Perfect Little Lies (DS Nick Bailey & DC Zoe Hall Thriller Series Book 1)

by S A Tameez

  “Really?”

  “It looks like it’s falling apart.” She hid behind her coffee mug.

  “And yet it doesn’t.” Nick smiled at the thought of how it resembled him – falling apart but not quite.

  There was a brief silence. Both Nick and Zoe stared out of the window at people rushing through the streets to avoid the drizzle. It looked like it always did. Metallic buildings, swarms of people, ticket wardens, speeding motorbikes, hissing red buses – except now, there was a killer on the loose – The Sailor, grown out of his fixation with making his killings perfect. Now he just needed to do it. Like a crack addict who had been clean for a while but relapsed. Back to killing – not the same passion but the same desire – the perverse desire to take people’s lives.

  “Whether this is The Sailor or his protégé, more bodies will surface,” Nick said, unable to get the image of the girl out of his head.

  “Unless we find the killer,” Zoe responded instantly.

  Nick almost spilt the piping hot coffee on his shirt. Her naïve response was so cliché that he almost burst into laughter. That’s right, we get out on the streets, rough up the snitches, find the bad guy and bring him in and live happily ever after.

  Except this wasn’t a fairy tale – this was real life and real life had a way of kicking you in the balls.

  “Come on Sherlock,” Nick said, swigging the remainder of his coffee, “We’d better head back before they put us on the missing persons’ list.”

  Chapter 6

  Before

  The Square was what Sarah had expected – beautiful, elegant, stylish – overpriced. As was the sleek, black, long-sleeved, Ralph Lauren dress Melisa insisted on buying for her.

  The golden glow from the spotlights bounced off the elegant walls and gave a warm ambient feel. A huge contrast from the view into the busy street. Huge abstract paintings positioned perfectly around the room with splashes of colour that shouldn’t match but did so seamlessly.

  Sarah’s eyes lit up as she saw Jane and Talisha being escorted by a member of the restaurant staff to their table. She enjoyed spending the day with Melisa but seeing the other two members of their little clique was refreshing.

  “Nice of you two to show up!” Melisa said hugging them together. Sarah got up and went in for a hug but Talisha raised her palm like a police officer demanding her to stop. She eyed her up and down.

  “Wow!” Talisha said, “I’m not sure we should be here – cramping your style!”

  “Shut up,” Sarah said, “Get over here.” She hugged them both and then they all sat down at the table.

  “What is that?” Jane asked, her eyes fixated enviously on the black dress.

  “You work for a clothing retailer – you should know.”

  “We work in ‘a clothing retail outlet’,” Jane said making a quotation gesture with her fingers, “Not in a catwalk supplier.”

  “Ralph Lauren,” Melisa gloated.

  “It’s beautiful,” Talisha remarked.

  “Thanks.” Melisa and Sarah said simultaneously. Sarah could feel her face turning red. A brief but painfully awkward silence followed.

  “So, what’d you guys get up to in the holidays?” Melisa said as she skimmed through the menu.

  “Work, work…” Jane said, “Oh, and more work.”

  “Exciting.” Melisa said, “What about you T, do anything fun?”

  “Same. Work, and playing catch up with Uni stuff.”

  The silence crept back in. It was obvious that Melisa wanted someone to ask her what she did in the holidays so she can brag about her endless trips to dreamy holiday destinations or all the amazing things she purchased – she was a living breathing Instagram feed.

  No one asked.

  “What are we having?” Melisa said, peering over the top of the menu.

  “Erm…” Jane said, “It would help if I could pronounce anything on here.”

  Melisa smiled and then began reading out the food items on the menu in perfect pronunciation – it was as if she spoke every language known to man. She gave brief descriptions of what everything was.

  “Sorry,” a waiter who was taking an order from a nearby table said, “I couldn’t help but to overhear and I must say, your reading of the menu was quite remarkable.” He was tall with dark hair and chiselled jawline. An accent Sarah couldn’t decipher.

  “Why thank you…” Melisa said smugly, “Federico,” she said after gazing at his name tag.

  “Can I get you ladies something to drink?” His smile exposed his perfect white teeth.

  “You most certainly can.”

  “Great. What can I interest you in?”

  Melisa put the menu flat on the table and smiled at the waiter, “Why don’t you surprise us, Federico?”

  “As you wish,” Federico smiled and nodded.

  They all stared at Melisa as the waiter left.

  “What?” She said, picking up the menu again.

  “But I really wanted the Ra… Ra..g..naud Sab..our…in, Fontvie…ille No.35,” Jane said making an exaggerated sad face.”

  “You know that’s not how it is said,” Talisha remarked, “It’s more like Ra… what the hell is this?!”

  They all burst out laughing.

  “Don’t worry guys – everything on the menu is great.” Melisa smiled.

  “Of course it is,” Talisha said, “Anything Federico brings shall be amazing!” She made a feeble attempt to mimic his accent.

  They all laughed.

  “What?” Melisa glanced around the table, “The food! The food is amazing.”

  “Uh huh…” Talisha said now mockingly fluttering her eyelashes.

  The laughter started again. Melisa didn’t mind being the butt of the jokes and ridicule. She would take attention any way she could get it. No one judged her for it. They all had their issues and hers never hurt anyone.

  The night dragged on with awkward silences, strange jokes, and a feeling that she should be somewhere else. Not knowing where, but just not here. She had almost forgotten she was just playing along – playing the role of someone else. A Sarah Fowler in another dimension; one where her father was still alive, and her mother was a normal loving parent. One where they played happy families for real. One where she was not a soulless corpse unable to make sense of the world around her. A time and place that did not exist, but she so longed for it.

  Her forged persona had so many holes, it was a wonder how anyone fell for it. She didn’t even like the real her, how could anyone else? Melisa only ever saw the made-up character – composed and with direction. A charlatan.

  The uneasy feeling of being watched, wanting to be around people and safe, was replaced with self-resentment and the overwhelming desire to be alone. It was hard to laugh, hard to smile, hard to make small talk – and damn hard to pretend she was happy.

  Melisa was right, the food was amazing. She should have been grateful to have wonderful friends who cared about her and treated her well. And she was. But right now, she wanted nothing more than to be alone. In her bedroom with the lights off. Her comfort zone. A place where she could be honest and not afraid to show too much of herself. She craved pain – welcomed misery – for it was in the pain and the misery that she found solace.

  “Right ladies,” Melisa stood, “I need to visit the little girl's room and then I think we should head out. So much of London left to explore and the night is young.”

  “I need to go as well,” Talisha said. They both left for the restroom.

  Sarah silently picked at the dead skin around her fingernails, almost forgetting where she was and that there were other people around her. She thought about earlier – the strange event in the library – Norman with the paper bag over his mouth. The fear she felt before seeing him then the ease when she did. She felt a strange connection.

  Millions of people suffer from anxiety – that doesn’t make us connected.

  “You could at least pretend you’re having a good time!” Jane sai
d from across the table.

  “Excuse me,” Sarah responded, suddenly absorbing the environment around her, and thrown off by the remark.

  “You’ve hardly said a word all night.” She snapped. No smiles, no politeness – straight to the point.

  “Yeah, I’m just tired,” Sarah said truthfully. She was exhausted… among everything else.

  “Really? I mean, we’re here, in this amazing place,” her eyes scanned the restaurant, “All paid for, allowed to pick anything from the menu – this is heaven and yet you sit there with a grim look on your face like a spoilt teenager.”

  “That’s not fair.” Sarah snapped back in a feeble attempt to block the blows.

  “I don’t get it. Melisa… she adores you – more than she does us. I mean, me and T, we’re like the sides but you’re the main course. She’s besotted with you.” There was a spitefulness in her voice Sarah had never heard before. Perhaps she had felt like this for a long time but bottled up and allowed it to fester – now, the lid had come off.

  “Jane, listen, we’re all—”

  “No, I mean… I would kill for that dress, literally kill. It’s…” She shook her head, “I just can’t believe that you’re so fucking ungrateful.”

  “Melisa is my friend,” she stared Jane deep in the eyes, “My best friend. Money has nothing to do with it. I would be her best friend even if she was broke.”

  “You mean like you!”

  “What’s your problem?”

  “My problem is that you have everything and yet you act like you’re a victim. What? Melisa is buying you too much? Overwhelming you with love and gifts, and that’s too much for you to handle?”

  Sarah stared at the half-eaten food on the table. She found it difficult to suppress the tears. None of this made sense – Jane had never said anything like this to her before. Never even hinted it.

  “Is that why you do it?” Jane said.

  Her words jabbed Sarah on the jaw. Her thumping heart drowned out all the other sounds in the restaurant.

  “I know, Sarah.”

  Sarah’s eyes fell to the floor. She wanted to evaporate into the air. Bile rose to her throat.

  “I know you cut yourself,” she said with a look of satisfaction as if she had been meaning to get this off her chest for a while and glad she did.

  Tears burned down Sarah’s cheeks. She glanced at her arms – able to see through her clothing right to the scars. Visions of the nights where she could not make sense of the world flashed before her.

  “You might think that the long-sleeved clothing will cover up how much of a mess you are, but they won't. You’re not fooling anyone, Sarah.”

  But how did she know? Sarah had always been so careful. Always wore long-sleeved tops, never allowed her arms to be exposed. Not even her mother knew about the cutting. She wanted to tell someone – she thought to tell her mother, but she wasn’t doing it as a cry for help – she didn’t want help. She didn’t want it to stop. She wanted, needed it to continue. It was the only way she could cope with the tension in her head. The cuts in her flesh were doorways for the pain to escape – it had to escape or it would burn her insides until she was nothing but ashes.

  Sarah stood and grabbed her bag.

  “Where are you going?” Jane said as Sarah silently stormed passed her.

  “Sarah!” Melisa called as she came out from the restroom and caught a glimpse of her leaving the restaurant. As Sarah walked out on to the street, Melisa came rushing out behind her.

  “Sarah, wait!” Sarah stopped but didn’t turn around. She waited for Melisa to catch up. There was no use trying to hide her tears. She was exposed, like an illusionist who screwed up the finale.

  “Hey,” Melisa put her arms around her, “What’s wrong, honey?” Her words were slurred from the wine.

  Sarah didn’t respond, she just sobbed. Melisa craned her neck and looked at her face, “Are you OK?”

  “I’m fine.” Sarah snivelled, “I’m sorry, I need to go. I… Thank you for everything – you’re… you’re amazing. And I really don’t deserve you.” Sarah slid out of her arms and turned to walk away.

  “I don’t understand,” Melisa said, “Did Jane say something. You can’t take anything she says seriously – she’s a weird one, that girl.”

  “She didn’t say anything. I’m sorry.”

  “Sarah, please come back inside. Let’s talk about this.”

  That was the last thing she wanted. She didn’t want to talk. She didn’t want anyone to know her secret method of coping – but it was too late for that. Jane knew. Now they would all know. They would never look at her the same. She would be the crazy one. The girl with issues… she had been there before, and she did not want to go back there again. Not now. Not ever.

  “OK, fine.” Melisa said, “Just wait a minute. Let me get my coat and I will drop you home.”

  “It’s fine. I’ll get the tube.”

  “It’s 9 p.m.! You don’t want to use the underground at this time. Stop being silly – just wait a minute.” You should not be driving after drinking wine! She wanted to add but no fight left in her.

  “You already do so much for me. Thank you. But please, you go back and enjoy the rest of your night.”

  Sarah picked up her pace and headed for the underground. She could hear Melisa calling her name but kept walking with tears streaming down her face.

  “Sarah! Sarah, please!” Melisa’s voice got fainter until she could hear it no more.

  The wind was biting her cheeks. She pulled the hood of her coat over her head and walked the dark London streets towards the underground. London seemed so different when the sky darkened. The flamboyance, the vibrancy, the buzz, all replaced by eerie streets, sharp corners, and dark alleys.

  The drizzle had transformed into ice-cold rain. The winter months ensured it was dark by 5 p.m. It was now pitch-black. The rain added to the obscurity. On any other night, she would have felt nervous walking to the underground or getting on the tube at this hour, but not tonight. She was past being upset and accelerated to her default – rage and anger.

  She needed to get home and find consolation in the only thing she knew worked. Pain.

  “Sarah,” a voice called out behind her. She didn’t stop. She thought she imagined it.

  “Sarah,” it called again. It was a male’s voice. She didn’t know anyone around here. She was just moments from the underground, but the streets were empty. A chill ran through her. She wanted to run but her heels would not allow her to get anywhere fast. She could kick them off or try to break the heel like they did in the movies.

  She stopped walking and turned to face the voice.

  Chapter 7

  After

  “I got 3 other cases pending,” DCI Harold said as he took a bite out of a sandwich, “But this one is going to be the biggest pain, I know it. What do we know so far?” He continued with his mouth full.

  Nick put the paperwork down on the table and sighed. The smell of the cheese was making him hungry – though he was not hungry.

  “We’re waiting on the Coroner's report and I’ve sent Nina to contact Sarah Fowler's mother to confirm her ID.” A task he did not want to think about.

  “Can we get Forensics to pull their finger out and do this faster? The Press will be all over this – we could really do with a head start.” Nick forgot about the press and the paperwork – that was Harold’s forte. He always had a watchful eye on the processes and the press, which was good as Nick struggled with both.

  “Already sent DC Rainer to chase Forensics.”

  “What was the outcome from the CCTV – did they manage to trace her steps?”

  “The team have gone through hours of footage but there’s a fair bit more before we can paint an accurate picture. We could do with—”

  “I know what you’re going to say,” Harold swiftly jumped in, “but my hands are tied. It’s like homicides are doubling every month. I had to get a budget increase in the Gangs Unit. Thre
e murders in a week, all gang related. We need to get results, or the Super will be on my case. And believe me when I say, I can’t deal with that right now.” Another big bite of the sandwich as if stuffing his mouth with carbs was somehow helping deal with the stress. Stress eating, emotional eating, comfort foods – the disorder had many names, but it was simply a way that some people dealt with the things they cannot deal with.

  Nick shuffled through the paperwork and removed a sheet of paper with some scribbled notes.

  “We’ve interviewed two of Sarah Fowler’s friends.”

  “And?”

  “And one of them, Jane Taylor, claimed the girl was a wreck. Suffered depression, anxiety and she self-harmed.”

  “Self-harmed?” DCI Harold asked, “Anything on how she did it?”

  “Erm…” Nick skimmed through the notes, “She cut her arms.”

  “Perfect.”

  “I don’t understand?”

  “Well, if Sarah Fowler cut her arms, then she’ll have scars. It might help us get that head start we’re looking for.”

  Nick stood up, gathering the sheets. Something so obvious and yet Nick had not thought of it. Perhaps the sandwich helped. He had got it wrong, Harold was emotional eating, perhaps it recharged his brain.

  “You going to call Marcus?”

  “No, I’m going to head down there and help Forensics get their finger out.”

  “Good man.” DCI Harold stuffed the remainder of the sandwich into his mouth and chewed fast as if he had just thought of a parting comment, “Nick, I want live updates – any progress made, I want to the first to hear about it.”

  “Sir.” Nick hurried out of the office, anxious to see the arms of the victim. He already knew the scars would be there. It was Sarah, no matter how much he did not want it to be. He did not need to see them to verify it, something had already told him it was her and that he had failed in finding her in time.

  “Wakie Wakie,” Nick said as he noticed Zoe staring at the wall.

  “You look happy.” Zoe remarked.

  “Not happy exactly but the Chief and I might have just had an epiphany.”