by Mary Bush
A Simple Lie
Mary Bush
Copyright © 2019 Mary Bush
The right of Mary Bush to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published in 2019 by Bloodhound Books
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental
www.bloodhoundbooks.com
Print ISBN 978-1-913419-15-8
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Acknowledgements
A note from the publisher
Love crime, thriller and mystery books?
You will also enjoy:
For P — love always, M
1
Eastville Projects, 2:59am
Francine Donohue slipped out of bed and grabbed her gun from the top of the nightstand. What in the hell was that? With her finger poised on the trigger, she glanced around the room but couldn’t see much in the darkness.
It sounded like a door slamming. She was sure of it.
She waited for another minute, remaining still, alert. Prepared. Listening hard for anything more.
The only sound was her pulse thumping, echoing in her ears. Every nerve stood on edge as she peered around the dark room. Her gaze lingered on shadowy outlines of suitcases she’d packed just hours ago. She listened again. All was quiet and she breathed deeply, trying to calm down.
In the last couple of days, she’d been jumping at every noise. The slam must have come from the apartment next door. Goddamn neighbors again, either drunk or high, always fighting, always smashing something. It never ends.
Francine checked the time. The numbers on the clock flashed from 2:59 to 3:00am. In a few hours she would finally be out of this hellhole.
Even though everything seemed all right, she couldn’t relax. She crossed the room to the door and quietly pulled it open, hesitated for a second, then stepped out into the hallway.
She moved slowly, her hand tight on the gun, turning on lights and carefully checking each room. In the kitchen, she parted the curtains above the sink and looked out from her first-floor window. Several cars were parked on the street. A lone neighbor had the lights on. No one was outside. No one was in her apartment. Everything was fine.
She walked back into her bedroom and shut the door behind her, locking it this time. She looked at the suitcases again and thought of leaving now, but was just too exhausted to start a long drive.
For the last thirty-six hours she’d been anxious and awake, drifting off for only momentary reprieves. Delirium was setting in. She had to hold it together. Things were going as planned so far and she just had to keep her head straight. A few hours of sleep, that’s all she needed. As she got into bed, she slipped the gun under her pillow this time.
Francine didn’t even remember closing her eyes when the sound of another slam dragged her out of a deep sleep. This time she didn’t jump. She couldn’t. Her hand darted under the pillow for the gun, but her fingers fumbled, sliding off the handle as she tried to grasp it.
What the hell? She struggled to lift herself, but could only get partway up. Her body felt strange, heavy, as if she was trying to move through thick mud. Every movement was a chore, an exertion that was becoming more difficult by the second. Then suddenly her body froze, and she slumped, falling back on the bed.
Oh my God! What’s happening to me? She attempted to move her arms, her legs, but a loud bang grabbed her attention and she gasped for air. When she heard the next sound, her heart began to pound wildly, racing as if it would jump out of her chest.
A voice was calling her name.
Seconds later, Francine felt someone standing over her, watching her. She tried to turn her head and speak but couldn’t do either. There was no need to see the person who was now just inches from her face. She knew who it was. She knew what was going on.
“You didn’t check your bedroom closet when you got up. I was in there the whole time. I’m surprised at you, Francine. Who checks their entire apartment and then neglects the closet? You really ought to be more careful. Don’t you know the closet is one of the places monsters hide?”
Jesus Christ. The gun. I need the damn gun! Francine’s thoughts spun uncontrollably as she fought panic. She forced herself to focus. If she didn’t she would die.
“I slammed the door a couple of times to get you going. I could have just woken you up in an ordinary way, but really, where’s the fun in that?”
As Francine stared at the ceiling, blinking rapidly, her fingers twitched and her body began to feel lighter, like she was regaining control. Frantically, she tried to move. She longed to feel the cold steel in her hands. It was so close, still hidden under the pillow.
Hands prodded at her hard and fast, assessing her muscle tone. “I’m sure you’ve figured out by now you’ve been drugged. I did it while you were sleeping. Thank God for chloroform and muscle relaxants. They really do make things easier. But you’ve been able to blink your eyelids all along and now your fingers are moving. It shouldn’t be wearing off yet. I might have miscalculated the dosage.”
Francine curled her fingers into a fist and then opened them again, repeating the motion, hoping to awaken her arms. She froze when she heard the sound of a zipper opening, followed by a loud clank of metal objects hitting together, then the rustling of plastic.
“You’re probably wondering how I found you. You must be. Any smart person would. That’s what I like about you Francine—you’re smart. That’s how you got this far, how you’ve managed to hide for so long. But unfortunately, you have a really stupid side too. And that’s why you’re not going to get away.”
Her whole body was tingling. It was coming around. In just a few minutes she’d be able to grab the gun.
Francine didn’t have a few minutes.
2
West River Road, 11am, two days later
Dr. Valentina Knight, DDS, walked out her back door and checked her watch again. The interview was in an hour. The drive would take twenty minutes. She had plenty of time.
Val looked up at the clear sky, squinting from the glare of the sun. A beautiful day like this should have been a sign of promise, of good things to come. But she just couldn’t get in the spirit. Promise had betrayed her more than once. No, she didn’t believe in promise any
more.
She reached into her bag and pulled out a pair of sunglasses. After a sleepless night her eyes were heavy and the bright sun only made them burn. Though Val tried to remain positive, stress gnawed at her stomach, creating waves of nausea. If she didn’t get a job, she wouldn’t be able to pay her growing pile of overdue bills. This week alone four desperate interviews had led to nothing. The one scheduled for this morning was her last chance. No more were lined up; nor would they be for the immediate future. With all of her potential prospects exhausted, everything rested on the outcome of today.
The advertised pay wasn’t great with this position but Val could manage with it, plus benefits were included. Jesus, this would be a lifesaver until she could find something better. Unfortunately, anything better wouldn’t be in the dental field. She hadn’t practiced in over a year. She couldn’t anymore.
Damn. When did that happen? Val took a deep breath, attempting to calm herself, then picked up a broken piece of clapboard hanging from the side of her house. She turned it over, revealing a large section of rotted wood. A quick inspection of the adjoining pieces showed that they too were about to fall apart.
It was just one more problem, and at this point, definitely not a minor architectural detail. The place was in need of a major overhaul. Advertised as a handyman’s special, the 1,100 square foot fixer-upper wasn’t just reasonably priced, it was cheap for the address of West River Road on Grand Island, NY. The properties along this road on the west side of the island face the Niagara River, allowing a view of the water before it inevitably drops over an edge twelve miles downstream, creating Niagara Falls.
Val had thought that she had a good investment when she’d bought it last spring, after moving back home from Clearwater, Florida. She’d assumed she would eventually be able to pay someone to fix the house up. But this was yet to happen. She had never imagined she’d go so long without getting some type of work. If she didn’t get this job, the bank would take the house soon. The number of foreclosure notices sitting on her kitchen counter said it all. In the shape it was in, the bank wasn’t getting a gem. But they’d be getting her house. Her home. She dropped the clapboard and headed towards the garage, ignoring the two gutters also hanging loose.
Traffic was light for the late-morning commute and she drove down the highway quickly, heading east towards the city of Buffalo, New York, to the Erie County Medical Examiner’s Office; the county morgue. The position was described as a medico-legal death scene investigator, something she’d never even heard of before. From what Val learned through an internet search, the death scene investigator assists the medical examiner by investigating the nature of any suspicious, or violent death, and determines if any additional investigation is needed. Usually there are no formal educational requirements, unless stated otherwise—thank God there were none in this case—but some knowledge of medicine and law was highly recommended. This ad did say they were looking for someone with “a medical and/or legal background,” though the specifications were a bit vague.
Val knew she could be stretching it a bit with her qualifications but hoped her dental training was close enough to claim a medical background. More importantly, the ad said nothing about needing experience. Lack of experience in any field outside of dentistry had been a curse so far. She’d spent the last year applying for various positions, but was always either underqualified or overqualified. Even the local grocery store chain wouldn’t hire her as a manager, well not without a degree in business management. Nor would they take her as a grocery checker. “You’re a doctor. We can’t hire you for that job,” they said, as if they were doing her a favor. All of her interviews had gone the same way.
Val had never thought her life would come down to this. But who does? No one sees the end until it’s too late. Promise can be very deceptive. A pied piper for the unsuspecting. She gripped the steering wheel tight and put on her turn signal. The exit leading to the hospital that housed the medical examiner’s office was coming up.
A little more than a year ago she’d had a thriving practice in Clearwater, Florida. With an income climbing well into the six-figure range she enjoyed her lifestyle as one of the “up and coming” professionals in her area. Four years at college, four more years in dental school, then ten years in practice had got her to the point where, for the first time in her life, she didn’t have to worry about money, her future, her confidence.
It only took thirty seconds to end it all.
She often replayed those last seconds in her mind, searching for something that could have been done differently. But nothing could have turned this twist of fate in her favor. There was no way that she could have ignored Mr. Tate’s injury. He was her patient, for God’s sake. And there was no way anyone could have predicted what he’d do to her, especially with the cops right outside the examining room door.
Three surgeries and six months of physical therapy had helped restore most of the mobility to her left hand. For all outward appearances there was nothing wrong with her, except for the ugly scar that ran down her thumb and partially across her palm. She was not disabled. She could work, at least that’s what the doctors said, which led to the decision of the disability insurance people to deny her any benefits.
It was when it came down to the fine, intricate, detailed work demanded in dentistry that she couldn’t perform. Val had to face the fact that being a dentist wasn’t an option anymore. With her life falling apart all she wanted to do was go home, to Buffalo, hoping to find salvation in the comforting feeling of familiarity, of life before dentistry, before success. Of promise.
She had found a career once. She could do it again. Couldn’t she?
Rounding the corner in front of the Erie County Medical Center, Val pulled into the parking lot. She checked the clock on the dash. As anticipated, the drive didn’t take that long. Now what to do? She was early. But early is a sign of a good employee. Val opened the car door and stepped outside.
It was unseasonably warm for the middle of April, the temperature cracking seventy degrees already. As Val walked towards the building, beads of perspiration formed on her forehead, the heat adding to the effect of stress, which had already caused her to feel as if she had soaked through her blouse. Pulling the clingy material away from her body, Val worried about her choice of dress. Agonizing over every detail, second guessing herself—Jesus, she couldn’t help it.
Today she wore a little more makeup than usual, mostly to hide the dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep. Her silk blouse was slightly too fancy, and her snug black pencil skirt was perhaps a tad too short. She’d bought these items while climbing the social ladder in Florida. Patients came to her office to spend thousands of dollars on cosmetic dental work. What would they think their teeth would end up looking like if their dentist had a crappy appearance?
She had no money to buy a conservative suit for interviews now, but her shoes were a sensible height, and the briefcase she carried was professional. This should balance things out. Val tried to reassure herself that being petite, she could pull off wearing something short without appearing inappropriate. Plus, her long brown hair was demurely pulled back in a barrette and she wore black-framed glasses over her dark, almond-shaped eyes. When she was younger, men found her attractive, mostly because of her eyes, which gave her a slightly exotic look. Now, at thirty-six, she wasn’t sure where she stood with the opposite sex anymore. Other than seeking a job, she hadn’t been out of the house much in the past year.
As Val entered the building, she wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt and pulled down on the hem, then approached the secretary, who was sitting behind a large window of what appeared to be bulletproof glass. A speaker in the middle of it was attached to a microphone on the other side. To the left of the window were large metal doors, presumably to enter the rest of the building. They had big warning signs: “Alarm will sound” and “Restricted area” and “Wait for lock to open”.
Jesus, is this the medical examiner’s of
fice or the goddamn U.S. Mint?
Val waited as patiently as she could, her foot tapping anxiously on the floor, but the woman behind the glass ignored her. The nameplate on the desk read Betty Fletcher. Betty had a telephone pressed to her ear and made no effort to discontinue her conversation to greet her.
Val wondered if Betty knew the microphone was on because she could hear everything Betty said. “DNA results are pending on that skull found in Chestnut Ridge Park. The one missing all the teeth.”
Pause.
“A hiker found it on one of the trails. From what I heard, you couldn’t miss it. Detective Gavin thinks it was put out in the open on purpose, that it was supposed to be seen. He talked to several people who were on that trail only the day before, and it wasn’t there.”
Pause.
“It must belong to Jeanne Coleman. You know, the murdered woman that had all her teeth ripped out.”
Val’s ears perked up at the mention of teeth ripped out and listened closely, waiting for Betty to say more. “After two months with no leads, nothing at all, the case was getting cold. And then this happens? Reporters were here most of the day yesterday. All hell broke loose after that.”