by M K Farrar
TWICE THE LIE
***
A DI Erica Swift Thriller Prequel
***
M K Farrar
Copyright © 2021 M K Farrar
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information, address: [email protected]
FIRST EDITION
www.mkfarrar.com
Editing by Studioenp
Proofreading by Finishing by Fraser and Book Nook Nuts
Cover design by Marissa Farrar
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Twice the Lie (A DI Erica Swift Thriller)
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
About the Author
Also by the Author
A missing person case quickly turns sinister.
Two boys stumble across a crashed car in nearby woodland. The driver’s seat is covered in blood, the airbag blown, but the car is empty.
So where is the driver?
As part of the Major Crimes Investigation Team, DI Chase and his partner, DS Swift, are called in to investigate. It’s not long before the bodies of the owner of the car and her daughter are discovered in their home.
Who killed them? And who was driving the car.
With a murderer on their patch, can the detectives unravel the mystifying clues before the perpetrator goes on the run?
*Please note, Twice the Lie is set before the events of ‘The Eye Thief’ and introduces a new DI, Ryan Chase, who you can read more about in ‘Kill Chase’, coming summer 2021.
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Chapter One
“COME ON, LIAM,” CONNER Lowry called over his shoulder as he traipsed across the fields towards the small copse of trees ahead.
Liam Gilbert slowed his pace and wrapped his arms around his body. He’d been hot from all the walking and had taken off his jacket and tied it around his waist, but there was a chill in the air, and his trainers were wet from the damp grass.
“Nah.” He shook his head. “I need to get back soon or my mum’s going to have a fit.”
Conner put out his lower lip in a mock pout. “Aww, is Mummy going to smack your botty. Poor baby.”
Liam wasn’t a baby. He was eleven years old and would be going to high school—or secondary school as his mum kept calling it—in September. Conner was going to a different school, and though Liam never would have said it out loud, he was kind of relieved about that. Conner was only four months older, but he acted like it was four years, always harping on about how he was the eldest, like it made him more mature when the opposite was true. Liam liked Conner, but sometimes he could be a bit of a bully, and, as his mum kept telling him, the only way to deal with bullies was by standing up to them.
He took a few extra steps to catch up with Conner and punched him in the arm. “Don’t call me a baby.”
“Get lost, dickhead,” Conner exclaimed. “No one gets away with hitting me.”
He took the punch as an invitation to fight and jumped on Liam, hooking his arm around Liam’s neck, grinding his knuckles into the top of his head.
“Hey, get the hell off me,” Liam protested, shoving Conner away.
His friend only laughed, taking the whole thing as one big game. It wasn’t a game. The top of Liam’s head hurt now.
Conner never seemed to care what anyone thought, and his way of always pushing things a little too far was typical of him. Liam wished he was braver and could stand up to him a bit more, but he knew what Conner’s reaction would be. He’d laugh and call Liam a pussy and make chicken noises. Then he’d go into school and tell everyone that Liam was all those things and more.
“Come on, it’s not far now.” Conner was already striding on ahead. “We’ll walk through the woods, then we’ll be back on the road. The shop’s not far from there. I’ve got a couple of quid. I’ll treat you to something.”
Liam perked up at the promise of food. Maybe Conner could be all right. Mum wouldn’t be happy if she found out he’d been snacking right before dinner, but as long as he got rid of the rubbish before getting home and made sure his face and clothes were free of crumbs, she would never know.
They reached the line of trees and ducked between the branches. The canopy blocked out the late-afternoon sunlight. Liam shivered and quickly tensed his muscles and cast a furtive glance towards Conner, hoping his friend hadn’t noticed. It would be something else for Conner to pick on him about, pointing and laughing that Liam was scared.
The road wasn’t far away, just past a few more trees. Liam pushed on, overtaking Conner, wanting to be out of the claustrophobic feel of the branches stretching over him. He imagined them moving, swiping down to hit him across the back of the head, or for roots to burst from the ground and wrap around his ankles.
He stepped out into a small clearing and exhaled a breath. He could see the sky again—darkening, but still blue—and, through the trees on the other side of the clearing, the road was visible. Too visible. A line of crushed bushes and wrecked saplings created a tunnel through the rest of the trees.
Conner came to a halt beside him. “Holy shitballs!”
But his friend wasn’t looking at the road or the tunnel through the trees and bushes. Instead, his head was turned in the opposite direction, over his shoulder to their left.
Liam followed his line of sight.
He gasped and staggered back. “Oh, shit.”
A car was at a standstill, the bonnet crumpled like an accordion against a tree trunk. The tree leaned heavily to one side, as though the force of the impact had dislodged its firm rooting into the ground and left it at an angle.
Liam pulled himself together. “How long do you think it’s been here?”
Conner shook his head. “Dunno. Not long.”
Steam or smoke rose from the bonnet in a ribbon of white.
Conner’s blue eyes brightened with excitement. “There might be someone in there.”
Someone who was hurt. Or even worse.
Liam took a step back. “We should go get help.”
Conner laughed. “Don’t be a dumbass. I’ve got my phone. We can call the police.”
Despite the circumstances, Liam’s cheeks heated with shame. It was just another thing that made Conner always seem and act cooler and better than him. Liam didn’t have his own phone. His mum said he could have one once he started his new school, but that hadn’t happened yet. Conner only had a phone ’cause his parents had separated, and his dad had bought him one so they could stay in touch, but that wasn’t the point.
“Oh, yeah, right. Do that then.”
Conner had taken his phone out of his pocket, but his gaze remained glued on the smoking car. “Do you think it might blow up?”
“I don’t know, Conner. Just call the police, will you.”
Still, Conner made no move to do so. “Let’s take a quick look inside first. How can we tell the police what we’ve
found if we don’t even know ourselves yet?”
Someone might be bleeding to death in the driver’s seat. They didn’t have time to be messing around. But a combination of fear and self-consciousness held Liam’s tongue, and no argument left his lips.
Conner was close to the car now—only a couple of feet away. If the vehicle did explode, it would take Conner down with it. It would also take Conner’s phone, which would leave Liam out here alone, with no way of contacting anyone, and pieces of his friend’s body all over the place.
“Conner, be careful!” he said.
“Pussy,” Conner threw back at him and took another step closer. “Oh, fuck. There’s blood!”
Liam swallowed hard and turned his face away. What if there was a body? He grew dizzy at the prospect, his mouth flooding with spit. No, he couldn’t throw up. That wouldn’t be a good idea at all. Conner would never let him live it down. He fought against the urge, breathing through his need to puke and willing away the rush of heat that affected his face. The seconds ticked by, threatening to become minutes, and finally he managed to get a hold on himself.
When he turned back, Conner was right beside the car, his face pressed to the passenger side window.
“There’s loads of blood. You have to see this, Liam!”
Despite his nerves, Liam was still just a boy, and the promise of seeing something gruesome lured him in. He took the few steps needed to bring him in line with Conner and peered into the car.
Red was splattered like paint across the cracked glass spiderweb glass of the windscreen and the dark-grey plastic of the dashboard. For a moment, he thought someone was hunched over the steering wheel, but then it dawned on him that it was the partially deflated airbag. The windscreen was crumpled, and more blood covered the airbag.
Liam frowned and glanced at Conner. Instead of finding the driver, folded over the steering wheel or slumped against the driver’s door, the seat was empty.
The driver wasn’t there.
Chapter Two
“CALL FOR YOU, BOSS.”
DI Ryan Chase yanked his thoughts away from his latest case file to see the landline phone on his desk flashing.
“Thanks, Swift,” he said, nodding to his detective sergeant who’d answered the call at her desk on the other side of the office.
He picked up the handset. “DI Chase.”
“This is Police Sergeant Fortum, from the Avon and Somerset Police,” a female voice said. “I’ve got a situation you may find of interest. A car accident.”
“You’ve called the wrong team then. You need to contact the Roads Policing Unit.”
Ryan was part of the Major Crimes Investigation Team in Bristol. Over the past fifteen years, since he’d moved from his hometown of Plymouth in his late twenties, he had worked his way from a detective constable to sergeant and was now a detective inspector.
“I’ve contacted them as well,” she continued, “but they suggested your team might need to get involved since it appears as though there’s been the possibility of foul play.”
He straightened in his seat. “You’ve got a body?”
“Not exactly. We have a missing body.”
“A missing body? There’s no murder if there’s no body.”
“If there hasn’t been a murder, someone’s done a Carrie job on the inside of the vehicle that two boys, both aged eleven, found.”
His interest had been piqued. “What’s the location?”
Fortum told him an area north-east of Bristol city, off the A420, where the housing estates gave way to fields and woodland.
“Okay. I’ll be there in twenty minutes, depending on traffic.” He glanced at his watch. They’d hit the tail end of rush hour. Traffic in the city was bad enough during most times of the day, but by six p.m. it was gridlocked. “Actually, make that thirty.”
He hung up. “Swift, we’re needed on a case. You up for it?”
She was already on her feet, plucking her grey suit jacket from the back of her chair. “Are you kidding? Anything to get out of the office.”
The New Bridewell Police Station was a tall glass-and-concrete structure located in the middle of Bristol city centre. A white, blue, and yellow squad car sat parked out the front on the other side of the silver security bollards that protected the entrance.
Ryan glanced at the plaque on the wall.
Serve, Protect, Respect.
He did his best.
“We’ll take my pool car.” He snatched his keys from his desk and followed her out.
A NARROW COUNTRY LANE that could barely fit two vehicles driving in opposite directions wound between the tall hedgerows. Beyond the hedges were fields and the spattering of woodland where the car had been found by two local boys.
They’d passed a couple of cottages, a tiny newsagent, and a run-down pub advertising OAP two-for-one meals on a Tuesday farther down the lane, but that was it as far as civilisation went. There were several other villages that had gradually blended into the outskirts of Bristol over the years, but they were a couple of miles away.
“What were the boys doing all the way out here?” Swift said. “How old did you say they were?”
“They’re both eleven.” Ryan kept his eyes on the road as he drove. “Final year of primary school, I think that makes them.”
“Sounds about right, though I can’t say I’ve paid too much attention to school years. We’re a little way off that yet with Poppy,” she said, mentioning her baby daughter.
“You’d think we’d remember better since we were both children ourselves.”
“That was more recent for one of us than the other,” she said with a grin.
Erica Swift had been working for him for the past twelve months, and, though she was barely thirty, she had already proven herself as a competent, reliable detective. She had a young family, but she’d managed to successfully juggle the demands of the job and having a baby, though much of that was down to the help of her husband at home.
Ryan was in the same position, except it was his wife who took care of things at home. He also had a daughter—a slightly older girl, Hayley, who, at five, was as sassy as they came. He always told people she was five going on fifteen, but the truth was that he had no idea how to actually handle having a teenage daughter, and he wasn’t relishing the prospect either. Still, that was a long way off. Ten years and he’d be approaching fifty with a teenager. It seemed almost impossible to believe.
Hayley had started school recently, so Chase had paid a little more interest in how the school years worked, or as little as he’d thought he could get away with. It was one of the things his wife, Donna, liked to complain about. She always said the only thing that really interested him in life was his work. When they’d first met, he’d thought she’d liked that about him—his intensity and dedication—but as the years had passed, the things she’d found most interesting about him in the early days had become the same things that had driven them apart. Not that they were officially separated, but he could sense it looming on the horizon like the threat of a storm. They were careful around each other now, choosing their words with the same caution a landmine-clearing expert might use to pick his next step. They both knew they were one big argument away from one of them—most likely him—finding somewhere else to live, and while neither of them really wanted that to happen, it almost felt out of their hands. Their fate, it seemed, had already been decided, but they were just trying to put off the inevitable for as long as they could.
A marked police car blocked the road. Ryan slowed and lowered his window, showing the attending officer his ID and getting nodded through. He pulled the car up behind a police van and switched off the engine. There was no pavement, and he and Swift climbed out of the car onto the road.
Even without the uniformed officers guarding the way, it would have been easy to spot the location of the crash. The car had ploughed a tunnel through the hedgerow and saplings, to come to a halt against a bigger tree. The silver paintwork was just
visible through all the foliage.
“This way,” he said to Erica, taking the lead.
People in white protective outerwear worked inside an inner cordon. They mainly focused on the car but were also setting markers down beside items outside of the vehicle they clearly thought might be important.
An attractive woman around his age—mid-forties—with her dead-straight dark hair cut into a severe bob with a fringe, turned to meet them. It was the police sergeant who was co-ordinating the scene, and the same one who’d called them in, Lauren Fortum.
“DI Chase,” she greeted him. “Thanks for coming.”
“Of course. You remember my sergeant, DS Swift.”
The two women shook hands.
“Good to have you along,” Fortum said.
Ryan glanced over at the scene. “What have we got?”
“Right now, not much, except a missing driver and a blood bath inside the car. The registered keeper of the vehicle is a Mrs Elizabeth Lloyd of two-three-six Gilham Road, Bristol, but of course that doesn’t mean it was her who was driving.”
“Has the car been reported stolen?” he asked.
“Not yet. I’ve got officers going around to the address to find out. It might just be that the owners haven’t noticed it’s gone. Looks like the vehicle swerved off the road and crashed through a number of bushes until it slammed into the tree.”
“It must have still been doing some speed to cause that kind of damage,” Erica said.
Fortum nodded. “Yes, it seems that way.”
“Any skid marks on the road?” Ryan asked. “Signs the brakes were used?”
“Not that we’ve found, but we have a Forensic Collison Investigator working on that.”
“The brakes might not have been working,” Erica suggested. “Or they didn’t have time to use them.”
“It’s possible,” Fortum said, “but the reason I’ve brought you here is less to do with the reason the car crashed and more to do with what happened to the driver afterwards.”
Erica tipped her head to one side. “The two things might well be linked.”
