Naked Lies

by Karen Botha

  I was in my office. I heard a crunch and then a loud bang. Emma screamed. She ran up the stairs towards me; my office is at the top of the steps. I came out and saw two men entering my hallway with crowbars. One, the thin one with ginger hair, chased Emma up the steps. She slipped, and they grabbed her ankle. They both fell backwards. It all happened very quickly, but the next thing I saw was Emma at the bottom, not moving. The two men left, and I ran to my wife. I panicked. She wasn't breathing, so I called 999.

  The statement goes on to provide full descriptions of the assailants.

  ‘That description is definitely the same Baldy and Ginger, I’m sure of it,’ I say.

  ‘I bet they were trying Graham’s office, not having found what they were after at Adam’s.’ Steve says.

  ‘You’re up, Mo, he’s here,’ Jerry calls over.

  ‘Right, let’s do this.’ He has an ear piece in so I can talk to him during the interview. We high five, and he’s off.

  Graham is quiet, glassy eyes staring at the blank wall. He doesn’t blink, doesn’t look at Mo as he enters. He doesn’t even appear to notice he’s not alone. His solicitor does a half stand and says, ‘Hi.’

  ‘I’m sorry for your loss, Graham, but we need to do this now so we have the best possible chance of catching the people who did this to Emma,’ Mo says.

  Graham begins to repeat his statement, pretty much word for word. Mo starts to drill down on some details. Where exactly was he standing, where was Emma before they broke in, how far up the stairs was she when they fell, and so on. He answers with ease and doesn’t appear to be withholding any information. He even smiles once or twice, not an ‘I’m-happy’ smile, but one that shows appreciation for our help.

  The interview is more of a chat, the descriptions are good, his memory appears to be too accurate for someone involved in a stressful situation. There’s no fogginess about his recollections.

  This is unusual, even the best witnesses will confuse some facts, but he is a highly intelligent man trained to be meticulous with details.

  Mo asks a little more about how Emma was grabbed. Graham’s eyes fill with tears in all the right places and his lip crumples into a thin line as it does with those experiencing genuine grief.

  ‘What are those scratches on his face, Mo?’ I ask.

  Mo addresses my question. Graham doesn’t respond, puts his right hand to his face. Mo repeats his question.

  ‘Erm, I can’t think. Give me a moment,’ he replies.

  Mo waits, watches.

  ‘They must have attacked me as well.’

  ‘But you didn’t mention any of that in your statement?’ Mo clarifies.

  ‘I think I must have forgotten with everything that went on.’

  I make a note to get forensics to speed check the skin under Emma’s finger nails.

  ‘When would they have attacked you? You were standing at the top of the staircase when they broke in. Where exactly were you when they came at you?’

  Graham is silenced. He stutters, ‘I’m just trying to replay it in my mind.’

  ‘Still think they were after something in Graham’s office, Steve?’ I jibe.

  The tense team lets out a collective laugh. Our monitors remain silent whilst Graham plans his next move.

  We watch to the end, but Graham reveals nothing further.

  Steve holds a briefing with the team, ‘This could be a totally unrelated incident. However, it’s unlikely. Paula was taken by these two guys, they break into Adam’s house and then apparently break into Graham’s and murder his unsuspecting wife who Paula observed him beating. Although we can’t prove it, we know that Graham is lying. We need to figure out why.’

  ‘Well, it’s simple, he killed his wife,’ Jerry announces.

  ‘Yes, I reckon we’ll prove that further down the line,’ Mo pipes up. ‘But the bigger question, unfortunately for Emma, is how does Graham know Ginger and Baldy? And furthermore, how did Graham know we’d believe these two blockheads broke into his place?’

  Steve dishes out tasks to each of us. Mine is to go home to bed. ‘There’s a team of experts working on this Paula, you’ll be more help to us at home. Go and look after yourself. We’ll call you in when some progress is made.’ I’d never admit it, but the order is welcome. I’m exhausted and in pain.

  Lucy

  ‘I feel like a fraud, I didn’t even know her,’ I say.

  ‘You know me, and I’m going to need your support. Plus, you’re more involved in this whole sorry state than many. You’ll be fine.’ Adam puts his arms around me and pulls me into his chest. I inhale his smell through his freshly laundered dress shirt. Closing my eyes, this is the only place I am at peace.

  Emma’s body was released for burial despite the investigation not being concluded. Graham is being held pending further investigation; the skin under his wife’s nails has shown to be Graham’s. The rest is a waiting game, but it’s given Steve and Mo enough to hold him for now.

  The official Coroner’s report is death through asphyxiation as a result of her spinal cord being snapped high up her vertebrae. As this is the same story Graham has reported, there’s no need to hold her body. And so today, we will lay her to rest.

  I planned to wear an old black work dress I keep shoved at the back of my closet for such occasions. However, Adam had a personal shopper bring an array of the most amazing dresses for me to try on at his house. Beautiful, despite the occasion for which they were being chosen. I plumped for an elegant fifties style, long sleeved dress. The high neck and sleeves are a velvet lace, the bodice nips in at the waist with a crystal buckle feature to highlight the A-line skirt. I’ve teamed it with black heels which are actually comfortable. It must be the leather soles - a revelation!

  I pull away from Adam, straighten his black tie, and we’re ready to leave. The caterers will come in and set up the house for the wake whilst we’re out. He slips his hand in mine as we walk to his car. Still being a newbie around his place, I’m not prepared for the view of London as we exit his front door. It whisks my breath away, taking with it some of the hideousness of the day to come.

  ‘Are you still planning on selling the casino?’ I ask.

  ‘I would love to. After all of this, I’ve lost the love for it somewhat more than I had before, but the accountants haven't worked out the mess yet. That might mean I have to stick with it for a while, build the business back up again before I can profit.’

  The alarm beeps and the central locking system allows us to hop in his high 4x4.

  ‘Do you expect to be affected long term by repercussions of all of this?’ I ask.

  ‘I’ve not spoken to my accountant yet, but I’m preparing myself for the worst. I may be forced to sell this house.’ He gestures with his hand around the land we’re driving through towards the front gates.

  ‘You can always come and live with me.’ I smile.

  ‘Look nothing is insurmountable. We have options.’ Fair enough! But I quite like my little suburban semi. It certainly requires less cleaning.

  Arriving at the church is grim. People are huddled together. There’s lots of weeping. My reaction is once again of a fraud. I’m not callous, but I don’t experience their grief. I wasn't even acquainted with Emma, and I barely met her husband. Yet here I am, taking to the front of the church to celebrate her life.

  As if reading my mind, Adam says, ‘Don’t stress. It’s just important to show our support.’

  ‘Don’t you feel awkward with Graham being your brother? Like you’re also somehow to blame via your connection to him?’ I whisper.

  ‘Ah, this is where I pull out the foster kid card. I’ve tried to ignore it my entire life, but now I’ll be using it more often than not.’ He smiles, but his eyes remain dull.

  The tension is not relieved throughout the service. As the coffin disappears behind a curtain, there’s an animal howl from the opposite front pew. It’s the strangest experience, being involved in such a personal service as an outsider. It’s
impossible to ignore a tangible emotion at a life cut short, but I'm more awkward at imposing myself on their grief, than sad. It's an odd situation for me. My only knowledge of the woman in the coffin is via a remote link, spying on her whilst the man now suspected of her death was beating her.

  A convoy of people follow us back to Adam’s place after the service. We have to keep pulling over so we don’t lose cars along the way. We wait outside on the drive welcoming people, shaking hands like we’re at a wedding or something. I would be perfectly happy right now for the ground to open up and swallow me whole. This poor woman was a stranger to me, and here I am meeting and greeting her closest family.

  Once everyone is here, we can head inside. Solemn servers balance champagne trays and canapes, and we're using the quartz breakfast island to serve cups of steaming tea and coffee. Classical music plays at a background level over the integrated speakers.

  I wonder, although I keep this thought very much to myself, who the drunk relative will be. I spy a large chap busting out of his suit and peg him.

  I’m wrong.

  It’s Emma’s sister, understandably so. An hour or so in, she sidles over, heels in hands. Her face earlier, stained with tears, is now blotchy from an excess of early afternoon champagne.

  ‘She was intending leaving him, did you hear that?’ She points at Adam with her empty glass.

  ‘Erm, no, I didn’t.’ I place my hand in the small of his back. He’s removed his jacket and loosened his tie. His back is warm through the crisp cotton.

  ‘Yeah, she was fed up of him working so hard, she never saw him,’ she says.

  ‘Oh, OK.’ Adam is clearly trying to stay out of this, physically backing away.

  ‘Hmm, it’s ridiculous, all those hours you had him working. Late nights like that.’

  ‘Oh, well, I didn’t make him work that much?’ Adam tries, but she’s not listening.

  ‘Yes, you did, and those last-minute call-outs. He was only looking after the books. What is so important?’

  ‘Well. Where a lot of money is at stake, he has final approval on our real-time decisions. It’s difficult as a 24/7 business. We can’t just work standard business hours and expect that to be enough for our clients.’

  He could have said anything, as she’s only intent on what she has to get off her chest, ‘I told Emma, Graham must be having an affair. She wouldn’t accept it though.’

  Adam’s eyes narrow. ‘Did you believe he has a mistress, or were you just saying that because of all the hours he was working?’ he asks.

  ‘Who’d take him?’ she finishes, then turns to leave before throwing over her shoulder, ‘it was ridiculous though, those hours. You should be ashamed.’

  With that, she’s staggering towards the tray of drinks circulating at the other end of the room.

  ‘What was that?’ I ask.

  ‘I’m not sure. Was she chastising me for having him working too much, or was she putting it out there that he was having an affair to kick start an investigation into it?’

  ‘We need to get Mo to look into his comings and goings, don’t you think? Did you call him out for emergencies?’

  Adam screws up his nose. ‘Possibly, from time to time. Not on a regular basis, though. It was only if a whale couldn’t pay his bill. But even that can usually wait until the morning. It’s just if they insist on an extra line of credit. But, it’s not a regular occurrence.’

  ‘Unless it was his other business, perhaps. Do you suppose he could be the mastermind behind all of this stuff happening to you?’

  ‘I’d have said not, but I’m willing to suspect anyone at the moment. Aren’t you?’

  Adam

  That conversation with Emma’s sister at the funeral replays on a loop. I didn’t sleep well. Every time I drifted off, I had horrendous dreams about being burgled by Graham, and of him killing Lucy. I’d wake, a layer of sweat covering my skin and turn on one side to face her. I felt needy, wanting to touch, to have her hug me, to be inside her, feeling her warm comfort surrounding me. But Lucy has her own demons, ones which stretch way back further than our little episode of a few days ago. No, Lucy needs to rest, to pile on top of what she is already working hard to overcome is selfish.

  In the end I get up, mooch around my amazing home with no real purpose. I log into my security system again and try to work out where my back up files have disappeared to. Jason, my head of IT, spent some time on it, but he can’t figure it out.

  I decide to do some digging on my own. Jerome is grateful for some additional, no doubt, high rate income. So, I leave Lucy a note, next to a full kettle and a tea bag in an empty mug and step outside into the brisk morning air.

  The heated seats in the car warm quicker than the screen de-mists, and I sit for a few unwelcome seconds surveying the partial view from my open garage door. It’s lovely, don’t get me wrong. But is it worth what others are doing just so you can achieve to buy it? I wonder about their demons. What do you battle to push you far enough to wreck so many innocent lives? And all so you can drink in an equivalent vista over your morning coffee? Enough of a patch clears on the windscreen for me to make it down my drive. As long as I don’t hit any deer, it’ll be fine. When I reach the gates, the rest will have cleared.

  Seated in the same squalid spot as last time I visited, I stare at the same bank of desks. There’s a glass on the side which I swear is the same one I placed there once I’d finished my whiskey on my last visit.

  ‘Those files were removed from your computer at work - late one evening.’ Jerome points to his screen showing an early morning log in. ‘This wasn’t remote, it was from your office, does that make sense?’

  ‘Not really,’ I check my diary. ‘It certainly wasn’t me. Can you log into the surveillance control system in our offices now?’

  He doesn’t reply, just manipulates the screen to log into my system at the casino. ‘You should have better security considering…’

  ‘Yeah, I know.’ Talk about stating the obvious.

  ‘Your cameras weren’t on. Nothing to show.’

  It’s interesting that the cameras go down when there needs to be no trail of activity. I rap my fingers on the sticky desk top.

  ‘So, seeing as you’re such a whizz, can you check whether any of Graham’s neighbours have CCTV? It’d be useful to check out when he has been coming and going.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Great, and then I’ll cross-reference that against what was happening in the business and legitimate work calls.’

  ‘And what if it doesn’t match up?’

  It’s a fair question, but one I haven't uncovered the answer to yet. ‘Let’s see shall we?’

  Jerome swivels back to face the monitors and taps on his keyboard. He sighs, then taps some more. ‘Now that’s a stroke of luck.’

  ‘What is?’ I ask.

  ‘Old lady neighbour across the road has him covered. Here we go.’

  We watch her life. Bringing shopping in, calling the cat in at night, her son or some other relative visiting with flowers, a few more bits and pieces and, bingo! Graham leaves. He’s dressed in his suit. Always smart, Graham doesn’t see the need to dress down, a symptom of him constantly having his guard up. But, he’ll only wear an actual suit to work. I note down the time. We continue running through the episodes of my brother’s life until we get to the date and approximate time my files were deleted from my computer. Graham left his house about an hour prior.

  I sigh.

  There’s nothing to say.

  I did expect it. I didn’t want to believe it. But, yes, I expected it.

  Jerome doesn’t comment either. He pauses long enough for me to make the note before he continues the footage.

  We reach the end.

  Graham is at his front door, crowbar in hand, splintering the frame that prevents people from entering without invite. Their solid oak frontage swings open and Graham rests on the bust frame, drawing air into his depleted lungs. He takes a few seconds, t
hen dashes inside, leaving the door waving in the breeze as if beckoning attention.

  It doesn’t take long until, sirens flash and emergency vehicles arrive. There’s a lot of frantic rushing about. They cart in heavy bags at maximum speed, and two paramedics bend over her still frame at the edge of the screen. The door swings shut as the police secure the scene. And then, Emma is removed from the house. I say Emma is removed, but really, a gurney with a lifeless, sealed bag exits the house.

  Jerome’s home is a musty smelling place at the best of times, but today, after seeing that video play out, the vile smell intensifies. Before I realise it, the sour smell of sick joins the aroma as I puke up all over Jerome’s carpeted living room. I choke, ‘I’m so sorry, I’ll buy you another carpet,’ I say.

  ‘It’s OK, don’t worry about it.’ He hurries to find a clean tissue with which I can wipe my mouth, rushes back, and shoves it into my sweaty palm.

  Leaving only after Jerome has promised to order a carpet and bill it to me, I head off to meet Mo. Jerome has sent him the footage, so I didn’t need to meet him. I prefer it though, as he has some pictures to show me. We arrange to meet in the Italian coffee shop around the corner from the station. I’ll explain everything in person. It’s easier. When I’ve finished, I’ll pop into the casino. It’s about time I show up and attempt to get the place back on an even keel.

  The temperature is overpowering once inside, and I remove my jacket almost as soon as I'm through the entrance. The barista shouts at me to go sit, pointing at Mo towards the rear.

  'Well, this is a welcome change of scenery from the depressing blue of the station.' Mo stands and I shake his hand. 'How did the server know who I was with?'

  Mo smiles. He's already waiting, two coffees on the small table. 'I told him who to watch out for.'

  ‘Ah, thanks Mo.’

  After a bit of stilted chit chat - it’s not the time - he produces some grainy still shots.