Spare Me the Truth_An explosive, high octane thriller

by CJ Carver

  Martin’s features were pinched with tension, his expression urgent. She stared back, every hair on her body standing upright.

  What do you want?

  Martin jerked his head towards the exit and mouthed, please.

  Feeling press-ganged and unsteady, she walked to Ross and collected her brandy, drank it in three swift swallows. She said, ‘I’m going to the Ladies.’ Her voice was hoarse from the alcohol. ‘Back in a moment.’

  She felt his eyes follow her as she left the room, but she didn’t look back.

  Outside it was misty and dank. Droplets of moisture began to collect in her hair. Cars splashed along the road that ran parallel to the car park, hidden by a stone wall, but otherwise it was quiet. She couldn’t see anybody about, except for Martin and Sirius Thiele at the far end of the car park. Both were watching her expectantly.

  Leave them! her instincts warned her. There’s danger here! But what could she do? She had to know what was going on.

  As she approached, Martin started to gabble. ‘I’m sorry, Grace. God, sorry, I didn’t want to say anything but he wouldn’t –’

  ‘Shut up.’ Sirius Thiele’s voice was flat.

  Martin fell silent. His skin turned pale.

  ‘I buried my mother barely an hour ago.’ She held her chin high to try and hide her apprehension. ‘Can’t this wait until –?’

  ‘No,’ said Sirius. ‘I tried to see your mother on the morning she died, but there was a man sitting in a car outside her house, watching me. Then this morning when I tried to see you instead, your boyfriend sent me away. I cannot wait any longer.’

  His eyes held hers: hard, black and shiny, like wet pebbles.

  ‘Your mother owes my client a lot of money. We are not talking about tens of thousands, but much, much more. When you find this money, you will ring me and I will arrange to have it returned to my client. Do you understand?’

  Grace stared at him, her mind spinning. What money? What on earth was this? It had to be a mistake. She had to make him understand that.

  ‘No,’ she said. Her voice quavered and she cleared her throat, not wanting to appear weak. ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand. My mother’s never been in debt. She’s not like that, she’s –’

  ‘Quiet,’ he said, holding up a hand.

  Reaching into his breast pocket Sirius brought out a mobile phone. ‘Unregistered, pay-as-you-go,’ he said. ‘It already has my number programmed. You will use it to call me. Should anyone decide to investigate, they will find no names, just two phones that receive and make calls to and from two unknown users. We cannot be traced.’

  He held it out to her. She didn’t take it.

  ‘You’re mistaken,’ she said. She started to tremble. She held her hands together to try and stop it showing. ‘I cannot believe my mother owes anyone anything. She’s not that sort of person.’

  ‘Perhaps you didn’t know her as well as you thought.’

  ‘If what you say is true, then why does she owe this money?’

  ‘I’m not authorised to tell you.’

  ‘How convenient.’ Out of nowhere a welcome flare of annoyance overrode her fear, making her sarcastic.

  He considered her for a moment. ‘You don’t need to know why. It is a private matter between your mother and my client.’

  ‘Then how can I believe you?’

  ‘You don’t have to. You just have to do as I say. You will not talk to anyone about this. Not the police or any other establishment you think might be able to help because if you do, I will get Martin to go to the authorities and report that you caused the death of a patient and covered it up. You will be struck off.’ He cocked his head to one side. ‘What will you do then? Stack shelves in a supermarket, perhaps? Re-train as a hairdresser?’

  For a moment, she was dumbstruck. ‘You’re blackmailing me?’

  ‘And what about your family?’ Sirius went on as though she hadn’t spoken. ‘What will they do when they find out you murdered a helpless, vulnerable patient?’

  A whistling started in her ears. She suddenly felt terribly cold.

  He held out the phone again. ‘Take it.’

  She looked wildly at Martin. He looked desperately back. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘He gave me no choice. I have to do as he says. He’s threatened to –’

  In one deceptively graceful movement Sirius Thiele knocked the edge of his hand against Martin’s neck, just below the angle of his jaw. It was a smoothly balletic movement, and for a moment Grace didn’t understand what was happening.

  Then Martin dropped to the ground as though felled.

  Sirius had struck Martin’s carotid artery, which supplied the brain with blood.

  She knew she had to help him but she was rooted to the spot. She wasn’t any kind of heroine. She was just an ordinary person, a simple GP. She wasn’t about to turn into Superwoman and save the day. She was frozen with fear.

  Sirius stood over Martin. ‘I thought I warned you,’ he said softly.

  ‘P-please,’ Martin choked. He was holding his hands to his throat. ‘Please don’t. Not again . . .’

  ‘If you promise to keep quiet.’

  ‘P-promise.’

  Dear God, she thought. I can’t believe this is happening. Oh God oh God oh God. She looked frantically about. Where was everyone? Why wasn’t anyone around?

  Sirius stepped back, hands raised, letting Martin stagger to his feet. ‘I didn’t harm him permanently,’ Sirius told Grace.

  Martin’s face was ashen, his lips trembling.

  ‘Now,’ Sirius turned to Grace. Once again, he held out the phone.

  Don’t take it! her inner voice shouted. She unclenched her teeth, but they still chattered as she spoke.

  ‘T-this is a mistake. It has to be. You’ve got the w-wrong person. My mother would never be in debt, let alone –’

  ‘I will hurt him if you don’t take it.’ Once again he reached into his coat but this time he didn’t bring out a mobile phone. He brought out what looked like a filleting knife.

  Her adrenaline spiked so hard she felt a wave of nausea. No no no no no.

  ‘Please, Grace,’ Martin bleated. ‘Take the fucking phone!’

  Keeping her eyes on the knife, she did as he said. Her fingers felt stiff and numb.

  ‘Good.’ Sirius’s voice was calm, and as she looked into his eyes, she saw no expression. Nothing but a pair of hard black pebbles.

  ‘Now, I won’t send Martin to the authorities unless I have to,’ he said in the same calm, reasonable tone. ‘Nor will I tell Ross, or your family, that you killed Simon. They will remain oblivious. So will Simon’s family. Your godchildren will never know their godmother is a murderess. Little Alice and Oliver will be quite unaware of the fact as long as you keep our arrangement absolutely secret. Do you understand?’

  How did he know so much about her?

  Grace swallowed drily. Her voice was hoarse. ‘Yes.’

  ‘My client has given us until the end of the week.’

  She could feel her lips quivering and pressed them together. She didn’t want him to know how frightened she was but it had to be obvious.

  ‘Call me the minute you find the money. The second it is returned to my client, your life will return to normal.’ His black eyes held hers. ‘If you tell anyone about this, they’ll be next on the list. Understood?’

  She gave a jerky nod.

  He turned to Martin. ‘In the back. Now.’

  Martin stumbled to the back of the van, opened the doors and climbed inside. There was some old carpet on the floor, but nothing else. Before Sirius closed the door, Martin looked at her. His mouth was twisted. He was crying.

  ‘Don’t tell anyone,’ he begged her. ‘Just find the money he wants. Then I won’t have to go public over Simon. And he –’ Martin meant Sirius – ‘won’t . . .’ He trailed off as his eyes went to Sirius. He scurried to crouch at the front of the van. Started to sob.

  Sirius slammed the doors shut. He didn’t
look at her as he walked to the driver’s door and climbed inside. Trembling, nauseous, Grace watched him drive to the exit, turn right, and vanish.

  The moment the van was out of sight, her knees buckled. One moment she was standing paralysed in terror, the next she folded on to the ground. The sharp jags of stones against her palms and knees helped steady her and she rose to see Ross running across the car park.

  ‘Grace.’ He skidded to her side, putting an arm around her. ‘What are you doing out here? You’re all wet.’

  ‘I needed some air.’

  ‘You were ages. I’m sorry. I should have taken you home long ago.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ she managed. She wanted to throw up, to curl up and die, to weep forever. But she did none of those things. She let Ross lead her back inside the pub, where he told the cousins they were leaving, initiating a round of farewells that seemed to take an eternity. Finally they were on their way home. Grace brought out Sirius Thiele’s mobile phone and, with trembling fingers, checked the contacts list to find just one number.

  Call me the minute you find the money. The second it is returned to my client, your life will return to normal.

  She closed her eyes briefly and tried to regulate her breathing. She felt shaky and sick. How did Sirius Thiele know so much about her family? How had he found Martin? What was he threatening Martin with?

  She looked across at Ross. The strength in his jaw, the steadiness in his hands on the wheel. She desperately wanted to tell him what had happened but he’d only take her to a police station to report it. And it would put him in immediate danger.

  If you tell anyone about this, they’ll be next on the list.

  She had to protect Ross until she found out what was going on.

  When he parked outside her mother’s house, he turned and looked at her. ‘OK?’

  ‘OK,’ she lied.

  A smile ghosted across his face. ‘I know it’s been an awful day. But I just want you to know that I love you, Grace Reavey. One hundred per cent. And don’t forget it.’

  She touched his face. ‘I love you too.’

  She had to find the money. Make Sirius go away. It was the only solution to ensure her life would return to normal.

  Back inside her mother’s house, she headed straight for the study, switched on her mother’s computer. Although she felt wobbly, as fragile as a baby bird, the full-blown panic had eased now she had a sense of purpose.

  ‘Cup of tea?’ Ross called. ‘Or something stronger?’

  ‘Stronger,’ she called back. She began pulling open drawers, searching for bank statements but there was nothing. They’d all be online. She looked round when her mother’s computer awakened with a boot-up tune.

  ‘Brandy,’ Ross announced.

  ‘Password,’ she said, staring at the screen.

  ‘Ah.’

  She sipped her brandy while she attempted to gain access, trying her name, her childhood nickname – Gracie Macie – and a variety of dates that she knew her mother knew by heart.

  ‘Could take a while,’ Ross remarked.

  ‘Yes.’ She brought out her mobile phone and scrolled to her mother’s recent emails.

  ‘Do you mind if I watch the news?’

  ‘Of course not.’ She glanced up at him. His expression was solemn. He wore a beautifully cut charcoal grey suit with a white shirt and a black tie. He’d loosened his collar which made him look almost unbearably handsome. ‘Thanks for today,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t have done it without you.’

  He came and put his arms around her. Kissed the top of her head. ‘I wish you hadn’t had to go through it.’

  She leaned against him. ‘Me too.’

  With BBC1 murmuring in the background, Grace tried to crack her mother’s password, but nothing worked. She then searched her mother’s meticulously arranged study but there wasn’t much to find. A handful of household bills, insurance documents, car log book. The file marked Financial contained details of a fairly decent private pension but nothing else. No portfolio of investments or ISAs, or lists of stocks and shares.

  Eyes aching, she finally switched off the computer and headed to the sitting room. The TV was still on but Ross wasn’t watching it. He was fast asleep. Gently she woke him and they headed to bed but Grace couldn’t rest. She kept seeing the filleting knife Sirius had produced. The pallor on Martin’s skin, the fear in his eyes.

  What if there was no money? What if Sirius was mistaken? What would happen if she told the police? At the time it hadn’t crossed her mind to get the van’s number plate. Should she confess about Simon and risk Ross’s life? Lose her career? What about Simon’s mother? His fiancée, Juliet? And how in the world had Sirius found out about Martin? Did anyone else know? Her mind went round and round at dizzying speed until finally, just before dawn, she fell into a troubled doze.

  She awoke with a sour mouth. Her limbs felt lethargic, as though they’d been filled with cement.

  ‘Let me bring you breakfast in bed,’ Ross said.

  ‘You’re wonderful, but I’m not hungry.’

  ‘Tea, then.’

  ‘Tea would be lovely.’

  She drank it while looking out of the rain-streaked window, listening to the news. Bella Frances, that was the girl’s name, the one who’d been found. She was still in hospital. What about Jamie? Where was he? She hoped he was OK but she didn’t have the mental capacity to worry about him at the moment. She had enough problems of her own.

  Sirius’s voice in her mind: You have until the end of the week.

  She ran through her choices, and decided on the path of least resistance. If she didn’t find the money by the weekend, she’d re-think her strategy. But until then, she’d better get moving.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Wednesday 28 November, 11.00 a.m.

  ‘Good God.’ Ross stood in the doorway, looking around. ‘It looks like a bomb’s gone off.’

  Grace leaned back on her heels, pushing a lock of stray hair out of her eyes. The bed was strewn with her mother’s clothes, the carpet heaped with shoes and boots and boxes, handbags, scarves, gloves. She’d known her mother loved shoes, but she seemed to have developed a fetish. There were killer shoes, designer boots, glamorous sandals. Grace held up a fabulously sexy pair of black and white chequered high-heeled signature pumps called ‘Hot to Trot’ and, before she could change her mind, slipped them on.

  ‘Wow,’ he said admiringly. ‘Your mum had great taste.’

  They fitted perfectly. Tears rising, Grace took them off. ‘Hell,’ she said.

  Ross crossed the room and took her in his arms. ‘Would you like me to stay?’

  They’d agreed he would go back to London today at lunchtime and that they’d meet up at the weekend, and if it hadn’t been for the spectre of Sirius Thiele hovering, she might have changed her mind. She wanted to speak to Martin, but she didn’t want to do that with Ross around. She had to keep the situation contained.

  ‘No,’ she said. She wiped her eyes. ‘I need to sort the house out. Much better if I’m on my own.’

  ‘You’re sure?’ He leaned back and studied her, concern in his eyes.

  ‘I’m sure.’ She gave him a wobbly smile. ‘But thanks. I’ll text you later.’

  With Ross gone, Grace set her mind to tracking down Martin. Luckily, it didn’t take long. He’d spent his first year in the same surgery as her in Reading before moving to a rural practice in Wiltshire, where he’d worked ever since. She asked to speak to him.

  ‘Who’s calling?’

  ‘A colleague. Dr Reavey.’

  Brief pause.

  ‘I’m sorry, doctor, I just had to double-check. Dr Fairfield has taken extended leave until Christmas.’

  Her stomach turned over. ‘Does he have a mobile?’

  ‘Well, yes. But apparently he’s out of electronic contact. He’s on a ski safari in Norway.’

  Grace’s hand spasmed to clench the phone. ‘But I only saw him yesterday!’

  ‘He
flew there this morning.’

  ‘Did he use a travel company? Do you have any contact details?’

  ‘No. Sorry. He’s out of touch until he returns on Christmas Eve but he won’t be back at work until the new year.’

  Grace swallowed the urge to scream. ‘OK. I’ll take his mobile number, but if you hear from him, tell him to contact me urgently.’

  After she’d hung up, she tried his mobile number but it immediately switched to his answering service. She left a panicky message but she knew she wouldn’t hear anything back. Martin had abandoned her. She was on her own.

  Fuelled by a mixture of anger and fear, Grace attacked the house with a feverish urgency. What if her mother no longer had the money? What if she’d spent it? Loaned it? Given it away? Spent it on shoes?

  When the doorbell rang she checked the spy hole to see her mother’s amnesiac friend standing on the doorstep. With his tall frame and broad shoulders, he made the tiny porch look as though it belonged to a doll’s house. What was his name? Dan something. She was usually pretty good with names – useful for a GP – but for some reason his surname eluded her. She opened the door.

  ‘Hello,’ she said.

  He wore a leather jacket over a pressed blue shirt, black jeans and leather shoes. His face was drawn, his eyes bruised.

  ‘We need to talk,’ he said.

  ‘Not now. Sorry.’ She didn’t give him an explanation or make any excuses.

  His gaze flicked past her shoulder. Something about him stilled. ‘Are you packing up or looking for something?’

  ‘How about we talk after the weekend?’ Grace suggested. Hopefully she would have resolved the Sirius issue by then.

  ‘If you’re looking for something, then you’re going the wrong way about it.’

  ‘What?’ Her voice was irritated. Why didn’t he go away?

  ‘Don’t go for the obvious places. Think laterally.’

  ‘I’m sorry but I really don’t think –’

  ‘Let me show you.’

  ‘Sorry,’ she said again, her voice firm. ‘But I really don’t have time to . . .’ She trailed off as he ducked down and emptied the umbrella stand, picked it up and turned it over. He rapped the bottom with his knuckles. ‘See? It sounds hollow. This is the kind of place to look.’ He put his other hand inside the stand. Metal screeched briefly. His hand came back into view with a circular piece of metal from the bottom of the stand. Taped beneath it was a key.