Liar Liar

by James Patterson

“Harry’s just called me,” he said.

  A bigger man whirled around, and Whitt stepped back to allow Deputy Commissioner Woods more space.

  “Harriet Blue is in contact with you?” Woods seemed almost insulted. “I assume you told Detective Blue to surrender herself into custody immediately?”

  Whitt explained the phone call, deciding to look at Chief Morris instead.

  “She’s rerouting her line,” Whitt said. “I checked with IT before I came up here. Her calls are basically untraceable. She bounces her signal around a bunch of towers and networks, and doesn’t stay on the line long enough for the signal to settle and for us to get a location. It’s likely that’s what Regan is doing to her.”

  “Regan Banks is calling Harriet Blue?” Woods sneered. “This is exactly as I was saying, Morris.”

  “It was the first time she’s called me,” Whitt said nervously. “She may call again.”

  “All right.” Woods filled his barrel chest with air. “This is good news. You’ll divert your line to the command-center phone, Detective Whittacker. I’ll be taking all calls from Detective Blue from now on.”

  “I’m not sure that’s the smartest idea,” Pops intervened. “If Harry calls and it’s not Whitt, she’ll hang up and she won’t call back. We need to keep the communication channels open. If Regan’s talking to her, and she’s talking to us, we have some chance of anticipating where Regan will be.”

  “No, thanks, Morris.” Woods put his palm out toward Whitt, waiting for him to give up his phone. “I’m not relying on a rogue detective to intermediate communications with a killer. Give it to me, Whittacker.”

  Whitt gripped the phone by his side. “I think I agree with Chief Morris.”

  “I don’t give a rat’s arse who you agree with, Detective,” Woods said quietly. “I’m giving you a direct order to hand over that phone so that your line can be diverted to—”

  “It’s my personal phone,” Whitt said carefully. “I don’t have to surrender it to you. Not without Harriet having been charged with a crime. Not without you having secured a warrant to listen to my personal calls. Legally, I don’t have to do it, sir.”

  Deputy Commissioner Woods dropped his hand and straightened. Whitt thought he heard the dull click of the bigger man’s teeth locking together in his powerful jaws. Pops clapped Whitt on the shoulder, hoping, it seemed, to signal the end of the conversation. He went back to the map, and Whitt tried to turn away, but Woods stopped him in his tracks.

  “Whittacker,” he said, “I read about you when they asked me to take over the investigation. You’re Harry’s former partner. From Perth, was it? Yes, I had a brief look at some of your past cases.”

  Whitt felt sweat breaking out at his temples. People were staring.

  “The men who killed that little girl,” Woods said. “The ones whose release from prison you practically handed to them on a platter. Have they killed again since they’ve been free?”

  Whitt couldn’t answer. He felt suddenly, unbearably sick.

  “I don’t suppose anyone knows,” Woods said. “A kid goes missing. They never find her. Could have been your guys. No one’s watching them anymore. You made sure of that.”

  Whitt walked toward the men’s room. He barely made it through the door before the sickness came.

  Chapter 27

  LOOK AT THEM. These are the people you spend your life protecting.

  I looked, keeping my head low, pretending to browse through a magazine in a convenience store while I filled my hoodie pockets with snacks for the road. Something told me I was going to be on the move soon. Regan was going to kill again. He was going to make things “personal.” There weren’t many people who meant anything to me anymore, not now that Sam was dead. I’d felt better after warning Whitt. But I needed to think laterally. Be smart. He might murder someone I cared about, or he might murder someone in front of me. Make the experience “personal” that way. Any of the people around me could be a target. Even the strangers. He’d said he wouldn’t follow me, but Regan was a liar, a manipulator.

  The shopkeeper was oblivious to my stealing. He stood with a hand on the glass countertop, chatting to a young mother who was buying lottery tickets.

  Mention of my name on the television in the corner of the store distracted me. The people at the counter had turned to watch. I pulled my cap lower as a picture of me flashed on the screen beside a video of my chief, Pops, reading from a piece of paper. He looked old, tired. A man I recognized as Deputy Police Commissioner Joseph Woods stood at the corner of the screen, looking bored. Was he on the case now? I knew little about Woods other than that he was powerful, a hard-arse who had influence and knew how to use it.

  “She is an official missing person,” Pops said. “We want to stress that the reward for her whereabouts does not imply any wrongdoing on Detective Blue’s part. The reward is being offered by an individual, not the New South Wales Police.”

  One hundred thousand dollars for Harriet Blue’s location, the banner read.

  “Oh, no.” I covered my eyes. I knew instantly that he had done this himself. Pops didn’t care about money. He wanted me home. I was his pet project. His lost cause. He would never stop believing in me. He would not let me ruin my career, my life, by taking revenge on Regan.

  “This’ll flush her out,” the shopkeeper commented as I shoved the magazine back onto the rack. “A hundred grand? Shit, everyone in the city will be lookin’ for that woman.”

  Great, I thought. Just what I need.

  My phone buzzed. A text from an unidentified number. Regan. It was a single word.

  Nowra.

  A suburb two hours’ drive south of Sydney. What? Why was Regan so far away? I held the phone and tried to breathe. Who did I know in Nowra? How would I even get there?

  I walked out of the convenience store and turned right, almost ran to the entrance of the train station I knew was on the corner. Stealing a car now in the broad light of day would be too risky. I snuck through the wheelchair-access ticket gate and headed down the stairs.

  Chapter 28

  DEPUTY COMMISSIONER WOODS didn’t look up at the sound of a rapping on the door to his office. He’d spent a half an hour adjusting the space to suit his needs, removing Chief Morris’s many distractions—the framed photographs on his desk, a misshapen clay mug a child had obviously made him, framed awards on the walls. Woods hadn’t needed to take Morris’s office as a command space—there were plenty of other offices in the building that would have suited his needs—but sometimes it was necessary to send a message to the gawkers outside the glass doors. Big Joe Woods was here, and he was cleaning house. Already a detective had stood up to him in front of the task force. He’d nail Whittacker in time, as publicly and ceremoniously as he had dumped all Morris’s knickknacks in a box in the corner.

  The officer at the door approached when Woods failed to look up from his paperwork.

  “Deputy Commissioner,” the officer said, “I’m Detective Inspector Nigel Spader. I wanted to take a minute to welcome you to the building, and to the Regan Banks task force.”

  Woods didn’t answer. He liked making them uncomfortable, the underlings. It was far more effective than shouting at them, hurling things across the bullpen, as he’d seen other men of his standing do. His approach was psychologically deeper, less predictable. He felt the detective on the other side of his desk squirm.

  “I really think we’ve wasted enough precious time in this investigation so far,” Nigel said.

  “Oh?” Woods straightened in his chair, finally looked up.

  Nigel lowered his voice.

  “If I may speak candidly, sir. I really feel that the Banks investigation has been tragically mishandled, and I’m looking forward to having someone with your experience and skill in command.”

  Woods felt a smile attempt to creep to the surface of his face. He pursed his lips, denying it, and gestured for Nigel to shut the door.

  “I followed the Elizabeth Cras
sbord case closely,” Nigel said, seating himself rigidly in the chair before the commissioner. “Very admirable work, sir.”

  “Spader, was it? Oh, yes. You were part of the original Georges River Killer task force, weren’t you?” Woods said, glancing at his personnel pages. “You’ve been here since the beginning.”

  “Yes, sir,” Nigel said. “And I think that yesterday’s incident in the records room was indicative of the disaster this case has been from the beginning. A double murder in our own station?” Nigel shook his head, puffed out his cheeks. “We have a lot of reputation-saving to do. And I think that, when you bring down Regan Banks—and I know you will, sir—part of the cleanup is going to have to be making Harriet Blue accountable for her role in this.”

  “Now, there’s an unusual standpoint.” Woods plucked at his lower lip. “Everyone around here seems to be an avid Blue fan.”

  “Not me.” Nigel sneered. “Harriet Blue is a disgrace to the badge, sir. She has physically assaulted me on a number of occasions. Well, I mean to say, she’s attempted to. Unsuccessfully. I was there when her brother was arrested, and I can tell you straight up that rumors of his innocence are unfounded.”

  “Hmm.” Woods appreciated the man before him. This Nigel Spader was a gifted arse-kisser, but Woods never tired of having arse-kissers around him in his work. They were good for morale. He tapped Spader’s name on the list before him as though trying to make a decision and watched as the detective’s eyes sparkled with excitement.

  “Detective Spader, I like your style. I’m going to charge you with being my right-hand man in this investigation,” Woods said. “Of course, on paper, my second-in-command has to be Chief Superintendent Trevor Morris. But, I think you and I will both agree, Morris has really fucked the dog on this one.”

  Nigel laughed, perhaps too hard.

  “There will be a lot of recognition for the team involved in bringing Banks down,” Woods said. “I’ve been offered six-figure publishing deals in the past for stories of my cases. I’ve been asked to appear on television, to act as a consultant on crime dramas. But I’m a reserved kind of man.”

  “Of course.” Nigel nodded.

  “I’ve always seen opportunities for promotion on the job as a far more valuable form of reward,” Woods said. “And believe me when I say that, if you stick by my side on this, there will be such opportunities on offer. I guarantee it.”

  Nigel stood and straightened his shirt, trying to contain the excitement obviously flickering in the corners of his mouth. As he went to the door and grasped the handle, he paused, trying to decide whether to say what he said next.

  “Deputy Commissioner.” Nigel took a deep breath. “Before I go, I’d just like to add…Many of us experience family difficulties, and these can impact on our standing in the job. But I want you to know that I believe, and many of us believe, that your daughter’s situation in no way reflects on your character as a police officer.”

  Woods had been just about to set pen to paper, and now the man sat frozen, staring at the pages before him, unseeing.

  “Your daughter is—”

  “That’ll be all, Detective,” Woods snapped.

  Chapter 29

  EYES EVERYWHERE. On my face, my hands, my bag as I tossed it onto the seat and slid over to the window, adjusting my cap to hide my eyes. The thousand-yard stare of commuters, tourists going down the coast to see the wineries, farmlands, national parks. I sat tensed as the train pulled away from the station, waiting for someone to recognize me. No one did. Catching my reflection in the window beside me, I could see why. I was a tired, thinned version of the Harriet Blue in the photos the television kept running. My hair was stringy, unwashed. I rubbed my eyes and watched the city shrink into suburbia. The train was warm. I eased out of my hoodie. The movement of the carriage lulled me into an uneasy sleep.

  When I dreamed, I saw my brother. One of the many times we were reunited at the Department of Community Services offices after months apart. He’d been waiting for me, looking oddly guilty, his fingers stained yellow from cigarette smoke and his shirt reeking of it as I pulled him close to me. He’d started smoking very young. It always annoyed the DOCS workers. A pair of them sat at the table near him in the wide, sterile meeting room, murals of kittens and bunnies painted on the walls. They were going to brief us on where we were headed next. Promises of longer-term placements, stability that would never come. They watched, bemused, as we hugged, knowing neither of us were huggers.

  “You’re getting taller,” I told Sam, patting his greasy teenage hair.

  “No, you’re getting shorter.”

  “A dual placement,” I’d almost squealed, punching him in the shoulder with glee. “This is awesome! God, I’ve missed you so much! How’d you swing this? Your last family kick you out? What’d you do?”

  “Nothing.” His face flushed with guilt. “Nothing. It was all good. I just…I asked to be removed. I needed a change of scene, you know. That’s all.”

  I knew when my brother was lying to me. He’d never been very good at it. I remembered taking his arm, trying to meet his eyes.

  “Bullshit,” I said. “There’s something wrong. What happened? Some fucking pedo try to mess with you? Did you tell your caseworker?”

  “Nah, nah, Harry, it’s fine.” He rubbed my shoulder.

  “Then what?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What?”

  “Look, I met this guy.” His voice was low. Uncertain. “Another kid.”

  “In the same family?”

  “No, another foster kid. His placement was near mine.”

  “What happened? What’d he do?”

  “Nothing. I don’t know. He was just…” Sam shrugged. Wouldn’t look at me. “Just a bit intense for me, I guess. A bit weird. I got creeped out. That’s all.”

  “What, the guy have a crush on you or something?” I snorted.

  “Would you two stop messing around so we can get started over here?” one of the DOCS ladies said. “Harriet? Harriet. Harriet Blue…”

  “Harriet Blue.”

  I was snapped out of the dream by the sound of my own name. My neck was sore from leaning my head against the train window at an odd angle. The voice was coming from the headphones of a young Asian man in a red cap sitting across the aisle from me, watching a news clip on an iPad. The volume was so high, I could hear every word of the broadcast.

  “Much of their work, police say, has been chasing down false sightings of Banks across the state, some coming from as far away as Broken Hill. And while the public wonders where Banks will strike next, the search continues for Detective Harriet Blue, sister of…”

  I’d been paying so much attention to the flashes of the program I could see on the screen, I didn’t notice the man with the iPad looking right at me.

  I nodded acknowledgment, trying to play it cool, but as I did, the screen in his hands was filled with a picture of me.

  He looked at the screen.

  Then at me.

  Chapter 30

  I GRABBED MY bag and walked quickly down the aisle toward the stairs. The other passengers seemed to sense my urgency and glanced up. When I turned, I saw the red-cap guy with the iPad following me. I cursed and sped up.

  “Hey! Hey!” he called. “Excuse me? Miss?”

  I ignored him, taking the steep stairs to the carriage entry two at a time. There were people here on the long benches beside the doors. I held on to the handrail, trying not to panic. It was one guy. I could fend him off.

  “Excuse me?” he said as he got to the bottom of the stairs.

  “Dude, leave me alone,” I whispered.

  “Is this you?” He lifted the iPad, pointed to the picture of my face, the video paused on the screen. “Are you Harriet Blue?”

  At the mention of my name, and his excited tone, more people looked up. I shielded my eyes, gritted my teeth, and snarled at the guy.

  “No, I’m not. I just look like her. Now, fuck off.”


  “Is everything okay?” A man in a business suit standing by the doors turned toward us. “Is he bothering you?”

  “Yes, he is.” I tried to push toward the doors to the next carriage. The train lurched, and I grabbed an overhanging handle.

  “She’s Harriet Blue,” Red Cap said. “The one they’re looking for. The police.”

  A woman nearby slipped her phone out of her pocket. She watched me, looking guilty, as she dialed what was obviously emergency services. I went for the doors again, grabbing the handle and wrenching them open. The gangway between the two carriages was unsteady, the train thumping on the tracks. I shoved my way into the next carriage, but the two men were right behind me now.

  The businessman grabbed my arm. “I think you really ought to come with me.”

  “Hey, I saw her first,” Red Cap snapped. “You just want that reward.”

  “Someone get a guard!”

  I shrugged my arm out of the man’s grip and pushed him in the chest. He grabbed again, but the guy in the cap was with me now, a sudden ally, shoving him against the doors. Red Cap went for the strap of my backpack and I grabbed his fingers, wrenching them backward, causing him to drop to his knees. I put a boot into his side and hurled him to the ground. The train was slowing, rocking on the tracks. People were getting up from their seats, alarmed by the scuffle.

  “Someone call the police!” the businessman yelled down the length of the carriage.

  I turned and ran down the aisle, leaving the men to fight it out. “Hey, stop her!”

  I burst through the doors to the next carriage and looked out the side doors, watching the rocks and gravel between the tracks rushing past me through the glass. I couldn’t wait for the train to slow much more. Through the murky windows to the carriage I had come from, I could see a small crowd gathering in the aisle, pointing, passing on the story to one another. A couple more people grabbed their phones. In minutes, the police would be waiting for me at the next station.