No More Lies

by Robert Crouch

  “You’re giving me one day?”

  “I could take you in for questioning, seize your computer and records right now, Kent. Had I known you were here, I would have asked for a second warrant. Now get lost before I change my mind. Report to me on Friday. Don’t make me come looking for you.”

  Forty-Eight

  Linda slips me the spare keys to my father’s Mercedes and wishes me luck. I have a day and a half to solve a murder where the only suspect is my father. If I can identify the person who has a reason to kill Jonathan Wright and a grudge against my father, I might have a chance.

  That’s the key to unlocking this puzzle.

  Jonathan Wright links to his father, Malcolm, who disappeared a week later, Freya, Gill Kaine, and the Potters at the Rosy Lee Café, which links to the Station Diner through Leila King, who may or may not be Gill Kaine.

  Simple really.

  If Leila’s guilty of anything, it’s insurance fraud with Hossain. Then again, if she worked at the Rosy Lee Café as she claimed, she may have met Jonathan Wright, offering another connection.

  A double connection if she’s Gill Kaine. Maybe he persuaded her to get a job at the Ace of Hearts and delete his debts.

  When I pull into the car park at Downland Manor Hotel, I ring Linda. “Can you find out as much as you can about Gill Kaine?”

  “Already on it,” she says. “The police are all over the office, so I’ve moved to the staff canteen in the basement. Terry, who’s been a security officer here since we opened, remembers Jonathan Wright. He always had a flashy cocktail in his hand, but rarely paid for them, thanks to a small circle of older women who enjoyed his attention.”

  “What about younger women?” I ask, opening my notebook.

  “I’ll ask,” Linda says, placing her hand over the phone.

  A few moments later Terry comes on the phone, his voice clear and precise. “There was a young woman with bleached blonde hair and dark eyebrows. I don’t know why they do that, do you? It’s almost as bad as those piercings. Thin as a rake she was. Mediterranean complexion too – Greek, Turkish maybe.”

  “You have a good memory,” I say, wondering if he’s identified Leila King.

  “Ex-police,” he says with pride. “I can spot trouble as it walks through the door. Take Jonathan Wright. He was a flash so and so, always with a woman or two, always on the prowl. Women fell over themselves, trying to get his attention. But Miss Bleach Blonde had no time for him. Not that it stopped him trying, of course. In the end, she asked me to have a word with him.”

  “Do you remember her name?”

  He pauses. “No, I was too dazzled by her smile, if you must know. Smart, well-spoken, intelligent, despite the bleached hair.”

  “Was it Gill Kaine?”

  “Linda’s already asked me.”

  “Can you remember any other women in Jonathan’s busy love life?”

  “I caught him once, trousers round his ankles, with a waitress in the stores. She must have been twice his age, but attractive, looked after herself. She had long dark hair, woven into a plait, olive complexion. The hot water boiler broke down on a Saturday afternoon and the kitchen was closed all evening.”

  “What made you check the stores?”

  He has a wheezing laugh, typical of a seasoned smoker. “I was on my way back from a cigarette break when I heard noises. I found Jonathan Wright with his trousers round his ankles and sent him packing. Members aren’t allowed back of house.”

  “What about the waitress?”

  “She burst into tears and begged me not to report her. Said her husband had a foul temper and would go mad if she lost her job. The weekend was her only chance to get a break from him, I think she said. I can’t abide men who frighten their wives, can you?”

  “No. Can you remember her name?”

  “She was gone within a minute. I meant to look her up on the records, keep an eye on her in case her husband hit her, but I had trouble with my back and missed a few weeks. When I got back, she’d gone and so had Jonathan Wright. Got married, I think. That broke a few hearts.”

  “Thanks, Terry. If you remember anything else, tell Linda.”

  “I’ll write it down like a statement.” He clears his throat. “I know Mr Birchill’s had a bit of a past, but he’s been good to me. When I did my back, he sent a card and offered to pay for the taxi to go the chiropractor, got someone to shop for me. I thought you should know.”

  “It’s noted, Terry. Thanks for your help.”

  I put the phone down and settle back, going over what Terry told me. It sounds like Jonathan took advantage of vulnerable women, taking money from the wealthy while screwing the not so wealthy. He took a special interest in Freya though.

  She must have seen him flirting and charming other women.

  I ring her mobile, not sure if she’ll answer, not sure what I’ll say if she does. When her voicemail kicks in, I end the call and dial Pristine Pooches. The phone rings and rings. I only hold on because I want to hear her voice, even if it only tells me to leave a message.

  Then again, she could be up to her elbows in wet Labrador.

  Finally, she picks up the phone. She doesn’t speak, as if she knows it’s me. Then we speak together, apologise and repeat the process, asking the other to go first.

  “Freya, the police have positively identified –”

  “Jonathan,” she says, her voice hollow. “They came by at lunchtime.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “It was a bit of a shock. I don’t know how Connie’s taken the news as she’s not answering her phone.”

  “Do you want to go over and make sure she’s all right? I can be with you in fifteen minutes,” I add when she doesn’t answer.

  “Okay,” she says and puts down the phone.

  ***

  Mark Layman’s guarding the entrance to the yard when I arrive. Dressed in loose jeans and a jacket that’s seen better days, he stands, feet apart, arms folded, his face brandishing a scowl that’s darker than the clouds.

  “Freya’s had enough trouble,” he says, “what with the police stopping by. Still, good riddance to bad blood, that’s what I say.”

  “I’m here to help her.”

  “Take advantage, more like. You’re no better than the Wright boy, taking advantage. He gave Tessa Burnett a good seeing to on a regular basis. Twice his age she was and four times as stupid, if you ask me.”

  “Who’s Tessa Burnett?”

  “She ran Pristine Pooches for almost ten years. She taught Freya. If I’d known he was taking advantage of Freya, I would have sorted him out. But she went off and married the cheat without telling me, didn’t she?”

  “We need to check on Connie Wright. She’s not answering the phone.”

  “You shouldn’t go interfering in people’s grief.”

  “What if she’s had an accident?”

  “What’s it to you? Why are you so interested in the Wright boy? Police have arrested someone, haven’t they? It was on the news not ten minutes ago.”

  “I was there when it happened.”

  “What, you solved the case?” His scowl becomes a grin. “I knew you were on the case when you asked about Malcolm Wright. So he killed his boy. Can’t say I blame him. I knew something was wrong when he went missing the week after his boy. Is that how you solved the case?” he asks, shuffling closer. “Or was it something I told you?”

  “I can’t say anything, Mr Layman.”

  “Mark, please. You’re family now. You wait till I tell the lads I helped you solve the murder.”

  “Don’t say anything, Mr Layman. You wouldn’t want to make it more difficult for the police, would you?”

  “Good point,” he says, nodding. “Freya won’t be long. Can I tell her I helped you solve a murder?”

  “Why don’t you surprise her when it’s all over? You can tell her exactly how you helped me, right? Not a word, okay?”

  He grins and half skips his way back to his office, pausi
ng only to give Freya a wave and an emphatic nod of approval.

  She stops a couple of feet from me, nibbling her lower lip. I can’t believe the urge to protect her that sweeps through me. I gaze into her eyes, seeing pain, confusion, doubt and sadness. I’ve missed her more than I thought possible, but her dead husband’s come between us.

  “What did you say to Dad? He was going to sort you out, he said.”

  “He cares about you, Freya. We all do.”

  I’m not sure what prompted the admission, but she rushes into my arms, kissing me, running her hands through my hair, kissing me again until I’m gasping for oxygen. In these moments, nothing else matters. No one else matters. Not Jonathan, his father, my father, Leila King.

  They belong to another world.

  “I’ve missed you,” she says, gazing into my eyes. “I can’t concentrate, thinking about you, about us, wondering whether Jonathan –”

  I place a finger on her lips. “I know it’s not easy, finding out he’s dead, but he can’t come between us now.”

  “That’s what you think,” she says, tears running down her face. “It’s my fault he’s dead.”

  Forty-Nine

  “Your fault? What do you mean?”

  Freya sniffs back the tears, staring at the farm buildings as if they hold the answer. In the silence, all kinds of thoughts race through my head. Farmers have quad bikes, tractors and trailers. They have tarpaulins to cover bodies.

  I slip an arm around Freya’s shoulder and lead her to my car. Once inside, I ferret in the glove box for the travel pack of tissues Gemma kept there.

  “Tell me what happened,” I say.

  She pulls out a tissue and dabs at her cheek. She takes a deep breath, staring ahead, twisting the tissue in her fingers as she speaks.

  “We’d just got off the plane from Vegas when he rang her. I was at the luggage carousel, waiting for our cases. I didn’t realise he’d walked off until I turned to talk to him. I spotted him in the corner, smiling and joking on his phone. I knew it was her.”

  “Who?”

  The tissue rips in her fingers. “I never knew her name. She was always texting him. He spent half his life texting. So many women waved and smiled at him when he took me to the casino. I lost count of the women who hugged him, kissed him. He was like a celebrity. Even though he swore I was the only woman he loved, he craved the attention they gave him. I believed all his excuses, of course, until we got home.”

  She smiles and takes my hand.

  “Half an hour after we got home, he went out again. He said he had business to settle, debts to clear so we could start our life together with a clean slate. I might have believed him if he’d taken the money.”

  “What money?”

  “He had a secret stash. When he won, he always put some money aside. I’d only ever seen him lose, so I was surprised to find so much money. He’d borrowed from me, maxing out my credit cards when he had thousands in a box. I wanted to take it all, to throw it in his face, but I had to pretend I didn’t know.

  “The casino rang to make sure he hadn’t forgotten a meeting the next day. I asked them to confirm it by email, so he wouldn’t forget. When he came home I said nothing and ran him a bath. That’s when I checked his phone and found an email from the casino.”

  She takes another tissue before continuing.

  “I couldn’t believe how much he owed. How could they let him lose so much? I confronted him when he came out of the bath. We argued. He slapped me and I stumbled, banging my head against the bed. I lay there in shock, too scared to move, to speak. He shouted at me, accusing me of spying on him, trying to control his life.

  “When he went out again, I rang the casino. I spoke to a nice woman, telling her Jonathan had bought a single plane ticket to South America. When he didn’t return in the morning, I knew he’d spent the night with another woman. When he still hadn’t showed or contacted me by the evening, I wondered if the casino had beaten him up or something. I rang Connie the next day, thinking she’d know where he was, but she didn’t even know we’d gone to Vegas.”

  “You think someone from the casino killed him, don’t you?”

  “If I hadn’t rung the casino, he’d be alive. When I saw his posts on Facebook I convinced myself he was in America, but he was lying in a grave, wasn’t he?”

  I pull her close, telling her it wasn’t her fault. Yet I can’t help wondering if my father, or Peter Stone and Syd Collins, had decided to teach Jonathan a lesson. After all, he’d conned them about the Maserati. Maybe the beating went too far. They didn’t mean to kill him and suddenly they had a corpse. Did they stop for a cigarette, discussing how and where to dispose of the body? Did they go through the possibilities, try to cover all eventualities?

  If so, why did they bury the body on their boss’s land?

  Maybe they didn’t know it was his land.

  No, the body was buried there for a purpose.

  Freya raises her head. “What if Jonathan was going to pay them with his secret stash? I never gave him a chance.”

  “The casino didn’t do it,” I say, wondering how to tell her about my father.

  “There’s a video on Facebook, showing the police escorting Miles Birchill from the Ace of Hearts.” She reaches into her bag and pulls out her phone. “I should tell the police about my phone call and the money, shouldn’t I?”

  “Let’s check on Connie first,” I say, reaching for my seatbelt.

  “Of course,” Freya says, looking guilty. “She must be in a terrible state. I wish she’d rung me. I hate the idea of her being alone in that bungalow. She doesn’t even know the neighbours.”

  Freya talks about Connie as I head across country and north of Hailsham to Herstmonceux. Though I’m listening to Freya, I’m trying to work out what to tell her, how to tell her about my father. She won’t be pleased to learn I’ve held out on her. Then again, if Ashley’s right, Freya lied about her divorce.

  She could still be married to Rick Preston.

  I wait till we stop at the roundabout at the bottom of Battle Road. “You know Rick trashed the hotel room we stayed in.”

  She nods. “DI Goodman said he followed us there.”

  “She said you were still married to him.”

  Freya closes her eyes. “I knew you didn’t believe me when I took off my rings.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”

  The sound of a car horn from behind forces me to drive on. As soon as we clear the rise on the other side of the roundabout, I pull into the entrance of the old council yard at Amberstone, stopping in front of the gates.

  “Do you believe in karma, fate, love at first sight, Kent?” She’s looking into my eyes, regret etched into her face. “I’m one of those hopeless romantics who fall for the wrong guy every time, but I keep trying, always believing I’ll get it right next time.”

  She shifts and turns to face me, a smile easing away the anxiety. “Then one day, out of the blue, in walks Kent Fisher, environmental health officer and super sleuth, as the papers call him. He’s taller and more handsome than I ever imagined. He’s got the dreamiest eyes, watching me fondle my boob. When our eyes meet, it’s ... it’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. This is the real thing at last.”

  She takes my hands. “You felt it too. I could see it in your eyes. And then I remembered the rings. Too late. You’d seen them. Oh, the disappointment in your eyes. Most men wouldn’t have cared the way I was coming on, but it troubled you. I improvised.”

  I don’t blame her for lying. I’ve hardly been honest, have I?

  I’m struggling with love at first sight though. It’s for lonely people with vivid imaginations, seeking comfort, wanting to feel worthwhile.

  The attraction to Freya was nuclear, I’ll admit, but love?

  I don’t think so.

  It took me eight years to realise I was in love with Gemma. Even then I doubted myself, afraid to express my feelings in case they weren’t reciprocate
d. And when I finally said those three words, I expected her to laugh, to call me sentimental and soppy.

  “By improvising, you mean you drove off when I went to talk to your father?”

  She shakes her head. “When you mentioned Wright Choice Foods, I knew Jonathan would come between us. For the first time in years, I wondered whether he was dead after all.”

  “Yet you came to the Eight Bells?”

  “I wasn’t going to let you go without a fight. When I saw whatshername with her tongue in your ear I couldn’t handle it. I saw how you looked at me and yet you were cosying up to her.”

  “Are you going to divorce Rick?”

  “I was divorcing him. I had the first decree. It brought him back, begging me to try again. He tried to make things work, but then you walked through the door.” She smiles to herself. “When I got home, I rang a locksmith. Then I filled out the form for the final decree and put it in the post. It should come through any day.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me Miles Birchill was your father?”

  Fifty

  It serves me right. “Did Ashley tell you?”

  Freya nods. “When she came to tell me Rick had trashed the hotel room. I didn’t believe her – about you and Miles Birchill, not the room. She was trying to force us apart and I was having none of it. Did she tell you I was still married?”

  I nod.

  “I knew it. Talk about devious. Anyway, I didn’t believe her ... until a couple of minutes ago. When I offered to show you the video of the arrest, you flinched.”

  “Did I?”

  She nods. “You should have seen the anxiety in your eyes when I said I was going to talk to the police about what I’d done. So, how do you feel about your father being arrested?”

  “I don’t think he did it.”

  “Because he’s your father or because you know different?”