Bold Lies

by Bold Lies (retail) (epub)

  She would love to get hold of something she could use. It didn’t have to be much. Just enough to turn the partners off him for a change. Just enough to make him hurt a little.

  She jumped as she heard a noise behind her, but it was only a blind flapping in the breeze from an open window.

  She suffered a sudden crisis of faith, realising that Philip would be an idiot to leave incriminating information at his office. Then she remembered that the arrogant idiot would think that no one could get in here without his knowledge. And she’d promised him that her firewalls were bulletproof, and different to those used by Ravensword.

  She looked at the screen. He was so predictable. His icons were pedestrian and familiar, all except two. One was a smiley face, which was odd for someone who lacked any type of gaiety to speak of, except dark humour. The other looked to her like a family crest. She was sure she’d seen it before. It was a shield, with three flowers on one side and two swords on the other.

  Bingo. She knew where she’d seen it: on the entrance placard to a swanky club that Philip had taken her to in Berkeley Square. She’d been impressed. It was exclusive, opulent, and obscenely indulgent. It was called the Montague Club, and Philip had said he was a life member there because he knew the owner.

  She clicked on the icon. It asked for a password, and she searched her memory for words that Philip liked to use. One sprang immediately to mind. He said it when he orgasmed, and the first time she’d heard it, she’d almost laughed. It was his favourite word. He’d muttered it under his breath once when he was angry with George. Poor George. He was obsessed with addiction and how to cure it. Any father would do the same, and not stop until he found peace over the death of his child. She genuinely felt for him. Which was why she’d agreed to help him. She’d doubted he’d get far on his own.

  Over the last ten years, George had had three monkeys and one chimp out of the primate lab. Miranda had asked him for updates – tactfully, of course – and he’d always said the same thing: ‘I’m quietly confident.’ She’d felt affection for him, and was cross with Philip when it became company knowledge that George had been effectively threatened over his restrictive covenant. That was when she’d let it slip about what she suspected he was up to. She’d wanted to protect the old man and his pursuit of his pipe dream that would never come to anything, but Philip had taken an unusual level of interest in her revelation.

  Revenge was a beautiful thing, and Miranda checked her phone for the number of the detective who’d been nosing around her lab. Rumours circulated quickly at Ravensword, and Philip had a loose tongue when he was in her bed with a whisky inside him. As soon as she found out that George had been killed, she’d begun to see Philip in a new light. Of course, he’d have had nothing to do with it – some thug far removed from the CEO of the multinational would take the rap – but Miranda reckoned she could hazard a guess at why George was no longer with them. The deaths of Emily and Mike had thrown her until she’d realised that they were helping George too. It made complete sense.

  It also told her that he had finally done it. She’d love to see his work. She’d searched the inventories of all the labs, and anything signed by George, and was piecing together a loose picture of what he’d achieved. What she couldn’t understand was why Ravensword wasn’t biting his arm off. Surely a drug like that would sell for billions. Maybe it was unsafe. But they were scientists: if something was unsafe, you made it safe. Perhaps he was trying to sell it abroad, though that theory didn’t really hold either, because he wasn’t doing it for the money, and Ravensword was global anyway.

  She wondered if he had shared his findings with someone and they’d betrayed him, but it was well known that the neurocellular lab were a close-knit bunch, and besides, Emily and Mike had lost their lives too. That just left Alexandros bumping everyone off to steal the data, but that was ludicrous. She’d come on to him at an office party once, and he’d turned her down then spent six months apologising. His decency was as authentic as his moussaka.

  No, Philip was behind it. She knew it.

  The password worked and she let out a tiny squeak. She opened documents and scanned information, her photographic memory picking out words and phrases of significance. After ten minutes, she knew she would have to take the whole file. She downloaded it onto a USB stick, then shut down the computer and looked round the room one last time. It had crossed her mind that Philip might go so far as to shut her up as well, but that would be downright dumb, given the amount of police attention around the building lately. She’d flag it up when she called the detective, because it was a concern, even if not an immediate one.

  She returned briefly to her own office, then left her large bunch of keys at the main desk with her badge. The car park was deserted, and she looked around her, trying to calm her paranoia. She laughed to herself when she started the engine and her car didn’t explode. Steadying her nerves, she locked all the doors. It would only take half an hour to get to her flat, and then she’d call the detective. As she pulled out of her parking place, she changed her mind, unable to contain her excitement, and dialled the number she’d been given on hands-free.

  The main gate was open and manned by night staff.

  ‘Fucking good riddance,’ she muttered under her breath, smiling sweetly at the guard.

  Taking the slip road through the industrial estate that led to the busy main road into the city, she pulled up and waited for a break in the traffic. The call went through to a switchboard and she told them she was trying to get hold of DI Kelly Porter. The other detective– DCI Carter– hadn’t looked as savvy, and Miranda wanted to speak to the female officer. She realised that the DI might already know what she was about to tell her, but it would feel good anyway.

  She was put on hold.

  She pulled out onto the main road. Three cars behind her, a lorry moved into the middle lane and overtook, slipping back in behind Miranda. She had no idea it was there until it slammed into the back of her car, crushing it against the buffer wall on the left-hand side of the road. She heard herself screaming and felt her hands come off the steering wheel. The only pain was in her feet, and she guessed that they were trapped by the weight of the mangled engine that had shunted backwards with the impact. She felt curiously detached; she knew deep down inside that this was it, that she was not going to make it. Her head spun in slow motion and banged against hard surfaces, but she couldn’t reach up. She saw only blackness.

  The first person on the scene was a driver who’d witnessed the whole thing unfold from four cars back. The scene was carnage, but Miranda’s car was the worst. He approached the driver’s side and peered in, but instantly regretted it. The sight of the woman forced him to bend over and vomit. He was shaking so badly that he couldn’t dial the correct digits on his phone. Another driver did it instead.

  The whole section of road came to a standstill. In the distance, the sound of sirens could be heard. Somebody went to the cabin of the lorry that had completely crushed the front of the woman’s car.

  It was empty.

  Chapter 35

  Colonel Benjamin Dansford scrolled through an email from a private tour operator in Dubrovnik. He’d served there during the nineties, but it was quite the tourist destination again after being bombed to shit two decades ago. He was planning a cruise, taking in Montenegro, and was finalising details of the hotels. His choice was usually based around the wine cellar.

  His hands shook. He regretted opening a third bottle of red last night. A cigarette would sort him out, he decided, and he left his office to walk to the end of the street. In the MoD building he didn’t wear uniform, and so he was anonymous, blending in with all the other office workers and tourists filling the pavements of London.

  He had considered Cyprus again for his summer break. He and his family had enjoyed three postings to the Mediterranean island, and had toyed with buying property there. Lots of army families bought in the north, where it was cheaper, but it was a precarious venture a
nd many of his colleagues had lost money doing it. He’d decided they’d have to give Cyprus a miss this year, though. He’d faced whining from the wife and kids, but he was adamant. It was too risky.

  He lit a cigarette and puffed deeply. He felt like shit. His last medical had revealed the early signs of Type 2 diabetes: high cholesterol, raised blood pressure and reduced oxygen levels in his lung capacity. He knew he had let himself go years ago. He never was the fittest in the drawer, and he’d always scraped through his annual military tests, but being a gunner wasn’t physically taxing, and sitting behind desks even less so. He’d been at the MoD now for six years, managing to avoid active postings to please the wife and keep her in her Putney army quarters, which were highly sought after and prized.

  He was planning to take the next available early retirement, though the army was now kicking itself for getting rid of so many officers back in 2013. Even old-timers like him could be expected to hang on until their late fifties now. He was done. He was knackered, and had an alternative plan. He had money stashed away all over the place; so much that he sometimes lost track of it. He didn’t need any more, that was for sure. But he could never say no; that’s why he’d lied to Christopher. Besides, it was none of his business. Nowadays, with banks snooping around and asking questions about where large sums of money came from, he had to deal in cash a lot of the time. It wasn’t too much of a headache, especially knowing so many contacts abroad. But it was becoming trickier, and there was a dwindling source of those willing to risk everything.

  He planned to stay in his room at the Montague Club later, and that was when he’d meet Christopher to propose his idea. That buffoon Sebastian Montague-Roland would also be attending, and he knew that he faced a long, dull evening ahead. But the benefits were worth it. He’d never paid for his membership at the club, and his wife didn’t know about it. He settled all bills in cash, and kept a safe in his permanent room full of the stuff.

  He didn’t much like Christopher Slater, if the truth be told; after all, business was rarely advisable with friends. If he liked the guy, it wouldn’t work; he’d feel too wretchedly guilty about the deceit. Philip Tooting was more his cup of tea. At least he possessed a sense of humour similar to his own, unlike the aristocratic brat or the dour civil servants’ lackey. Evenings at the club were always more pleasurable when Philip was involved. He’d made noises recently that they needed to tidy up their affairs somewhat, until the business at Ravensword had died down. Benjamin had laughed at him, convinced of their infallibility, but Philip had been deadly serious.

  ‘Some care is needed when paying for services,’ he’d said cryptically. He always spoke like this, in code, and it made Benjamin chuckle, knowing that Philip fancied himself in the secret services. It was a common occurrence: people finding out that you were in the army and assuming they could have joined too, as if it was some kind of stint as a lollipop lady. No one gave a thought about the shit you went through to reach a rank of substance. The weeks of sleeping in a wet bivouac in Scotland, the months away from loved ones, the brutal marches with fifty kilos on your back, not to mention the sight of war. He didn’t know anyone who’d served their country who, by his age, had healthy knees and ankles, and his back killed him all day long. His mind was as broken as his limbs. He would deserve his pension when it finally came, though it was a pittance. And that was why he’d sought other employment.

  He stubbed out his fag and went back inside, aware that he smelled strongly of tobacco. His wife hated it, and wouldn’t kiss him until he’d brushed his teeth, but he didn’t much miss her affection, since he’d started paying for it elsewhere. A woman put her hand to her mouth as he walked past. Cheeky bitch, he thought. Entitled women: they were everywhere. Next thing, they’d be on the front line, whingeing about long hours and sleeping arrangements.

  The world was going mad.

  He looked at his watch. It was only two o’clock, but he had little to do. He’d become stale and bored in his job; it was time for a transfer. He’d avoided one for long enough, and he knew that any time soon he’d be relocated again. His desk telephone rang. It was some Brigadier upstairs, wanting to know who he knew in the Ayios Nikolaos garrison in Cyprus: the intelligence wing of Dhekelia Garrison. A detective wanted to speak to a local by the name of Alexandros Skarparis.

  ‘Can you deal with this one, Ben? The commander’s preparing for the Jordan exercise and he really hasn’t got time for this shit. Just find out who liaises with the authorities from the garrison, will you, and get someone sent to his address as a matter of urgency.’

  ‘Of course, Brigadier. Leave it with me.’

  Chapter 36

  As the sun disappeared behind the Pennines, Kelly allowed herself to enjoy the moment and try to find some space in her head. She was almost home. The last time she’d made this journey, she’d been travelling to the Lakes for very different reasons, her tail between her legs, dishonoured by a colleague and unsure of her career and her future.

  She’d been going to see her mother that day, and she wished she could talk to her now. It happened a lot. She heard her mother’s voice every day. She missed her warmth, her wisdom and her peace. Wendy had exuded a constancy that Kelly could only strive for. Perhaps everyone compared themselves to their mother, and always fell short. As usual, her thoughts turned to regret. She’d been assured by many people, including Johnny, that it was normal. When someone so central to your life died, you yearned to make things right. She’d asked herself if she thought they would have been friends had they not been mother and daughter.

  She tutted and crossed her legs: her attempt at peace wasn’t going well. The car was quiet. Emma had secured the warrant for information to be supplied by the late Lord Allerdale’s solicitors, and it was being prepared. Kelly stared out of the window at the dying day and willed herself home. The last part of the journey, once past Manchester and Liverpool on the M6, was the quickest and most satisfying. She could see the mountains to the west and wished she was on top of one right now. It was a peculiar sensation, standing on the highest point of land and turning three hundred and sixty degrees, taking it all in, soaking up the awe. That was about the only thing that could truly clear her head, and she yearned for it now.

  Finally the car pulled off the motorway. They’d soon be home. The prospect of sitting on her wooden terrace, listening to the stillness of the river, sipping a glass of wine, calmed her. In the five hours it had taken them to get here, the investigation had grown yet bigger and more complex. They always did. The worst part wasn’t wondering what was coming next; it was worrying that the leads would start to dry up before the case had been closed. She’d worked on unsolved cases before, and they left an indelible mark. They were excruciatingly unsatisfying for everyone involved: families, officers, witnesses and the SIO.

  She mulled over the moving parts, her mind refusing to still. In all three murders, the motive seemed to be to silence the victims. The staging had been done for kicks, and that churned her stomach.

  Before leaving London, she’d called Johnny and asked him about Leo Brown, the young corporal kicked out of the army for drugs twenty years ago. He’d rung round a few old pals and learned that Leo Brown had spent two years at Catterick, and was in and out of trouble for minor misdemeanours all the time: fighting, drunken behaviour, assault on a girlfriend and keeping his sleeping area in rag order. Usually the army straightened out messed-up kids prone to violence and flouting authority, but not so with Leo. His reports were poor, and it was a miracle he made corporal. His only redeeming feature was his fitness. Apparently the lad was memorable because he’d shagged the company commander’s daughter.

  None of Johnny’s contacts knew what had become of Brown after he was discharged in 1998, but it was quite obvious that he hadn’t turned his life around. Kelly hoped he’d be brought in quickly. His photo had been released, and by now he should know that he was wanted for questioning. If he didn’t turn up soon, it would be obvious that he was a
voiding detection.

  By the time the car pulled up in front of her house, the sky was fully dark. She thanked the driver and gathered her belongings. The house was lit with lamps and there was wine in the fridge. She smiled. It must have been Johnny. She dialled his number and heard a phone ringing upstairs. She pressed end call and threw her own phone onto the kitchen counter.

  ‘You took your time.’ He was in bed.

  ‘I’m filthy.’

  ‘Perfect, you’ve come to the right place.’

  She went to him and sat on the edge of the bed. His body was warm and she allowed herself to be held. For the first time in almost three years, it really was like coming home.

  Chapter 37

  Kelly toyed with the idea of going in late. It had been a delicious surprise waking up next to Johnny. Her first thought was that the bed smelled different to the one in the Premier Inn, and it was more comfortable. Then she felt his body and knew where she was. When she put her arms around him, she could tell he was beginning to put on a little bit of the muscle that he’d lost, and she liked it. One day, though, he’d have to give up the fried breakfasts, or take on another challenge.

  She tore herself out of bed and he made her coffee. They made plans to meet for lunch and drive to Wendy’s house. She’d been putting it off for months.

  It was as she was getting dressed that she spotted a WhatsApp from her sister. At first she was worried that she’d missed one of her nieces’ birthdays. Then she read the late-night rant about the Crawleys being her dear friends, and how Kelly had tried to ruin them. She showed Johnny. Nikki and Dave Crawley’s wife had gone to school together, and she’d never forgiven Kelly for putting Dave behind bars, despite the fact that his lorries were full of sex workers.