All Your Secrets

by Ayre, Mark

  Far as he could see, there was only one person who had left the bar for a considerable amount of time. Enough time to take James’ key, get to his flat, search for and take the money, and bring the key back without being noticed.

  Tahir.

  There was no motive James could see beyond pure greed, but what was wrong with that? Jane had spoken to Tahir, so he knew about the money. It was a stupid risk, but the cash may have blinded him.

  With a groan, James smacked his head against the steering wheel. Too many options. An endless whirlwind of them and nothing seemed to bring him any closer to the truth. Plus, there was more to consider. Slipping a folded slip of paper from his pocket he looked at the two names and numbers written there. What did Andros and Ollie have to do with this?

  He began typing Ollie’s number into the phone then stopped. Before he rang, he needed to learn more about them, if he could. When he was back before a PC, he would search them on Facebook and Google. See what he could find. But for now—

  Proactivity was key. Had to be better than sitting in his car cramping up, anyway.

  Grabbing his phone, he reopened the PDF Jane had sent him and found her bar manager’s address. He started the car, then hesitated.

  If Tahir had stolen the cash out of greed, it made him unlikely to be the kidnapper, but not impossible. Wanting the money and wanting James out of the way were not mutually exclusive. If he was the killer, or the girl he was trying to protect was, he could have wanted James out of the way, had he decided James would not back off. The cash would be an added bonus, compensation for his troubles.

  A chill ran down his spine as he realised Tahir could have been the man who had attacked him the night of the murder. Closing his eyes, he drew an up image of Mr Tea Towel. Tried to picture the hands but couldn’t. He had nothing that matched Tahir except height and build. Both men were broad and tall.

  It wasn’t enough to condemn Tahir, but it was enough to convince James he needed some form of security. An odds shortener of Tahir torturing and murdering him. Unfortunately, the only person James felt close to was Megan, and no way was he getting her involved…

  Or was she?

  He stared at the screen of the phone, thinking about the guy he had met last night. The guy who had saved his life. It was weird, and probably wouldn’t bear fruit but it couldn’t hurt to ask, could it?

  He selected the number, put the phone to his ear. Owen answered on the third ring.

  “Hey, it’s James. You mentioned something about excitement...”

  For some reason, James had expected Tahir to be rich, but then, he supposed a bar manager would hardly be rolling in money. This was evidenced from his rather modest terraced home situated halfway down a wide street of similarly nondescript terrace houses, and perhaps offered motive for Tahir to break into a house in which he knew was stored a large bag of cash.

  It was not as small as James’ home had been, growing up—he guessed this was three-bed—but it was a long way from the grandiose six-bed owned by Davis, or even Jane’s four-bed townhouse.

  Supposedly, the road was two-lane, but the funnel created by cars parked either side left James less than an inch leeway beyond either wing mirror. Wincing every time he almost kissed another vehicle with his, he went for a space about big enough and spent the next ten minutes manoeuvring into it. Stepping out, he saw Owen emerging from a car a little further down the street, and they met in the middle, exchanging handshakes and nervous smiles.

  “Sorry,” James said, not for the first time. He felt guilty dragging Owen, a guy he barely knew, on what was essentially guard duty. Especially when he had implied excitement.

  “No sorry needed. I hit you with my car. That’s a bond that lasts a lifetime.” He looked at the row of houses ahead. “So, what, you need me to sit out here and run in, bat aloft if I hear screaming?”

  James glanced at Owen’s hands, then his car.

  “Do you have a bat?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, good. I don’t want you to come rushing in at any point. If there were to be screaming, you would call the police. Or if I’m not out in ten minutes, unless I text you.”

  He felt weird saying it, and Owen’s look registered the sheer oddness of what James was asking. Once again, James felt the urge to apologise but bit his tongue.

  “Is there likely to be screaming?” Owen asked.

  James looked at number 83. Shook his head.

  “Almost certainly not.”

  “Wow. You’re actually not sure. What a cool life.”

  “It really isn’t.”

  Owen shrugged in a way that suggested he didn’t believe that but didn’t ask further questions, for which James was thankful. What he did was request a promise.

  “You get out of this alive, I want to know what’s going on. The whole story. Got it?”

  “Sounds fair.”

  Owen studied James, looking for telltale signs of lying. Satisfied, he returned to his car and slipped into the driver's seat, while James practised his brave face in the mirror of his phone screen and approached Tahir’s front door, knocking, and rehearsing his opening line until the door swung open.

  “Hello?”

  It was not Tahir unless Tahir had transformed overnight from a tall, broad-shouldered Asian man to a pint-sized, lithe, white woman. Maybe he could have, but this woman sported a welcoming smile, and there was no way Tahir could have imitated such warmth, shapeshifter or not.

  “Hi,” James said. “My name’s James Perry, I know Tahir from the bar, and I was wondering if I could speak with him.”

  The warmth vanished as though cast away by a spell. The eyes, a pretty sky blue, darkened, and all interest in welcoming the stranger disappeared.

  “Tahir doesn’t live here anymore.”

  “Oh,” James was going to tell her the address in his PDF said Tahir very much did live here but decided it was more likely the PDF was out of date than this woman didn’t know who was living with her.

  “Do you know where he lives now?” James tried instead.

  “Yes.”

  It took James too long to realise she wasn’t going to follow this with anything.

  “Could you tell me?”

  She did.

  “Thank you,” he said. “Sorry to have disturbed you this morning.”

  He started towards the car.

  “You won’t find him there though.”

  He swivelled on the path and found, this distance from the door, the rising sun slid down the slanting tiled room and cascaded onto his face. Shielding his eyes, he stepped forward.

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, there’s that fair in town. Over on Moorely Green. He’s taken our boy this morning. Before it gets busy. No doubt he’ll stuff him full of sweets and return him unmanageably hyper.”

  “Your boy…”

  It took too long to click. Tahir and family hadn’t been displaced by this woman. This woman had been Tahir’s partner, the mother of his child. When he departed, it had been with her boot on his back.

  Shame hit James as he realised, if this woman had been Asian, he would have been more likely to guess she was Tahir’s partner or ex-partner when she said Tahir no longer lived here. This knocked him long enough that the woman at the door was saying goodbye.

  “Wait,” he said, knowing this was an opportunity he could not miss. “Could we talk?”

  “About what?”

  James hesitated, devising a hasty game plan.

  “Do you know Harris?”

  Her eyes softened at the mention of her ex-partner’s ex-employee. Her hand gripped the door a little tighter, and she looked at James with new curiosity.

  “Of course. Why?”

  “I was the one who found him at the bar. Night before last,” he paused, resisting the urge to be delicate. “After I left Harris’ office, I was attacked. I have reason to believe the attacker was your husband.”

  ‘Reason to believe’. He couldn’t believe he had sa
id it. Like a cop on telly. Or did they say that in real life? Also, he had overplayed how likely he believed it to be that Tahir was the attacker. That was necessary, though. Add a bit of jeopardy, increase the chances of getting some answers.

  The woman stared at him a long time. Trying, no doubt, to decide if James was on the level, or crazy. If she could slam the door or had to take what he was saying seriously. James’ instinct was to combat her hesitance with more talking, but he knew as long as she thought he had a chance. Say the wrong thing now, that chance could vanish fast as Houdini.

  She stepped back from the door.

  “I think you’d better come in.”

  She led him into a small but cosy living room with a couple of heavily padded sofas, a coffee table, and a TV in need of replacing. James saw DVDs in a rack, all children’s. Disney films from his youth and more recent ones he didn’t recognise.

  “Sit.”

  James did, and expected her to do the same, but no. Standing above him his host folded her arms and stared down with impressive, imposing might.

  “Is this a threat?” she asked, no beating around the bush.

  “What?”

  “Have you come here to threaten Tahir? Or blackmail him? Because we’re separated but I have my son to think about, and what hurts Tahir, hurts my little boy. Understand this. There is no chance I will let anything hurt my boy.”

  “No threat,” James said, holding up his hands in what he hoped was a threat-free manner. “No blackmail. Jane wants me to find her son’s killer, but I’m nervous about taking anything to her unless I’m sure. I know as soon as she finds out she’ll—“

  He cut himself off but needed say no more anyway. Tahir’s ex was nodding. She knew Jane and knew exactly what James was going to say.

  “What makes you think it was my husband?” she said. “You obviously didn’t see him, but there must be something?”

  He hesitated. Truth was, he wasn’t sure it was Tahir, but it did fit. It was enough to take to Jane, and that made it worth pursuing.

  “The attacker was Tahir’s height and build,” James said. “And I know he’s had problems with Harris recently. He confessed to removing something from Harris’ safe.”

  This was not true, and in any case, it didn’t look to be enough for Tahir’s ex-partner.

  “Tenuous,” she snorted. “If you have nothing more than that—“

  “He was angry,” James said. “He’d found out Harris was filming himself sleeping with girls, without their knowledge. He’d removed the cameras, but he wanted to get hold of any physical copies Harris had made—“ now an idea came to James. A chain of events he had not considered. “On Friday night, he goes to get them. It’s late. The bar is closed, and he expects it to be empty. Then Harris turns up—“

  It made sense.

  “You’re guessing.”

  But she no longer looked convinced. Her skin had gone a little pale. James was on to something.

  “What’s your name?” he asked, and she gave him sharp eyes.

  “Emily.”

  “Emily, I know you have no reason to trust me—“

  “Oh let’s not bother with that. Coffee?”

  “Sure. Black, please.”

  She disappeared into the kitchen, leaving James alone to notify Owen via text all was fine. Would that have happened if he was with Tahir or another male? Could he add sexist as well as racist to his list of ever-increasing negative personality traits?

  Now, he decided, was probably not the time to dwell.

  Emily returned and placed two coffees down before taking the seat furthest from him. She crossed one leg over the other and did the same with her arms, giving him an intense, forceful stare.

  “How did Tahir know about these sex tapes?”

  No messing. Straight to the point. That was better, James supposed.

  “One of the girls Harris filmed told Tahir. My guess is it was someone who worked at the bar.”

  James thought of the female bartenders, and his mind went straight to Megan. Not her. He shuddered, praying it was not her. That Friday night had not been round two. That he had not used the tape to bring her back. If he tried hard enough, he could almost believe it.

  “You guess?”

  “Tahir wouldn’t tell me. Promised he would protect her identity.”

  Her eyes closed, her hand rising to cover them.

  ‘You should go.”

  Her voice was quiet, laced with worry. Eyes flicking open, she began to stand, but James held up a hand.

  “Emily, a young man is dead.”

  “No more than he deserved, I’m sure.”

  She had meant it to be cold but lost control of her voice as her composure slipped away.

  “Maybe,” James confessed, not sure if he could believe it. “But if Tahir is involved then—“

  “Then what? You think he was protecting this girl. You think he lashed out and killed Harris while trying to steal these tapes? So what? You can’t sit here and say I have to tell you the truth because he might kill again. This wasn’t that kind of killing.”

  She was right, which left him in an awkward position. He couldn’t play on the guilt that might come from a follow-up murder, because the evidence suggested there wouldn’t be one. That was if Tahir was the killer, and James wasn’t sure, so how could Emily be?

  Drinking his coffee to buy time, he considered. Analysed Emily, looking into her eyes and trying to see the thoughts behind them. Slowly, he began to piece together another route towards the answers he needed.

  “I know why you’re afraid,” he said.

  “I’m not afraid.” But there was no conviction, so James pressed on.

  “You think if you tell me the truth I’ll take it to Jane, and Jane might kill your husband. You kicked him out, and maybe you hate him, but I bet your son loves him, and you don’t want your boy to grow up without a dad. I spent the first few years of my life without my dad, the next few without my mum. I would never want that for my child, so I understand. I do.”

  She waited. Having listened to the setup, she was interested to hear the offer. That was important.

  “If you tell me what you know,” he said. “I will speak to Tahir, and try to work things out. Until I have, I will keep what I know to myself and, once I have the truth, I will go to the police. If it turns out Tahir is guilty, he will go to prison. I know that isn’t what you want, but if he’s guilty, he deserves to and, well, it’s better than the alternative, isn’t it?”

  He thought of his own father. Knew it wasn’t always better, but kept quiet. Emily was thinking, then smiling a little. She leaned in.

  “Well?”

  That confused him.

  “Well what?”

  “That’s only half of it. You’ve given me the carrot, such that it is, now show me the stick. Deliver your threat.”

  James didn’t speak. His instinct was to deny the presence of a threat, but that was as pointless as it was insulting. The threat had been there, implied. Emily wanted it spelt out, so they could all be clear on the situation. Still, James hesitated, forcing Emily to continue.

  “Okay, I’ll do it. If I tell you what you want to know, you’ll keep your mouth shut till you know everything, then you’ll go to the police. If I don’t, you’ll take what you know, and go to Jane. Let her deal with it. That’s about right, isn’t it?”

  The guilt was intense, and he couldn’t disagree with Emily’s next comment.

  “You’re a piece of shit.”

  James went to his coffee again, but buying more time was not the answer. Owning the situation? Yeah, that sounded a better idea.

  “You’re probably right,” he said. “Definitely right. I said I wasn’t threatening Tahir, but I am threatening you. I will take what I know to Jane because I need to find Harris’ killer. There is no conclusive evidence to say Tahir did it, so why don’t you tell me what you know, and let me try work it out?”

  Emily went for her drink, muttering “pi
ece of shit,” again as she did. Trying not to let self-hatred consume him, James waited. Sure he had her.

  “Ask your questions then,” she said, replacing her cup. “I’ll tell you what I know because I don’t have much fucking choice, but believe me, you take what I tell you and run straight to Jane, I’ll kill you myself.”

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  “Your promises mean nothing. Ask your fucking questions.”

  He considered how best to approach the situation. Remembered her reaction to learning of a girl going to Tahir with her problems.

  “Why did you split?

  “Like you don’t know,” she hissed but went on when James didn’t reply. “He was fucking someone else. At least one someone. Who knows? You know what men are like. Has dick will shag. Doesn’t matter you have a loving wife and kid at home. Doesn’t come into it when some slut runs a hand up your thigh or flashes her tits.”

  This was not the first time in the last year James had heard the accusation against menkind, and he tried not to be offended by the generalisation. Of course, he had cheated on Nina not so long ago, but his mother had been a cheat, and Megan had cheated on her ex with him, so neither side was blameless.

  “Who was he cheating with?”

  “Funnily enough, he didn’t say,” Emily said. “Knew I’d scratch their eyes out if I found them. Someone close though. Bar staff would be my guess.”

  Megan’s smile came to mind. He pushed it away. Tried to focus on the fundamentals of the case. Tried to imagine a young, faceless girl learning a man she was pressured into sleeping with had a sex tape of her. She’s frightened, she’s devastated. She needs to tell someone but who? Not the kind of information you can spill to anyone. But someone you trusted—Someone you suspected you were falling in love with…

  “If Tahir learned the girl he’d been sleeping with had been forced into sex by Harris,” he mused, “and that Harris had a tape, that might make him pretty angry.”

  He glanced at Emily, but she had her head bowed. She looked afraid.

  “There’s something else,” he said, and still she didn’t look. The defiance had dripped away, like water through a paper cup. She seemed afraid.