Lies to Tell

by Marion Todd

  She heard the front door bang and the sound of a car engine starting up. Gayle was leaving and she was taking James. Clare knew she had to get free. If she could just get to a phone and call 999, or Chris even. He could be there within minutes. She looked frantically round the room for anything that would help but, tied to the chair, it was all out of reach. She saw her mobile phone sitting on the table, an agonisingly long distance away. She tried to wriggle to free herself but the tape was strong. She could feel her breathing becoming faster, her heart racing, her chest tight and she knew she had to control the rising panic. The gas was odourless but common sense told her it was too soon for it to have filled the room. The constriction in her chest was pure anxiety. She closed her eyes and began breathing slowly in and out until she felt her heart rate return to normal. And then she started to think. It was years since she had undergone emergency fire training but it had to be there, in the far reaches of her mind.

  And from nowhere she remembered: carbon monoxide was lighter than air. If she could only get down low she might have a chance of surviving. But for how long? She had to try. With a supreme effort she tried rocking the chair forward again but to no avail. It was simply too heavy. But what if she tried rocking it to the side – or even backward? Her legs were taped high up the chair legs so it was difficult for her feet to touch the ground. She tried stretching her toes out as far as they would go and screamed through the tape as one foot cramped. She wiggled her toes desperately to relieve the spasm then tried again and found she could just reach the floor with her toes, and she began pushing with all her might to try and dislodge the chair.

  It took a few attempts but finally she felt the chair move and, as it rocked, she threw her head backward creating just enough momentum to send it falling towards the floor. At the last moment she tucked her head forward and felt the jerk as she hit the floorboards. She groaned through the tape as her arms, pinned behind her, took the brunt of the fall. Pain shot through them and she felt they must be broken. The weight of her body resting on her arms was unbearable and tears sprang to her eyes. She lay there, for a few moments, like a beetle on its back, trying to work out what to do next.

  Despite the pain shooting through her arms, her hands found the floor. She balled them into fists and pushed them down. The sound of Benjy barking came again and she imagined him, perhaps trapped in an upstairs room. The gas would reach him as it rose and the barking would gradually cease. And James – where was he? What had Gayle done with him? What if they never found him again? It would destroy Jude and Frank. It would absolutely finish them. From somewhere, she found the extra strength to force the chair over through ninety degrees until she was lying on her side.

  The force of her fall had dislodged the rug that sat in the centre of the floor and suddenly Clare felt her prayers had been answered. That draught – that bloody wonderful draught that came through the floorboards, damaged when the central heating had been upgraded. It had driven her crazy every time Benjy dislodged the rug that sat across the gap. And now, that same gap in the floor might just save her life – until help came.

  The weight of the chair was all in the back, and now that she was lying on the side she found it was easier to turn it through another ninety degrees until she was face down on the floor. Her knees were touching the floorboards now and, although her hands were still firmly lashed behind her, she managed to make slow progress across the floor, sliding her knees and forehead alternately. She grimaced as a splinter burrowed into her skin but that draught – that blessed draught was coming ever closer.

  Whether it was the result of the knock from the Prosecco bottle, the fall or perhaps the carbon monoxide that was starting to fill the room, she wasn’t sure. But she could feel her head becoming muddled. She must stay focused. She must get to that gap in the floorboards before the gas overwhelmed her. The pain in her arms was unbearable but, somehow, she kept going – going towards the draught.

  And then she was there. All her weight – and the weight of the substantial dining chair – was through her knees and her head now. She knew they were aching, that her arms were in agony, but she felt detached from the pain. As though it was happening to someone else. She had to get her nose as close to the gap as she could before the gas overtook her. Planting her forehead, she shimmied her knees round until she was facing the widest part of the gap. It was just large enough to cover her nostrils and, with the most enormous relief, she allowed her shoulders to sink down and she breathed the fresh cool air from the crawl space below Daisy Cottage. She had made it. She closed her eyes and gave in to her fate, whatever it was to be. She could do no more.

  Chapter 39

  Clare was dreaming again. She knew, in the back of her mind, that she shouldn’t be sleeping, but the dream was irresistible. She was sitting on a chair and they were all passing before her. Her parents, Jude and Frank, little James who was calling out ‘Aunty Clare, Aunty Clare.’ She stretched out to try and touch them but they were just out of reach. She tried to rise from the chair but her legs wouldn’t obey. Jim was there, drifting past with his usual cheery smile, then Chris and Sara, hand in hand. Robbie, Gillian, Jenny, the DS from Dundee – they were all there. And then she saw Tamsin and Paddy, laughing at her. Diane appeared next and she was calling to Clare. Calling and calling. Clare leaned forward to try and hear what she was saying.

  ‘Clare – Clare…’

  The voice became more urgent and Clare tried to open her mouth to tell Diane everything was okay but her lips wouldn’t obey.

  ‘Clare… oh my God – what’s happened to you?’

  She felt a tugging at her face – someone was pulling her hair. Then suddenly there was a ripping noise and her face stung with a sudden burning. She gasped in air and opened her eyes.

  ‘Diane…’ She was back in the room. But she was sitting up now, still bound to the chair, and Diane was there in the room with her. For a moment she was confused and then she remembered. ‘Diane,’ she gasped. ‘Boiler – windows – open windows…’ She started to cough and she saw Diane looking at her blankly for a moment.

  And then realisation dawned and Diane ran to the windows, forcing them up. But the weights were missing from the sash and case mechanism and the panes slid back down. Desperately, Diane looked round and then, seeing a pile of books, she forced the window back up again, propping the books on the sill to prevent it from closing. Then she ran to the sitting room door and threw it open. Clare heard the sound of the front door opening. Then Diane ran back into the room and through to the kitchen to open the back door. Clare felt a draught run through the house and her heart lifted. Diane was behind her now, dragging the chair over to the window, and Clare gulped in lungfuls of fresh, clean air. Diane stuck her own head out of the window and breathed in and out then, taking an enormous breath in, she ran for the kitchen and returned with a knife. She set about the ties securing Clare’s hands to the chair, stopping every few seconds to breathe in fresh air through the window.

  It felt like an eternity to Clare as every cut of the knife seemed to rebound off her arms. She was screaming inside her head but her breathing was too shallow to call out. Then, at last, she was free of the ties and she staggered on cramping feet, with Diane supporting her, out into the fresh air, and collapsed on the ground. She gasped and wheezed as she heard Diane’s voice.

  ‘I need ambulance, fire and police. Daisy Cottage, Craigtoun Road, St Andrews. Carbon monoxide poisoning. One adult female, now in fresh air but needs medical attention…’

  Clare’s eyes were heavy and she let them close. And then she remembered. ‘James?’ she gasped.

  Diane was bending over her now, tucking a throw from the sitting room round her. ‘He’s safe, Clare. Sleeping peacefully in your car in his car seat. Once the fire brigade arrive we’ll find the keys and let him out.’

  Clare closed her eyes again. And then she heard a sound that brought tears to her eyes once more. Benjy was barking. She opened her eyes but found she couldn’
t form the words to ask.

  ‘He’s safe too, Clare. In the back garden. I’m guessing she couldn’t bring herself to let him die.’

  ‘She?’ In Clare’s confusion she registered that Diane seemed to know who was responsible for almost killing her. Who was it? It was a woman but she couldn’t quite… had they caught her? Thoughts swam round her head but she couldn’t make sense of them. She was so tired now.

  She could hear the ambulance drawing nearer and she allowed her eyes to close again. It was so much easier than trying to keep them open. The siren was deafening now and then she heard tyres crunching on gravel. Diane was speaking and there were other voices. Male? Female? She couldn’t tell. They were calling her name now and something hard was being placed over her mouth. She felt her lungs fill and had the sense of something good spreading through her head. And then she was being lifted up, doors were closing and she felt herself swaying as the ambulance backed out of the drive and roared away. She saw a woman in green. Her lips were moving and Clare tried to focus on them but it was too difficult. She could hear a siren and wondered briefly where it was coming from before the weariness that had overtaken her won and she drifted off into unconsciousness.

  Chapter 40

  Clare was in a room she didn’t recognise. The walls were white and there was a smell of something she couldn’t identify. Was it that spiced orange perfume? She didn’t think so. Something from her past – the swimming pool maybe. She used to go every morning before work when she lived in Glasgow. Was she back there now? Was that why the walls were white?

  She raised her head and gazed round the room then she felt pain shoot through her left arm. She looked down and saw it was wrapped in some kind of brace, with a strap going across her chest to the other arm. Had she hurt it? And, if so, who had put the brace on?

  She looked round the room again, trying to work out where she was. There was some kind of screen on the opposite wall. When had she done that? Her TV in Daisy Cottage sat on a stand she had bought from a second-hand furniture shop. What was it doing on the wall? To her right was a window which looked out onto a concrete wall with large square windows. There were chairs beside her and she screwed up her eyes, trying to focus. Jude was sitting on one of the chairs. But that wasn’t right. Jude should be in her hotel, relaxing in the spa. Or having dinner and those whiskies Frank had been looking forward to. She was speaking to her. ‘Clare,’ she heard her say. ‘Clare…’

  She blinked a couple of times then she realised she didn’t know where she was. A sudden terror overtook her and she struggled forward.

  Jude was at her side instantly, a hand placed gently on her head. ‘Clare,’ she said, ‘you’re safe now. Everything’s all right and you’re safe. Just lie back. The doctor says you have to rest.’

  Clare stared at her sister. She tried to speak but something was over her face. She remembered the tape. Tight across her mouth. Was it there again? In a sudden flash of something – fear perhaps – she remembered Gayle. The glamorous woman who had been working in the station all week. Something about an investigation… Her eyes darted round the room, looking for Gayle. Was she there?

  ‘Clare,’ Jude was saying, ‘listen to me: you are in hospital and you’re safe. Everyone’s safe – James and Benjy – they’re all safe and sound. That woman who was working with you – Gayle something – she tried to poison you by rigging your boiler. But Diane from work – she found you and you’re safe in hospital.’

  She was starting to remember. Gayle had been in Daisy Cottage. Clare’s brow furrowed as she struggled to process her thoughts. How had Gayle come to be there? Had Clare let her in? She couldn’t remember. And how had she come to be tied to a chair, gaffer tape across her mouth? She tried to retrieve the memories from the back of her mind but they were stuck in a kind of fug.

  She remembered Gayle saying that Francis Ritchie was her nephew. Francis Ritchie, the boy Clare had shot and killed. Could that really be true? And the leak in Police Scotland – the one that had Clare and the DCI talking on cheap phones, to avoid their conversation being overheard – was it all untrue? Had she really managed to get past the high-level security at Police Scotland and install herself as an ethical hacker, chasing down non-existent leaks? It all seemed too far-fetched. She looked at her sister’s face, lined with worry, and then she remembered James. She realised now that it was an oxygen mask over her face and lifted her other arm to pull back on the elastic, raising it from her mouth long enough to whisper, ‘James?’

  Jude smiled. ‘He’s fine, Clare. He’s here. Frank’s taken him down to the main concourse for a snack, then he’ll be back.’

  Relief flooded across Clare.

  ‘Benjy’s safe too,’ Jude went on. ‘Your neighbour – Moira, is it? She has him and she says she’ll keep him just as long as you need her to.’

  Clare pulled back the mask again. ‘Your weekend…’ she said, tears in her eyes.

  Jude gently replaced the mask over Clare’s face. ‘Don’t you worry about that. It’s all worked out fine. When the hotel heard what had happened they found us a family room and put a cot in for James. They sent us flowers and gave us a voucher for fifty pounds towards another stay. I think they’re hoping for some publicity out of it!’

  The door to the room opened and a woman in a pink blouse and grey trousers entered. She had an ID badge clipped to the pocket of her blouse and a stethoscope hung round her neck. The woman smiled. ‘Well, Clare. You gave us all quite a fright yesterday.’

  Clare raised an eyebrow but didn’t speak.

  The woman went on. ‘I assume you understand a little about carbon monoxide poisoning, given the nature of your job?’

  Clare gave a slight nod – as much as she could manage.

  ‘The firefighters who attended, after you were brought out of the house, assessed the levels there as lethal – and that was after the doors and windows had been opened. I’m not sure how you survived that level of exposure but I’m very glad you did.’

  Clare raised the oxygen mask from her face once more. ‘Draughty floorboards,’ she whispered. ‘Got my nose into a gap.’

  The doctor smiled. ‘Very resourceful. Getting down to the floor and finding a source of fresh air almost certainly saved your life.’ She picked up a clipboard hanging from the end of Clare’s bed and scanned it. ‘Your carboxyhaemoglobin levels are still a bit high but everything else is improving.’ She smiled again. ‘Your arm will be pretty sore for a few weeks. Broken humerus, I’m afraid. You must have given it quite a crack. But you’re fit enough so I’m confident it’ll mend well. I think we’ll keep you here until tomorrow and see if we can reduce the oxygen in the next twenty-four hours. If we can do that, we’ll send you home.’

  Clare wanted to protest but, in truth, she was too tired. She let the oxygen mask fall back over her face and closed her eyes.

  When she opened them again she saw that Frank and James had returned and were sitting by her bed. James was clutching the blue Thomas the Tank Engine with one hand, the thumb from his other firmly lodged in his mouth.

  ‘Look, James,’ Jude was saying. ‘Aunty Clare’s awake now.’

  James turned a solemn gaze upon Clare. She stretched out a hand to touch his. Lifting the mask from her face she said, ‘Hello James.’

  He looked at her, his dark brown eyes hooded with thick lashes. He held out the train for her to take.

  Clare took it and ran it slowly along the bedclothes. James’s eyes never left her face. And then he opened his mouth and said, ‘Antyclare.’

  Chapter 41

  ‘We’ve picked her up,’ Chris said, ‘but I’ve no earthly idea where to start with the charges.’

  ‘Might I suggest attempted murder?’ Clare said, glad to be free of the oxygen mask for a few minutes. She was sitting up in bed now, supported by pillows, her left arm still immobilised by the brace.

  ‘She’s clearly breached The Computer Misuse Act,’ Diane said. ‘I’ll get Craig to crack on with that, fir
st thing on Monday.’

  ‘How on earth did you find her?’ Clare asked.

  A nurse entered and looked pointedly at the oxygen mask. ‘Ten minutes, we agreed.’

  ‘Just a few more minutes – please?’ Clare said and the nurse nodded.

  ‘See she puts it back on again,’ she said to Chris and Diane who assured her they would.

  ‘So?’ Clare persisted. ‘How did you track her down?’

  Chris inclined his head towards Diane. ‘Our resident tech whizz here.’

  ‘It was Wednesday,’ Diane said. ‘When you were at court.’ She glanced at Chris. ‘I was already concerned about her so I asked Chris who she was. Why she was here. Something about what he said didn’t ring true. I don’t think you believed it either, did you, Chris?’

  He shook his head. ‘I did think there was something odd about her. I just wasn’t sure what it was.’

  Diane went on. ‘I knew that story about a new comms system was rubbish. The way budgets are these days they’d have had us doing all the work to save money. So I ran a check on her. I have a friend down in Edinburgh who’s an ethical hacker. Works all over the country. She hadn’t heard of her. So I put out some more feelers and they all came up blank.’

  Clare’s breath was becoming laboured again and Chris rose to put the oxygen mask over her face. She waved him away but held the mask close to her nose. ‘But – her references?’ Clare panted. ‘She must have had pretty good ones for Police Scotland to engage her, surely?’ She lay back on the pillow, exhausted by the effort of speaking, and allowed Chris to replace the mask over her nose and mouth.

  ‘All fake,’ Diane said. ‘That’s the beauty of being a hacker. You can place documents anywhere you like, providing you can breach the firewall. And if you choose a large enough company, the HR department won’t remember names and faces. They’ll just search the records and send an appropriate reference. If you make a fake employee’s record authentic enough people actually start to think they remember them.’