Fakes and Lies

by Jane A. Adams

  Annie hated hospitals. She hated the smell, she hated the sound, she hated the kind of building that typically housed them, she hated the fact that being there always meant that something was wrong. The previous summer they had visited friends in hospital who had just had a new baby, and it had felt weird to Annie that they were actually going to witness something positive happening in the place she always associated with sickness and injury and death. And now they sat in the family waiting room, waiting for any kind of news. So far there had been nothing at all, apart from the offer of tea. Bob, always restless, paced up and down with slow, monotonous steps and Harry, positioned so he was facing the door, sat with his feet square on the floor and his hands on his knees, his back very straight. Annie had curled up in a corner of the long sofa.

  After the first flurry of conversation when they had all arrived, and the first demands for information from medical staff who had been unable to tell them anything much, they had barely spoken.

  Annie, and then Bob, had made statements and arrangements had been made for them to go to the police station later – mostly at Annie’s insistence. She had, by now, almost convinced the police officer they had met at the scene that there was more to this than just a girl having an argument and pushing a boy off the balcony. Bee had not turned up at home and, more significantly, her mobile phone had been found close to the warehouse. Someone had stamped on it and, taking a quick look at the partial muddy bootprint on the screen, one of the CSIs had surmised that the foot that had stamped on it had not been its owner’s. A quick canvas of the area, a chat to people working in the next building (despite it being Sunday) gave the police the information that a blue car had driven away at speed with two people inside.

  Patrick’s text had mentioned a blue car with two people in it, a man and a woman, he thought. The coincidence was too much even for a sceptical police officer.

  Annie shifted position and Harry glanced at her briefly and then returned his attention to the door. Annie got up. ‘I’m going to find the ladies’,’ she said. ‘You want some coffee? Maybe something to eat? Harry, you’re going to need your strength. When Patrick wakes up he’s going to want you with him.’

  ‘Coffee, then,’ Harry agreed.

  Annie opened the waiting room door and stepped out into the noise of the corridor. A&E was off to her right and to the left were the toilets and the vending machines and another waiting area.

  Annie sighed. She was bloody useless at just doing nothing. She had half a mind to go and get in the car and go searching for Bee, searching for anything. Just driving would be better than sitting, but she knew she couldn’t. She had to stay put even though it made her feel utterly pathetic.

  In the toilets she washed her hands and face. There was a smudge of Prussian blue on her thumb where she’d cleaned Bob’s hands with the rag. It was one of Bob’s favourite colours; Patrick, in contrast, preferred cerulean.

  What if he was paralysed? she thought. What if he couldn’t paint, couldn’t draw? She knew people would just say, Oh, you’re lucky to be alive, but would Patrick see it that way?

  Annie shook the thought away and went back into the corridor, down to the vending machines. She bought chocolate and shoved it in her pockets and then managed to balance three squishy vending machine cups of coffee between her hands and walked slowly back to the waiting room.

  Bob must have been watching out for her because he opened the door and she set the coffee down on the table. And then unpacked the chocolate from her pockets. ‘Any news?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Bob said. ‘Still nothing.’

  ‘Surgery can take a long time,’ Annie said, although she wasn’t sure if that would reassure anyone. She wasn’t reassuring herself, that was for sure.

  The door to the waiting room opened and everyone looked up expectantly. Alec and Naomi came in, with Napoleon.

  The conversation went round again. ‘Any news?’ And the inevitable ‘No.’

  Naomi sat down next to Harry and took his hand and for the first time he started to talk properly. He talked about Patrick, how frightened he was, what he would do if he lost his son and Annie, who had always known that Naomi and Harry were close, caught a glimpse of just how close and interconnected their lives were.

  Her need to be doing something, anything, was overwhelming now and she leaned across to Bob. ‘I’m going to take the car, swing by Bee’s flat and see if I can see anything. I’ll call Alfie and let him know what’s going on and see if we can get some bodies on the ground out there. Alfie’s got connections, we might be able to get some CCTV footage.’

  Bob looked anxious and unwilling to let her go. Alec was leaning across, having overheard the conversation. ‘If it’s all the same to you, I’ll go with you. We can take my car. There’s not a lot I can do here.’

  ‘There’s not a lot I can do,’ Bob objected.

  ‘Please, Bob. Alec and I can be more use out there. Harry and Naomi are going to need somebody who can drive, or take messages, or do whatever needs to be done here. You’re better at it than I am.’

  From anyone else that might have seemed like a platitude, a way of fobbing him off, but Bob knew it was the simple truth, however much he might dislike or even resent it. He nodded. ‘Go, then. But be careful.’

  ‘Always,’ she said.

  EIGHTEEN

  Bee had been terrified and utterly bewildered. She had been aware of the figure rushing up towards her and knocking her sideways and the box she was holding spilling its contents on the landing and down the stairs. She had been aware that the man who had pushed her aside had then turned his attention to Patrick, shoving him viciously into the safety rail at the top of the landing. And then she saw him fall. Patrick had made a grab for the rail and as he fell his body had twisted. She’d heard him hit the ground and knew she had screamed his name. The next thing she was aware of was that her wrists had been grabbed and fastened with a cable tie behind her back. Tape covered her mouth and it wasn’t like the movies, just a little piece across her lips, the man who had grabbed her had wound it round her head. She could feel it against her skin, pinching, and it pulled her hair when she moved. She was vaguely aware of these things but she was more aware that Patrick had not made a sound.

  The man took hold of her arm and pulled her down the stairs. He moved so quickly she could hardly get her footing and she tripped and almost fell. He swore at her and then picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. As he turned across the warehouse, heading for the main door, she got a glimpse of Patrick lying on the floor. He wasn’t moving. There was blood, a lot of blood.

  She realized that her assailant had come in through the little door that Danny and his father used. She knew that it was always padlocked on the outside but she supposed that a pair of bolt croppers could have dealt with that.

  There was a car, and a girl and an open boot, and Bee was pushed inside.

  She heard the girl screaming at the man. Heard what sounded like the man hitting the girl and telling her to get in the car. And then the car seemed to launch away at speed and Bee was thrown around the boot, helpless to protect herself. She curled up tight, wedging herself in the corner. She wanted to cry but she was terrified that if she did her nose would run and her throat would block up and she wouldn’t be able to breathe. She was already having problems, and although she tried to tell herself that she could breathe, that it was only her mouth that was covered, that she would be all right, her chest and throat tightened so much she could hardly get the air to go in.

  Tears ran down her face. Let Patrick be all right, she thought. Please let him be all right. And then, hot on the heels of that thought, he’s going to kill me, isn’t he?

  After some time she felt the car slow and then turn and she was suddenly aware that the girl was yelling again, shouting at the man, and he was shouting back and threatening her. There was something in the girl’s tone that told Bee that she had gone almost beyond fear. That she was so desperate she was almost unafraid. She
heard the girl cry out and then go quiet and guessed that the man had hit her again.

  What was the girl doing there? Bee wondered. She wasn’t driving, she wasn’t any use to the man that Bee could see. She decided that this man just wanted the girl there on some strange whim of his own and there was probably no sense to it at all.

  She tried to pay attention to the direction the car was going and estimate the length of time, but it was no good. She couldn’t keep her focus. She felt the car slow again, almost to a stop this time, and the man spoke to somebody and then drove on but at a much more leisurely pace. They must be nearing the destination, Bee thought. After a few more minutes they stopped completely. She heard the door open and then the boot and then the man put a bag over her head and dragged her out. He didn’t bother to make her walk this time, he just picked her up again, slinging her over his shoulder once more. She could hear boots on gravel and then on something more solid. A door opened and slammed shut. Another door opened and then there were stairs. She became aware of a second set of footsteps, following on behind but much more hesitant, and she guessed these belonged to the girl she had seen.

  Finally another door opened and she was dropped on to the floor. The door closed again and she heard the lock. Bee began to struggle, trying to free herself from the hood.

  ‘Keep still. Let me help you.’ The girl’s voice.

  The hood was lifted from her head and Bee blinked in the sudden light. The girl, her face bruised and her cheek cut, was staring at her.

  ‘You want me to take the tape off? I’ll try not to hurt you.’

  Bee nodded and braced herself. Again it wasn’t like in films, it hurt like hell as the girl pulled the tape off her cheeks and her hair and her lips. She could feel little bits of skin tearing free and there was blood on her mouth.

  ‘I can’t undo your hands; he’s fastened them with one of those cable tie things. I’m Sian; who are you?’

  Bee stared back at her. ‘You mean you don’t know? Did you see what that asshole did to my friend? He fell – that bastard pushed him. Patrick fell.’

  The girl called Sian was nodding. ‘I know, I saw. I never saw him do anything like that before …’ And then she stopped as though that was a lie.

  Bee stared at her sceptically. ‘No?’

  Sian took a deep breath. ‘I saw him kill someone. A woman in a gallery. I saw him stab her. I was there.’

  ‘Antonia Scott.’ Bee knew it must be her.

  ‘I didn’t mean … I didn’t know. He said I should pretend to be this artist that she was expecting. He said it was some kind of joke. I knew it wasn’t, but … Oh God, I’ve been so scared.’

  Bee’s look must have been scathing because Sian cowered back. ‘Where the hell are we? And what the hell does he want with me?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s this big house in the middle of nowhere. I’ve never been here before. And I don’t know who you are, so I don’t know why he wants you.’

  ‘I’m Freddie Jones’s daughter,’ she said. ‘Does that make any more sense of it?’

  If it was possible for the girl to get paler, she certainly did now. Her skin blanched beneath the bruises. ‘Something about a painting,’ she said. ‘He took a portfolio from the gallery. That’s all I know.’

  ‘Help me up.’

  Sian helped Bee get to her feet and they took a proper look at each other. About the same age, Bee thought, though Sian was small and blonde and a bit curvier than Bee was. On the terror scale, she figured they were about even.

  ‘What the hell is this place?’

  ‘It’s a big house, that’s all I know. We came in through what I think was a stable yard and up some stairs. I guess these are the servants’ quarters, or were.’

  Looking round, Bee guessed she was about right. The room was quite small and gave the impression, from the angle of the ceiling, that they were up in the eaves of the building. Cheap carpet on the floor, a single bed and basic furnishings. The curtains were closed. Bee went across to the window and Sian opened the curtains. They were cheap, chintzy and unlined, and the view out of the window told them nothing Sian hadn’t already observed. Bee could see the corner of a cobbled yard, and the side of a wall with a door just visible. Opposite was another wall, red brick and blank. Even if she strained to see upward, there was not so much as a glimpse of sky.

  ‘I get the feeling we could shout our heads off and no one would hear us,’ she said. ‘And no one would take any notice, even if they could.’

  She tensed her wrists against the tie but there was little movement and if she didn’t remember to keep wriggling her fingers her hands soon became cold and the pins and needles started. He’d bound her hands viciously tight, needlessly so, and she felt lucky that he’d not broken the skin. She took vague heart from that. Clearly, no one cared what happened to poor Patrick, but she got the feeling that the man, whoever he was, had been told to deliver her mostly unscathed.

  ‘So,’ she said, turning from the window and then going over to sit down on the bed, ‘who the hell is that moron and who the hell are you?’

  She wriggled her way back so she could lean against the wall. The bed had no headboard. Sian, clearly needing to do something positive, grabbed a pillow and shoved it between Bee’s back and the wall. Bee wriggled again until her back and hands were in the best position she could find and then said, ‘Well? You know more than me, so tell me. What are we up against here and what the fuck is going on?’

  Sian perched on the edge of the bed. Her face seemed even paler and Bee wondered how that was possible. The bruising had darkened. It looked painful; one eye was swollen almost shut.

  ‘Look through that door there,’ Bee said. ‘With any luck it’s a bathroom or something. I’m guessing they don’t want us to piss ourselves and spoil the decor.’

  ‘You need to go? I mean, I can help …’

  Bee shook her head. ‘I’m hoping there’s cold water and a towel or something. You need to get a compress on that eye before it starts to close. God, I sound like my gran.’

  Sian managed what sounded like a laugh. She did as Bee said and opened the door. ‘Toilet and wash basin,’ she said. ‘And a towel.’

  ‘Good, soak a corner of it in cold water, then wring it out and hold it against your eye. It should help a bit.’

  She watched as the other girl wet the towel and then came back to sit on the bed, the wet end pressed against her bruise as hard as she could bear. Her face half covered, not looking fully at Bee, she seemed to find it easier to talk. ‘His name is Kevin Binns, but everyone calls him Binnie. He used to be a friend of mine but now … now he’s just a monster, and I don’t know what to do.’

  Abruptly she burst into tears and sat sobbing, face buried in the towel.

  Oh great, Bee thought. I’m the one who’s been tied up and kidnapped, my friend is probably dead and now I’ve got to turn on the sympathy. She took a deep breath and told herself that she’d got to calm down. That this girl, Sian, had obviously been stretched to breaking point by whatever that animal had done and that she had to take it slow if she was going to find out anything useful.

  ‘OK,’ she said at last. ‘He was a friend of yours. So what the hell happened? You’ve got to tell me everything you know and then we’ve got to work out how the hell we’re going to get out of here.’

  Alive, she added to herself, how the hell are we going to get out of here alive?

  NINETEEN

  ‘Where are we going?’ Alec asked.

  ‘Head towards the coast road and I’ll give you the address in a minute. I’ve got to make a phone call, make sure he’s home.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Alfie, the private detective Naomi will have told you about?’

  ‘She’s told me a bit,’ Alec said. ‘But I wasn’t even home when we heard about Patrick. We came to the hospital as soon as we could. We’ve not had much time to talk.’

  ‘Right,’ Annie said. ‘I didn’t think about that.’


  She was holding her phone to her ear, waiting for a response. Then she spoke briefly and gave Alec an address. ‘It’s about a forty minute drive. If you want to go back, I understand. I can take myself there.’

  ‘We’re on the way now. I’m no better at hanging round in waiting rooms than you are. I’m not good at hospitals, if I’m honest. When I thought Naomi might die … after the accident, I practically haunted the place. Naomi’s sister and I took turns to be there.’

  ‘You weren’t together then.’

  ‘No, but it suddenly hit me how much I wanted us to be. You know the ironic bit? I had to play it even more carefully afterwards. Naomi can’t take pity. If, for one minute, she’d thought I felt sorry for her, it would have been over before it began. So, we took things slow …’ – he paused – ‘… and then Harry came back on the scene and I thought I’d blown it again. Harry has a much longer standing claim on her affections than I have, you know?’

  Annie nodded. ‘Does it bother you now? That they are still so close?’

  Alec laughed. ‘I get the odd moments of jealousy,’ he admitted. ‘But no. Ninety per cent of the time I’m just glad she’s got such good friends. Ten per cent of the time I’m telling myself that I’m being stupid; that Harry is just a friend. A better friend than most people ever find – to me, too.’

  He paused again. ‘Truth is, I love Patrick and Harry a great deal. They’re my family – but that doesn’t stop the little green monster poking its nose in occasionally.’

  Annie laughed. ‘And then when you had the car accident … more hospital.’

  Alec nodded. It hadn’t exactly been an accident but he wasn’t going to quibble.

  ‘You came through it,’ Annie said. ‘So did Naomi. She lost her sight but I’m guessing she’s no less the person she ever was. So far your unit has survived. The run of luck will continue, Alec. Patrick will be all right.’