Sea of Lies

by Rachel McLean

  She dug a fingernail into the back of her hand: idiot.

  “No. But I know someone who can tell you more.”

  “And what are your grounds for saying this?”

  “I’ve spoken to someone who was there. Bill Peterson.”

  “We’ve already interviewed Mr Peterson.”

  “And he told you he didn’t know anything, I know. He was lying.”

  “So he was lying and you aren’t?”

  “Yes.”

  “And why should we believe your second-hand account?”

  She frowned. She wished she had brought Sam with her; he would give her strength. He would stop her running out of the room, which was what she wanted to do. “It was Bill who told me.”

  “Why would he tell you that?”

  “He realised it was wrong that Martin should be arrested for it.”

  “Very well. DC Paretska has been taking notes. If we think there are sufficient grounds, we may speak to Mr Peterson again. Now the other matter. You say you were there when Robert Cope was killed?”

  “Yes.” She pulled her hands off the table and clasped them in her lap. She tugged on her thumb.

  “You were one of the women they abducted?”

  She stared at him. So the police had been told about that. In which case, Martin would be a suspect.

  “I was there.”

  DC Paretska pushed away her pad. “How come no one from your village will tell us the truth about those abductions?”

  Sarah shook her head. “That’s not why I’m here.”

  “But why? Those men grabbed you in the middle of the night and took you. God knows what they did to you on that farm. But none of you will talk to us about it.”

  “We don’t have the best history with the police.”

  DS Bryce coughed. “I think we’ve been very helpful to you. Everyone has.”

  “Have you seen the way people round here look at us? We have to keep our doors locked at night, for fear they’ll turf us out of our beds.”

  “I think that’s a bit extreme.”

  “Not for us, it isn’t.”

  He sighed. “So. Tell us about Robert Cope’s murder. You were at the farm?”

  “Yes.”

  “And how did you get there?”

  She hesitated. “On a bike.”

  “A bike.”

  “Yes. It’s outside your police station now.” She had to hope it hadn’t been reported stolen. Maybe it was Ben’s. Maybe it had been left behind by a holidaymaker, years ago.

  “A bike.” DC Paretska wrote in her pad. “How long did it take you to get there?”

  “Four and a half hours.”

  The constable scribbled in her pad. She looked at her colleague. “It’s about forty miles. That makes sense.”

  “And why did you go there?” asked DS Bryce.

  “I didn’t come here to answer questions about me. Just about the murders.”

  “We simply want to get a fuller picture,” said DC Paretska. “Don’t worry about it.”

  That was easy for them to say.

  “So you were there on your bike. Why?” asked the sergeant.

  “I was out hunting. For rabbits.”

  “Rabbits!”

  She pulled at her thumb. That was stupid, lying to them.

  “And you suddenly came across this farm and heard a commotion.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “I was at the beach and some of the men grabbed me.”

  “Do you know which men?”

  “I’m not sure, but I think it was Leroy and Mike.”

  “That’s very convenient.”

  “They were the type.”

  “Was anyone else with them?”

  “Yes. Bill Peterson.”

  “Not Martin Walker?”

  “They caught up with him later. He tried to persuade them to let me go.” She was digging herself in up to the neck now. They’d have asked Martin about this, and he’d have given a different story. “They took us both to Robert Cope.”

  “Where was Robert Cope when they took you to him?”

  “In the kitchen. In the farmhouse.”

  “Which is where he was killed.”

  “Can I ask who told you about his death?”

  DS Bryce smiled sardonically. “You can ask, but I’m afraid we can’t tell you.”

  “Sorry,” added his colleague.

  She shrugged; worth a try.

  “So what happened in the kitchen?”

  “Robert Cope had a knife up to my face. He was threatening me with it.”

  “In what way was he threatening?”

  “Twisting it against my skin.” She brought her fingers to her cheek. “It dug in. He did it gently though, so as not to pierce the skin. Threatening.”

  “Then what?”

  “He was shouting, arguing with Ben Dyer.”

  “Who’d got there how?”

  Damn. It was Ben who’d used the bike.

  “I didn’t see him arrive.”

  “What were they arguing about?”

  “Something that happened between them when they were teenagers. It didn’t make a lot of sense.”

  “And Robert was holding the knife to your face while they did this?”

  “Yes. He moved it to my forehead. He started to cut me. You can see the scar.” She leaned forward to show them. DC Paretska drew a sketch in her pad.

  “We’ll need to photograph that,” she said.

  “No problem,” said Sarah. Maybe they were believing her.

  “And then what happened?”

  “My father came running in.”

  “Your father?”

  She felt an icy wave run down her back. “Yes. Ted Evans.”

  “And he’d come with you by bike?”

  “No. He came on the boat. The village has a boat.”

  “What did Robert Cope do when your father came running in? What did your dad do?”

  “They fought. Robert Cope let go of me and stabbed my dad’s shoulder.”

  “We’ve seen that.”

  Good, she thought. Evidence. She needed more of that.

  “And where was Martin Walker while all this was going on?”

  “He was watching, from the other side of the room. They had him tied up.”

  “Did he manage to escape his bonds?”

  “When my dad burst in, they let go of him. He threw himself in front of me, between me and Robert.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “I’m not sure.” She could feel her cheeks flushing.

  “You were a stranger to him, yet he leapt in front of a man he already knew – a man who had a knife and was clearly dangerous – to protect you?”

  “I guess he’s that kind of person.” She allowed herself a quiet smile.

  “What happened between your father and Mr Cope?”

  “Like I said, Robert put a knife in his shoulder. Dad collapsed to the floor and I fell onto him, holding onto the wound. Martin had thrown himself towards Robert, to protect me. Then Robert started on him.”

  “What do you mean, started?”

  She felt the blood pulsing through her wrists. “He started lunging at him with the knife.”

  “And Martin responded to that how?”

  “I couldn’t see it all, but I heard a struggle and then it went quiet. When I looked up, Robert was slumped against the wall with a kitchen knife in his neck.”

  “Martin put the kitchen knife in his neck?”

  “Yes. In self defence.”

  DS Bryce leaned over the table. Sarah pulled away. She willed herself to hold his gaze.

  “So you’re saying that Robert attacked Martin and Martin defended himself.”

  “Yes.”

  “Not that Martin attacked Robert in anger at what he’d done to you and your father?”

  “No.”

  The detective chewed on his lips. He peered sidelong at his colleague’s pad.

  “A
nd what about Ruth Dyer? What did you see her do?”

  “Nothing.” She swallowed, her throat tight.

  “Nothing at all?”

  “She took a ring out of Robert’s pocket, after he was dead. Before that she was sitting in the chair opposite me.”

  “And how did she get there?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “You’re not sure.”

  “No.” She lowered her eyes. She should be better than this at lying, with the home life she had.

  “Very well. Do you have anything else to add?”

  “Will you let Martin go now?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “He didn’t do any of the murders. You should let him go.”

  “It’s not as simple as that. You’ve only given us hearsay evidence on the Cripps and Ali killings. And as for what happened in that farmhouse, it seems no one in your village can agree.”

  He stood up and extended his hand. “That’s all we need from you, Miss Evans.”

  She pursed her lips. “Is he here?”

  DS Bryce raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry?”

  “Can I see him?”

  “If you’re talking about Martin, as I assume you are, then the answer’s no.”

  “No he’s not here or no I can’t see him?”

  A sigh. “You can’t see him. Do you have anything else for us?”

  She frowned, wondering if she could reword some of what she’d told them. Make it sound better.

  “No.”

  He stood up again. DC Paretska walked to the door and held it open.

  “Thank you for coming to us,” she said.

  “Does this change anything?”

  “We will consider what you’ve told us about Robert Cope’s murder. But as for the others – you weren’t there. It would be better if we could speak to someone who was.”

  “Didn’t you talk to Bill, when you arrested Martin?”

  “He wasn’t exactly forthcoming,” said Bryce. “Now, thank you once again.” He gestured towards the door.

  She shuffled through, feeling hollow. If anything, she’d made things worse for Martin. She traipsed to the main exit, spotting the bike through the glass doors. Once again she wondered where it had come from. Why had Bill not told her about it earlier?

  She pushed back through the doors.

  “Hello?” she called.

  The woman at reception gave her a puzzled look. A door opened and DC Paretska emerged. She looked tired.

  “I’ll get him,” Sarah told her.

  “Sorry?”

  “Bill. He’ll tell you. Come to the village. He’s there.”

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  Sarah sped along the country roads, her legs going as fast as she could push them. How long ago had Sam told Bill to leave the village? Two hours? He’d only have got a few miles on foot.

  She made for the village, wheels flying. She almost hit a man who was walking along the side of the road, keeping to the grass verge.

  She flew past him then slammed on her brakes. Shouldn’t Bill be going the other way?

  She turned. The man had disappeared.

  “Bill?”

  Nothing. She dropped the bike and walked back to the spot where she’d passed him.

  “It’s me! Sarah. From the village.”

  He pushed his head over the hedge. “I know where you’re from. What are you doing?”

  “I’ve been to the police.” She leaned over, balling her fists on her knees. She was out of breath. “They don’t believe me.”

  “No surprise there then.”

  She gulped down a lungful of air and straightened up. “They’ve got Martin. We have to help him.”

  “We’re no help to him now.”

  “That’s not true! You can tell them what happened. How those boys died.”

  “And Robert’s death?”

  She clenched her jaw. “You can tell them Martin was defending himself.”

  “That’s what you said?”

  “Yes. Why were you walking this way? Were you following me?”

  “I worked it out.”

  “Worked what out?” She felt the handlebars slacken in her grip.

  “Who killed them. Zahir and Jacob.”

  “But you told me. It was your men.”

  He cocked his head. “They’ll know you’re lying. The police.”

  “Please, Bill. Martin’s a good man. He deserves your help.”

  “And what makes you think I am?”

  “What?”

  “A good man. You’ve seen what I’ve done. It was me what took you.”

  “You apologised. You felt guilty.”

  He shrugged. “I still did it.”

  She stared at him, betrayal swirling around in her head alongside despair. “I don’t care. People change.”

  “Like your dad?”

  “Even my dad.”

  She heard a wailing sound in the distance. They both turned towards it. It was faint but unmistakeable; police cars, approaching them.

  Bill grabbed her arm and pulled her behind the hedge. She stumbled through and pushed him off, brushing herself down. The sound passed. She peered over the hedge to see three cars, two of them marked.

  “Why did you do that?” she asked.

  “Why the hell do you think?”

  She breathed out through her nose. “Please, Bill. I told them to go to the village. They want to talk to you. You can set things straight.”

  “Straight?”

  She nodded.

  “What if I tell them the truth, about Jacob and Zahir?”

  “That’s what I need you to do.”

  “And then there’s Robert. Martin stuck that knife in him—”

  “He did it for me!” she cried. “And you’ve said yourself that Robert deserved it.”

  “That doesn’t mean Martin should have—”

  “Who else?” she cried. “You? Would you have defied him? No! But Martin did.”

  He raised a hand as if to push her back through the hedge and then thought better of it.

  “I heard you talking to him,” he said. “About Lincoln. How you and he almost met.”

  She stared at him. “You wouldn’t.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Please, Bill. He was defending me.”

  “That seems to happen a lot.”

  “Please.”

  He sighed. “You go back to the village. Tell them to wait for me. I’ll catch up.”

  “It’ll take you hours.”

  “I’ll hurry.”

  She gave him one last look, her nostrils flaring, then mounted the bike and pushed off towards home.

  Chapter Seventy

  Dawn had been busying herself with peeling potatoes and carrots. Ted had returned home briefly, stormed upstairs and then gone out again, carrying what looked like a lump of wood. She wondered how many people he’d talked into his way of thinking, how many of them were going after Bill.

  He was gone now: they wouldn’t find him. He’d told her he’d go back to the farm. But she didn’t trust him.

  She heard doors slamming outside. She tensed, expecting Ted to come barging through the front door. She crept upstairs and peered out of the front window, her heart racing. Could Sarah be back?

  There were three cars parked in the square. Two police cars, and one unmarked. They stood quietly in the gloom, no one near them.

  She pushed her face to the glass, trying to see along the row of houses. Where had they gone? Had they taken Sarah to Ruth?

  Had they found Bill?

  The door to the back of the village hall slammed and three men ran out. Ted, Harry, and another man she didn’t know. She put her hand to her chest and waited. If Ted came this way she would hurry downstairs and boil the kettle.

  Instead, he headed for the police cars. He peered inside each of them in turn, hands against the glass. Either they were empty or their occupants weren’t about to talk to him.

  He turn
ed back to Harry and spoke to him. Harry shook his head and put a hand on Ted’s arm. Ted shook it off. He turned to the house, staring up at it.

  Dawn froze. The house was in darkness but her face was close to the window. He didn’t know she came up here, wouldn’t expect to see her. But still.

  She retreated as slowly as she could, hardly daring to blink. He frowned then looked towards Ben and Ruth’s house. Dawn let out her breath again.

  She slid down the stairs and into the kitchen. She lit the gas under the kettle and made a pot of tea. She placed it in the middle of the table, taking time to adjust it just so, then poured herself a cup. She sat down, closing her eyes as she drank. Her heart was racing and her skin felt like it had something crawling over it.

  She heard another slamming door and muffled shouts. She put her mug down and went to the front door, where she leaned against the wood.

  There was a rap at the door, almost knocking her to the ground. She smoothed her hands on her apron and opened it.

  “Ted,” she said. She wanted to berate him for forgetting his keys but didn’t want to enflame his mood.

  But it wasn’t her husband.

  “Mrs Evans?”

  “Er, yes. That’s me.”

  Two people stood on her doorstep. A short, chubby policeman, the one who’d asked her name, and a taller, willowy man in a faded black suit. A detective, she assumed.

  “We need to speak with your daughter, Sarah Evans.”

  Her lips were dry. “She’s not here.”

  The detective turned away from her door. More police were out there; four more. Two of them were talking to Ted and Harry. She wanted to go to Ted’s side, to calm him.

  “She hasn’t come back yet?”

  But she was with you, Dawn thought. Why haven’t you got her? She looked past him, towards the Parade. It would be getting dark soon. No time for a young girl to be out alone.

  She pulled her cardigan tight around her. “I’m afraid not.”

  The man nodded. “We’ll be here for a little while. Please tell her to find us when she arrives home.”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you seen a man called Bill Peterson?’

  Dawn blinked back her surprise. “Not recently.”

  “When did you last see him?”

  “About two hours ago. He was leaving the village.”

  The police officers exchanged glances.

  “Do you know which way he was going?”

  “I thought he might be coming to you.”