Bold Lies

by Bold Lies (retail) (epub)

  ‘I’m taking today off. Fancy going sailing?’

  ‘You take a lot of time off.’ The idea sounded fabulous, but she needed to work. She wanted to see where George had died, and where he’d been dumped, and she was with the right person to describe both scenes to her. But she couldn’t help thinking that she could be pursuing other angles, such as why the house hadn’t been burgled. She knew damn well why: because George’s death had been planned. He didn’t disturb a few burglars. Still, she figured Graeme could help her with those queries as well. She really had hit the jackpot. The missed calls on her phone bothered her only slightly. She never answered calls from unknown numbers, but there’d been five. There was also one from a foreign number.

  Graeme had told her last night that the police had been pretty thorough in their search of Allerdale House, and she knew that meant they’d check the phone records. She’d flicked through her phone, and sure enough, George had called her from a landline with a Cumbria dialling code. She asked herself why he would be so stupid, but then she realised that he’d done it on purpose, because he knew he was being pursued.

  She had decisions to make: act nonchalant and come up with a good excuse as to why he’d called her, or trust the police to take her theories on board. Fuck that, she thought. It was too risky. She had to find out exactly what George had been hiding, and prove it.

  She was brought out of her thoughts by Graeme kissing her neck. He was almost fifty, but he didn’t seem to mind the age gap, though what man did if he was getting what he wanted? She knew she was a mature thirty, mainly due to the nature of her job. She didn’t go out clubbing and she didn’t have a gaggle of girls she swapped gossip with. She preferred the company of older people. Graeme was in extremely good shape. He was naked already and didn’t seem to mind the morning light illuminating the fact. Before she knew it, he was on top of her, moving up and down again. She certainly hadn’t factored this into her Lake District itinerary, but she wasn’t complaining.

  She allowed herself to be carried away with it: his body, the moment, the delicious craziness of it. Her mind emptied and she clung onto him. They fell off the bed and he picked her up, wrapping her legs around him and pushing her up against the wall. She had no idea if these bedrooms were soundproof, but she couldn’t help herself, and her sighs mingled with his, accompanying the rhythmic thuds on the wall. He gasped and she felt his body go weak. He managed to take her back to the bed, where they fell beside one another, panting and sweaty.

  ‘I need a shower,’ she said eventually.

  ‘So do I.’

  ‘I’ll go first.’ She went into the bathroom and left him on the bed. He shouted to her asking if she’d like a coffee from the tiny shop in the village. She said yes and heard the door slam. By the time she was finished, he was back with two takeaway coffees and a selection of pastries.

  ‘I know you girls like to stay slim, so I didn’t know what to buy.’

  ‘It looks wonderful, thank you. There’s another towel in there for you.’

  She dressed quickly, suddenly bashful, and devoured a croissant, sipping the warm, creamy coffee as she looked out of the window. The day was clear. People said it always rained up here, but so far all she’d seen was sunshine, though this was only her second day.

  Graeme strode naked out of the bathroom and wrapped himself in the towel he was holding, taking a coffee and a Danish roll.

  ‘So, Tilly Knight, why are you here on your own?’

  ‘I like travelling alone. I had a few days off, and my grandmother loved it up here; she was from somewhere called Kendal?’

  Graeme nodded.

  ‘Anyway, she died last year, and I thought I’d come and see what all the fuss was about.’

  ‘I’m glad.’

  ‘Do you think it might affect business up at the big house – you know, the murder?’

  If Graeme was taken aback by the question, he didn’t show it.

  ‘It’s on your mind, huh?’

  ‘Well, I never thought a place like this would ever see anything like that.’

  ‘I agree. It’s really out of character for the area. I heard that poor man came every year, staying at the house with his pal, Lord Allerdale. Like I said, the old man died after Christmas and his grandson inherited the lot.’

  ‘Was there no son?’

  ‘No, he died in a boating accident when the boy was ten years old. Sebastian was essentially raised by his house master at school.’

  ‘What about his mother?’

  ‘Raging alcoholic. She committed suicide a year after her husband died.’

  ‘You know a lot about them.’

  ‘They were like minor celebs up here. Everybody knows the story, it’s nothing new. The boy didn’t have the best start in life.’

  ‘Was he not close to his grandfather?’

  ‘No idea. He’s all right, though, for a southerner.’

  Tilly slapped his arm.

  ‘Did the grandson know George well?’

  ‘George? You’re making it sound like he was an old friend of yours.’

  Tilly smiled. ‘Sorry, I’m not used to talking about dead people. I thought it would sound better if I called him by his name.’

  ‘Good point. I have no idea; my relationship with Sebastian is purely business, though he was interviewed by the police.’

  They finished their coffees and each took another pastry.

  ‘I like a woman who eats properly. So you’re not on a diet all the time like all those supermodel types down there in London?’

  ‘No! I love food. The robbers would need a van for all the stuff, wouldn’t they? And you saw one, and you saw workmen.’

  ‘Hold on! Bloody hell, you’re hurting my head. Why are you so obsessed with this? I suppose you’re right, though, and someone had to drive George to The Lady of the Lake and dump him there.’

  ‘You use that yard a lot, don’t you, yet you heard nothing.’

  ‘Maybe they used a boat.’

  ‘Why take the time to do that if it was just a burglary gone wrong? What exactly was stolen?’

  ‘Oh, all sorts of stuff. I know the old man’s antique racing boat from his Cambridge days was taken, because Sebastian was asking me to look out for a replica recently.’

  ‘Oh. That must have been stolen for a specialist buyer, surely?’

  ‘Guess so.’

  Tilly’s phone rang; it was the foreign number again.

  ‘Aren’t you going to answer that?’

  She put the phone to her ear.

  ‘Tilly Knight?’

  She didn’t recognise the voice. She hesitated, then took a deep breath.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘George gave me your number. This is Alexandros Skarparis. I’m calling you from Cyprus.’

  ‘Oh, hello, could I ask you to hold for one second? I’ll just get my bank details.’

  She turned to Graeme. ‘Bloody Amazon, my card ran out and they need my new one. I think it’s in the car.’ She rolled her eyes and left the room, closing the door behind her.

  ‘Alexandros?’ she whispered. ‘Oh my God! You’re all right! You know about the others?’

  ‘Of course I do.’

  ‘Look, I can’t talk. Can I call back in an hour?’

  Chapter 31

  Alexandros walked barefoot along the beach. His home was a quiet town on the southern shores of the island, close to a British army base. It boasted the best fish and chip café outside of the UK. He climbed over the rocks that separated the main beach at Larnaca from that of Dhekelia military garrison. He’d never minded the British, but his mother and grandmother remembered the war in 1974, when the Turks had come and neighbour turned on neighbour. Communities had slaughtered one another while the British remained in barracks. There was bad blood, but Alex remained torn. Britain was now his home, and that was why he was melancholy. He had no idea if he’d ever be able to go back there. He also grieved for his friends. Images of Mike and Emily’s bodies invade
d his thoughts in the middle of the night, when his defences were low and the dark was pregnant with threat.

  His only hope was Tilly Knight. George had told him he trusted her. She’d said she’d call back in an hour and he’d suggested Skype. He wanted to see her face. Speaking to somebody about something as grave as his situation wasn’t something he wanted to do without feeling a connection. He was taking a huge risk and he wanted to get to know her a little.

  He thought about his colleagues. They’d always promised to keep the lab a secret, and Alex tried to think who else knew about it. The only thing he could come up with that might be vaguely important was the letter George had received from Ravensword reminding him of his employment covenant, which stated he shouldn’t engage in work elsewhere. They’d discussed it and George had reassured them that he’d sort it. When asked if anyone at Ravensword knew about the garage, he had told them no. But did they? Then there was the funding. Only George knew where it came from; could that have been important? But why would the person who gave George money kill him?

  Alex’s head hurt, which was why he’d come to the beach. He’d made the call as he walked along the warm sand. June was a beautiful month on the island: not too hot. It was difficult to believe that he was in the middle of such a crisis. He was at a loss and didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t hide for ever.

  No matter how much his mind went round and around in circles, he knew that Ravensword must be involved somehow. He’d have to prove it before even thinking about handing himself in. He was aware that he was a plausible suspect, and that was why he’d fled. Nothing and no one could protect him in London; only the mountains and hidden beaches of his beloved island could do that.

  He knew it was only a matter of time before the British authorities would impose enough leverage to get him sent back, and then he was as good as dead. His mother still thought he was avoiding a clingy girlfriend – hence why she’d hung up on the British woman – but she was also thrilled to have him home, and he was constantly pampered. It had crossed his mind that anyone who was able to take out three of his colleagues without trace was also capable of boarding a BA flight to Larnaca, but he tried not to think in those terms.

  Sometimes he forgot why he was home – in the few days he’d been here, he’d swum at the beach and visited old friends – but in the middle of the night, as he lay sweating with only a ceiling fan for comfort, it hit him: his friends were dead, and he should be too. It was pure serendipity that he’d left the lab on Monday afternoon to speak to his mother.

  Emily and Mike hadn’t been privy to the finer details of what they were doing, and so they’d had less to hide. They’d been drafted in to share the workload and carry out the tests that technicians would in any lab, while George collated and made decisions. They were keen to lend a few hours to the Squash Club for George’s sake, and in memory of his daughter. Their respect for their department head was such that they took payment sporadically and sometimes in kind. George once paid Mike’s credit card off after rifling through his wallet to find it, knowing he was over £8,000 in debt. Other than that, they worked for free.

  The process was the same for any developmental drug: identify a need, then a target, then test drugs in test plates by the thousand until they got some positive results. But that was only after endorsements, reviews and approved investment. The process could take decades, and several million pounds. And that was just the beginning. After the discovery of a positive result, they had to find out why; and that was where the animals came in. They were that far down the line at the Squash Club, without the patent and approval, of course. Generally two species had to be tested, and they’d chosen rodents and a cyno monkey. The Thai meal was supposed to celebrate reaching the stage where the drug could be tested on human control groups. They all knew they had no such thing, and that George was their control group. The tests were to start officially this week, but Alex knew that George had been testing himself for weeks.

  The sand on Dhekelia beach was fine and brown, and it stuck to his feet. He carried his shoes in his hand and waved to people he knew. He took a table close to the beach and kept his shoes off. The café was rammed with tourists and everybody spoke English. The owner waved at him and shouted, ‘Two minutes, Alex!’

  He always had the same meal. He’d developed a taste for mushy peas in England, and Lambros prepared them in exactly the same way, including baking soda. That was why the café was such a hit with the soldiers. The barracks had changed over the years and now the soldiers came mainly unaccompanied, the British government no longer able to afford to send their families with them.

  It was cool under the shade of the umbrellas, and Alex watched the world go by beyond his sunglasses. Despite his apprehension, he had a good feeling about Tilly Knight.

  Her call came through as his fish, chips and mushy peas arrived. They’d be boiling hot anyway, and he put them to one side. A lovely, open face filled the screen and Alex smiled.

  ‘Tilly?’

  ‘Alex?’

  There was a time lag, but after they’d got used to that, Tilly told Alex about what she’d discovered in the Lake District, and they fell into a conversation about what they might do next. They had several options, one of which was going to the press.

  ‘Historically, cases like this get squashed before they even reach print, because they’ll have someone working on the inside,’ Tilly said. ‘As soon as we press “send” on the computer, there’ll be some kind of encryption to flag up sensitive words and phrases, and they’ve got the money to employ someone full-time to do it. It’s as sophisticated as what the Met has at its disposal.’

  ‘Really?’ Alex was shocked.

  ‘I’m afraid people can always be bought. Or killed.’

  It was brutal. Alex stared at her.

  ‘I’m sorry. I don’t need to remind you of that.’

  ‘I found their bodies.’ There was a silence. ‘I think I’m next.’

  ‘They’ve probably worked out where you are. I’m sorry, that’s the truth. However, killing someone abroad is always tricky. Have you got a property that no one else knows about?’

  ‘We have a house in the Troodos Mountains. But what about my family?’

  ‘Can you convince them to go with you?’

  ‘I have thirty-two cousins.’

  ‘Right. It could protect them if you can’t be found. It might be your only hope. Don’t tell anyone you’re going.’

  Alex put his sunglasses on his head and wiped his eyes. ‘Tilly, the man who found George. Did he say he suffered?’

  ‘It was a gunshot to the head, Alex. It was quick.’

  ‘But he knew it was coming.’

  ‘Yes, that’s why he called me that evening. I think the police have traced my number.’

  ‘What will you do? You can always come here. We can hide together.’

  ‘Tempting.’ Tilly bit her lip and Alex watched her. She was beautiful, and he wondered how George had found her.

  ‘We need to be able to talk at short notice. As for the documents and data, I think the only safe way to do it is if you hold each page up to the screen and I photograph it on my phone. I’ve bought a new one without a contract. I paid cash.’

  ‘You’re quite the detective.’

  ‘Well that’s the other interesting thing, Alex. The man who found George knows the detective in charge personally, and he swears she’s a good egg. If I could get to her, then I think we might have a chance. She’s gone all the way to London to pursue the case.’

  ‘How can she protect me?’

  ‘I don’t know; maybe she can get you an escort to fly back, or you can give evidence to her over the phone. Do you want me to contact her?’

  ‘All right. I’ll pack and go to the mountains tonight. When can we do the documents?’

  ‘When will you be there?’

  ‘Eight o’clock? Six your time.’

  ‘Done. Stay safe. Look over your shoulder, Alex. They’ll come in twos
and they’ll be English.’

  ‘You too. There’s a British army base here. Should I go there and hand myself in?’

  Tilly thought about it and played scenarios forward. ‘Not yet.’

  Alex ended the call and began to eat. He hoped Tilly was who she said she was.

  Chapter 32

  Graeme called the number of a guy he’d gone to university with. He was a rowing nut, and if anyone could source an antique rig, it would be him.

  When Sebastian had asked him to source a replica shell, like the one belonging to his Grandfather, which had been stolen; he hadn’t actually referred to the burglary as such, and had told Graeme that he was simply after the replacement antique for decoration. Graeme thought it odd, but it was none of his business. When he’d been in the house, he’d seen an old photo of Lord Allerdale in his youth, sitting in the shell, beaming at the camera, wearing a flat cap and a white shirt and clutching his oar. He’d been a fit and handsome man. Graeme had looked at the photograph for a long time and thought it was a good job the old man was dead; he figured the theft of such an item would break his heart. Perhaps Sebastian hadn’t mentioned the loss because he wasn’t a lover of boats and saw the rig simply as decoration, but Graeme had some knowledge of what a piece of kit like that might be worth.

  His friend answered the phone and they chatted like people did who no longer saw one another and wondered why. Distance was the bugbear. His friend lived in Cornwall; they were at opposite ends of the country. Graeme promised to go and stay down there sometime, but he knew he wouldn’t.

  His friend whistled when he heard the description of the stolen shell. He promised to stay on the lookout for something similar and get back to Graeme in the next couple of weeks.

  Graeme went out to the jetty with the intention of carrying on working for a bit before taking Tilly out for a sail. The Lady of the Lake was being launched today, and they could watch from the water. The police had said they had everything they needed, and had allowed the boatyard and the boat herself to be released back to their original duties. Few people knew exactly where the body had been found, but these things always had a nasty habit of leaking out. It could actually turn the Lady into a tourist attraction, who knew?