Bold Lies

by Bold Lies (retail) (epub)

‘Colonel! They’re coming in now. It’s most unsatisfactory, sir, but we had no choice. Are you dressed?’

  He closed his eyes and drained the bottle of wine, tipping it until the last drops trickled out: it was damn fine. Then he put the muzzle in his mouth and aimed it slightly upwards: not that he had much brain left now that it had been turned to liquid mush, thanks to some fine vintages.

  He squeezed the trigger.

  Chapter 52

  Tilly sighed and switched off the TV. Graeme hadn’t called her and she had no idea what he was up to. She’d stared out of the window, watching for his car, and seen a police squad car drive past. It made her feel safe and slightly more confident. Kelly Porter had been as good as her word. She had promised to protect Alexandros too, and Tilly wondered if he was on the British army base yet.

  She hadn’t experienced such boredom for years. She’d always been active. Even as a child, she couldn’t sit still, always wanting to dance, climb or run. Journalism suited her because of the erratic hours and the chance that she could be called to cover a story at any moment. She could find herself standing in the freezing cold watching firefighters deal with a factory blaze, or be woken up to rush to the scene of a major crime. She went from one location to another, interviewing, listening, and gathering nuggets of information from the public. She met with hostility, resentment, abuse and even violence.

  She’d cut her teeth at a north Hertfordshire local newspaper that published once a week and was distributed for free, moving to a daily in Nottingham. Homesick and missing the stories a big city brought, she moved back to London and started out on her own. It paid the bills – just – and she dictated terms and conditions. It was just as widely varied (abortion to the price of French cheese), but without the constant threat to her safety. She almost laughed out loud at the irony. She’d never been in so much danger as she was now. Or at least that was what Graeme believed. Her own conviction was wearing thin.

  The long hours of not being able to go outside made her mind wander, and she itched to do something. She knew Graeme didn’t want her sneaking out for a cigarette, even if she checked up and down the road first, but she hated smoking indoors. She craved nicotine and was finding that the reduced opportunity to smoke made it worse. She filled the hours writing notes and formulating a story around what she knew, but she couldn’t do that all day and all night; it was mentally impossible. She’d also had enough of catch-up TV and box sets. She remembered most of what was on her laptop and kept busy trying to write it all down.

  Graeme had told her that no one knew about this place. If that was the case, then no one in the small village would recognise her. She’d promised him over and over again that she wouldn’t stray outdoors, but this afternoon she’d broken that promise and gone out of the back door, over the stone wall and into the adjoining field. She’d found a beck at the edge of the field and had taken her shoes off and paddled in the water, sucking deeply on a cigarette and watching the clouds change shape. It was blissful.

  Cumbria smelled different to London. The air was thin and sweet, not heavy and murky. It smelled as though it was doing her good just by surrounding her. Her skin felt fresher and her head clearer. After her paddle, she’d lain on the lush green grass for a while, staring up at the sky and smoking two more cigarettes. She thought she must have dozed off, because she woke with a start. She got up quickly, slipping her shoes on, and scurried back to the house, where she realised that in her excitement she’d left the back door open.

  She pulled it closed and locked it behind her, swearing under her breath.

  The cottage boasted a large, well-stocked wine cellar, and she perused the contents and selected a bottle to open with her early dinner. Graeme had said he’d be back, but if he didn’t answer his phone then she couldn’t exactly go after him. She’d already called Kelly Porter, who’d said she’d check in with him and get back to her.

  Tilly was used to cooking for one, and though she didn’t do it all the time, occasionally she would prepare an intricate meal from scratch. She looked in the fridge and found lamb chops and salad bits and bobs. She searched for some mint sauce and some yoghurt to make a quick sauce. The smell of the chops cooking filled the small cottage with the promise of comfort, love and satisfaction. There was nothing quite like the smell of grilling meat. She poured herself a large glass of red wine and went to get the fire prepared. She’d only been here two days, but it felt like a week.

  The other difference between north and south, she’d noticed, was the temperature. In June, London sweltered and commuters melted, but here, where the air was crystal clear and the mountains cast shadows, the evenings were cool and a fire was welcome. Graeme had made one every night. She remembered how to do it from watching her dad. Mum had wanted to close the chimney and buy a fancy flame-effect gas fire, but Dad wouldn’t hear of it. Now Tilly lit the newspaper and it caught the kindling with a satisfying sizzle. She placed the guard in front of it and went to check the lamb.

  She made what she called an interesting salad; in other words, not just lettuce and tomato. She found fennel, which she sliced thinly, a bag of pine nuts and some raisins. She tossed it all together with a grated carrot and some balsamic dressing and went to put a log on the fire, now that it had settled. Graeme had wired up a Sonos speaker to his Wi-Fi and she searched for some soothing music. With a bit of luck, the lamb and the wine would make her drowsy. It was her first night alone in the cottage; the other two, she’d had Graeme by her side, even if he had come back late from drawing up plans at Allerdale House.

  She heard a sound outside the back door. It sounded like a bottle toppling over. She’d seen cats around the garden, and sometimes perched on a wall when she looked out, so she dismissed it. However, it made her want to check all the doors again and peek out of the window to see if Graeme’s car was back. She felt a little foolish, but it couldn’t hurt. She tested the lamb and turned off the grill. While the meat rested, she went upstairs and checked the window locks as well. All was secure and she came back downstairs. When she reached the back door, she felt like peeking out, just to look at the stars, but she decided against it and pushed on the handle. It was secure.

  She finished her meal alone and took her plate to the sink, which was scrupulously clean and tidy: the cottage had been bleached to within an inch of its life since she’d moved in. She drained her wine and stared at her phone, jumping when she heard the same sound outside the back door again.

  During the day, there was plenty of noise from tractors, sheep and cattle. But at night, the countryside was as still as a graveyard. She went to the back door and unlocked it. The only thing that would still her mind was checking for herself whether a pesky cat was toying with the recycling. She opened the door, but saw nothing in the back yard. There was no cat. There were, however, two wine bottles on the floor that must have been blown over by the breeze. She tutted and stepped outside to pick them up.

  Chapter 53

  An unmarked car left Agios Nikolaos intelligence station and headed for the Troodos Mountains, escorted by two military police in another vehicle. They estimated they’d be there in just over an hour.

  British soldiers always struggled in the summer heat, and the men in the first car turned the air conditioning up to maximum. The military bases couldn’t afford air conditioning in most of the quarters, and the luxury of the cool car was satisfying. They chatted amicably, discussing the football season that had ended last month with Manchester City winning the FA Cup.

  ‘You’re an armchair supporter,’ one jibed. ‘You can’t support a team where you don’t live.’

  ‘You don’t live there either.’

  ‘I’m on operations! It doesn’t count.’

  ‘Operations, my arse. You’re an analyst. Don’t tell me you got the Iraq medal for sitting in a chair in a listening station?’

  ‘Fuck off.’

  It was ordinary banter.

  ‘Who are we getting?’

  ‘A witness
in a British case. He’s wanted back.’

  ‘So he bolted?’

  ‘He’s a Cypriot national working in London.’

  ‘Big case?’

  ‘No idea. All I know is we need to get him to Akrotiri for the last flight to Brize Norton.’

  His partner looked at his watch. ‘Doable.’

  ‘And his mother.’

  ‘Why his mother? Is she a witness too?’

  ‘No idea.’

  The officer looked in his rear-view mirror and watched the car behind. The RMPs looked serious and bored.

  ‘Did you ever consider the military police?’

  ‘Nah. All that abuse. Worst job in the army.’

  ‘How did you get into intel?’

  ‘Transferred from the infantry when I was at Chicksands.’

  The car belted out cold air and a few drops of icy water fell from the air-conditioning unit down the dash.

  ‘It’s getting hot out there.’

  Their surroundings grew greener as they left the desert-like conditions around Nicosia and entered the fresher mountain terrain. They followed their instructions and drove deep into a forest. The mountain road wound up and up and they talked about skiing at the army station up here.

  ‘It’s all right can’t complain. Three runs isn’t much, but it’s one of the only places in the world where you can ski in the morning and sunbathe in the afternoon.’

  ‘Wait, you missed the turning.’

  ‘Did I?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m sure that was a sign to the village.’

  ‘Right, I’ll back up.’

  The RMP vehicle pulled up as they stopped and wound the windows down, allowing the heat to rush in. They explained what they were doing. The RMPs rolled their eyes as if the two intel officers were incompetent. They reversed and took the correct turning. A few minutes later, they pulled up outside a modest villa that you would definitely miss if you didn’t know what to look for, hidden away from the tiny track.

  They parked in front of a large garage, and all four men got out. The RMPs carried weapons with the safety on. They had been warned of a moderate threat. They walked up to the front door and rang the bell, then knocked on the solid wooden door. All the shutters were closed.

  There was no answer.

  The RMPs set off around the building, banging on doors and windows as they went.

  Nothing.

  Round the back, there was a pool and a pool house, which was open. They went to knock on the glass screen, pulling back when they heard the sound of growling.

  Three wild dogs were gorging on two bloated bodies. The first man inside retched and coughed as he cocked his weapon.

  ‘Jesus! Get down!’

  The Intel officers darted for cover inside an outdoor kitchen and hid behind the counter. The two RMPs radioed their base at Dhekelia, but not before firing their weapons to scare off the dogs. The animals whimpered away, but hung about in the yard.

  The RMPs walked closer: one spoke into his radio. ‘One deceased male. Thirties. Dark hair. Resembles Alexandros Skarparis. One deceased female. Sixties. Resembles Rosa Skarparis.’

  The intel officers poked their heads above the counter.

  ‘Don’t worry, apart from these two, I think we’re alone. We’ll check the house. Looks like business has been taken care of. I’m sure we won’t find anyone still here.’

  The first intel officer looked at the corpses. He was no expert, but they hadn’t been dead long. The dogs had taken a few chunks, but they were recognisable. It was a sobering sight. He looked straight into the eyes of the woman, and wondered if she’d suffered.

  All the conversation in the car seemed suddenly irrelevant as he remembered how his companion had said they should eat a good lunch before setting off to the mountains. He shuddered to think that that two-hour delay might have been the difference between life and death for the mother and son on the floor in front of him.

  He shut the pool house door to make sure the dogs couldn’t get back in, and sat down outside. The image of dead bodies surrounded by pools of their own blood, being gnawed on by wild dogs, was something he hadn’t signed up for.

  Chapter 54

  Graeme took Kelly’s call just before five o’clock. He’d had to cover for two members of staff who were sick. He itched to get back to Tilly, but Kelly said she’d sent a squad car earlier and everything seemed fine. She agreed to send another one and knock this time. Meanwhile Graeme called the cottage. Tilly sounded miserable.

  ‘I keep hearing noises out the back.’

  ‘What type of noises?’

  ‘I don’t know. I went out to check, but there was nothing there.’

  ‘Don’t do that. Kelly’s sending a car. I’m sorry I left you all afternoon. I need to drive to Allerdale House, just to collect a file of drawings that I can work on tomorrow; it’s my day off and I intend to spend it with you.’

  ‘Studying drawings?’

  ‘It’s better than being on your own. This might all be over and we could go out.’

  ‘Did Kelly say that?’

  ‘No, but it can’t go on for ever, can it?’

  ‘I tried to call Alexandros again, but it went dead.’

  ‘The line to Cyprus is crap. Keep trying. Use the landline; don’t waste your mobile bill.’

  They hung up.

  He closed up the marina and drove to Allerdale House. Sebastian had given him the code to get in through the gate, and he pressed it into the pad. The gates opened and he drove through. The view of the lake took his breath away, despite having seen it many times before. It was the way the gardens sloped down to the beach, and the view of the water in the distance so private and untouched. He wondered idly who took care of the gardening.

  As he opened the back door, he heard voices. He stopped and listened, wondering if somebody had let themselves in without permission. He’d promised to let Sebastian know if anyone came and went without his say-so.

  ‘Who’s there?’ He heard a voice shout from upstairs. He was sure it was Sebastian, and thought it odd that he hadn’t informed him that he’d be coming up from London.

  ‘It’s just me,’ he called back. ‘I came to get some drawings I left here.’

  ‘Graeme?’ Sebastian appeared at the top of the beautiful double staircase. He was dressed in a robe, and the top of it was open.

  ‘I’m sorry I disturbed you. I’ll get my file and go.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you care to join us?’

  Graeme didn’t know how to respond. Hadn’t he made it clear he wasn’t interested? Another man appeared behind his boss, dressed in a similar manner. He’d walked in on a love tryst. He looked at his feet. ‘I won’t be a minute.’

  He walked through to the orangery, where he knew he’d left the file of ideas. He picked it up and turned round. Sebastian was standing at the foot of the stairs holding an old rifle. Graeme dropped the file.

  ‘What the fuck?’

  ‘Graeme, I can’t have anyone know I’m here.’

  ‘I won’t tell anybody! Put that thing down! Jesus, is that from the Napoleonic War?’ He hoped humour might calm the man. He glanced upstairs. The other man was now fully dressed and descending the stairs. Graeme knew this wasn’t a good situation to find himself in. He had two opponents, and one of them had a gun. He had no idea what they were up to and why they didn’t want to be found.

  ‘I have no interest in who you choose to take to bed, Sebastian. I’m not about to out you.’

  Sebastian laughed. ‘This isn’t about being outed, you imbecile.’

  ‘I don’t really want to know what it’s about. Seriously, though, that thing looks like it could backfire: I’ve seen it happen before. Is that your grandfather’s hunting gun?’

  Sebastian looked at the weapon and Graeme knew that he was mulling over the consequences of the thing going off in his hand.

  ‘You pay my wages,’ he said. ‘Why would I betray you? I don’t know what this is all about, but I have no inte
ntion of mentioning anything to anybody. You have my word.’

  ‘Don’t believe him.’ The other man spoke. He looked like a man in control, and much more handy than Sebastian. If they were having an affair, that wasn’t the full extent of their relationship; he looked more like a bodyguard. He and Graeme eyed each other.

  ‘Look, why don’t I simply vanish and forget I saw you? You’re on your own property; it’s none of my business. Actually, that detective in charge of the inquiry into what happened here has been asking around after you. Is it her you’re avoiding?’

  Graeme was stalling for time, but he had no idea if it was working. He could see that the man behind Sebastian wasn’t armed. Sebastian looked as though he’d never fired a shot in his life, and it was virtually impossible to hit a moving target even if you were well trained.

  ‘When are you going to start locking your doors?’ He tried humour again, and prayed that the orangery’s outer door was unlocked. Sebastian looked down at the rifle, then turned and said something to his lover.

  Graeme took his chance and made a grab for the orangery door; it was unlocked. He raced through it, the force of his exit making it crash back on its hinges. He heard glass shatter; he also heard a very loud gunshot and thought he’d been hit. His legs felt like jelly, and he dived over a bush and onto the gravel beyond it, smashing his chin and scraping his hands. But he wasn’t thinking about anything except getting away, and he didn’t look back.

  He ran towards the water, having no other option, and dived in just as he heard another shot. His lungs screamed and he felt pain in his back; whether it was from exertion, fear or a lead slug, he didn’t know. He spotted a boat about twenty yards off the beach and swam underwater as far as he could. When he surfaced, the man on deck – he recognised him as Horace, a local out on a fishing trip, no doubt – stood up and waved his newspaper at him.

  He had virtually no breath left, and as he reached the boat, he went under again. The cold burned his skin and he felt himself weakening.

  ‘Start the motor!’ he shouted, not knowing if he could be heard or if he was just gurgling water. But then he heard the engine cough into life, and Horace reached over the side to pull him up.