Liar Liar: Another gripping serial killer thriller from the bestselling author (DC Charlotte Stafford Series)

by Sarah Flint

  Hayley Boyle looked from Charlie to her husband, before sitting down suddenly. When she next looked up, her eyes were filled with apprehension.

  ‘Shirley Sangster phones every Monday morning to check on my progress in her case. I spoke to her for a while about how Leonard Cookson’s death might affect it. But I remember that later call, I remember it well… but it wasn’t from Shirley Sangster.’

  Chapter 36

  The storm was getting closer. Rain fell sporadically. Clouds formed dark and livid, one minute rolling angrily in the sky above, the next swept away impatiently by a gust of wind. The sun looked diminished in the gathering squall; a small ball of flame skulking out intermittently from behind the storm clouds to paint a red hue across the evening sky. In a few hours, it would disappear behind the horizon completely, leaving the city shrouded in darkness.

  A murmuration of starlings swirled in a maelstrom of wings, soaring up and down in the foreground, appearing and disappearing behind the flat roofs of an estate of commercial buildings. They seemed out of place in the setting, but their flight was in sync, never settling in one place, rising and falling as if in one body heaving and gasping in its death throes.

  He watched the birds’ antics, their swell matching the movement of his chest. He could feel his heart beating hard and fast as the time pushed onwards. The blade of the knife burnt hot in his pocket, the metallic cold of the handcuffs a dead weight in his other.

  A low rumble built to a crescendo as a jet roared overhead, a bright arrow of lights across the sky. He watched as it disappeared into the blur of clouds, its presence replaced within minutes by the next, its noise ebbing and flowing around the nearby buildings.

  A gate opened between the walls in his immediate view and a van emerged, heavy on its axles, laden down with boxes for delivery to the nearby warehouses. The vehicle stopped in front of the gates and the driver put a phone to his ear, his head nodding with the movement of his lips.

  He watched for a while, before pulling out his new Nokia throwaway mobile phone and checking the screen. It was nearly six thirty.

  Very soon he would be collecting Ice and together they would despatch their next victim.

  *

  ‘Well, if it wasn’t Shirley Sangster, who the hell was it?’ Charlie frowned.

  Hayley Boyle’s face was white as she stared back at her. ‘It was Brenda Leach, from the IPCC. She phoned to ask if the meeting with you and DI Hunter had been arranged, as she wanted to conclude her recommendations finally.’

  ‘On an unknown number?’

  ‘Yes, she does have a regular number, but she often phoned on different numbers. I asked her about it once and she said she uses a new SIM card when dealing with each separate case. She had to phone some fairly unsavoury people and she didn’t like them having a number they could hassle her on at all hours of the day or night. I didn’t think anything more about it after that. It seemed to make good sense at the time. I didn’t bother to save any of her random numbers but I remember the call.’

  ‘You said you remembered it well. Any particular reason?’

  ‘Because, by the end of the call she seemed so interested! Even more so than usual. We work on many cases together and liaise a lot. She keeps me on my toes, checking on the progress of investigations and pushing to get interviews arranged and jobs concluded. She will oversee our investigations but she doesn’t have day-to-day access to them like I do. She’ll sometimes phone me and ask when she can get hold of an officer and I’ll help her out with details of what shifts they’re on.’ She looked round from one to the other. ‘I don’t know what’s going on here or why that number was on Samson Powell’s phone. What on Earth would he be speaking to her about?’

  Charlie stared at the woman, trying to work out whether she was knowingly giving out information or naively being used. As if to elaborate, Hayley Boyle pulled a file from one of the shelves and opened it, flipping through several copies of spreadsheets.

  ‘I know I shouldn’t really do this,’ she glanced at DCI O’Connor. ‘But it’s just so I can see more easily which jobs we’re all working on. I work bloody hard. I always have. My caseload is greater than any other officer working on my unit.’ She pointed to where her name was shown highlighted in yellow against case after case. ‘The police service is a great place to work. The vast majority of officers are good, moral, hard-working men and women, but there are a few corrupt ones who give us all a bad name. I want to root them out; always have, and that’s why I’ve stayed in this unit for so long. Brenda Leach wants the same. We work very well together.’

  ‘So why were you so nervous when we spoke about Shirley Sangster?’

  Hayley Boyle pulled at the crucifix hard, twisting it round and round between her fingers. She looked between her husband and the DCI.

  ‘I was always so careful when I met Shirley, or spoke to her. She does, like I say, have so many connections within the community and a deeply rooted hatred of the police because of what happened to Troy and other stuff previously. She’s a very powerful woman… and she knows Brenda Leach well. Brenda was overseeing Troy’s complaint.’ She stared down at the floor.

  ‘That doesn’t explain why you were so cagey about Shirley Sangster with me.’

  Hayley Boyle continued to stare at the floor. ‘Well, I met Shirley a couple of months ago. It was the last meeting of the day and I had printed off one of my spreadsheets. When I got home I couldn’t find it, even though I looked everywhere. I thought I might have mislaid it and that perhaps Shirley had picked it up. Obviously there are confidential details about the actual complaints on it that she should never be privy to… and I knew I’d get in trouble if anyone found out I’d been doing this. When these murders started I was worried that somehow the paperwork had fallen into the wrong hands.’

  ‘You’re right to be worried too,’ the DCI warned. ‘It is totally inappropriate what you’ve been doing.’

  Andrew Boyle shook his head at his wife and sighed heavily, as if in disbelief.

  ‘And you didn’t think to tell me that, when I was talking to you about Shirley Sangster and the murders?’ Charlie asked, ignoring the DCI’s comment.

  ‘Well, by that time you had your man and the other idea about Sangster being involved sounded a bit fanciful. I didn’t really think it would matter… and I didn’t want to get into trouble after all the work I’ve done.’

  ‘DS Boyle, your work could be the reason why these police officers have met their deaths in the way they have,’ Declan O’Connor almost shouted. ‘And believe me, they’re not the ways you or I would choose to go.’

  The atmosphere was getting heated again. Hayley Boyle had voiced what Hunter had thought.

  Charlie dropped her voice. She wished she had Hunter with her now to run through everything with. ‘Are you aware another police officer was found murdered yesterday?’ she said eventually. ‘And there’ll almost certainly be more to follow.’

  DS Boyle was silent.

  ‘What exactly did you tell Brenda Leach when you spoke to her that morning?’

  ‘I told her that a meeting with you and DI Hunter had been arranged for two o’clock that day, but that it had just been postponed as you had a named suspect for the case you were working on.’ She stopped talking and looked at the DCI. ‘You didn’t tell me who you had, though, so I didn’t give any names away.’

  ‘You might not have had to.’ Charlie was thinking fast. ‘Not if she already knew.’

  *

  The time had come. He had his instructions clearly and concisely from Ice. He closed his eyes momentarily and his mind focussed on what he had to do.

  ‘Come to the location I instructed earlier and be prepared. This is the one that you’ve been waiting for, the one I promised you. This one is for you. I will instruct you in detail on your arrival. Come now.’

  He could feel his heart beating hard in his chest as the memories crowded into his brain, a jumble of emotions, fear, hatred, longing. He turned the
switch and the engine growled into life, its pitch rising and falling with the movement of his foot. He needed to get this right. He had waited half his life for this opportunity.

  *

  Charlie stared at the fireplace in Hayley Boyle’s flat trying to process the information. Her head was swimming. They still didn’t know what Boyle’s involvement was, but Brenda Leach had now been added to the list of suspects, and Boyle had just confirmed that Sangster was well known to Leach. So even if Brenda Leach was Ice, they still couldn’t rule out Shirley Sangster or Dennis Walters. With them all knowing each other, it was possible that Ice might not even be a single person; it could be a code name they all used together. The waters were even muddier than before.

  Paul had been briefed on what had been said and had spoken in confidence to Bet who was now in the process of rechecking any possible texts or conversations between the group of suspects, as well as getting as much information on Brenda Leach as possible. They needed to know where she lived and everything about her. Why was she the only contact on Samson’s burner phone and what knowledge did they have of each other prior to his suicide?

  DCI O’Connor had also apprised Ray Hooper, who was getting his team to work on the regular phone number Brenda Leach normally used. Progress had been made on the download of Jason Lloyd’s mobile and they had found several text conversations that appeared to have followed on from contacts with three possible women from the Tinder dating app. Could one of these women be Brenda Leach or Shirley Sangster, or could it be another foot soldier purporting to be a woman?

  Charlie felt her frustration building again. They had no idea at this point where Brenda Leach lived or where she was. Shirley Sangster was still in the bar in Brixton as far as they knew; and Dennis Walters was still missing. Every step forward seemed to lead to several steps back.

  ‘For fuck’s sake,’ she said, moving across to the table and gazing down at Hayley Boyle’s spreadsheet. ‘Where are we supposed to go from here? We don’t know where all our suspects are and, worse still, any one of these officers could be the next target.’

  Hayley Boyle walked up behind her and stared at the front page.

  ‘Oh my God,’ she said suddenly, taking Charlie by the arm and gripping it tightly. ‘I bet I can guess. If Brenda Leach is involved, she has a real thing about this officer.’ With her other hand, she pointed towards the page, her finger wavering over a name that Charlie knew only too well.

  DCI O’Connor stepped forward and stared at where the detective sergeant’s finger was pointing.

  ‘Shit,’ he swore out loud. ‘I gave Brenda Leach his work mobile number yesterday and mentioned he was due at Heathrow today to assist with a job and to contact him direct if she wanted a meet. I was fed up of trying and I know you hadn’t had much luck either. She said she would ring. She wanted to get it sorted before she went on holiday this weekend.’

  ‘Holiday? She’s not going on holiday,’ Hayley Boyle said quietly. ‘She was trying to tie up all her loose ends because she’s actually retiring.’

  The comment was met with silence. Charlie ran her hands through her hair, panic threatening to overwhelm her. She knew the exact nature of the complaint. She took a deep breath before opening her mouth. ‘If Brenda Leach really is retiring and you’re right in your assumption Hayley, … my guess is that she’ll want her last job to go with a bang.’

  *

  Hunter wasn’t picking up. They had all tried, on both his phones and there was no response.

  In one way it was a good thing. If he wasn’t answering the phone to them, he was probably not answering the phone to anyone, but on the other hand, it might just be them he was ignoring because of their spat. Charlie was still upset by the events of earlier and this discomfiture was being exacerbated by his silence. It wasn’t like him at all.

  She called Naz, who quickly agreed to try to find him. She and Sabira were both busy dealing with their prisoner at Heathrow, the suspect having been apprehended as he waited in line to board the jet to India. Hunter had been on hand to assist with the arrangements and the actual arrest, but after their arrival back to custody had made his excuses and disappeared. They would return the call if they located him.

  On a whim, she dialled his home number, putting the call on speakerphone so the DCI could hear the conversation. Perhaps Mrs H, his wife, could shed some light on where he was. The phone was answered immediately and a voice came on the line.

  ‘Charlie, is that you?’

  ‘Hi, Mrs H, yes it is,’ she said, trying to keep the worry out of her tone. What she was doing was almost the metaphorical knock on the door all partners feared and, if Hunter was right, then Mrs H would know straight away that something was wrong. ‘I was just trying to track Hunter down. You know what he’s like with his phones.’ She tried to make light of the comment but knew straight away that she’d been unsuccessful.

  ‘He’s disappeared, hasn’t he?’

  She hesitated and the momentary silence emphasised her failure to hide her worry.

  ‘Oh Charlie, he has, hasn’t he? He’s been acting so strangely the last few weeks. I almost phoned you to find out what was going on, but I knew if he found out, he’d be cross and I didn’t want to make matters worse.’

  ‘I’m sure he’s fine, Mrs H. He’s probably out of phone range or just doesn’t want to speak to us.’

  ‘Charlie, that’s the trouble. It’s as if he’s cut himself off from you guys in the office… especially you… and that’s just not like him. He thinks he let you down badly on that last job and that he’s losing it. He’s wandering around with a continual frown on his face. His blood pressure has rocketed sky-high and his tablets don’t seem to be working like they should. He can’t seem to focus on anything and he keeps saying that you’d all be better off without him.’

  ‘You know that’s not true,’ Charlie spluttered, her voice catching. ‘Hunter did absolutely nothing wrong. I would have done exactly the same. He saved my life with his quick thinking and I told him that… and I’ve told the people investigating the case that too.’ She looked pointedly towards Hayley Boyle who had stopped gathering together some things to listen.

  ‘I know that, Charlie. He told me what you’d said. He was actually very touched by your comments, not that he would ever tell you. You’ve hit the nail on the head, though. It’s the ongoing investigation that has really rattled him. You know what he’s like. He just wants to get on with the job and it just seems to be dragging on and on. He thinks they’re gunning for him. Every time he’s interviewed he gets more convinced that he failed you.’

  ‘Which is probably why he keeps avoiding yet another interview.’’ She didn’t mention her desperate hope that he had avoided it again this time. ‘OK then, Mrs H. Let me know if he does get in touch and I’ll do the same. I’m sure it’s Hunter just being Hunter.’

  ‘That’s exactly the trouble though, Charlie,’ she hesitated. ‘At the moment, Hunter is not being Hunter.’

  *

  Hayley Boyle stepped out into the muggy heat of the evening behind DCI O’Connor and took a deep breath. All her life she had tried to do the right thing but now her career was in ruins and she would have to fight to avoid being branded as crooked as the cops she’d fought so hard to get punished. Even her own husband seemed disappointed with her. She thought back to when she’d first started working with Brenda Leach. Everything had seemed so perfect; another woman as focussed on ridding the service of bad apples as she was. As time had progressed and their work together had continued she had allowed Brenda more and more information. They had spoken regularly; met for coffee even. Now it had all backfired spectacularly.

  Had Brenda been passing on the information to Shirley Sangster or had Shirley found the spreadsheet she’d mislaid… and why was Brenda in direct contact with Samson Powell? Whatever the answers, she was deep in the shit.

  She climbed into the back of the police car; her promise to do whatever she could, seemingly of little use
. With any luck she could try and repair some of the damage to her career, and marriage even. Leaning back, her head against the seat, she let her mind run through the last few conversations and meetings she’d had with Brenda Leach, the woman that up until now she had trusted so much. Had she said anything that she shouldn’t? Had she disclosed any documents that were confidential? Had she shown her any exhibits that could give rise to controversy?

  Her mind focussed on the last case they had discussed, over a sea of exhibits each taken and examined, one by one from boxes packed and stored in the property office at Brixton police station. It was the case in which Leonard Cookson had attracted his perjury complaint, one that was close to the heart of both women of whom they had just spoken. Hayley strained to remember the meeting, how she had been called to one side to answer the phone, how when she had turned back, the boxes had been repacked. She closed her eyes to recall the moment. How careful had she been at ensuring all the exhibits had been replaced?

  Her warrant card lay on her lap, along with her house keys and mobile phone. She opened the wallet, glancing down at her image alongside the words ‘Police Officer’ and the crest of the Metropolitan Police Service. As Charlie climbed in beside her, Hayley Boyle remembered the words her backseat colleague had so recently uttered about Leach’s last job going with a bang. She thought of Hunter and how they hadn’t been able to contact him. His actions had been exemplary. He had done nothing wrong. She knew that… but had she kept him believing that he had. She recalled the words of worry Mrs Hunter had so recently spoken about her husband, feeling they were out to get him, gunning for him.