Lies to Tell

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Lies to Tell Page 26

by Marion Todd


  Clare was dreaming. She was in Provincetown with its gaily painted clapboard houses. She was going from house to house, looking for Geoffrey, but she couldn’t find him. And then she did see him, standing on a jetty with the toothpaste-advert blonde. She waved to him but he didn’t see her. And then DCI Alastair Gibson came walking towards her asking for eighty thousand pounds. She wanted to explain but her lips wouldn’t move. She tried again to talk but, for some reason, her mouth was incapable of forming the words. What was wrong with it? She tried waving to Geoffrey again but this time her hands wouldn’t move. They seemed frozen – her legs too. Someone was speaking to her. That voice – she knew it but she couldn’t place it. And then she realised. It was Gayle. Gayle Crichton was in Provincetown with her. What on earth was she doing there?

  ‘Hello, Clare,’ Gayle was saying. ‘Can you hear me now?’

  With an enormous effort of will she opened her eyes. The houses were gone now. From somewhere distant she could hear barking. Benjy. Where was he? And where was she? Her eyes darted back and forth and then she realised she was at home. She was in the sitting room at Daisy Cottage. Gayle stood before her.

  ‘Well, you took your time, coming round,’ she said. ‘I was starting to think I’d have to throw a glass of water in your face.’

  Clare tried to open her mouth to ask what was going on. And then she realised there was tape across it, preventing her from speaking. She looked at Gayle, uncomprehendingly, and then down at her feet which were tied to the legs of one of her dining chairs. Her hands were tied behind the chair back and she found she couldn’t move. Not a single inch. Her head ached and she blinked once or twice in an attempt to focus.

  ‘It was quite a knock,’ Gayle said, indicating the bottle of Prosecco. ‘I thought I’d killed you, for a minute.’

  Clare’s eyes searched Gayle’s face for any indication of what was happening.

  Gayle raised an eyebrow in response. ‘Confused?’ she said. ‘I bet you are. Well sit back, Clare, and I’ll enlighten you.’

  Clare suddenly remembered James and her eyes flitted round the room for any sign of him.

  ‘You’re looking for the boy, are you? Don’t worry. He’ll be safe with me, Clare.’

  Even in her confused state, a fury began to take hold of Clare. What the hell did Gayle think she was doing? She tried to rock the chair back and forward but it was solidly made and it barely moved.

  ‘Stop that,’ Gayle said, her tone sharp. ‘Unless you want me to give you another smack with the bottle.’

  Clare did as she was told and studied Gayle’s face. The effusive smile, the bonhomie – it was all gone now. She saw that Gayle was perhaps a little older than she had realised. There were lines around her eyes and her mouth. And there was a coldness to those eyes that Clare hadn’t seen before. And then a smirk began to form on the face.

  ‘I said you wouldn’t get rid of me that easily. I also think I told you to trust no one. I’d have thought a police officer with your experience would have realised that meant no one. But you didn’t think I meant me, Clare, did you? Well perhaps I should explain.’

  She was fully conscious now. Her head ached somewhere round the back. Instinctively she tried to put a hand to it to feel if there was a lump and then she remembered she couldn’t move. Her thinking had cleared and she saw that she was Gayle’s prisoner. Entirely at the mercy of this formidable woman. But why? What did she want? And why had Gayle bound and gagged her?

  ‘I told you at our first meeting,’ Gayle was saying, ‘that I’m an ethical hacker. This is quite true. I studied computing at university and did a postgraduate course in ethical hacking. And over the years I’ve built up a reputation as one of the best, if not the best. I can name my price, Clare, and I do.’

  A strand of hair fell across Clare’s face and she tried to flick it out of her eyes. Gayle moved forward and brushed it tenderly behind Clare’s ear, a gesture somehow at odds with Clare’s plight.

  ‘There,’ she said and she backed away, perching on the arm of Clare’s sofa. ‘Now, where was I? Oh yes – the wonderful thing about being an ethical hacker is that it gives you the skills, if required, to be an unethical hacker. And, my dear Clare, that’s just what I did. You see, there was never a leak in Police Scotland.’

  Clare’s eyes widened.

  ‘Nope. Not at all. I made it all up. As a matter of fact, it’s one of the hardest hacks I’ve ever done. Police Scotland should be proud of their security. I, however, am not just any old hacker, Clare. I am an exceptional hacker. I plug away, biding my time, waiting for the inevitable vulnerability – human error, usually. There’s always one, if you’re prepared to wait long enough. And that’s when I sneak in. And once I’m in, well, anything is possible.’ She laughed then went on. ‘And when I did gain access, I did two things: I set up some rogue communications, making it look as if someone within the organisation was leaking information. That was such fun. Those operations where the main culprits got away – just bad luck. The kind of people who head up criminal enterprises have an instinct – they have timing. They clear out at just the right time, leaving someone else to carry the can. It’s the very reason they rise to the top. An officer of your experience should know that.

  ‘Anyway, once that was done, I made sure that any searches for registered ethical hackers threw up my name and my glowing testimonies. After that, it was only a matter of time before they approached me.’ She laughed again. ‘Wasn’t it clever, Clare? I made them choose me.’

  Gayle rose and began walking round the room. ‘They even gave me an office in their most secure location. That place, in the shadow of Ben Cleuch, with all its walls and cameras. They actually offered me an office there. Can you believe it, Clare? That’s when I knew I was home and dry.

  ‘I chose St Andrews, of course. Once I had found out where you were—’ She broke off as she saw Clare’s expression change. ‘Oh yes, Clare. I knew you had worked in Glasgow. In fact, I know a lot about you. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Once I found out you were here in St Andrews it was easy enough for me to say I wanted to be based there. That way I could observe you. See what your new life was like and get as close to you as I could.

  ‘All that hogwash about it not being safe to speak within the police station – did you seriously think anyone could bug the entire place? All the offices? Cars?’ She laughed. ‘Honestly, Clare – and you’re a detective, too. You were so easily persuaded!

  ‘I will admit I hacked into your mobile, and your email. Played about with it a bit too. That invoice for eighty thousand pounds – it was a cinch to change it to eight thousand. I bet you thought you were going mad!’ She smiled again. ‘It’s actually been a lot of fun, Clare. I’ve really enjoyed myself.’

  Gayle moved to the sofa and picked up the red cushion. She held it out for Clare to see. ‘Did you like my little tricks? Moving the cushions? The wine I left? You must have wondered when you bought it. I hope you enjoyed it – I guessed you’d appreciate a decent Malbec.

  ‘And then the dress – I remembered the dress. Right at the back of your wardrobe. Out of sight but definitely not out of mind. Well, not out of my mind anyway. Do you remember that day? You must, Clare. The day you attended the Fatal Accident Inquiry to hear you’d been exonerated? It must have been quite something to learn that no further action was to be taken; that you had shot and killed a boy – a lad who only had a replica gun – and no charges would be brought. You were even commended for your quick actions. Oh yes – I couldn’t resist hanging that dress out to make you remember.’

  She moved close to Clare now. Clare could smell her perfume and she realised with dreadful clarity that it hadn’t been the honeysuckle she had smelled that night in her bedroom. It had been Gayle’s perfume. That same orange fragrance she had smelled when Gayle had given her what she thought was a goodbye hug.

  And then she saw it all. Gayle had been here. In Daisy Cottage. Not just that night she came round for supper. She had been
here when Clare was out – God knows when or how often – when Clare was working, perhaps – chasing all over Balmullo, trying to find Tamsin Quinn. Gayle had been here, going through her things, moving cushions, looking for that shift dress. Was that why Benjy had growled that night in the garden? Had Gayle been watching her, concealed in the dusk? What else had she done? And what was she planning to do? Clare tried again to rock on the chair and earned herself a slap across the face for her trouble.

  Gayle rubbed her hand. ‘Don’t do that, Clare. It won’t help.’ She sat back down again. ‘I had you going with that witness woman, too. Tamsin – you thought someone in Police Scotland was leaking information. And so did the Serious Organised Crime lot. I could have saved you all that work. Tamsin herself was leaking her location to that big lunkhead she went away with. But you probably know that now. Still – it’s a bit of fun, isn’t it?

  ‘Oh,’ Gayle said, as if remembering something suddenly. ‘Did you like the magpie? I bet that was a shock to come back to this afternoon. One for sorrow, I believe the rhyme goes, Clare. Well I’d say that was about right, wouldn’t you?’

  Gayle began walking round the room, her arms folded. Then she turned back to Clare. ‘We’ve both had our sorrows over the years, Clare, haven’t we? Everyone does, I suppose. But you – well, you took a life, didn’t you? And you didn’t pay for it.’ She stopped for a moment, her eyes looking past Clare, into space. And then she drew her gaze back to Clare and her eyes narrowed.

  ‘But, what you don’t know, Clare, is that the life you took – the boy you killed – he was my nephew.’

  Clare could feel a buzzing in her ears and the room began to swim before her. She blinked, trying to force her mind back to the present. Her head throbbed and she felt herself slipping into unconsciousness. She blinked again a couple of times and made an effort to control her breathing. What had Gayle just said? She was the aunt of the boy Clare had shot and killed when she was a firearms officer? This had to be a dream – a terrifying nightmare. But there was no waking up from this bad dream. She continued drawing breaths in through her nose, as deep as she could, trying to calm the thumping in her chest. A trickle of mucus began to run from one nostril but the tape prevented her from licking it away.

  ‘Ugh,’ Gayle said. She tore a tissue from a box on the coffee table and wiped Clare’s nose roughly. The gesture reminded her of James. She had wiped his nose that very morning – was it the same day though? She had no idea how long she’d been tied to this chair. And where was James now? What had Gayle done with him? She moved her head left and right again, looking as far round the room as she could, but there was no sign of him.

  ‘Oh, I know what you’re thinking,’ Gayle was saying. ‘How could someone like me possibly be related to a boy like Francis Ritchie? A fifteen-year-old lad who goes around robbing shops? Well I’d tell you not to be so bloody judgemental. Anyone can go off the rails, Clare. My poor sister. She fell in with a bad crowd. That was her only mistake. It happens so easily. Next thing we know, she’s having a baby with one of them and that was that. I’m sure you’ve seen it often enough in your line of work. The benefit trap. No job, no hope. Just an endless cycle of Job Centre visits to sign on with all the other no-hopers.

  ‘We all tried to help her. Gave her money, offered to get her another house, away from that dreadful scheme, pleaded with her to come home. But there was no reaching her. She had become part of that crowd. They were her tribe and she couldn’t see a life outside of them. And Francis’s father – well, there was no way he was letting his laddie be brought up by someone else, especially us.’

  Her lips tightened and she fell silent for a moment before going on. ‘When I saw the life my sister had, bringing up Francis in that grotty flat…’ she gestured round the room, ‘…a million miles from places like this, well I determined to make something of myself. Save myself from falling into the same dead-end lifestyle my sister had. And I did. I did it in style. So, while my sister was picking daffodils from roadside verges to put by her son’s pathetic little gravestone, I was shopping in Harvey Nicks and turning down five-figure contracts.

  ‘And even after you killed Francis – even after all that – we still couldn’t reach her.’

  Gayle seemed to be looking past Clare now, lost in her memories. And then she turned back to face her. ‘Do you know what it’s like, Clare, to want so desperately to help someone and realise you can’t? I offered to buy her a flat, you know. Nice part of Glasgow – away from Francis’s dad and the rest of them. But she said she couldn’t see the point. Not without Francis. She was such a lovely girl, once, and she had become this husk of a person, consumed by grief and guilt.’

  She shook her head at the memory. ‘It was a dreadful moment when I realised there was nothing more I could do for her.

  ‘Nothing, except this.

  ‘And so you see, Clare, here’s how it works: you took my nephew’s life. It seems only fair that I take yours, in return.’

  Clare felt she might be sick. Her stomach lurched and she feared she would choke. Somehow she managed to swallow back the bile that had risen in her throat but there was no stopping the trickle of pee that was starting to run down her leg. Tears of embarrassment pricked her eyes and she tried to blink them away as the urine began to pool on the floorboards.

  ‘Oh dear, Clare,’ Gayle said in mock horror. ‘We appear to have peed our pants.’

  Clare looked at Gayle, her eyes swimming now, but Gayle just laughed.

  ‘Oh yes, Clare. I’m going to take your life in exchange for Francis’s. That seems fair, don’t you think?’

  Somewhere distant, Clare heard Benjy bark. She turned her watery eyes on Gayle in question.

  Gayle shrugged. ‘Dunno. Might kill the dog. Might not. I’ll see how I feel. Don’t worry about the boy though. Unlike you I’m not a child killer.’

  Gayle smiled. ‘I think I’ll make a cup of tea. For me, obviously – you’re a bit indisposed at the moment. And when I’ve drunk it I’ll tell you what I’m going to do.’

  Chapter 38

  ‘You’ll be wondering about my report,’ Gayle said, sipping a mug of tea. ‘I’ve sent it off now. They’ll be reading and digesting it over the weekend.’ She dipped a biscuit into her tea and bit off a corner. ‘Your friend Diane – she was the one who worried me. You’re right about her. Straight as a die and sharp with it.’ She sipped her tea again. ‘Shame she’ll lose her job.’

  Clare’s eyes narrowed at this.

  ‘I needed a fall guy,’ Gayle explained. ‘I could have made it you but Diane was just too good. I had to get rid of her. As you know her mother’s gone gaga now…’

  Clare winced at the expression.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Gayle said, an expression of mock horror on her face. ‘Was I not being PC enough for you? I’ll rephrase it – her mother’s suffering from dementia and poor Diane has to find the money for a care home. Your eighty thousand error is going to land at her door, I’m afraid. I’ve buried copies of both invoices – the original one and the fake one for eight thousand –deep in her hard disc. Unless she knows they’re there she won’t see them. But I’ve pointed out the location in my report. She’ll be out on her ear by Monday morning and up on a fraud charge.’ Gayle seemed lost in thought for a minute. ‘It grieves me, Clare, to do the dirty on someone as skilled as Diane, but needs must.’

  Gayle stood and drained her mug. She put it down on the dining table. ‘Don’t worry about DNA,’ she said. ‘I made sure your colleagues knew I’d come round for dinner the other night. So my DNA and prints will quite legitimately be all over this house and no one will think anything about it.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘On the other hand, your colleague, the DCI, well, no one knows he was here, do they? You two kept that very quiet.’ She shook her head. ‘Honestly, though, Clare – he’s no ball of fire, is he? You could do so much better. Not that it matters now…’

  She moved to the side of the sofa and lifted a backpack. She placed th
is on the sofa and opened it just wide enough to show Clare a breathing apparatus set, similar to the ones she had seen used by firefighters at large blazes. Clare felt her stomach lurch again and she fought to control her breathing and calm the heaving in her gut. Was Gayle going to burn the house down? With her in it?

  ‘No, not fire,’ Gayle said. She looked round the room. ‘It’s such a lovely cottage, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. And anyway – someone might see the smoke and call the fire brigade. Then you’d be rescued and I couldn’t have that.’

  She reached into her pocket and withdrew a small pair of forensic gloves which she began pulling on. ‘No, Clare – I’m going to poison you. You should be glad, really. It’s quite a nice way to go. I’m just going to loosen the housing on your boiler flue – where it meets the outside wall, you know? Just enough to let the fumes escape into the house. I’ll come back this evening with my trusty gas mask, once I’m sure you’re unconscious, and I’ll untie you. And it’ll look like a dreadful accident.’ She smiled again. ‘Clever, don’t you think?’

  And, with that, she moved quickly into the kitchen, screwdriver in hand.

  Clare heard her working at the boiler housing and then the sound of the boiler firing up as the heating was switched on. Gayle came back into the room a moment later, all smiles. She picked up her backpack in one hand and James’s car seat in the other. Clare eyed the car seat, terror in her eyes, wondering where Gayle was taking James, but Gayle ignored this.

  ‘Well, goodbye, Clare,’ she said. ‘The next time I see you, you’ll be pinking up nicely with the carbon monoxide. Ciao!’ And, with that, she swept out of the room, leaving Clare desperately wondering how long she had before she would lose consciousness. There was a pain in her chest, when she thought of James – what Gayle might do to him, where she might take him. A pain so acute and commanding that she felt her chest might burst with it. She imagined her sister – frantic with grief at not knowing where her precious boy was – and the ache spread to her stomach. It was everywhere and it was agony. Was this what love really felt like? If so, Clare had never been in love like this.

 

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