The Last Lie

by Alex Lake

  He hadn’t done much in the years afterwards, drifting from job to job and from town to town, getting by on the proceeds of the odd gig, petty crime, and the occasional more serious infraction – for a while he’d stolen from blind people, who were extremely easy to mug – until he had seen Claire at the wedding.

  And he’d known she was vulnerable. Known what kind of a man she was looking for. And he had made himself that man.

  It was amazing how her money changed everything. People looked at him differently, saw success, gave him respect. He was someone who could walk into an estate agent’s office and discuss £2,000,000 houses in Wandsworth. No one called him Son of Scrubber. No one called him anything. People liked Alfie Daniels. They wanted him around.

  And he couldn’t let that be threatened.

  Except it was. He’d made a mistake. A miscalculation. Since the day he’d met her, he’d found Claire irritating, but he’d assumed he could put up with it. When he was with her he would put on his mask, pretend to be a loyal, faithful husband, and when she wasn’t around he could do what he wanted. The problem was that it had become stifling.

  The irritation had become dislike and the dislike had become hatred.

  And now she wanted kids. She’d keep going until she got one, via a sperm donor or adoption or some other fucking way, and that would ruin it all. He’d be trapped forever, the only way out a divorce which would leave him back where he started.

  Back as Son of Scrubber.

  Until now he’d had no solution, but Pippa had given him the idea. She had become a problem for Henry Bryant and so Henry had killed her.

  And Henry could do the same to Claire. Now that they were lovers – according to their messages – if Claire disappeared it could be pinned on Henry. The connection would be made quickly. And, since no one knew who Henry Bryant was and there was no link to Alfie, all Alfie would have to do would be to play the grieving husband and keep her money. He would be the victim. People would sympathize with him.

  So he was going to kill Claire. Maybe in the same way as Pippa. Perhaps he’d throw her in the same quarry. It didn’t matter. If the bodies were found, people would simply assume that Henry Bryant – who would have disappeared – disposed of his victims in that way.

  He’d realized another thing, recently: this had been his plan all along. Not to invent Henry Bryant – using him was merely another piece of opportunism – but to kill Claire. He hadn’t been aware of it, but this had been the endgame since they met.

  And now he had a way to do it, and it was brilliant.

  He opened his desk drawer and took out the two phones. One, Henry Bryant’s. The other Claire Daniels’s. It was time for Claire to make the date – maybe for the coming weekend – which would be her last one. He put them in his pocket and headed out for a walk.

  In the park, Alfie sat on a bench by a small pond. Two swans glided past. He’d heard that swans mated for life and if one of them died the other would pine so acutely that it would stop eating and waste away. He didn’t know whether it was true or not – he suspected swans were not that stupid – but the fact people told the story as though it was admirable for swans to behave in this way baffled him. How could anyone – human or swan – allow themselves to become so bound up with someone else that they couldn’t live without them? He could never have done it. One person was much like another. He didn’t need any of them.

  He took out the phones and typed a message from Henry to Claire.

  Hey, lovely. Let’s meet this weekend. I need to see you. Just tell me what works for you; I’ll fit it in.

  Claire’s phone buzzed; after a pause, he used it to reply.

  I need to see you too. What about seven pm on Saturday? I’ll tell A I’m meeting an old friend. We can go to a hotel. I don’t want to waste time at a bar.

  Bryant replied shortly afterwards.

  How about my place? It’s more comfortable than a hotel. I’ll meet you at Piccadilly Tube station and we can walk from there.

  So that was it. It was real. This Saturday he would kill Claire. It was Wednesday now so a mere three more days. He could hardly wait. He pictured knocking her unconscious in the car and driving her to the same layby where he’d killed Pippa. He’d wait until she was awake – he was looking forward to it now, looking forward to her expression as his hands, tight around her neck, cut off her supply of oxygen, looking forward to telling her how much he hated her and how he was going to blame this on Henry Bryant – and get rid of her body.

  After that it would be simple. Wait a day, and then start calling her friends and family asking if they’d seen her. When they hadn’t, he’d call the police, and, with him guiding them – and their technicians combing her laptop – they’d find out about Henry Bryant.

  A name that would quickly be connected to Pippa.

  Two women who met the same man online and both disappeared. It wouldn’t be long before the assumption that they were dead hardened into fact.

  Which would leave him, the grieving widower, all alone.

  He smiled. It was good to have a plan. He stood up. It was time to go home to his lovely – and soon to be ex – wife.

  Claire was at home when he got back. ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Good day?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I missed you.’ He put his hand on her hip. ‘I’ve been thinking about you all day.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about you, too. I was looking forward to a night together, but I have to go into the office.’

  ‘No,’ he said, relieved that she’d be gone. ‘Not tonight.’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’ She reached for his belt and unbuckled it, then pressed her lips to his. ‘But we have time for this before I go.’

  As they kissed, she tugged his jeans down, then pushed him on to the sofa. She sat next to him, then bent over and took him in her mouth. Alfie closed his eyes and pictured Victoria, the receptionist at the estate agency, in Claire’s place. She was high on his list of women to fill the post-Claire void.

  He was starting to enjoy the fantasy when Claire stopped. He opened his eyes to see her sitting up, looking at him.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I need to stop.’

  ‘Everything OK?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m not feeling all that well. And I have to finish some work.’

  Alfie felt a surge of irritation, but he bit it back. He was not the kind of guy who complained about his wife interrupting a blowjob, and there was always porn when she left. He frowned in an effort to look concerned.

  ‘You should stay home and make sure you feel better.’

  Claire shook her head. ‘It’s fine. Just the start of a cold, or something. And I have to go in. It’s important.’

  ‘OK,’ Alfie replied. ‘Take care of yourself, darling.’

  When he woke up the following morning – Thursday, the last Thursday of his life with Claire – she was already gone. He’d been asleep when she came home. There was a note by the bed.

  HAD TO GET IN EARLY TO WORK. SEE YOU TONIGHT. TAKE-OUT? I’M EXHAUSTED.

  He showered and dressed and had breakfast with a smile on his face. Now he had a final plan he had a feeling of lightness. He hadn’t realized how much Claire had been getting him down. He’d grown so accustomed to the sensation of being constrained, of being unable to be his true self. Well, soon he would no longer have to worry about that.

  And it felt great.

  He frittered the day away in the office, unable to concentrate on work – not that he was bothered. He went to the park for a couple of hours after lunch, then came back to his office and watched videos on YouTube. That evening he was at his desk, packing up to leave for the day – he was still smiling, the prospect of freedom keeping his mood buoyant – when Claire called.

  ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘How are you? Do you want me to pick up food? What do you want?’

  ‘You choose,’ she replied. ‘That’s why I’m calling. I have to go out. I’ve got a client dinner.’

  �
��You didn’t mention it.’

  ‘I only found out an hour ago.’ She exhaled sharply. ‘It’s the last thing I want to do, but the project is getting busy and I’ve got no choice. I have to get going. Don’t wait up. It could be a late one.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Don’t let them keep you out.’

  ‘I won’t. Love you, Alfie.’

  He smiled as he hung up. This was perfect. Almost too perfect. She was going out unannounced. Even though it had nothing to do with Henry Bryant, it all added to the image of a woman having an affair.

  It was a late one. Nine p.m. came and went, then ten, then, at ten thirty, Alfie called her mobile phone.

  It went straight to voicemail.

  ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘It’s me. Hope the dinner’s going well. What time should I expect you?’

  By eleven she had not returned his call. He sent a text.

  Hey. Hope all’s well. I’m going to bed soon. I’ll have my phone on if you need me. Love you. Ax

  This was unusual for Claire, but it was exactly what he wanted. It would help when he was talking to the cops in the days after he killed her.

  She had been going out more than usual. Only last Thursday she went out to a client dinner that came up suddenly. She came home when I was asleep. But I didn’t think anything of it. I didn’t think she was seeing another man.

  The police would speak to the clients she was at dinner with and they would confirm her story, but it wouldn’t matter. What mattered was the impression it gave.

  He lay down and closed his eyes. He hadn’t fallen asleep this quickly in years.

  He woke up slowly. The office didn’t open until nine, and he rarely got there before half-past, so he didn’t set an alarm. Claire was up earlier than him, so he used hers.

  But hers hadn’t gone off.

  He looked to her side of the bed, and his eyes narrowed.

  It was empty, and the pillows were still stacked neatly against the headboard.

  It hadn’t been slept in.

  He glanced at the clock on the bedside table: eight a.m. He sat up and listened for the sounds of her making coffee or getting dressed.

  There was nothing.

  He picked up his phone. No missed calls, no texts. He tried her. Straight to voicemail.

  Where the fuck was she? He scrolled to Jodie’s number. Maybe she’d got drunk and stayed with her. It was unlike Claire – very unlike Claire – but it was possible.

  He dialled the number. Jodie picked up immediately.

  ‘Hey,’ she said. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Have you seen Claire?’

  ‘No. Why. Is she not at home?’

  ‘She went to a client dinner last night. She didn’t come home, and she isn’t answering her phone.’

  ‘Oh my God.’ There was a note of alarm in Jodie’s voice. ‘I haven’t heard anything from her.’

  ‘Where else could she be?’

  ‘I don’t know!’ Jodie said. ‘I’ll call some friends. She has to be somewhere. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything.’

  ‘OK,’ he said. ‘I’ll call work. Thanks, Jodie.’

  ‘Don’t mention it. Keep me posted, OK?’

  As he hung up, Alfie almost smiled. It was ironic. This was exactly what he had been expecting to do: phone around asking after his missing wife and act concerned that she had not come home from a night out.

  But he didn’t smile. Not quite.

  Because he hadn’t been expecting to do it so soon. And he hadn’t been expecting not to know where she was.

  He’d been planning for her disappearance to be a smokescreen.

  But this was for real.

  Interval

  ‘Are you … Are you her?’

  The naked woman did not answer her question. She stared into the distance, her hands covering her breasts and pubic hair in an attempt to hide her nudity. She needed a bath, her skin was streaked with dirt.

  ‘You’re …’ the driver paused, ‘you’re the woman who went missing, aren’t you?’

  The naked woman turned to look at her. Her eyes focused gradually, and she blinked.

  ‘Yes,’ she muttered.

  ‘Well, you’re OK now.’ The woman glanced around to check they were alone. ‘I promise. You’re OK now. I’m Barbara. Take this.’ Barbara shrugged off her jacket – a thin, cotton one she’d bought a week before from Burberry as a summer treat – and draped it over the naked woman’s shoulders.

  For a moment she considered calling the police and waiting where they were – there might be evidence they wanted or something like that – but she dismissed the idea. The woman needed to be in a safe, warm place where someone with experience in these situations could deal with her and, besides, she had an uncomfortable feeling that someone else might show up at any moment.

  Someone who would not have the woman’s best interests at heart.

  ‘Let’s go,’ Barbara said. She led the hitchhiker towards the passenger side of the car and opened the door. The woman climbed in and Barbara leaned over her to fasten her seat belt.

  She walked quickly to the driver’s side and started the car. She checked the mirrors to make sure they were still alone, and then pulled away. She reached for her phone so she could call the police. Before she could hit dial, the woman spoke.

  ‘Alfie,’ she said, her voice a croak. ‘I want to see Alfie.’

  PART TWO

  Alfie

  Friday

  i

  Alfie’s phone rang. He snatched it from the kitchen counter and looked at the screen. It had been an hour since he had woken up and realized Claire was gone, and he was still expecting her to call.

  It was Mick.

  ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘I saw your missed call. Missed calls. What’s going on?’

  ‘Have you seen Claire?’ Alfie said.

  ‘No. I’d have thought you’d be the one who knows where she is early in the morning. I’m just her dad. You’re her husband.’

  ‘Well I don’t,’ Alfie said. ‘She didn’t come home last night.’

  There was a pause. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She went out to a client dinner. I went to bed around eleven. When I woke up she wasn’t here.’

  ‘Have you called her?’

  ‘Yes,’ Alfie said. ‘Lots. It goes straight to her voicemail.’

  Mick inhaled sharply. ‘Fucking hell. Have you called the office?’

  ‘Yep. No one’s seen her this morning.’

  ‘What about her assistant? Have you talked to her? You could find out who was at the dinner?’

  It was a good idea. ‘OK,’ Alfie said. ‘I’ll do that now. I’ll let you know what she says.’

  Alfie hung up. He called the office and asked for Caroline, Claire’s assistant.

  ‘Hi,’ she said, when he was put through to her. ‘I hear you’re looking for Claire?’

  ‘Yes,’ Alfie said. ‘She was out with a client last night—’

  ‘Which client?’ Caroline interrupted him.

  ‘I don’t know. She didn’t say.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Caroline hesitated. ‘That’s odd.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘Well,’ she said. ‘I’ll ask around and check, but I’m pretty sure there was no client dinner last night. At least, not that I know of.’

  ‘Oh,’ Alfie was finding it hard to think. Claire had been lying? ‘There must be some misunderstanding.’ He hung up before Caroline could reply, and stared at his phone as her words sank in. There had been no client dinner? So where had she gone? And why had she lied?

  His phone rang again. It was Jodie.

  ‘Have you found her?’ he said.

  ‘No.’ There was a note of worry in Jodie’s voice. ‘I’ve called everyone I can think of. No one’s seen her.’

  ‘Shit.’ He too had worry in his voice, and it wasn’t put on for Jodie’s sake. It was real. It wasn’t because he was concerned about Claire herself – if she had been kidnapped and murdered that w
as fine by him. It was because something odd was going on and he didn’t know what it was.

  ‘What did she say?’ Jodie asked. ‘Before she went out?’

  ‘She said she was going for dinner with a client. But when I called the office, no one knew anything about it.’

  ‘Are you kidding?’ Jodie said. ‘She made it up? You think she was lying?’

  ‘Maybe no one else at work knew about the dinner,’ Alfie said. ‘That could be it. I don’t know if I’m ready to think she was lying yet.’ He was ready to think exactly that. Claire had invented a reason for a night out – a clumsy one, as alibis go – and had not come home.

  So where had she gone? Was she – of all things – having an affair? And even if so, why hadn’t she come back?

  ‘It doesn’t seem like Claire,’ Jodie said. ‘She probably did have a dinner. If it was arranged late in the day, no one at the office would have known.’

  ‘That could have happened. She hadn’t mentioned it before yesterday.’

  ‘Then that’ll be it,’ Jodie said. ‘It must be.’

  It was possible, but Alfie wasn’t convinced. Claire’s office was quite small and for the most part they all knew what the others were up to. Someone would have known; at the very least they would have had an idea who the client was and been able to check quickly.

  And it didn’t solve the other part of the mystery.

  ‘Then where is she now?’ Alfie said. ‘And why’s she not answering her phone?

  ‘I don’t know,’ Jodie said. ‘But there’ll be some explanation, I’m sure. She probably left it late and crashed in a hotel and her phone died. Something like that.’

  ‘I guess so,’ Alfie replied. ‘But what if it’s something else? Perhaps she got hit by a car or fell ill or she ran into someone who … into the wrong kind of person.’

  ‘Alfie,’ Jodie said, ‘don’t start thinking like that. We have to stay positive.’

  ‘It’s hard. My mind keeps racing in all directions.’