Each Little Lie: A gripping psychological thriller with a heart-stopping twist

by Tom Bale

  Jen had to resist the urge to grab the phone from his hand. ‘What?’

  ‘He’s asleep. Zonked out, apparently.’

  ‘But it’s not even six o’clock!’

  ‘He was in Greece this morning, remember. Different time zone – not to mention all this drama and excitement.’

  He was right. Jen’s first impulse was to demand that he call again and get his mum to wake Charlie up, but then she imagined how that might upset him. Wasn’t it a good thing that he’d managed to fall asleep?

  She sensed Dean studying her, and said, ‘He’s not usually that comfortable with strangers. Are you sure he’s all right?’

  ‘He’s fine. Good as gold. You saw him on the video, didn’t you?’

  That gave her an idea. ‘Your mum – could she take a picture of him, asleep, and send it to us?’

  ‘I wish!’ Dean snorted. ‘Her phone doesn’t even have a camera. It’s one of those clunky ones for old people, with the enormous buttons.’ He smiled gently. ‘Sorry. But the time will pass quickly enough. It won’t be long till you’re back with him.’

  She only nodded, and looked deep into Dean’s eyes. Could she trust this man with Charlie’s life? Could she endure a few more hours without absolute proof that her son was safe?

  Dean seemed to read her thoughts, leaning forward and gently grasping her hand. Her gaze was still locked on his, and it didn’t seem right to pull away.

  ‘Please, Jen. I know how painful this is for you. And if you decide right now to call 999 and let the police take over, I won’t try to stop you. But I’m begging you to have faith in me, and let me help you clear your name.’

  She pondered for a moment, and retrieved her hand on the pretence that she needed to wipe her eyes. Then she nodded. ‘How would we do that?’

  The next step, he explained, was to gather evidence. ‘I’m afraid it means sending you into the lions’ den.’ A nervous grin. ‘Are you prepared to go to Gerard’s and stay there for a while – possibly overnight?’

  ‘Overnight?’ She shivered. ‘Is that really necessary?’

  ‘It would give us the best chance, by far. But if you don’t think—’

  ‘No, no. I can do it, I suppose. But why don’t we fetch Charlie, and I could take him with me?’

  ‘Not a good idea,’ Dean said gravely. ‘Until we have something that incriminates Gerard, it’s vital to keep Charlie out of his reach.’

  Jen couldn’t help but look sceptical. ‘They wouldn’t hurt Charlie?’

  ‘Don’t be so sure. I bet Gerard hasn’t reported him missing, has he?’

  Jen thought of Freddie’s panicked call, and shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘There you are – that’s criminal neglect. Gerard only cares about himself.’ He stared at the table for a moment, then spoke quietly. ‘As they grow more desperate to break you, so the risks increase. You have to be aware of that.’

  ‘I am. I’ve already been through—’

  ‘This is worse,’ he cut in. ‘I didn’t want to tell you, but it’s something you probably ought to know.’ He shifted in his seat. ‘Sam Dhillon was trying to seduce you for a very specific purpose. The idea was to slip you a date-rape drug, and a whole group of them were going to. . .’ Now blushing, Dean shyly indicated her body. ‘Gang rape, basically – it makes me feel sick just thinking about it. They intended to film it and put the footage online. Because of the drug, you wouldn’t even know whether you’d been a willing participant, so they’d be able to portray you as a. . . you know?’

  ‘And Gerard knew about this? He approved it?’ As she spoke, Jen was thinking back to the conversation on Monday, and the secret obscenity of Gerard’s wedding photograph.

  ‘He must have done.’ Dean cast a quick, guilty glance around the empty bar. ‘The impression I got was that, short of your actual death, nothing was off limits.’

  54

  After Gerard caught him using a spare phone, Freddie admitted that he’d been speaking to Jen, but only to put her mind to rest. Gerard gave him the benefit of the doubt, though Freddie in this state disgusted him: the boy was a snivelling, snot-faced streak of spinelessness.

  And he isn’t a ‘boy’, Gerard had to remind himself. His son was thirty-one. At that age, Gerard had been a strutting prince of the tabloid press, feted by politicians who weren’t fit to lick his boots.

  There was an Xbox in one of the smaller living rooms, bought for Charlie to use when he visited; after he’d taken a shower to freshen up, Freddie soon lost himself in the meaningless fervour of a racing game. If only he could apply himself so diligently to the real world, Gerard thought. He wanted to feel proud of his son, rather than have to change the subject whenever somebody asked after him.

  The lad wasn’t stupid, as was clear from his comment earlier about the type of people they were dealing with. As he’d said, their job amounted to fucking up lives – which, when it came down to it, wasn’t so different from Gerard’s own career. Fucking up lives was what he hoped to achieve with every rant about this or that section of society, and he’d always been relaxed about the consequences of what he said, secure in the knowledge that his victims had brought it upon themselves. Losers were losers because they deserved to be: what was so wrong with pointing that out?

  As an extreme libertarian, he took the view that it wasn’t what you did that mattered in life so much as how you did it. It could be skimming money from a business or fiddling your taxes: if you get away with it then you’re entitled to succeed, simply because you’ve done it well. Why couldn’t Freddie run with that philosophy, grasp the nettle and do something – anything – to make his mark on the world?

  Gerard had turned to Hugo Hamilton at the beginning of the year, when his lawyers privately warned him that Freddie was likely to lose the custody battle – and Jen was going to win. Gerard knew that he couldn’t accept that. He’d done his best to scupper the mediation process, virtually brainwashing Freddie to take the most belligerent stance possible, but it became clear that a far more unorthodox – and nefarious – approach was necessary.

  Jen had to be defeated. Destroyed.

  Except here they were, almost in September, and it still hadn’t happened.

  The afternoon was fading to evening when Hugo called, indignant as ever: ‘Poor form, setting that Rottweiler on me. If there’s a problem on our part, I would have been happy to resolve it.’

  ‘With the bunch of clowns on your payroll? No, thanks. This time I need some real expertise.’

  Gerard expected the other man to huff and puff; instead he said, in a solemn voice, ‘I only hope you know what you’re doing. Let a creature like that off the leash, and you can’t always put him back on.’

  The next call came at six thirty, by which time Freddie was locked into a FIFA game. Gerard was tidying up the article for Breitbart when his contact phoned with an update.

  ‘Our chap’s making good progress. I’ve suggested the two of you communicate directly from here on. I hardly need to know the grisly details, after all.’

  ‘This man, Stemper, you’re sure he can be trusted?’

  ‘Wouldn’t have suggested him otherwise. He’s already confirmed that Hamilton was hedging his bets where you were concerned. More importantly, from the workforce there’s emerging what you might call a “candidate of interest”. Fellow by the name of Dean.’

  Gerard heard the doorbell chime, and remembered that he’d sent the housekeeper home. ‘. . . should know more this evening,’ his contact was saying.

  ‘Good. Ask him to update me when he can.’ He ended the call and hurried out, just as someone thumped forcefully on the door.

  Gerard faltered. Could it be the police?

  The thought made him light-headed with shock. Put him in a tight spot and he could usually talk his way out of it. But if Jen had cottoned on that Charlie was missing – or if it transpired that Freddie had admitted it to her – then he was in deep trouble. The boy should be here: he wasn’t.
End of story.

  Unless I can keep them talking, and Freddie has the sense to hide. . .

  He was discounting that possibility as he opened the door and found not the police, but Jen herself.

  He gaped at her in disbelief. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Don’t give me any crap. I know Charlie’s missing, and I know what you’ve been up to.’

  She pushed past him, shouting for Freddie. ‘Have you lost your mind?’ Gerard blustered, but it was a weak attempt to regain control.

  Then Freddie appeared. In Jen’s eyes he must have looked a wreck, because she cried out at the sight of him. Then, to Gerard’s dismay, Freddie dropped to his knees and started begging her forgiveness with all the subtlety of a guest on one of those daytime scum shows. Jen spared him a contemptuous glance before marching into Gerard’s study as though this were her house, her agenda, her God-given right to take the lead.

  With Freddie bumbling after her, Gerard hustled past his son, scowling as Jen dragged a spare chair up to the desk and took out her phone, which she placed on his desk with a little too much care.

  ‘You can switch that off,’ he growled.

  ‘Sorry?’ She gave a look of incomprehension that he didn’t buy for a second.

  ‘I’m not discussing any of this until you switch off your phone. I wasn’t born yesterday.’

  She gave a scornful sigh, but picked up the phone and held it for him to see as she powered it down. Freddie muttered something about ‘craziness’ but they both ignored him.

  Aware that he had to seize the initiative, Gerard said, ‘I’ve got some good people working to find out who has Charlie. I’m sure we’ll have a result very soo—’

  ‘It’s a man named Dean. I’ve just met him, here in London.’

  Freddie’s eyes widened. ‘Did you see Charlie?’

  ‘No. But I’m confident that he’s safe – which is why I haven’t yet gone to the police. It’s not for your sake, so just bear in mind the problems I could have caused you, if I’d been inclined to.’

  Gerard sneered; it wasn’t difficult to see where she was going with this. But it was Freddie who got in first: ‘Who the fuck is Dean? What does he want?’

  ‘More to the point,’ Gerard said to Jen, ‘what do you want?’

  ‘What do you think? Tomorrow I have to attend the police station to be formally charged. I want those charges withdrawn.’

  ‘There’s no chance of that, not in less than twenty-four hours.’

  ‘Maybe not, but you can have a damn good try.’

  Settling back in his seat, Gerard adopted a patrician drawl. ‘It’s true that I have certain connections, but this is still—’

  ‘I’m not talking about a favour between mates,’ she snapped. ‘I know you engaged the services of a man named Hugo Hamilton, whose company specialises in spying, and sabotage, and set-ups like the one that was used to frame me.’

  She waited for a reaction, but he’d been challenged by far better inquisitors than her, and he simply maintained his trademark supercilious smirk.

  ‘Where did you get all this?’ Freddie asked.

  ‘I’m surprised you don’t know. Dean was one of the people employed to frame me, only he decided to switch sides and help me instead.’

  ‘I didn’t, I swear I didn’t have a clue about any of it till today,’ Freddie gabbled. ‘This Dean – do you trust him?’

  ‘A lot more than I trust your father.’ She turned back to Gerard. ‘I don’t care how it happens – either Hamilton admits the whole thing was a fabrication, or he gets Alex Wilson to confess that he lied about losing his keys and smashed up the artwork himself. But however they do it, they’re going to clear my name.’

  Gerard wafted a hand, graciously, and said, ‘Supposing I can make the charges go away, what happens then?’

  ‘Dean’s waiting for confirmation, tomorrow, that I’m okay. When he gets that, I’m going to meet him and Charlie, somewhere in the north of England.’

  ‘Why the north?’ Freddie asked.

  ‘For safety.’ Jen kept her attention on Gerard. ‘He doesn’t trust you not to send somebody after him. So I’ll be going alone,’ she added. ‘I’ll also be checking my car for a tracking device.’

  Gerard snorted, but it was likely that Dean had told her about the GPS tracker on the Audi. He eyed Jen suspiciously. She seemed too sure of herself, almost self-satisfied, and he wondered if there was something she wasn’t telling him.

  ‘I don’t like the idea of a total stranger taking Charlie to heaven knows where. Didn’t you push for more information? Are they going to stay at a relative’s, or a hotel, or what?’

  ‘None of your concern.’

  ‘So it’s a kidnap?’ Freddie broke in. ‘I mean, he might say he’s acting in your best interests, but you only have his word for it.’

  ‘You’ve got a bloody nerve,’ Jen growled. ‘Where was your concern for Charlie when he disappeared? How come you didn’t have the guts to call the police, instead of listening to this evil bastard?’ She jabbed a finger in Gerard’s direction, and it was all he could do not to lunge at her.

  Freddie went pale and twisted away, mumbling what might have been an apology. Jen shook her head in disgust.

  ‘For what it’s worth,’ she said, ‘I don’t think we could give the police anything that would enable them to trace Dean. And with me currently in the system as a criminal, and you two having failed to report Charlie missing, it’s not like any of us would have much credibility, would we?’

  ‘But this guy is looking after Charlie?’ Freddie asked. ‘You’re absolutely sure about that?’

  Calmer now, Jen nodded. ‘He seemed fine. Dean showed me a video he’d taken, earlier today, in a McDonald’s. And he’d bought him a toy car.’

  ‘I’ll never forgive myself if something. . .’ Freddie gulped, then pointed viciously at Gerard. ‘I won’t forgive you, either.’

  ‘I’m not admitting to anything here,’ Gerard said in his most imperious voice. ‘But I’ll make some calls, just as soon as you. . .’ He shooed them away.

  ‘Get on with it, then.’ Jen stood up. ‘And once this is behind us, we’re going to resume the negotiations over residence.’ She turned to Freddie: ‘Just the two of us. Your dad and his legal sharks can stay out of it.’

  Freddie nodded. ‘Fine with me.’

  It’s not fine, Gerard wanted to scream. But he knew it was better to stay quiet. Bide his time, and hope the good Mr Stemper rode to the rescue.

  55

  All the time she was talking to them, Jen felt as though she were two people. One the strong and confident woman, the dealmaker, the liar. The other, wrapped up inside, was her true self: guilty, uncertain and boiling with fury. That Jen couldn’t be allowed to show her face, or else the whole deception would fail.

  But it wasn’t easy to suppress her disgust, seeing how blatantly Gerard was putting his own career ahead of anything else, including the wellbeing of his grandson. Just being in his presence made her skin crawl. To know that trashing Jen’s reputation mattered so much, he was able to countenance the idea of having her drugged and raped.

  The confirmation that Gerard and Freddie had failed to report Charlie missing persuaded her that she’d made the right decision in trusting Dean. And although it was torture being away from Charlie, and leaving him in the care of strangers, she had to focus on the long-term goal – to prevent Gerard taking her son out of her life altogether.

  On the way here she’d practised a few relaxation techniques, knowing that so much was resting on the next few hours. She had the fear mostly under control, though there were times when the armour almost fell away – as when she got up and moved towards the door, and Gerard called out: ‘You left your phone.’

  Her whole body seemed to jolt as if electrocuted. Gerard had a malevolent glint in his eye as she picked up the phone, a look that said, I don’t trust you for a second. Jen offered a thin smile and left the room.

  Fred
die was waiting for her in the hall, fussing at the plaster on his chin. She wasn’t particularly eager to talk to him, but he launched into a heartfelt apology.

  ‘What he was doing to you. . . I’m devastated, Jen. As bad as things have been between us, I never wanted this.’

  ‘When did you know about it?’

  ‘Only today, like I said. Our conversation last night really freaked me out. I came back so I could look Pa in the eyes and see if it was true. . .’

  ‘I can’t believe you gave in to him, when Charlie disappeared. You could have fought back.’

  ‘I did. I tried.’ Freddie’s voice was an octave higher than normal. After clearing his throat, he bowed his head. ‘No, you’re right. I’m sorry, Jen. I feel so ashamed. And I’m gonna make it up to you, any way I can.’

  She said nothing. After what she’d heard from Dean, she had prayed that Freddie had known nothing of his father’s evil intent, and now, after speaking to them both, she was satisfied that he too had been duped.

  ‘Have you eaten?’ he asked. ‘I could cook you a meal.’

  ‘Not hungry.’

  ‘I understand that, but it’s important. Keeping your strength up, you know.’

  He could see behind the armour, Jen realised, though he assumed her pent-up anxiety was centred on Charlie, rather than on her mission here.

  ‘Just coffee or something. Maybe a banana.’

  ‘I’m worried about tomorrow,’ he said as they trooped downstairs to the kitchen. ‘I don’t like the idea of you doing this alone.’

  ‘Dean won’t want to see you turn up. He’s bound to think you’re on Gerard’s side.’

  She sensed him fuming, and wondered if he was about to challenge her for taking Dean’s word over his, or something equally childish. But if that was on his mind he kept it to himself, not speaking again until they were in the Gerard’s spacious, handcrafted kitchen.

  ‘At least let me drive you to Brighton in the morning.’