Naked Lies

by Karen Botha

  ‘Anyway, what were you doing releasing Graham?’ I ask. ‘You had the footage from Jerome, didn’t you?’

  Mo shakes his head. ‘Not at that time. It came through, but was sat in my inbox. I’d not had the opportunity to read it, Lucy. I was literally on the steps when this all played out. I saw the entire incident. I was coming down to re-arrest Graham for Emma’s murder, but he got taken out first.’

  ‘So, if you watched everything play out, you must have seen the driver?’

  ‘No, it all happened so fast. And of course, I wasn’t focused on the road. I was watching Graham, trying to stop him from making a run for it.’

  ‘So, how did whoever it was that was driving learn he was getting released?’

  ‘I don’t know. We’ve not got that far yet. We’re going to have to check his call log to find out who he called. The desk sergeant didn’t provide him with a call here, so he must have contacted someone from his mobile.’

  ‘OK, so this is genuinely a formality because you’ll find out it wasn’t Adam as soon as those phone records come through.’

  ‘Yeah, exactly,’ Mo nods.

  ‘Right then, I’m going to go and grab a coffee. You fancy joining me whilst we wait for Adam and Steve?’ I ask.

  ‘Why not? I’ll be back in a sec, I’ll grab Paula.’

  Mo heads off and I’m left considering how this room could feel quite different if you were guilty. Even the walls are painted a cold green.

  Paula materialises alone. ‘Where’s Mo?’ I ask.

  ‘He’s stuck upstairs, there’s been another development and he’s needed. We’ll go for coffee alone.’

  ‘OK, what happened?’ I ask.

  ‘Don’t say anything because I’m not supposed to tell you, but Graham made no outbound calls.’

  ‘So, what does that mean? That he didn’t contact anyone to tell them he was being released?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I let the implications of this sink in for a moment. ‘So, if he didn’t contact someone, who knew?’

  Paula shrugs.

  ‘Maybe it was a coincidence?’ I mumble.

  Paula laughs at me, and she’s right to. It’s a stupid suggestion. The chances of Graham being coincidentally knocked over by Adam’s replica car, precisely as he is released, is fairly limited.

  ‘Someone must have been in contact with the driver.’

  ‘I bet the desk sergeant forgot or got Graham mixed up with someone else and he did in fact make a call.

  ‘It is possible, but now we have to check into all of this, and Adam won’t be released until we’ve worked out what went on.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ I mutter.

  ‘Yeah. Don’t forget, Lucy, that Adam knew when Graham was taken into custody. It wouldn’t be beyond the wit of man that if we didn’t charge him, ninety-six hours later, Graham would step down those steps back into his London life.’

  Brilliant. Here we go again. ‘Pub it is then, forget the coffee. You and I need to work this out.’

  Lucy

  The pub local to the police station is traditional. If it were summer there’d be crowds on the street drinking cheap beer from plastic glasses. But it’s winter and the wrong time of day anyway. The place is quiet which somehow heightens my awareness of the smell of stale lager as we enter the brass plated doors. The bar faces outwards from the middle of the room.

  ‘Go sit,’ I say and order a bottle of run-of-the-mill sauvignon blanc and a serving of cheesy chips.

  I’ve not even set the wine on the table before Paula asks, ‘Are you sure Adam is all he seems?’

  I close my eyes and when I re-open them, although my jaw is still tight, I can maintain a level tone, ‘Of course. I thought you were convinced of him too?’

  ‘I was, but I’ve been wrong before. And well, you know, the evidence does keep coming.’

  ‘You always said you had a nose for smelling out who was hiding the truth. What does your gut say?’

  ‘That Adam is innocent.’

  ‘Exactly.’ I sit. ‘So, let’s get on with sorting this mess out, shall we? The evidence keeps pointing at Adam because someone has taken a great deal of effort to make it appear that way. We just need to fish through it all and follow the trail. There’ll be one, you always say that.’

  ‘OK,’ she concedes, pulling a pad out of her bag.

  ‘So, what have we got?’ I ask.

  ‘First up, this replica car that’s knocking around. I fail to see why Adam would go to the trouble of purchasing himself another vehicle, exactly the same as he owns, for the sole purpose of setting himself up. It's safe to say that without further evidence, this would demonstrate his innocence.’

  ‘Great, if only the police could prove that,’ I say.

  ‘Yes, but the problem is, the clever criminal minds also have enough disposable income to cover their tracks.’

  ‘Hmm. So, an easy way for us to get rid of the charges against him is to prove that he wasn’t driving that car?’

  ‘Yes. Hopefully Jerome can give us an inroad when he enhances the camera footage, but he’s not done well so far.’

  ‘So, dismiss that. There’s nothing over and above what's already being done that we can achieve for now.’

  ‘Next up,’ Paula says, ‘we have his cameras going down, and they’ve been linked to Nuala and her husband.’

  ‘But she lawyered up didn’t she? We’ll be lucky to get a squeak out of her,’ I say.

  ‘No, nor her husband, but they’re up to their necks in this. Let’s look at them in detail.’ Paula chews the cap from her biro, whistling through the hole at the end. We run over all the old stuff, hoping something new will pop out at us. It doesn’t come. ‘We’re missing a key piece here,’ she says, ‘I know it.’

  ‘We should go and visit her. Neither of us are connected with the case, so we’re not officially doing anything wrong.’

  ‘Well… no, but we shouldn’t…’ Paula’s pen top falls apart. ‘But what else can we do, sit here and drink wine?’

  ‘I think the wine has served its purpose. Get your coat on, love,’ I say and burn through the remainder of the cheap wine in my glass. She’s already standing, picking up the half empty bottle, and asking the server to save it behind the bar for us.

  Paula

  Jerome texts Nuala’s address to me, which we relay to our taxi driver. He pulls up outside a house not unlike any other on a grey suburban street. Whilst I’d like to hop out, my injuries still prevent my nimbler movements, so I’m content with doddering.

  Nuala answers the door without delay, and stands back, confused. ‘Lucy, what can I do for you? Is Adam OK?’ she asks as if nothing has happened.

  Lucy does well, maintaining an easy demeanour. ‘Hi, Nuala. I was hoping you could give us a few moments, can we come in please? It’s freezing out here.’

  ‘Sure.’ She steps back and allows us into her galley kitchen.

  ‘Do you mind if we sit somewhere please, I’m still not too good at standing.’ I point at my injuries, this should be enough of an explanation.

  Nuala gestures with her arm for us to pass through into a dining room. A large oval table surrounded by eight chairs fills the space. Three of the four walls are filled with framed pictures. The fourth is a glass sliding patio door.

  ‘Please, take a seat.’ She pulls out a hard dining chair for me. She’s certainly not trying to make me comfortable.

  ‘How can I help you, Lucy?’ she asks without enquiring as to whether we’d like a drink after our lengthy journey out to see her.

  ‘I need your help, Nuala,’ Lucy starts, her tone gentle. ‘Adam is being questioned by the police again. Every which way he turns, they have evidence stacked up against him. I know you’re certain he wouldn’t do any of the horrendous acts they’re accusing him of. He needs you to stand up and say so.’

  Her mouth twists, her lips thinning into bitter lines.

  ‘Did you hear about any of this, has anything been said that would b
e helpful? You’re often around when Adam isn’t.’ I keep quiet; Lucy is doing a sterling job of being a friend in need.

  ‘No, not a thing,’ Nuala replies nevertheless.

  ‘Look, Nuala. The people who are setting Adam up are mega dangerous. They almost killed me. This is why I’m in such a mess.’ I smile at her, and her eyes hit the floor. I continue, ‘We need to stop the culprits. Are you sure you haven’t heard anything? Did anyone ask you to have Adam sign anything without full disclosure?’ I ask.

  She’s quiet.

  We’re quiet, waiting.

  She stares out of the window towards her patio, watching sparrows nibble on fat balls hanging from a bird table.

  ‘Nuala, you won’t get in trouble. All that’s important is that these terrible people can’t do any more harm.’ Lucy rests her hand over Nuala’s.

  ‘Well, Graham may have asked me to get Adam to sign some company papers. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, you see, but then later, when all of this started happening, I thought more about it. I don’t suppose it matters now with Graham being, well… gone now.’

  ‘But you didn’t know anything about it?’ I ask.

  ‘No, of course not.’

  We go around in circles for a few more sessions, her blaming a dead man for her wrongdoing. Both Lucy and I suspect she’s lying, but she’s not letting up. Time for a change of tack.

  ‘Nuala, you're aware I work with the police aren’t you?’ I say.

  ‘No, I most certainly am not.’

  ‘Yes, and they are interested in how you managed to take your son to Mexico for treatment so regularly on your salary. They’ve checked your husband’s business, and that’s all clear. They’re looking at your account. What will they find, Nuala?’

  The birds outside suddenly interest her again.

  ‘OK, Graham gave me some money so I’d get the papers signed. But it’s all above board. Just a bonus for my hard work, he said.’

  ‘You’re not that stupid Nuala. You’re bright,’ I say.

  ‘I needed the money. Have you any idea what it’s like having a child who you could help, if only you had the resource available to you that these guys have. That Adam has.’

  ‘Why didn’t you speak to Adam?’

  ‘I’m not going cap in hand to my boss. He knows about my son. If he were inclined, he would have offered. He never even asked how he was doing. I had to make my own decision.’

  ‘Even if that means Adam ends up in prison for the rest of his life? Is that a fair trade for your child’s life?’

  She picks at a bobble on her tights, it runs into a ladder. ‘Shit!’

  ‘I think you know more than you’re letting on, Nuala,’ I say, pressing harder. ‘I think you needed money for your son and quite understandably, you were prepared to do whatever that took. Maybe you didn’t quite consider the ramifications, but you knew enough to dismiss the consequences from your mind. Who are you covering for, Nuala?’

  She opens her mouth, but no sound comes out.

  Lucy tries again. ‘Listen, money isn’t an issue for Adam. He’ll pay for Toby’s treatments if you tell the truth now and put a stop to this whole scam. The dangerous people will be behind bars, Adam will be free, and your son will get the treatment he needs.’

  ‘You have that power Nuala… you just need to tell your story,’ I say.

  She considers Lucy’s offer for a moment. ‘OK, I’ll do better than that.’ She rises from her hard backed chair, ‘Follow me.’

  It’s not easy mounting two flights of steps into the loft. But I’m not about to complain. We pass a room with a torturous amount of pumps and tubes. Nuala pulls the door ajar as she walks past, so I only glimpse a hospital bed in the centre of the room. It’s the smell that hits me though, an undertone of bleach. Even when inside a home, a hospital room is a place where disinfectant promises a better life. I drag myself past and up with the help of the handrail, keeping pace with Nuala and Lucy.

  I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. Nuala’s loft has been transformed into what appears to be a high-tech-lab space. Boarded out like a log cabin, Jonathan, who I’d met briefly at the Hunger Games event sits in a luxurious swivel chair. Before him are five screens and an array of boxes displaying different coloured lights.

  ‘What’s this?’ I manage through my heavy breathing.

  ‘Meet my husband.’ Nuala ignores my enquiry.

  We shake hands as though this is a perfectly normal meet and greet. My muscles tense as frustration eats into my limbs. I click my wrists, fighting to remain level and not scream, ‘tell me.’

  ‘So, what do you do up here?’ Lucy asks for me. ‘Is this your office?’

  ‘In a manner of speaking,’ Jonathan says. ‘This is my hub for everything related to Adam.’

  ‘What?’ Lucy and I exclaim together.

  Jonathan nods, but doesn’t expand.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I’m investigating the contents of the screens more closely. One is a close up of Adam’s triple garage.

  ‘This is where I keep a track of Adam.’ He looks at Nuala, his throat bobbing as he gulps in air. He points at the screen I’ve clocked. ‘I inform them when Adam leaves his house and what car he’s using that day. If it’s the town car he uses, I guess they feel safer using their clone car. You have to understand, this isn’t what we wanted, but we had to do it.’

  ‘No one has to do anything.’ I snap.

  ‘They gave us the money to get our son treated. If you had a child, you’d understand,’ Nuala says.

  ‘It wasn’t only that, though,’ Jonathan says. ‘They said that if we didn’t help, Nuala would lose her job. That they'd have me shut down. We'd have no income. This wasn't just about increasing our bottom line, it’s about keeping a roof over our son’s head. He can’t move in his condition. Where would we live?’

  I think they’re weak, but like they said, how could I understand? People do seem to go to extremes regardless of the consequences for their children, even when the kids aren’t sick.

  Instead of responding, I prompt, ‘Carry on. What are the other screens for?’

  ‘This is the casino security system.’ He points to two screens. ‘So, for instance if there’s a deal going on, and they don’t want that recording I divert the cameras or take them down. Likewise, if an alibi situation is being set up, then I make sure the mobility is compromised so the cameras only record what we need. I also adapt the tapes to show situations happening at different times than reality.’

  I nod. ‘OK.’

  ‘This here,’ he points at a blank screen, ‘is where I watched the barn. That’s how they came out when you started the fire, Paula. I was watching and let them know you were about to escape.’

  I don’t think, have no recollection of what happened, only that my right hand is already swelling and Jonathan is lying on the floor. His knees are curled up into his chest like a baby in the womb and blood is flooding out of his nose. Nuala is screaming, bent over him, crying. He doesn’t move, but he groans.

  I notice Lucy. She’s pushing me backwards, shouting in my face to, ‘Leave it Paula.’ Her face is red, her eyes wide, trying to connect with mine. She hugs me into her, locking both her arms around my back, pulling me close.

  ‘It’s OK,’she whispers. ‘You cracked the case. They won’t get away with this.’

  I’m ramrod straight, staring over her shoulder, my eyes slits of hate.

  Nuala drags her eyes up from the floor, ‘We didn’t have a choice, you have to understand this. Our boy needed us. What were we supposed to do?’

  ‘You could have talked, told someone what was going on, got police protection.’

  ‘There’s no protection, they’ve got people all over the place. Look at what happened to Graham!’

  ‘I’m calling this in.’ I pull my phone from my pocket and dial Mo. Whilst the call is connecting, I take a final dig at the couple. ‘Like you should have done.’

  Adam
/>
  I’ve been here hours before Mo comes in and releases me. I’m shaking from a combination of cold, nerves, and hunger. The food is as appalling as aircraft meals in economy.

  ‘Adam, you’re in the clear. You may go.’

  Rather than hop up from the hard bench which has been my home for more hours than it should have been, I slump against the wall. I let the blanket I’ve held around my ears slip to my thighs. I tip my head backwards until the cool concrete wall permeates my skull and calms my brain.

  ‘Come on, get out of here will you?’ Mo smiles as he rests one arm against the door frame.

  ‘What happened?’ I ask.

  ‘Paula and Lucy went out on a limb for you.’

  ‘I’m not going to get anymore out of you am I?’

  Mo rests his large, brown hand on my shoulder, ‘You’ll hear it all in time I’m sure. But no, I can’t tell you.’

  Lucy is waiting for me when I'm released. She's on the street.

  ‘Sorry, I couldn’t face that awful waiting area. I never want to see it again.’

  ‘You and me both,’ I hug her to me. Horns blare, and engines grumble on. The world simply continues around us for the few moments it takes us to drink in the reality of a normal life. Two slow minutes where a lifetime passes before my eyes. I open them, focusing on the band of road where my brother lost his life.

  My emotions are difficult to place. I experience sadness and loss, of course I do. Much as I resent feeling this way, I accept it’s natural. We've been brothers for longer than he's been mean. And, he may have been mean to his core. He was mean with money, mean with his love and most of all mean of spirit to the extent of being evil. But I’m not built in the same way, and he will always be my brother. Yes my overpowering sense of loss slices deeper than had he died without any of this fiasco coming to light, because he was lost before his physical body. And, I didn’t see it coming. I stood by and let all that was good in him slip away. And now, Graham is lost forever.