, black-hearted bitch. She knew this was the last turn of the screw, and do we believe what she says in that bloody letter about these being the only copies? She, or someone acting on her behalf, must have downloaded them from a computer somewhere.’

  ‘Apart from the one of Lorna and me, the police have never produced another of her films as evidence. Not even a laptop, and nothing on any phone. So, I don’t know is the answer to your question.’

  Annette removed the DVD from the machine in front of her, and wagged it in Konrad’s face. ‘Let’s see what’s on the other disc.’

  He recognised his car. The white Range Rover registration KON 1 was shown parked between trees and bushes, only yards away from a dirt track. The person holding the camera walked towards the car where Freddie sat in the passenger seat smiling and waving, fingers spread wide.

  ‘Want to say a little something to your dad about your new job, Freddie?’ Naomi’s distinctive sotto voice could barely be heard over the sound of the wind blowing the leaves in the trees.

  ‘Yes, I do.’ The car window lowered, allowing Freddie to rest his elbow on the opening as he looked directly into camera. ‘Hello, Dad, I’m not sorry you refused to help find me some work at Channel 7. Fuck you. I’ve passed my interview and I’m jo
ining Chloe in her new business as her sales and marketing assistant. We’ve found some offices for the West Country branch and I’ll be staying here. You can keep your money. I’m not going back to uni after the summer; I’ll be too rich to care. Now if you don’t mind, I’m about to get on with the rest of my life and Chloe is going to show me something new.’ Freddie made a ‘V’ sign at the camera as he laughed excitedly. ‘Come on, get in girl, put your lips around this.’ There was a break in the filming before it recommenced showing Freddie’s immobilised torso, tied by his neck, with a blissful look on his face.

  In silence, Annette held Konrad’s right hand as he wiped away the tears streaming down his left cheek.

  ‘Bye–bye Freddie.’

  Naomi’s words ended the film.

  Finally, after several pain-laden minutes, Konrad gained control of himself enough to speak. He had made a decision.

  ‘We destroy the DVDs and we say nothing to a single living soul. Matthew Hawley has paid enough of a price; let him keep his son, and his dignity. Naomi doesn’t have to win them all.’

  THE END

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