The Last Lie

by Alex Lake

  ‘Alfie … there is one thing. I don’t know how much of this you wanted her to share, but she did talk to me about how you two were trying for a baby.’

  ‘Right,’ Alfie said.

  ‘She mentioned you’d had some bad news.’

  ‘About my sperm count, right?’

  ‘Right. You probably didn’t want her talking about it, but we’re friends. She needed to talk to someone.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ Alfie said. ‘All I care about is finding her. Are you saying you think that has something to do with her going missing?’

  ‘I think it could,’ Jodie said. ‘It’s possible she reacted badly to the news. She really wants a child – I know you both do – and to find this out was a big blow. Maybe she needed to be alone to process it, so she went out for an evening on her own, and that wasn’t enough so she checked into a hotel—’

  ‘But why?’ Alfie said. ‘If that was what she wanted she could have told me. I’d have been happy for her to go for as long as she needed.’

  ‘Because she probably didn’t want you to feel like she was upset because of it. She knows it’s hard on you too and she might have felt you would have thought she was being selfish.’

  ‘You think so?’ There was a certain logic to it. It was the kind of thing Claire might have done.

  ‘I do. My guess is she’s in a spa hotel somewhere getting a massage and she’ll call later to say she’s sorry she put you – us – through this, but she’s on her way home now.’

  ‘I hope so,’ Alfie said. ‘I really do.’ He stayed silent for a moment. ‘What happened with your friend, Pippa? Did she show up?’

  ‘No,’ Jodie said. ‘It’s been over a week now.’

  ‘It’s weird that they both disappeared. Did you call the police?’

  Jodie took a deep breath. ‘I didn’t,’ she said. ‘But her parents did. I talked to them and they’re freaking out. She’s not been to work and she’s not answering her phone. They told me the police put her on some missing persons list, but they can’t really do anything until there’s evidence of a crime. Perhaps she’s with this guy, Henry Bryant, or on holiday somewhere. Either way, there’s nothing to investigate.’

  ‘What if Claire’s the same?’ Alfie said.

  ‘She isn’t. This is totally different. Pippa is … well, Pippa is flaky. This is Claire. It’s different, Alfie. I promise.’

  His phone buzzed. It was Mick. Fuck. He didn’t want to speak to him, but he would only keep calling if he didn’t.

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ he said. ‘It’s Mick.’ He switched calls. ‘Hi.’

  Mick was abrupt at the best of times, which this wasn’t. ‘Any news?’

  ‘There is,’ Alfie said. ‘There was no dinner. At least, not one they knew about at the office.’

  ‘What the fuck? Then where was she?’

  ‘Jodie has a theory. She thinks Claire may have wanted some alone time and—’

  ‘I don’t need theories,’ Mick said. ‘I need my daughter back.’

  ‘Me too. We’ve called everyone we can—’

  ‘And why would she want time alone? Is something going on I should know about?’

  ‘No,’ Alfie said. ‘I’ll explain later. For now—’

  ‘For now,’ Mick said, ‘we need to get busy finding Claire. I’m sending somebody to see you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Alfie said.

  ‘He’s a former cop I know. He was a detective inspector. Paul Simpson. Got pissed off with the force and left.’

  Shit. The last thing he needed was some busybody ex-detective poking about in this.

  ‘Shouldn’t we leave that to the police? And isn’t it a bit soon?’

  ‘We can’t wait for the cops. And it’s never too soon. If she walks in the door an hour after Simpson shows up, then no harm done.’

  ‘Mick,’ Alfie began, ‘I’m not sure—’

  ‘Simpson’ll be there soon,’ Mick said. ‘Tell him everything.’

  ii

  Former Detective Inspector Paul Simpson accepted Alfie’s offer of a cup of tea and took a seat in an armchair. He had an A4 pad on his lap and a red felt-tip pen in his hand. He had short, greying hair and a slack, expressionless face.

  ‘So,’ he said. ‘Your wife is missing?’

  Alfie nodded. ‘As of last night.’

  ‘Perhaps you could take me through what happened?’

  ‘There’s not much to tell.’

  He explained how she had left, at short notice, for a client dinner, an appointment which had turned out to be a fabrication, and how she had not come home. Since then no one had seen or heard from her.

  Simpson made notes as he talked. When he had finished, the detective tapped the end of his pen on the paper. ‘Would your wife have any reason to leave home?’ he asked softly.

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Maybe you had an argument? Threatened her in some way?’

  Alfie straightened in his chair. ‘I have never threatened her,’ he said. ‘And I resent the implication.’

  Simpson smiled. ‘I’m not implying anything, Mr Daniels. Please don’t take it that way. I need to establish as many of the facts as I can. So everything was well between you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Alfie said. ‘Although we had recently received some bad news.’

  Simpson looked at him. His eyes were suddenly focused and inquisitive. ‘Oh?’

  ‘We’ve been trying for a baby. It wasn’t working, and we found out that it was because I have … I have a very low sperm count.’

  ‘I see. And you think she might have been upset by that?’

  ‘She was upset by it. Her friend – Jodie – thinks she may have wanted to be alone.’

  Simpson nodded. ‘That is a reasonable hypothesis, in the circumstances. Although just a hypothesis, at this stage. There are others.’

  ‘What kind of others?’

  ‘I’m sure you’ve considered some of them. My job is to eliminate them. Speaking of which, do you have any thoughts about where your wife may have gone if she wanted to be alone? A favourite hotel? Or place? A lake or river or village that means something to her?’

  ‘There’s a hotel she likes near Bristol. And we’ve been a few times to a village in the Cotswolds that she always says she’d like to move to someday.’

  ‘Could you give me the names?’

  Alfie did; Simpson noted them down.

  ‘I’ll call the hotel,’ he said. ‘As well as possible places in the village.’

  ‘You could check her bank cards. See if she’s spent any money.’

  Simpson raised an eyebrow. ‘You overestimate what information I can access,’ he said. ‘But you could check. If you know her passwords.’

  ‘We have a joint bank account,’ Alfie said. ‘So I can check that easily. But she has her own credit card. I could try to guess her log-on details.’

  The truth was he knew exactly what they were. He knew all her passwords – email, Facebook, Instagram, phone – and he checked her information often. He wasn’t suspicious of an affair and didn’t expect to find any evidence of that kind of thing, nor was he particularly interested in whatever he did find. He simply revelled in the knowledge he could look into her life any time he wanted.

  ‘I’d suggest checking,’ Simpson said. ‘Any leads would be useful.’

  Alfie stood up. ‘I’ll get my laptop,’ he said.

  He walked into the hallway and picked up his work bag. He took out his computer and walked back to the living room. As he did, he weighed the risks of showing this guy their bank account. He’d see their balance – it was pretty healthy – but that didn’t matter. Simpson already knew they were rich. There was nothing else Alfie wanted to hide. Anything related to Henry Bryant was totally separate.

  And what if there was a transaction from last night – a train ticket, or a cab fare, or a bar bill? Well, then it would give Simpson something to go and do and maybe he’d find Claire. Which would be, on balance, a good thing; Alfie was no
t enjoying the sensation that he was not in control of this situation.

  No, there was nothing to hide. He walked into the room and put the laptop on the coffee table.

  ‘Give me a moment to switch it on,’ he said. When the screen came to life he opened the browser and logged on to their bank account.

  There was nothing from the night before. He let Simpson study the screen. After a few moments, he nodded.

  ‘Try the credit card,’ he said.

  Alfie looked at the ceiling, as though recalling information. ‘It’s a Barclaycard,’ he said. ‘Her username could be her email.’

  He typed it into the screen, then put the cursor in the password field.

  ‘Let’s see,’ he said. ‘It could be—’ He typed some random assortment of characters and hit enter. The message came back:

  Password or username is incorrect.

  ‘Not that. I’ll try another.’ He typed lookatthisshithead. Again, the message came back:

  Password or username is incorrect.

  He thought for a long time, then tried again, this time with what he knew was the correct password, and they were looking at her credit card account.

  ‘Third time lucky,’ he said. ‘This is it.’

  The last transaction she had made was lunch – a sandwich shop near work – the day before. There was nothing more recent.

  ‘Hmm,’ Simpson said. ‘She could have another card, of course.’

  ‘True,’ Alfie said. ‘But that would mean she’d been lying to me for a long time. I can’t believe that.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right,’ Simpson replied. ‘But it is a possibility. My job is to think through all angles.’ He sat back in the armchair. ‘I’ll understand if you don’t want to do this, but there is something else we could look at.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I take it Claire has a work email. I’m wondering whether she has a personal one too?’

  Alfie nodded. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Do you know the password?’

  Alfie stared at him, forcing a look of outrage on to his face. ‘I’m not reading her emails,’ he said. ‘That’s private.’

  Simpson held up his hands. ‘Fine. Like I said, I understand if you don’t want to do it, but there might be something there.’

  There wasn’t, Alfie thought, but he’d log on and show the guy, although not before faking some serious reluctance.

  ‘I don’t think I want to,’ he said. ‘She’s probably taking some time to herself. I can’t violate her privacy like that.’

  ‘OK. But we might miss some important information. In other cases like this, it’s been useful.’

  Alfie let the silence grow long. ‘I don’t know the password,’ he said. ‘So we probably can’t anyway.’

  Simpson gave a slight, almost triumphant, smile. ‘Why don’t you try, and if you get it we can glance at the emails and see if anything stands out. If there’s nothing, we can shut it down right away, and when Claire’s home you can tell her to change her password.’

  Alfie nodded, slowly. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘We can try.’

  ‘Try the one you used for the credit card. A lot of people have one password they use for everything. It’s a big security risk, but people do it all the time.’

  Claire didn’t, but Simpson didn’t need to know that. Alfie typed in the correct details and watched as her emails came up.

  ‘You were right,’ he said. ‘It was the same.’

  ‘Then you can tell her you did her a favour. When she changes it, she’ll be much more secure. Anything there?’

  They bent over the screen.

  There was something there, something Alfie was not expecting. Something Alfie would not have thought was even remotely possible.

  Among the unread emails – one from the bank, one from Boden, one from Jodie, Where are you!!! in the subject line – was another email.

  An email from the day before.

  An email from Henry Bryant.

  An email Alfie had not sent.

  iii

  Alfie stared at the screen in disbelief. There were three emails from Bryant, all from the day before.

  Subject: Tonight?

  Simpson interrupted him.

  ‘You look surprised,’ he said. ‘Something I should know about?’

  Alfie glanced up. The detective’s head was cocked to the side and he was looking at Alfie with a growing interest. Alfie was about to say No, everything’s fine, but he caught himself.

  This would come out, and if he’d lied it would look suspicious. He had to tell the truth.

  And then this would unfold exactly as he’d planned. Claire was gone in mysterious circumstances, the cops would find the evidence he had carefully planted and find out about her affair with Henry Bryant, they would draw the link to Pippa and then they would quickly make the assumption that both women had been murdered.

  And then there would be a huge manhunt for Bryant, but they would not find him, because there was nothing to find. Maybe Alfie would figure out a way to use Bryant’s credit card in the Bahamas so they’d assume he had fled the country.

  And everybody would feel sorry for poor Alfie, who would be free of Claire, as well as rich. It was perfect, and it was exactly what he had been meaning to do.

  Except for one thing. It was supposed to happen this weekend, but it was happening now. Someone else was doing this.

  And the thought of that terrified him, because he had no idea who. He would have to try to work it out later, though. For now, he had to deal with Simpson.

  ‘I know the name,’ he said. He pointed at the email. ‘I never met the guy, but I know the name.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘The boyfriend of someone Claire knows. Well, she’s met her. It’s her friend Jodie who knows her well. A woman called Pippa.’

  ‘So why would he be emailing Claire?’

  ‘I don’t know. And it worries me.’ Alfie looked Simpson in the eye. He held his gaze. ‘Pippa disappeared about a week ago. She went out with Henry Bryant and no one’s heard from her since.’

  Simpson raised an eyebrow. ‘You think this is linked? Who is Bryant?’

  ‘Someone she – Pippa – met online. No one really knows who he is.’

  Simpson held his hands up. ‘Well, this is now officially out of my league. You need to call the cops.’

  When Simpson had left – Alfie made him promise not to tell Mick what he had seen but to leave it to him – he sat at the computer and opened the most recent email. He scrolled to the bottom of the string to start with the first email.

  From: Henry Bryant

  To: Claire Daniels

  Subject: Tonight?

  Claire – sorry to use your email, but I’m having problems with my usual means of communication, and I can’t bear the thought of missing a chance to see you – I’m free tonight. I had plans but they fell through and now I have a long, empty evening ahead of me. Can we meet? I’m aching to see you. XOXO HB

  From: Claire Daniels

  To: Henry Bryant

  Subject: Re: Tonight?

  I want to – you know that, I want to desperately – but I don’t know if I can. Alfie’s home and if I make up something suddenly he might suspect.

  From: Henry Bryant

  To: Claire Daniels

  Subject: Re: Tonight?

  Aaaargh! Please – if there’s any chance? Maybe say you have a work dinner?

  From: Claire Daniels

  To: Henry Bryant

  Subject: Re: Tonight?

  OK. This isn’t like me, but I’ll do it. I can’t stop thinking about you. 7pm at the usual place? I have to be back by 10.30 – 11 at the latest, though or I’ll turn into a pumpkin.

  From: Henry Bryant

  To: Claire Daniels

  Subject: Re: Tonight?

  Wonderful! I’m thrilled you can come. Yes, 7pm and I’ll get you home before you turn into a pumpkin (although isn’t it the carriage that does that?) I can’t wai
t to see you. You’re in my thoughts constantly, too. This is turning into something more than we bargained for. Henry

  Alfie’s mouth was dry. He was blinking rapidly and he felt nauseous. There was no Henry Bryant. He was Alfie’s creation. He didn’t really exist. Yet here he was, arranging to meet Claire, and she seemed to know him. They’d obviously met more than once. So who was it? Who the hell had Claire gone to meet?

  He checked the email address. It was a new one – Yahoo mail – which explained why he had not received the emails. Henry Bryant – the new Henry Bryant – had broken free of Alfie.

  So where was Claire now?

  He took a deep breath. He had to focus. He had to approach this logically. Who could it be? Someone Claire had met and started an affair with who happened to be called Henry Bryant? No – it was too much of a coincidence. So who else knew about Bryant? Only Pippa.

  At least, he thought only Pippa, but it was possible she’d told someone else. She could have told Jodie, but then Jodie would have told the police her friend had gone missing after going on a date with a man who was using a fake identity, a man who happened to be married to her best friend.

  Which left Pippa. But she was slowly decomposing at the bottom of a disused and flooded quarry, and Alfie didn’t believe in ghosts.

  And that left – Alfie drummed his fingers on the desktop – that left no one. It was possible that Pippa had told a different friend but, again, why would they bother with this? Surely, like Jodie, they’d simply call the police too?

  So the only alternative was that it was entirely random. Someone – maybe on the hook-up website – had encountered Henry Bryant and worked out it was Alfie and was now using it to do what Alfie had done, while at the same time messing with him. He could see how someone could get a perverse kick out of that.

  He shook his head. It seemed so improbable. It was always better to find the simplest explanation. It was normally the right one.

  And the simplest explanation was someone who knew about Henry and had something against him.

  Which brought him right back to Pippa, who was dead.

  At least, he thought she was. She’d seemed dead, but he was hardly an expert in killing people. Was it possible she had tricked him? That she had played dead so he released the pressure around her throat? And then, somehow, had swum away when he had thrown her into the quarry?