Sea of Lies

by Rachel McLean

  “No.”

  “Sorry. That’s all I know.”

  The detective gave her a stiff smile. “If you do see him, or if your daughter comes home, please let us know immediately.”

  “Err…yes.”

  They moved away, heading next door to Sanjeev’s. No one answered the door so they continued along the row of houses, nearing Ruth’s. Dawn hadn’t seen Ruth since her return from Filey; she hoped she was all right. Ruth was a good doctor; kind, gentle. She didn’t deserve any of this.

  She looked towards the Parade again before closing the door. Ted had disappeared back into the village hall, with Harry. The angry mob he’d gathered earlier seemed to have dissipated.

  She could make out movement in the distance. Two shapes, moving up and down. The shapes got larger and closer, and coalesced into two bright yellow shoes, pedalling a bike towards her.

  Sarah.

  Chapter Seventy-One

  Dawn ran out of the house towards her daughter. “Sarah!”

  Sarah panted her way towards her. She was pale and her thin jacket was soaked through. The bike came to a stop and Dawn threw an arm around her.

  “We haven’t got time, Mum.”

  “Are you alright? What did they say?”

  Sarah narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t want me to go.”

  “That doesn’t mean I didn’t worry about you. Let’s get inside.”

  Sarah looked towards the cars. “The police are here.”

  “Don’t worry about that.”

  “Sarah!”

  Dawn turned to see Ted running towards them from the village hall. He was alone. Sarah squared her shoulders.

  “Where the fuck have you been?” he hissed.

  “I went to Filey, Dad.”

  “I tried to stop her,” said Dawn, “but she wouldn’t—”

  “What the hell are you playing at, girl?”

  “I went to see the police.”

  “Why the hell would you do a stupid thing like that?”

  “To tell them the truth about Martin.”

  He raised his hand to cuff her. Sarah threw her own arm up to stop him and he withdrew, muttering.

  “Get inside,” he said. “We don’t want the whole bleedin’ village listening in.”

  Dawn tugged Sarah towards her. She tried to push from her mind what Ted might do once they were hidden inside.

  She glanced up and down the front of the houses as Ted opened their front door. The two police who’d spoken to her had gone into one of them; Sheila and Colin’s, she thought. There was no sign of the others.

  She and Sarah fought each other as they stumbled into the house, Dawn batting at her daughter in an attempt to smooth her hair and clothes, and Sarah desperate to pull away from her grip. At last Ted separated them.

  “What’s this about Bill Peterson and the police?” he said.

  “He’s got evidence, Dad,” she said. “He can help.”

  “Rubbish. They want to arrest him.”

  “He didn’t do it, Dad.”

  “Didn’t do it? He slung you over his back and carted you off to that farm, the bastard. He should be in jail.”

  “I don’t want to press charges.”

  “Of course you don’t. But we can sort him out. The village. We look after our own.”

  Dawn looked between them, scared.

  “Ted…” she said.

  Ted batted a hand at her: go away. She frowned.

  “Ted, you need to listen.”

  He turned to her. There were tight red circles high on his cheeks and his eyes sparked with anger. “What?”

  “We don’t know what he’s going to tell the police,” she said.

  “So? They can all dig themselves into the shit for all I care.”

  “Ted. We need to make sure he tells them Robert’s men did it.”

  “What are you on about, woman?”

  Sarah stepped forward. “There were two boys. Zahir Ali and Jacob Cripps. They attacked Martin. The police think he killed them, but really it was Robert. His men, anyway.”

  Ted looked from Sarah to Dawn. His forehead was creased. “What were their names?”

  “Zahir Ali and Jacob Cripps,” Sarah said. “Did you hear anything about them, when you came after me, to the farm?”

  “No.” His eyes were on Dawn.

  “I think you should let him,” Dawn said, her voice tight.

  Ted took a step towards her. His eyes were red-rimmed and his face pale. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

  “Please, Ted…”

  He hit her on the arm, one, twice, three times. She closed her eyes. He grabbed her other arm and started to pull her towards the living room.

  “Dad! Stop!” Sarah cried. He ignored her.

  Dawn threw her hands up in front of her face. He would be careful not to leave a mark, with the police sniffing around. But he was angry. Maybe scared.

  He flung her onto the sofa. “Stay there! Don’t go out and don’t meddle in things that don’t concern you again!”

  Dawn drew her knees up to her chest. She lay still, waiting for more blows.

  She saw Sarah above them. The girl grabbed her father’s shoulder. He spun round. He pushed her to the ground.

  “You!” he spat at her. “This is all your fault. If you hadn’t brought that little shit here—”

  There was a knock at the door.

  “What now?” said Ted. He glared at Sarah, then Dawn. He marched towards the hallway. Dawn watched him, trembling.

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  “We’ve been told that your daughter has returned home.”

  Sarah stepped forwards, pushing past her father. “Hello, Detective Bryce.”

  “Hello again. Where is he?”

  “Bill?”

  “You said he was at the village. We’ve had various reports that he’s left.”

  “That’s because we drove him out,” said Ted. “We could drive you out too, if you don’t stop bothering us.”

  “Dad.” Sarah turned back to the detective. “Let’s go outside.”

  She stepped past her father onto their path. She looked towards the Parade; no sign of Bill.

  Behind her, Ted was leaning against the door, glaring at the two police detectives. Sarah pulled the door closed, ignoring his complaints.

  “Come with me,” she said. She led them across the square to the JP. It was open but deserted, just Clyde behind the bar reading a book. He looked up as they entered and started busying himself behind the bar, looking flustered.

  “Why have you brought us in here?” DC Paretska asked. “Is he here?”

  Sarah shot Clyde a questioning look. He shook his head.

  “I wanted to get away from my parents. And into somewhere warm. He’s on his way.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “He promised me. I saw him on my way back. He was on foot and I was on a bike. He said he’d catch up with me.” She looked out of the window. It was dusk now, darkness descending. Lights-on would start soon and last for just an hour.

  “You believed him?”

  “Yes.” Should she have trusted him? “He might have gone back to the farm though.”

  DS Bryce pulled a mobile phone out of his pocket. Sarah stared at it, and could sense Clyde doing the same. She’d never had a mobile, and he probably hadn’t for years. She thought they’d disappeared.

  “He’s on the main road, either heading for Filey, or towards Scarborough. He won’t be far away.”

  Sarah felt her hand tremble. “What will you do, when you catch up with him?”

  “We’ll ask him to corroborate your story.”

  She nodded. She’d been so sure Bill would help her. Back at the farm, after Martin had gone, he’d been good to her. He’d talked to her about her parents, reassured her about Martin. Given her the bike.

  She’d been too trusting. Her parents were right; this was her weakness. She’d even trusted Martin, and she had no way of knowing if he really was
innocent.

  “We’ll be off now then,” said DC Paretska. “We’ll let you know if we need to interview you again.”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  She watched them push through the door of the pub and disappear into the gloom outside. Then she had a thought.

  She slammed into the door, banging her knee. They hadn’t gone far.

  “Wait!” She ran out, limping.

  DC Paretska turned. Her colleague ignored her and continued walking to the cars.

  “Wait!” she called again. “There’s someone else you can talk to.”

  Chapter Seventy-Three

  Ted stepped away from the door, eyeing Dawn. She met his stare.

  “Does she know?” she said.

  “Does she know what, woman?”

  “That it was you who killed them.”

  He advanced on her. “Don’t talk bollocks.”

  “I’m not, Ted. You know I’m not. Zahir and Jacob. Those were their names. Sarah didn’t hear. But you did.”

  “I heard nothing of the sort.”

  “How many times have you hit her?”

  He glared at her. “Don’t you dare accuse me.”

  “How many, Ted?”

  “Just the once.”

  “I saw that. But you pushed her, just now. I think that’s not the only time.”

  She backed into the wall, next to the door. Her hair brushed against her crucifix. She reached behind her and pulled it off its hook.

  “Put that damn thing down, woman.”

  “It gives me strength.”

  “Strength for what?”

  “Just… strength.”

  His shoulders slumped. “You can’t tell them. You can’t tell her.”

  “I think she knows.”

  “Please, Dawn. What will you do without me? You won’t be able to keep this house you’re so proud of, for starters.”

  “I hate this house.”

  He puffed out his chest. “Dawn.”

  She felt for the door handle behind her. He would kill her, if he thought she was going to tell.

  “I won’t say anything.”

  He stepped towards her. He put a hand on her cheek. She stiffened but didn’t push it away. “Really?”

  She swallowed. “Really.”

  “Good.”

  There was banging at the door. “Dad! Mum! Let me in!”

  She turned to the door and pulled it open, hoping Ted hadn’t seen the lie in her eyes.

  Chapter Seventy-Four

  Sarah ran to her house, leaving the detectives behind her. She had no idea if they would follow. She slammed on the door, annoyed with herself for forgetting her key.

  “Dad! Mum! Let me in!”

  Her mother opened the door, her face grey and washed-out. She was clutching her crucifix. Sarah paused, wanting to ask her if everything was all right, but there wasn’t time.

  Her father was in the living room. He sat on the sofa, his hands on his knees. He looked awkward, sitting upright and staring into space.

  She looked between her parents. Dawn had her shoulders pushed back and was looking more angry than Sarah had ever seen her.

  “Dad, I need you to help me,” she panted.

  Ted blinked a few times as if coming out of a trance.

  “Dad?” She sank to the floor in front of him, trying to make eye contact. “Dad, I need your help. With the police.”

  His face darkened. He looked at her steadily, his pupils dilated.

  “Dad?”

  She turned to her mother. “Is he alright? What’s happened?”

  “Nothing, dear.” Dawn put a hand on her shoulder. “Nothing you need worry about.”

  Sarah frowned. Ted pushed himself up and walked past her. He stood by the back windows. “What’s up?”

  She stepped towards him, then stopped. He may be looking odd, frail even. But he was still Ted.

  “You were with me,” she breathed. “At the farm. In the kitchen.”

  He gave her a condescending look. “No I wasn’t.”

  “You were. At the end. When Robert died. You saw it.”

  Ted put a hand to his shoulder. All his anger and bravado had made her forget he was injured. Was that it?

  “Is your shoulder alright, Dad? It’s not infected?”

  Something passed across his face and he removed his hand. “No, love. No, I’m fine. Now what are you asking me again?”

  “You saw what happened when Robert died. You saw what he was doing.”

  His features sharpened and he was the same rodent-like man again, raising his chest up and glaring at her.

  “Don’t talk bollocks, girl. I was bleeding on the floor, wasn’t I?”

  “The police don’t know that.”

  Dawn gasped. Ted raised a corner of his mouth. “You want me to lie to the police.”

  “I want you to tell them Martin was defending us all. Including himself. You saw Robert with that knife. He was threatening me. He threatened Martin too.”

  Ted cocked his head. “He did?”

  She nodded, her lips tight. She ignored Dawn’s look of shock.

  “He did,” she whispered.

  Ted stared at her for a moment. She held the stare, challenging him. Daring him. Ted had probably lied to the police before, but would he do it for her? For Martin?

  “That’s not the only thing you need to tell them,” said Dawn.

  Both Ted and Sarah span towards her.

  “What?” said Ted.

  “Mum, please,” said Sarah.

  “You know what I’m talking about, love,” said Dawn. “It was going to catch up with us eventually.”

  Sarah looked at her father. He was staring at his wife with an expression she’d never seen before. It was fear.

  He looked down at his hand and tugged at his wedding ring. For a moment Sarah thought he might pull it off.

  “No,” he said. “They deserved it.”

  There was a knock at the door. Ted turned to it. “Bastards,” he muttered. He threw his shoulders back and went to it.

  “What is it?”

  DC Paretska was standing outside, raindrops beading her shoulders. She looked past Ted to Sarah.

  “He’s back,” she said.

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  “Can we come in?”

  “Of course,” said Dawn. She headed into the kitchen and lit the stove. She was still reeling from what had happened between her and Ted.

  She could escape him now. Armed with her knowledge. But if it didn’t work, if they didn’t believe her, what would he do?

  Could she do this?

  She crossed herself, muttering a short prayer. She needed guidance. What she was considering was wrong. Till death us do part. But what her husband had done was worse.

  The two police detectives clattered into the house. The man was tall and gangly, with a permanent stoop. He wore a long black coat that made him look ill. The woman, younger, more nervous, wore a blue leather jacket that reminded Dawn of the times before the floods. The way Sarah had followed fashion.

  “Would you like a cup of tea?” she asked.

  The woman shook her head. The man hesitated for a moment them smiled. “That would be lovely.”

  They weren’t alone. Behind them, looking dirty and awkward, was Bill. She’d told him to leave, and now here he was back again. She felt her chest rise and fall with the effort of not telling him how she felt about him.

  She poured hot water into the kettle and rummaged in a cupboard for mugs. They only had three.

  She met Sarah’s eye. Sarah gave her a reassuring look. “Not for me, Mum.”

  Dawn smiled at her. All this horror, and she was still embarrassed not to be a proper hostess. What kind of woman was she?

  They came into the kitchen, bulky coats and cold breath filling the space. They pulled out seats at the table and Ted joined them. Dawn looked at him, her mind ticking over. When he met her stare she looked away, her breath shallow. Sarah and Bill hover
ed behind them. Sarah was watching her father, looking puzzled.

  The man looked at Ted. “My name’s Detective Sergeant Bryce, this is Detective Constable Paretska. We just want to ask you all a few questions.”

  Ted grunted. Dawn busied herself with the teapot, relieved when the man refused milk; the goats here weren’t made of the stuff.

  “Sit down with us,” the woman, DC Paretska, said. Dawn frowned then lowered herself into a seat opposite the man.

  The man cleared his throat. “Bill, we need to ask you a few questions.”

  Bill shuffled forward. “About Robert Cope’s death.”

  The detective turned in his chair. He motioned with his head for Bill to come closer. Bill shifted around the room until he was facing Dawn. He looked at the back of Ted’s head. Ted stared ahead, glaring at Dawn.

  “And two other murders,” said the detective.

  Sarah leaned forward. DC Paretska – nice looking girl, thought Dawn, couldn’t be older than twenty-three – arched an eyebrow.

  “Bill gave the order for them to be killed. Because Robert Cope told him to,” said Sarah.

  Bill eyed her. “Robert told lots of people to do lots of things. Do you want to know what he told Martin to do with you?”

  Sarah flushed. Dawn lifted herself up in her seat, wishing she could comfort her daughter.

  “Did he?” asked Bill.

  Sarah glared at him. “Did he what?”

  “Did he rape you?”

  Ted roared and pushed his chair back. He grabbed Bill by the neck. DS Bryce was on his feet instantly, pulling Ted off. Dawn watched open-mouthed. When Ted had been bundled back into his seat, she looked at Sarah. Sarah was avoiding her eye.

  “No,” said Sarah. “He didn’t.”

  Bill looked at her as if he knew something he wasn’t telling. Dawn could feel her chest caving in. She felt a tear run down her face.

  “Robert told Martin to hurt you, but he didn’t. He helped you get away instead.” Bill looked at Sarah. “If I was as strong as him, those boys would still be alive.”

  DS Paretska opened her pad. “Mr Peterson, can you tell us when it was you last saw Jacob Cripps and Zahir Ali?”