Spare Me the Truth_An explosive, high octane thriller

by CJ Carver

  ‘She never told me she was with MI5,’ Grace said sadly. If only she’d known, she could have supported her mother, but then her mother hadn’t really needed supporting, she’d been so self-reliant.

  ‘She wanted to protect you.’

  Bernard leaned forward.

  ‘Now, Grace. I actually came to talk about the, ah, money in one of her savings accounts. Nearly all of it is from Joe, when he bought Gabriel from Stella. Which means that the funds held at the First Caribbean Bank don’t actually belong to your mother. I’m afraid I need this money moved to a solicitor’s account where it will be held until the courts decide what is to be done with it.’

  Grace cringed. She said, ‘There’s not much left. I had to pay Sirius.’

  ‘Ah.’ His gaze turned distant. ‘The indubitable Sirius.’

  Her skin prickled. ‘You know him?’

  ‘Personally, I’ve never met him,’ he replied, as though that would answer her question.

  ‘He absolutely terrified me,’ she admitted. And Martin, she could have added, but didn’t. Martin and Simon were still a secret, and she hoped they would remain as such. When she’d texted Martin and told him Sirius had his money, he’d called her immediately. ‘Thank Christ.’

  ‘You told him about Simon,’ she said.

  ‘I didn’t have a choice. He wanted a lever against you and he threatened me with . . . Oh, God. Grace, it was awful . . .’

  ‘Does anyone else know?’ she asked.

  ‘No, no.’ He raced to reassure her. ‘Jesus, you think I want it made public I didn’t report you? It was only him, I swear it. Look, I’m going now. I don’t expect to hear from you again, OK? Goodbye.’

  He’d hung up and she didn’t ring back, dropping any curiosity about how Sirius had pressured the country GP. She honestly didn’t want to know. Oddly, she trusted Sirius to keep the secret, but she couldn’t put her finger on exactly why. It may have had something to do with the way he’d looked when he’d returned her and Lucy’s bags, his long face strangely sad.

  You’re not stupid. You’re brave.

  Bernard said, ‘Your mother did an exemplary job in trapping Cedric the second time round. Without her plan to involve Dan, we might never have exposed Joe. I saw him in hospital yesterday, before he went into surgery. He was extremely cooperative, in the hope we’d be lenient. We managed to intercept Gabriel before the handover.’

  ‘But isn’t the weapon defective?’ Grace asked.

  ‘We didn’t know this at the time. It is still extremely effective, but yes, we will now be working on a possible antidote, in case another undesirable obtains the technology. It means we will be one step ahead.’ His eyes gleamed briefly before dimming into sobriety. ‘Stella didn’t die in vain, if that’s what you’re thinking. You can rest assured of that.’

  Grace looked into the fire. She shifted her position slightly. Tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘What about the house in the British Virgin Islands?’ she asked quietly. ‘Do you want that as well?’

  ‘What house?’

  ‘It’s in Nail Bay. Virgin Gorda.’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘I don’t know anything about a house in the Caribbean. Are you sure it’s your mother’s?’

  ‘Yes. The title deeds were sent to me this week.’

  ‘Then you and Ross will be having some nice holidays in the sun.’ His expression warmed. ‘It’s a beautiful place to visit during the English winter.’

  Grace thought for a moment, then said, ‘Did Philip Denton have anything to do with this?’

  ‘He knew something was up. He tried to put you off teaming up with Dan. He didn’t succeed very well, did he?’ Bernard gave a sigh. ‘Philip isn’t wholly popular with us at the moment since he’s spending most of his time trying to keep DCA & Co.’s name clear of the whole mess, both here as well as in India. The last thing his company needs is to be tarnished with one of its own going bad.’

  Rain pattered against the window. A log shifted on the fire, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney.

  ‘Who searched my mother’s house?’ she asked. ‘While I was at her funeral?’

  ‘That was Joe. He persuaded Philip to check that Stella didn’t have anything that might embarrass DCA & Co. in her house. Stella knew Cedric would be suspicious of her, so before your mother demonstrated the machine, she planted evidence that made it look as though she was a double-dealing felon out to feather her nest before she retired.’

  ‘So her passports and money were planted specifically for Cedric, I mean Joe, to find? And then for Philip to find too? So everyone would think Stella was Cedric?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And the sandy-haired man who searched my mother’s house? Who Dan and I saw at DCA and followed to MI5?’

  ‘One of mine. I planted him in DCA to give Stella back-up in case she needed it. Philip was furious Clipper was at the Mayfair office at the same time as you because he didn’t want anyone to know he’d had your mother’s house searched.’

  Grace gazed at the rain dribbling down the windowpanes. What a strange world her mother had inhabited. A shadow world where nothing was real and where duplicity and subterfuge were the norm.

  ‘She was one of our best officers,’ Bernard said. His face grew sad. ‘I miss her very much.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

  Lucy’s life turned into a blur of extensive debriefs and endless report writing. There were press conferences and media interviews. Endless questions and theorising. She chose to wear her uniform, not so much as a shield but because she felt an odd need to reclaim herself. People kept coming up and congratulating her and her email box was stuffed with laudatory messages, including some from her old colleagues in the Met. Even Magellan wrote one and if he tried to crawl any further up her backside she might have to throw up. He wanted her back on his team, he said. She was invaluable, an exemplary officer. She’d done her time in the boonies. It was time to return to her roots.

  She hadn’t responded yet. She’d put things on hold. Just for a little while. She wanted to think things over before she responded.

  Mac worked hard to get her out on a date, but while she worked in the same station, she refused. He said, ‘I’m not going to stop, you know. I won’t give up.’

  When she told him about the man who’d followed her in Reading, he’d looked away sheepishly. ‘I pulled in a favour with Vice,’ he confessed. ‘I asked them to keep an eye on you but they didn’t do such a great job, did they?’

  Lucy hadn’t been able to stop her snort of laughter.

  She visited Grace. They ate bowls of pasta in the kitchen and drank cheap red wine. Then Lucy asked if Grace could do her a favour.

  ‘Of course.’ Grace looked at her curiously.

  ‘It’s confidential.’

  ‘OK.’

  Lucy took a breath. ‘I’d like you to test me to see if I’m bipolar.’

  Grace stared. ‘What?’

  Once Lucy had explained, Grace agreed. No hesitation.

  It took less time than she’d expected for Grace to come back to her and when the email pinged in her personal account, marked Confidential: results, Lucy went lightheaded.

  Grace’s message was lengthy and full of explanations, but Lucy’s eyes went to the first word in the first sentence. It was all she needed.

  NEGATIVE.

  Not only was she not bipolar, but in a handwritten note Grace said Lucy’s ability to see colours in her mind was probably due to a form of grapheme-colour synaesthesia, a neurological phenomenon in which stimulation of one cognitive pathway led to an involuntary experience in another, second pathway. Although very little scientific research had been done in this area, Grace assured her it wasn’t anything to worry about. Celebrate it! Grace told her. It sounds fantastic!

  And then there was the small fact she hadn’t got any speeding tickets during her chase around the country. Sure, she probably wouldn’t have been prosecuted once all was realised, but it was nice n
ot to have the hassle.

  The icing on the cake, however, was anonymously setting her old Met colleagues on Dr Mike Adamson, suggesting he might be taking kickbacks from PepsBeevers for some sort of unofficial trial on Zidazapine. The investigation found nothing along those lines but instead exposed the GP as a doctor who advocated doling out antidepressants like chocolate buttons and earning him a certified warning from the General Medical Council.

  And what about Nate? She’d barely had the chance to think about him over the past fortnight, proving the adage out of sight, out of mind held true, at least for her. He’d rung her last week, ostensibly to see how she was, and when she’d heard his voice on her answerphone, she hadn’t broken down and burst into tears. She’d erased his message and it had felt OK. Not great, but OK. Which meant she was OK too. More than OK, if she was honest, because right now she felt as though her life was just starting.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

  Chitta sat at Niket’s desk, checking his emails. Niket had told him he was only allowed to do this twice a day and if anything important came up, to let him know immediately.

  He glanced at the Inspector’s office to make sure he was still talking to Niket. Niket was in the chair opposite his boss, looking relaxed and at ease and nothing like he’d been over the past few weeks. It transpired that Niket had been blackmailed not to investigate the Cargo Killer case – a well-known local gang had threatened to snatch his little sister and pour kerosene down her throat – which was why he’d dragged his feet with the English policewoman.

  But when Constable Lucy had brought her bosses and Chakyar into the loop, Niket had done the only thing he could think of. He’d got Chitta to do the investigating on his behalf. Chitta was invisible, someone nobody would look at or take any notice of, and when Chitta discovered the bodies dumped on the rubbish site, Niket went straight to his boss and confessed what had happened.

  Inspector Chakyar immediately suspended his Senior Constable, but not for doing anything wrong. It was to keep him and his little sister safe.

  Chitta quickly checked for new messages for the third time in ten minutes. He didn’t want something important to come in and to be the last to know. He wanted to be at the forefront of the next investigation. Prove himself to Inspector Chakyar, so he would continue to sponsor him, and then he could one day sit the Civil Services Examination so he would be elevated from the state cadre and earn a decent rank along with a decent wage.

  His blood fizzed when he spotted an email from Police Constable Lucy Davies. Except she wasn’t a PC any more. As he read her message, he saw she was now a detective.

  The email had been sent to several police officers, not just Niket. She was still looking for the Cargo Killer. She’d attached a police photo-fit of him. Dark hair thinning on top, long face, dark eyes.

  Chitta stared at the picture but he didn’t recognise the man. He printed off the photograph and pushed it inside his pocket. He would keep it, just in case the man came to Chennai. You never knew. That was what good detecting was all about. Being ready for that moment when you found the perfect clue to solve the perfect crime.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

  Dan didn’t return home straight away. He spoke to Aimee twice daily on FaceTime, but after a week had passed he knew he couldn’t put it off any longer. He texted Jenny to let her know he was coming.

  His father rang as he was driving over the Severn Bridge. Dan wasn’t going to answer, but at the last minute relented.

  ‘Hi, Dad.’

  ‘Dan. How are you?’

  ‘OK. Everything OK your end?’

  ‘Yes. Thank you.’

  They were unusually stilted, which wasn’t surprising after their last meeting.

  ‘You betrayed me.’ Dan had laid it on the line. ‘I asked you all those questions about Stella, Joe and Ellis, Savannah, and even though I was searching, desperate for the truth, you wouldn’t give it to me.’

  His father squared his shoulders. ‘I was told it could harm you. Bring on a psychosis or something. I had your best interests in mind.’

  ‘Well, next time, I won’t bother asking.’

  At that, his father had looked away. ‘I’m sorry you feel like that.’

  Neither had apologised.

  ‘Have you seen Jenny yet?’ his father now asked.

  Dan was tempted not to reply. Part of him wanted to punish his father but the other part knew it was childish and that it would only hurt everyone in the long run. They had bridges to repair and withholding what was happening between him and Jenny would only make things worse.

  He said, ‘I’m heading there now.’

  ‘I won’t say anything more,’ said his father, ‘except I’ll be thinking of you.’

  Jenny was standing at the kitchen window when he arrived. She didn’t wave. Neither did he.

  He parked. Climbed out and into the wet air that smelled of grass and sheep.

  Jenny stepped outside. Her hair was freshly washed and shone like satin. She wore skinny jeans and a stretchy lilac top that clung to her body, showing off her breasts and taut stomach. He couldn’t help staring. Despite everything, she still took his breath away.

  She looked at his vehicle. She said, ‘Where’s your car?’

  ‘I swapped it.’

  Her mouth opened and closed. ‘What?’

  ‘Is Aimee here?’

  ‘She’s at her grandmother’s.’ A look of anxiety crossed her face. ‘That’s what you wanted, right?’

  ‘Yes.’ He walked to the rear of the estate car and opened the door. ‘Out you come,’ he told her.

  The Rottweiler didn’t need asking twice. She leaped on to the grass and looked around, tail high, ears stiff.

  ‘Dear God.’ Jenny had her hands clapped to her face. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘My dog.’

  ‘But . . . It’s huge.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Jenny stared as the dog trotted away. Not far. Just ten yards or so. After the animal had squatted, it tracked the area, never going far, keeping Dan close.

  Dan couldn’t say why he’d gone to the RSPCA centre. Perhaps it was a form of subconscious closure, or a desire to connect with his past – both dogs had remembered him – but he couldn’t get them out of his mind. The moment the male dog saw anyone pass his cage he lunged at them, barking insanely, even at Dan, but when Dan visited the female – who they’d separated and put at the opposite end of the kennels – she ambled over and pushed her nose through the fence, wanting to be stroked. Her tail ticked from side to side in a stumpy, happy wag. When he’d scratched the back of her head with his fingers, she’d closed her eyes and emitted a purr.

  ‘The male dog will be impossible to rehome,’ the RSPCA officer told Dan. ‘He’s too aggressive. And the female . . . Well, she’s a lovely creature, great with kids. She only acts aggressively when the male does, but even so I doubt we’ll find her a home.’ He looked depressed. ‘Nobody wants big dogs. Too costly to feed. Both will be put to sleep tomorrow.’

  Dan had walked out with the female dog an hour later.

  ‘You can’t keep it,’ Jenny said. A wild look entered her eyes. ‘Who’s going to walk it while you’re at work? Where will it sleep? Dear God, what about Aimee?’

  ‘Poppy’s great with kids. Besides, we won’t be staying here, so it won’t be a problem.’ He began to walk for the house. ‘I just wanted to pick up some stuff.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ She looked alarmed.

  He stopped and turned to look at her. His heart felt as though a knife was being driven through it.

  Quietly he said, ‘We need some time apart.’

  The blood drained from her face. ‘No,’ she said.

  ‘We both need some space after what’s happened.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I know the truth.’

  A shadow slid in the depths of her eyes. ‘Which is?’

  ‘That I had an affair with Joe’s wife.’

  Long
silence. He heard the wind shiver across the grass.

  ‘Yes.’ Her voice was a whisper.

  He waited.

  ‘She was in love with you.’ Her voice trembled. ‘She wanted you to leave me for her. You were thinking about it.’

  The knife twisted in his heart.

  Jenny closed her eyes. ‘I saw her in the hospital with you. You were such a mess, you couldn’t stop pacing the ward, muttering, shouting like a crazy man that Luke’s death was all your fault. But when she was there you stopped. You focused on her one hundred per cent. Listened to everything she said.’

  Her eyes sparked blue bitter fire. ‘I hated her. I hated you.’

  ‘Joe tried to sleep with you.’

  She looked away. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I shot him.’

  Her mouth gaped. ‘Because he tried to sleep with me?’

  He wanted to say, no, because he got Luke killed, but he held his tongue. He’d met with Bernard yesterday, and the DG had told him that Jenny didn’t know about Besnik and genuinely believed Luke had been killed in a hit-and-run. Apparently when Besnik had dumped Dan and Luke’s broken body on the street, he’d rung MI5 and told them where to find them. Savannah and Ellis had raced to pick them up and when they saw the state they were in, sped them to the nearest A & E. Ellis had made up the hit-and-run story. Dan supposed he’d corroborated. Layer upon layer of lies. And although Jenny may have been duplicitous she didn’t deserve to know the reality behind their son’s death. That Luke had been beaten to death in front of his father.

  ‘Dan?’ she prompted. She was looking aghast.

  ‘He’s in hospital.’ He didn’t want to explain the whole story. If she wanted to find out what had happened between him and Joe, then good luck to her. He wouldn’t stop her.

  ‘What about Laura?’ Anguish was etched onto her face, her blue eyes burning. ‘Are you going to her now?’

  ‘I have no memory of Laura,’ he said. Which was true. He went on to tell her about his meeting with Bernard. Bernard had shown him a photograph of Joe’s wife, her raven hair and lithe, dancer’s body, but no memories emerged. When Dan had pressed him, Bernard had been expressly cautious about Dan’s personal history, but he’d intimated that Dan had a talent for befriending women and using pillow talk to access their secrets.