Lethal Ties

by Christmas, Helen

  With his hair ruffled against the pillow, his face pale and unshaven, it struck me how vulnerable he looked. Yet regardless of his discomfort, his eyes gleamed with a warmth that had my heart melting.

  Eventually Hannah left too, and I cherished a few minutes alone with him before anyone else turned up.

  “Sweet,” he murmured, “you didn’t have to do that for me.”

  “Shut up,” I whispered. “It’s my choice and I’m not leaving you. You took a couple of nasty knife wounds yesterday, so don’t try putting on the tough guy act.”

  “I’m not,” he protested gently, “but you should take up their offer to stay with them. It’ll do you good to get away for a couple of days.”

  “Then we’ll both go, but only when you’re fit enough. Don’t worry, Mandy and Stewart are lovely, and they’ve always wanted to meet you.”

  “Okay, well in that case, you’re on. I’d like that.”

  The silence swelled between us, the room turning warmer as the gaps in the blinds drew the sunlight in. They painted white stripes across Joe’s bed, and as I struggled to tear my eyes away, I could guess what he was thinking.

  “So what happens next? Are you going back to your flat in Bognor?”

  “I guess I’ll have to,” I shrugged, “but that’s not all. I need to return to East Lavant some time, to collect my things.”

  A black cloud rolled into my mind as I thought of it. That house had seemed like a dream once but now... picturing it, in its creepy surround of woods, it represented my darkest nightmare, the place my demons had finally come for me.

  “I wish I didn’t have to go back. I’m not sure I even want to live in Annandale Avenue, come to think of it, not after what I know. The thought of Mortimer living there is never going to stop haunting me. Suppose I terminate my contract? We can always find some other place to rent.”

  Joe turned very still, his eyebrows steepled. “We?” he repeated.

  “Yes, Joe,” I said, as I rehearsed my next words. “Because whatever the future holds, I want us to be together...”

  How strange that it had taken the events of yesterday evening for me to realise it was Joe I loved all along.

  Epilogue

  Pagham, near Chichester, January 2016

  Six months on, and we are still together – in fact, we couldn’t be happier. I love the flat we rent in Pagham. A first floor property with massive front windows and such a glorious view of the beach further away. It has everything we cherished in Bognor yet without the cobwebs of the past clouding our vision; the freshness of the sea breeze around us, a couple of good pubs and plenty of places for walking.

  If anyone has been around for me, though, it is my dear friend, Sarah.

  I feel a warmth fold around me as I picture her face but in the last few months we’ve grown even closer. No surprises there, when you consider the deadly web we were caught up in. The icing on the cake is how quickly Connor bounced back. He won’t be facing charges after all. DI Fitzpatrick saw to that. Sarah and I often wonder but... what would have happened if Connor hadn’t been around that day? The thought makes me shiver and I push it away. Something I don’t wish to think about!

  Going back to Connor, I’m pleased he never went back to his old school, that shortly after the holidays he embarked on a fresh start. He attends an academy now, one specially geared towards gifted kids with special needs. I know he’s happy and as for his new schoolmates... they think he’s awesome.

  Jess, on the other hand, was never there for me.

  It took that terrible week in June to realise what a truly toxic friend she had been. Looking back, Jess only ever got in touch when she needed a shoulder to cry on. I always knew she was a drama queen, using me as a sounding board to offload her problems, while not caring about mine at all. But the way she treated Joe disgusted me, and that was the final straw.

  Glancing at him as he sleeps, I can see why she was attracted.

  His unruly dark hair falls like feathers around his face, and with his head tilted sideways, I trace the angle of his jaw with my fingertips, loving the roughness of his stubble. A glow fills my cheeks when I think of the intimacy we share. For not only did he save my life, but by the time his wounds healed, he turned out to be a perfect lover – although those are thoughts I keep to myself.

  But going back to Jess, there was something else I never knew; that according to her friend, Imogen (who cornered me not long after the incident in East Lavant), she thought she was onto something big with Joe’s story.

  And Joe was right all along about her intentions. There was nothing sympathetic about her interest in his traumatic past, just the opportunity for some publicity, and even a little notoriety. According to Imogen, Jess harboured dreams of being a journalist, and this would be her big scoop. Even Imogen was shocked. Our story, when it finally did hit the news, was like nothing she had imagined, even after the little aperitifs she had sampled at Jess’s dinner party.

  I could hardly be surprised at her shock. Who would have thought this idyllic corner of West Sussex could conceal crimes of such evil?

  I glance away, biting my lip as other faces begin to materialise.

  Suddenly I feel a creeping sensation, but it’s too late... thoughts of our enemies are stuck inside my head, so I might as well deal with them, starting with the man at the top.

  Alistair McFadden QC was charged with multiple accounts of murder and conspiracy to murder. Now he is awaiting trial, though, he’s singing like a canary.

  Joe begins to stir, as if conscious of my thoughts. In the aftermath of Mortimer’s death, McFadden named four other men involved in his satanic cult (all public figures), and admitted that he owned the mansion in Buckinghamshire where the rituals had taken place.

  All things considered, the investigation has only just begun.

  As for Duncan, I shed no tears over his death. Goose pimples crawl like insects over my arms when I think about what he did to Sam. For regardless of the iron rule of his father, murdering Sam was a horrible revelation in itself, and his lack of remorse showed him to be as much of a monster as Alistair.

  I take deep breaths, willing my heart to slow down as my fears threaten to take hold again. There are times I could kick myself for letting Duncan into my life so easily. But only now do I realise those powerful feelings I harboured were nothing compared to what I have with Joe. It was never love, more infatuation. Because despite everything I know about him, he reminded me so much of Sam. The Sam I adored. Perhaps my feelings were the result of some self-fulfilling prophecy; that my yearning for Sam to be alive made Duncan’s illusion seem so real.

  Joe doesn’t hold it against me, and I can’t say how lucky I am that he has stood by me! I don’t know how I could have got through the last six months on my own. Hannah, too, plays an essential role in helping me battle my traumas. I still visit her for therapy and she’s got me writing things down lately...

  Skimming over my ramblings, my newly acquired reading glasses sliding down my nose, I chew the end of my biro in deep thought.

  For there, lingering on the shore of my mind, gleams one other person.

  Sam.

  The real Sam, that is, the boy we lost twenty-one years ago.

  Hardly a day goes by when he doesn’t pop into my thoughts, and Joe has said the same. Police in Scotland were faced with the grim task of searching the mountains surrounding Galbraith Castle, where sure enough, they did eventually discover human remains, scattered among the rocks and ferns. Those bastards didn’t even give him a decent burial, something we vowed to put right.

  When Sam was finally laid to rest, it was an emotional day. After consulting the authorities, it was agreed he should be interred alongside his mother, at a grave in Brompton Cemetery, Westminster, which seemed very small and insignificant.

  A ball of sadness forms in the pit of my stomach as I picture the scene. It was hard to imagine that simple wicker coffin contained the bones of our childhood friend. Sarah and Connor a
ttended the funeral with us, as did my foster parents. Officers from the Met turned up too, Mark from Bognor Police Station, and although none of them had known Sam, they wanted to pay their respects, if for no other reason than to honour a child whose life had been brutally cut short.

  One person I never expected to see, though, was Thomas Parker-Smythe, mercifully released from prison and acquitted of all false accusations. He and Joe have forged a cordial, if not awkward camaraderie in the wake of his prison visit, but it forced a deeper investigation into his story.

  Most astonishing was the authenticity of the Apple Mac they seized. It turns out it wasn’t even his! It had a completely different IP address, proving without a doubt that his real computer had indeed been switched for an identical model: one that bore the hallmark of Orchard Grange.

  This is the moment I stop writing. The air feels cold, and I don’t want to think about the men who stole Sam’s life, but they are there nonetheless, crouched on the edge of my consciousness like gargoyles. As Mortimer’s face flickers briefly, I sense a black fog pushing into my thoughts before Joe opens his eyes. It seems like telepathy.

  He holds my gaze before a slow, luscious smile slides its way onto his face. Our fingertips connect beneath the duvet where they entwine.

  “What are you writing about now?” he murmurs.

  “Just stuff,” I murmur back. “Memories, things I need to get off my chest... Like Hannah says, it helps me purge my thoughts, instead of suppressing them.”

  With a contented sigh, I set down my notebook and turn to him. Bury my face in his chest hair, inhaling his sweet manly essence.

  “I was just thinking about Sam’s funeral service...”

  Joe nods, his hand caressing the back of my neck.

  “D’you fancy going for a wander, then?” he says. “Take another look at the harbour?”

  “Yeah, I’m up for that,” I smile.

  He’s excited, I can see it in his eyes, something that pulls in a more recent memory. Because if anything good is to come out of this saga, it has to be Joe’s prospects, and now the dust has settled, he fantasises of a career working with youngsters; troubled kids like him who have ended up in care, knowing what it was like to have no family around the corner to fall back on.

  The only problem is that he needs a qualification, and after missing so much schooling, hasn’t a single GSCE to his name. But all that is about to change.

  For if anyone has come through for Joe it is Thomas: Thomas, who feels indebted to him for seeking out the truth when he was on remand; Thomas, who has pledged to do whatever he can to guide him onto the right path. The first step would be to get Joe onto an Access to Education scheme. If successful, that brings him a nationally-recognised Level 3 qualification, with which he can go on to study for a Diploma in Health and Social Care.

  A strange swimming sensation passes over me. Following the exposure of those homes, no one could have been more devastated than Thomas. Yet when he talks of a broken society, he genuinely thinks men like Joe can make a difference.

  It’s something we discussed after Sam’s funeral, and if the past is bleak, the future looks rosy.

  Returning to Sam, though, we have dreams of creating our own tribute right here in Pagham, a place we can hold him in our hearts.

  We’ve written to the Parish Council, and requested permission to install a memorial bench close to the nature reserve.

  So this is where we’re heading now, a sheltered lagoon embracing a glittering expanse of water. Swathes of reeds stretch beyond the footpaths, nesting grounds for migrating birds and the tiny white herons known as egrets. It seems so perfect; the place in which Joe and I have established our home; a place of beauty, where Sam’s spirit seems destined to be, and to beam a special piece of his sunshine into our lives.

  And if they agree, all we will ask for is a simple brass plaque:

  In Loving Memory of Sam Ellis

  Never to be forgotten

  THE END

  Author’s Note

  Thank you for reading Lethal Ties and I hope you enjoyed it. If so, please leave a review. Reviews are the life blood of authors, helping other readers to discover new books.

  The idea for this novel arose in 2015 when a series of stories appeared in the news concerning the historic sexual abuse of children by people in power, including TV celebrities and high establishment figures. That many of the victims were deemed vulnerable only exacerbated the scandal, the more so when it emerged that the allegations centred on the abuse of children in residential care homes nationwide. But in 2018, a high profile case (Operation Midland) collapsed when claims of a VIP paedophile ring were proven false. Police had no choice but to investigate allegations made by Carl Beech against known public figures, a case widely publicised in the media before any concrete evidence was found. This put a different slant on my story, so for this reason, I chose to write it from two perspectives. The central perspective is that of the abused, and the long term damage they suffer, including anxiety, low self-esteem and in some cases victims feeling suicidal; but I also had to focus on the effect allegations may have on those who are falsely accused, on how lives can be ruined before they are proven innocent. This story is entirely fictitious but aims to be a chilling psychological thriller with a police investigation at the heart of it, and although there are references to the news stories that appeared in 2015, I included them for no other reason than as a discussion point among characters.

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to express my thanks to everyone who assisted me. Andy Kille, Ops Controller with Sussex Police whose career spanned three decades, was happy to advise me on the finer details of police procedures. Furthermore, I spoke to Phil Lickorish who joined West Sussex Constabulary in 1964 and held several posts, ultimately working in CID. Phil also kindly put me in touch with DI Jez Prior from the Metropolitan Police. Jez dealt with cases of child abuse in the 90s and we spent a considerable time talking about his work, from the treatment of victims and taking statements, to the gathering of evidence including home searches. The underlying message he wanted put across is that children who have been exploited sexually should always come forward, report their abuse and be listened to.

  Focussing on the police investigation was a factor that really drove this story forward when I was struggling. During the first UK lockdown, it began to take shape, but in addition to the police officers who helped me, I have many other people to thank for sharing their knowledge and providing insights into child care and fostering I might never have otherwise discovered.

  One of the first people I spoke to was Rosemary Conroy-Smith, from West Sussex County Council Child Care and Fostering Department, generous with her time explaining the processes of adoption and fostering. She described the various roles in their department, then invited me to attend one of their Fostering Information evenings in Worthing. I was lucky enough to meet even more people in this field, watched a very moving film and came away feeling enlightened. The vital service they provide for families and children needs to be recognised.

  Next, I enjoyed an informal chat over a coffee with one of our dog walker friends in West Park, Bognor. Nicola Elridge and her husband, Carl, adopted their son when he was a baby but have opened up their home to other foster children. She had some captivating stories to tell, and as a result I came away with a better understanding of the fostering process and some real life cases of parents who have been there and done that. This paved the path of a much deeper journey.

  My author friend, Dan Jones, worked in a number of children’s care homes in the 1990s, and when I briefly mentioned my WIP on Twitter, he was quick to offer advice and share his own experiences. Dan has written about parenting techniques and managing challenging behaviour, and was kind enough to send me a comprehensive email (and documents) about his work in children’s homes, some of which did not make pleasant reading. Children in care frequently hail from unhappy backgrounds, have abusive parents, suffer low self-esteem
and exhibit behavioural problems. Thus, the care home environment can be a hostile one.

  I greatly appreciated his help, most of all for introducing me to his friend, Graham, someone who lived through the care system yet turned his life around.

  In fact, it is Graham I have to thank for inspiring this book more than anyone. Not only was it a pleasure to meet him, but in the brief time we talked, he told some amazing stories about living in care and in foster homes. I pledged that when my book was published I would include him in the credits - and he said he would be interested in reading it. My deepest regret is that day never came. Graham tragically passed away on October 29th 2020 before I had a chance to convey my thanks, but the information he shared was priceless, so I chose to dedicate my book to him. The next page includes a tribute to honour his life.

  Having other authors to network with has always been a boost, and none so much as my friends at Chindi Authors for their continual support (especially Jane Cable and Carol Thomas whose uplifting emails were of great help when my inspiration was flagging). I also have my beta readers to thank. I could not have completed this book without them, so a big thank you to Ray Green and Rose Edmunds, both talented thriller authors, and to best selling author, Joel Hames, for being my editor. With Joel’s help, my final draft was shaped and polished to make it flow better; a book I now feel proud of.

  Last of all, I would like to make a special mention of my talented niece, Carys, who has battled with Asperger’s since primary school. A spate of bullying in her first year of secondary school led my sister to a decision to home-school her for a year; but with no interaction with other kids, she expressed a desire to go back to school to study for GSCEs. It emerged she was ‘on the spectrum’ and after diagnosis, her parents managed to get her into a good school, offering her the specialist help she needed. Little was known about Asperger’s until recently and only now do I understand the inherent traits, from the frustration of not being able to read people and non-acceptance by peers, to social withdrawal when they feel threatened. Those I have met with autism see the world differently but are intelligent, intuitive and creative. No two people are alike, even my own character; a boy who exhibits behaviour some might consider ‘strange,’ while balanced with compassion and bravery. In 2020 Carys graduated from Southampton University with a class 2:1 degree in English Literature and Creative Writing, a proud moment for our family. Her dream is to write screen plays and it would be wonderful to see her work brought to life in a film or TV drama series, maybe even this story... who knows?