The Truth Will Out Read online

  Her mother had always been a strong and capable woman. It was easy to forget that she was a pensioner rapidly approaching seventy. Only at times like this, when her hair that was usually secured in a neat bun, lay straggled over her shoulders, her face was gaunt and ghostlike and the veins in her hands seemed to protrude more than usual, did Helen remember just how vulnerable she was. And how old…

  Helen squatted beside the empty bucket at the side of the bed and stroked her mother’s hair gently. Jane Lavery’s eyelids flickered, then opened. She managed a weak smile, but didn’t move.

  “How are you feeling?” Helen asked.

  “A bit better.” She blinked wearily. “I think I just need to rest.”

  “Can I get you anything?”

  Her mother shook her head once and blinked again.

  “Okay, call me if you need anything.” Helen pointed to Jane’s mobile on her bedside table. “I’ll just be downstairs.”

  Helen was almost at the door when she heard her mother’s raspy words, “Robert has a sleepover.”

  She turned back. “He’ll live.”

  Jane Lavery moved to lift her head. “He’ll be disappointed.”

  It was just like her mother to be more concerned about the social diary of her grandson than her own health. “Mum, relax. Do you think you’ll be okay for ten minutes?”

  Jane smiled gratefully and followed up with a short nod.

  “Then I’ll take him. We can’t have him being upset, can we?” But the sarcasm was lost on her mother, who’d closed her eyes and sunk back into oblivion.

  ***

  Nate slowed as the lights turned to red. Switching to neutral, he glanced across to the passenger side, stretching out a hand to stroke the leather seat as if it were a hooker’s thigh. He had loved Chilli’s old BMW X5, but this Mercedes SLK 55 AMG was something else. 0-60 in less than five seconds, a specially designed exhaust making the engine growl, the sleek white, sports finish, the surround sound system… He fisted his hands and banged his knuckles together.

  A car horn sounded behind him. The lights had changed. He flared his nostrils, raising his middle finger out of the open window before powering away. The spike of anger was replaced by a crooked smile as he sped up the road, passing the turn on the left that led home. He might as well take the beast for a run tonight.

  Nate was buzzing. He’d been watching the doors for a couple of hours this evening before being called to the office. Chilli invited him in and introduced him to a tall, dark-haired detective. But he’d seen the face before. This was no police visit. The man eyed him warily as Chilli called Nate his ‘Chief of Security’. Nate had nodded, but remained silent. Chilli waved his black book at the man threateningly. Nate had seen that book before.

  “What sort of man would I be if I let this one go?” Chilli said. The man had swallowed, but said nothing. “I want the girl,” Chilli added through gritted teeth.

  “Can’t you spare this one?” the man said, barely managing to keep the desperation out of his voice. It was pathetic.

  Chilli gave a hard stare, shook his head vehemently and brandished the book again. “The code doesn’t work like that. If I go down, you come with me. Get. Me. The. Girl.”

  The silence that followed was broken when Chilli calmly asked Nate to take the car home. He would join him later. This was the very first time he had trusted his pride and joy to Nate, alone.

  ‘Chief of Security’… Nate felt a rush. He’d never had a title before. He’d always just been ‘Nate’ or ‘my nephew’. Chilli promoted him, just like that, no discussion. But that was Chilli - a man of few words.

  Nate raised the volume and bobbed his head to Eminem’s ‘Almost Famous’. He could feel the blood coursing through every vein in his body. The time was coming to step up. Chilli had no kids of his own and didn’t bother much with the rest of the family. Soon he would be attending the meetings. They would be asking his opinion. And they would hang on his every word. He puffed out his chest. He was THE MAN…

  As Nate approached the edge of Hampton, the roads grew quieter and the stench of cow dung filled his nostrils. Eyes fixed on the road he pressed his foot to the floor, cornering the bends. He felt like the cars in his video games whizzing around the track, trying to make the best time. The faint purr of the engine was still audible beneath the heavy sound of rap.

  Even when its lights started flashing, Nate didn’t notice the car on his tail. It wasn’t until the sirens howled that it caught his attention.

  Nate ground his teeth as his eyes flashed across the dashboard. He was over eighty in a fifty zone. They’d take great pleasure in doing him for speeding, a young lad in his uncle’s posh car.

  His mind raced through his options. Chilli didn’t court the attention of cops, in fact he did everything possible to keep them out of his hair. He’d be angry. But there was another reason he couldn’t pull over. They’d search him, and the car, and he couldn’t allow that to happen.

  He floored the accelerator. The purr of the engine became urgent as the cold country air rushed into the car. He glimpsed his rear-view, the police car was battling to keep up. They’d know by now who the car belonged to. He would have to think up something good to get out of this one.

  His eyes flicked back to the road just in time to see the bend. His reaction was visceral; he turned the wheel without jerking. It rounded the corner quickly. The back end swerved to take it. Years of gaming paid off. He saw the sign for the next bend and slowed to keep control. Another shot in his rear view. The car behind him was losing speed.

  Another bend, sharper than expected. He overcompensated, the rear end fishtailed, but kept on course. He couldn’t see the police car. He’d lost them. He was just congratulating himself, when the next bend came out of nowhere, followed by another sharp one. He slammed the brakes. Dust rose as the tyres scraped the asphalt sounding like a flock of screeching gulls, the force so massive they lost contact with the ground. The car tumbled, his body walloped the side. He felt a suffocating sensation. The world swirled around him as he lost all orientation. The vehicle teetered for a few moments, before resting on its side.

  He was aware of people moving around, somebody trying to get into the car, a body in the distance. He heard his uncle’s voice calling him urgently.

  He wanted to respond, to explain, to apologise. The suffocating airbag was starting to deflate. He saw a face at the open window. But it wasn’t Chilli. An agonising pain seared vertically through his chest, up into his throat, choking him. He opened his mouth to speak, but coughed words were drowned by spluttering blood. Then darkness descended.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Back home, Helen checked on the sleeping patient, replenished the glass of water at her bedside and withdrew to the kitchen. A growl from her stomach reminded her she hadn’t eaten. Lacking the energy to cook, she opened a tin of baked beans and placed some bread under the grill. As she moved around the kitchen she became aware of the silence around her. Her mother was indisposed, Jo out, Robert on a sleepover and Matthew at camp. For the first time in years, the house adopted a quiet stillness akin to an empty old church. It was disconcerting.

  Her mind skimmed over Dean’s ‘family crisis’ as she sat at the table and ate. “You know teenagers,” he had said. Although Helen had never met his daughter, Lucy, she knew that she was about the same age as Matthew. And over the past twelve months Matthew had flexed his muscles. Only a few months ago he’d been suspended from school for smoking cannabis, arrived home from a friend’s party in a drunken stupor. Yes, she could definitely relate to teenage problems. She wondered if girls were more of a worry than boys. Was that who he’d been arguing with in the cafe the other night? Was it the reason for all those unanswered messages in the pub? But why ignore them? It didn’t make sense.

  Her phone buzzed twice and she clicked to read the message. It was from Dean. Call me. The very idea that they both thought of each other at the same time made her stomach roll. What if his fami
ly crisis wasn’t really a teenage daughter problem? What if it was with his wife? She slouched back in her chair. For a brief moment she’d wondered whether the old feelings were returning, whether this time they might have a chance of a future. The reality check made her curse out loud. First he double-crossed her at work. Now this. She had no time for mind games.

  She fleetingly thought about calling Eva, then changed her mind. She wasn’t expecting contact before the morning and Helen didn’t wish to alarm her. Anyway, if there was a problem, Eva would ring.

  Pemberton had asked her who had allocated Dean to the case. The comment confused her. During her meeting with Jenkins, when she was removed from the case, he had told her the order had come from above. She thought back to her conversation with Dean. He had told her the assistant chief appointed him. But surely Dean came under regional funding. No wonder Sawford was annoyed. Her assistant chief didn’t have jurisdiction to appoint Dean’s team to clear up Naomi’s case. Was he throwing his weight around to save Hampton’s budget? But the victory would be claimed by MOCT. Surely Sawford would be pleased by this? It would certainly add weight to his securing funding for his team for another year.

  Something didn’t sit right. The fork scraped across the plate as Helen gathered up the last few beans. She glanced at the clock. It was after ten. Against her better judgement, Helen grabbed her phone and worked the keys quickly before she had time to change her mind.

  Sawford answered on the third ring, “Helen?”

  “My sergeant said you wanted to speak to me about Operation Aspen?”

  “Yes. Just a few loose ends. We can meet in the morning.”

  The very idea that Sawford had already planned to travel down from Nottingham on a Sunday to discuss a solved homicide case rang alarm bells with Helen. “Of course,” she said warily. “There’s another development I would like to share with you now though.”

  “Oh?”

  “We’ve traced Eva Carradine.”

  “You have?”

  “Yes.” Helen swallowed her pride and shared a brief update of the afternoon’s events.

  “That is interesting,” Sawford said when she was done. “Certainly explains a few discrepancies.”

  Helen felt her stomach leap. “Discrepancies?” She fought to keep her voice even.

  “Yes,” Sawford’s voice was equally cagey. “Were you on scene when Jules Paton’s body was discovered?”

  The question threw Helen for a moment. “No. DI Fitzpatrick’s team were first on scene. I was searching Eva Carradine’s house and thought it imprudent to attend.”

  “Of course.”

  The phone went silent. It was only for a split second, yet long enough to allow a seed of doubt to germinate in Helen’s mind.

  “Interesting… Helen, who took you off the case?” Sawford eventually asked.

  His words threw her off balance.

  “Jenkins advised me that Dean had offered to do the file for the coroner, as the two cases are linked. Part of the assistance with our gun crime figures.”

  “Jenkins. Are you sure?”

  “I believe the order came from the assistant chief constable. He wanted my team to concentrate on the cold cases.”

  “I see.”

  “Pardon?”

  Sawford ignored her. “Who was the pathologist on scene for the suicide?”

  “Gooding, I believe.”

  “Have you seen the report?”

  Helen’s thoughts raced. She couldn’t recall anything suspicious. If Jules’ death had been murder, there would be signs of this detailed in Gooding’s report. “Only briefly. It was passed to DI Fitzpatrick’s team.”

  “Right. I’ll have a word with the pathologist in the morning.”

  “Good idea,” she replied.

  “Right. Thanks for phoning me, Helen. Let’s pick this up in the morning. We’ll meet up in your office at, say nine o’clock? It sounds like we need to iron out a few things.”

  The line went dead. Helen chucked her phone on the table and scratched the back of her neck irritably. The call left her exhausted, yet her curiosity was piqued. Although thoughts of the tenacious Sawford as an ally made her physically cringe, it was heartening that another senior officer was looking at the case through her eyes. But why were his answers so circumspect? Was he going to suggest she took the case back from MOCT? That didn’t make sense. Why not keep the case, gain a result? Or was he trying to punt it out, now that it wasn’t all it seemed?

  The clock on the wall chimed. Ten thirty. Helen raised her eyes to it and rested on the photo underneath of her two boys in a canoe, taken during their holiday in Scotland the previous year. They were laughing. A splash of water hid the scenery behind them. Suddenly the house felt too large and she yearned for the regular background hum of Robert with the TV, Matthew texting on his mobile, her mother sitting reading at the kitchen table.

  Helen finished the last drops of tea and rubbed her forehead as a wave of nausea hit her so suddenly, that it took her by surprise. She closed her eyes, laying her head down on the table as a deep sleep quickly engulfed her.

  ***

  Chilli Franks sat as still as a statue, dark eyes fixated in space. The empty house mirrored the hole in his hollow soul.

  A car door slammed in the street beyond. Through the slice of light bestowed by the street lamp outside he could see the stained patch of carpet Nate had cleaned earlier. He swallowed the lump in his throat and clamped his teeth together to fight the tears brimming in his eyes.

  Nate’s face filled his mind. The young boy that had been so delighted to get his own room, so grateful of his uncle’s basic care. Many an evening he had listened to him playing on his Xbox; they’d shared Indian takeaways, worked at the club together. A simple soul. One that had become close to his own. One that he could trust. The only one he could trust. All that he held precious, gone in the course of one evening.

  His chest heated, sending a fireball rushing through his veins. Chilli stood. He flexed his fists then grabbed an empty mug and, with all his might, threw it against the far wall. He didn’t stop to watch the smash. He kicked the coffee table repeatedly until it upturned and one of the legs broke off. He ran his hand along the mantle. Ashtrays, empty beer bottles, used coffee mugs all crashed to the floor.

  Chilli didn’t feel the cut on his wrist. Blood dripped to the floor. Sweat coursed down his back as he kicked and punched, casting aside everything in his way. Photographs scattered across the floor as the sideboard fell forward.

  The sight of a single photo halted him. He swayed, clutched the side of the sideboard, panting. His eyes fell on Nate in the boxing ring, pressing his gloved hands together, a rare smile on his face. At that moment the fireball burst into Chilli’s lungs. He held his head back, took a deep breath and let out a bloodcurdling roar.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Helen sensed a light touch on her shoulder. A pain shot through her neck as she jerked round to see the face of her mother.

  “Oh, it’s you.”

  Jane Lavery smiled pleasantly. She had secured her grey hair in a knot at the nape of her neck and wore a white dressing gown with grey mule slippers, but her face was still pale and drawn.

  Helen’s eyes moved around the room. She’d fallen asleep at the kitchen table. Dried bean juice marked the empty plate next to her. The morning light seeped in through the French doors. “What time is it?” she asked as she massaged her neck.

  “Almost seven. Have you been here all night?”

  Helen nodded. “You feeling better?”

  “A little,” she replied. “Just wish somebody would tell my stomach.”

  “Still sore?”

  Jane Lavery nodded.

  “Fancy a coffee?”

  “No, thank you. Can’t quite face it yet. Think I’ll just take some paracetamol.” Helen watched her mother cross to the corner cupboard in the kitchen and retrieve a box of tablets from the shelf.

  “I didn’t hear Jo come in,” He
len said, puzzled.

  “Oh no, dear. Sorry, forgot to say that she phoned and was sleeping at her friends. They were hitting the town, apparently.”

  Helen raised her eyebrows. “Poor Hampton.”

  Jane Lavery smiled. “Can you manage Robert this morning? I think I might go back to bed. Give this stuff time to work its magic.”

  Helen’s eyes felt dry and heavy. “Sure. Jack’s parents are taking them both to football. I’ll drop out from work and bring Robert back here afterwards. Can I get you anything else?”

  Jane Lavery clutched her stomach. “No, thank you. I’m not feeling so good again.”

  Helen watched her mother retreat to her flat and rolled her shoulders. She wasn’t looking forward to this morning’s meeting one bit.

  ***

  Eva replaced the handset and edged out of bed. At the window, she lowered her eyes to the car park where a man in casual slacks and sweater was wheeling a suitcase across the tarmac. He stopped beside a black Toyota. The boot lifted automatically. She watched him lower the case into the boot, close it and pull a phone out of his pocket.

  Eva had just spoken with Detective Chief Inspector Lavery, who’d asked her whether she’d had a comfortable night. She’d spent the night listening to the wind whispering in the nearby trees, watching shadows of car headlights passing on the road outside spin around the room and jumping at every distant sound. But she didn’t share this with the detective.

  Helen had gone on to explain that room service had been ordered and she was asked to check outside the door to see if it was there, while the call was still connected. Eva looked across at the food on the table: a bowl of cornflakes, a jug of milk, a covered plate that she suspected contained a cooked breakfast, something wrapped in a serviette next to a tiny selection of jam pots and a sachet of butter, alongside a teapot, cup and saucer. She didn’t feel like touching any of it, although she knew she had to eat something.