One Little Lie

by Sam Carrington

I let myself in the front door, then rush to the kitchen. Disregarding the dirty dishes accumulating in the sink and on the worktop, I grab a clean glass and turn on the tap. I gulp down the water, then refill it and drink another, swallowing two paracetamols with it. Pain is splitting my head in two. It’s the stress. I’ve had a long day, my feelings swinging first in one direction, then the other. I think I must be shell-shocked. How can the same day hold such wild emotions?

  I grab on to the worktop as a dizzy sensation takes over me. I need to log onto the support group, contact Bill. I can’t believe this has happened. How did I miss this appalling news? There’s a hard ball in the pit of my stomach, the water inside it churns over and over. My mind has been otherwise occupied these last few days, but it’s no excuse. I’m the leader. I should’ve been there for Bill. I bet there are a lot of messages, appeals for help and support from his fellow members. He must think I’m awful, heartless. But then, I haven’t had any notifications pop up. I would’ve been sure to log into the group page if I had – I always respond as swiftly as possible when I see there’ve been new messages.

  Poor Bill. This will set him back, he’ll be feeling terrible. I wonder what’s happened to Isabella. I didn’t have a chance to read more than the headline and first few lines before I had to run out, and then I was too busy to give more thought to it. I didn’t have much time to dwell. Now I’m back, though, it’s all I can think about. I’m scared to turn the TV on. What if she’s dead?

  If she is, he won’t come to group anymore. Not mine, anyway.

  The dizzy spell passes and I cautiously move to the lounge. I do turn on the TV, but it’s more important I get online – I’ll keep the volume up so I can hear the news when it comes on. Sitting at my usual chair at the table, I reach across to get my laptop. It’s been a while since I used it, but it’s normally right there in the space in front of my chair, not across the other side.

  I turn on the power, willing it to hurry up. It seems to take an age to whir into life.

  ‘That’s odd.’ My fingers shake. My eyes roll over the home screen. I can’t find the support group icon. It’s always on my homepage – as soon as I fire up the laptop, it is there. Now it’s gone. I’ve obviously unpinned it by mistake. My heart flutters wildly as I type in the web address for the group and wait for it to appear.

  Please, God, let it be good news.

  It’s not. And there are messages from Bill – from last Friday. Four days ago! I feel sick. He’ll assume I’ve abandoned him. A quick glance on the thread shows me every other group member has written a message – offers of practical help, emotional support, prayers – everything. But not me. I cross my chest – dear God, what a terrible mess. I should’ve got so many notifications with this much activity in the group – did I switch them off?

  ‘Stupid woman!’

  I take a deep breath. I need to calm down – I’ll have to sort the issue out later, for now I must concentrate. Focus. Bill is my main priority. I see he hasn’t left another message, no updates since Sunday. I read the first post, my mouth drying despite the water I’ve had. The message is full of desperation. I can feel the pain oozing through the words. Further down the thread he has written how Isabella is still missing and the hope is fading for her safe return.

  That had been the last thing Bill wrote.

  I pace the lounge for over half an hour, my mind running wild trying to create the best message I can, given the circumstances. Once I feel it’s right, I take my time to type it out. I have to double-check I’ve worded it well and to ensure it comes across as supportive, yet apologetic that I haven’t sent it sooner.

  My finger floats over the key that will ‘publish comment’.

  There’s a niggling in my gut – is it somehow my fault? Did I give him advice which caused Isabella to leave? No, I’m sure I’ve been careful, haven’t spoken out of turn, or against what any of the other members advised him.

  But it’s the timing. Something in the timing of Isabella’s disappearance is ringing alarm bells.

  Or is it simply a coincidence?

  I tap the publish button before I can analyse it any further, then close the laptop. I listen for sounds in the silence as my mind races. Something has shifted today, and I have the awful sensation of impending doom.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Connie

  Kyle’s posture was upright, stiff. Tense. Connie imagined she looked much the same. Her muscles certainly felt rigid, her nerves on edge. It felt like they were mirror images of each other’s anxiety.

  She’d reluctantly agreed to come in today to do the extra session. As she’d anticipated, Jen had said that Kyle now appeared willing to talk, and to Connie, it would be detrimental to his rehabilitation if a further assessment wasn’t completed. Connie had been unable to give a good, solid reason as to why she couldn’t be the person to undertake it.

  So, on this dull Thursday morning, here she was.

  If she could get Kyle to talk about the offence, about his responsibility for it, together with his risk factors, then they might be able to get him to do an offending behaviour programme like the Thinking Skills Programme, and perhaps Connie’s name might be remembered for something other than the Hargreaves incident. This could work in her favour. That’s the positive spin she’d put on it, anyway.

  Her plan was to avoid any mention of Alice, but she feared it would be impossible given she’d used that fact in the previous session and it’s what got Kyle talking to begin with. He’d undoubtedly remember this, and surely if he was going to talk, he would bring that up. Furthermore, if they were to discuss his offence and his related risk factors for offending, along with his protective factors, then his mum was likely to feature. Connie would have to keep it professional. Try not to colour outside the lines.

  ‘As you’re aware, Kyle, the parole board stipulated you needed to attend various sessions and courses to address your offending before any progression towards release could be made.’ Connie paused. Kyle’s hands drummed on the table, the noise escalating with each of Connie’s words. Was he going to revert to non-cooperation, and not speaking? ‘Kyle? What’s wrong?’

  His hands stilled. ‘Why is my mum seeing you?’ He squinted.

  ‘We aren’t here to discuss your mum. We need to concentrate on you today.’ Connie felt her right eye twitching and wondered if he could see it.

  ‘I can’t …’ Kyle repositioned himself. ‘I can’t concentrate. Not until you tell me. You were keen enough the other day to tell me.’ Connie noted the strength to his voice – it didn’t sound as croaky, as unused as it had done the first time. And he made a good point – she had been keen to tell him about Alice the other day. She’d slept on it since then. God, how had she managed to put herself in this position?

  ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did.’

  ‘So, you did lie then.’ He shook his head. ‘I knew it.’

  She could leave it at that. Letting him assume she lied would let her off the hook in some ways. Maybe he wouldn’t pass on her indiscretion, or mention it to Alice if he spoke to her. But Connie needed him to trust her to enable her to get what she needed for his report. And to trust her, she had to be truthful, no matter the consequences for her personally. She should’ve thought about that before she opened her mouth the other day.

  ‘No. I meant I shouldn’t have used that in order to get you to talk. It was wrong of me, I apologise. Now, let’s get back—’

  ‘No. No way. You have to tell me what she has told you. Has she talked about me?’ Kyle rocked on his chair.

  ‘I can’t really tell you, Kyle. I’m sorry. But you know from what I’ve already said that she worries about you. And I guess she feels guilty she didn’t know what you were up to. That all the while she left you playing games in your room, you were getting deeper into the online gaming world, talking to people she felt were taking advantage of you.’

  ‘Everyone was harping on about that, I remember. Mum kept sayi
ng it during the trial. Do you think the same?’

  The question threw Connie for a moment.

  ‘I only know what the files say. Obviously, as you haven’t spoken before now, it’s been difficult for anyone else to make their own judgement.’

  Connie studied him, his pale skin, his stubble of fair hair, sharp-blue eyes. He spoke well, used appropriate language, knew the right words to use. He didn’t immediately come across as having psychological difficulties, which Alice had stressed was the case in the police interview transcript. But there did seem to be a vulnerability. Connie couldn’t quite fathom what at this stage, but she wondered if there was something else – not educationally vulnerable, but perhaps socially. Someone – a teenager – who spent a huge part of their life online, not interacting with others in the real world, must suffer adversely. It would impact on their social skills. If Kyle had made a friend online, as Alice and others had suspected, and they appeared to have the same interests – couldn’t there be a possibility he had clung onto this new friend? Done what the friend wanted, just to keep the friendship, something he hadn’t experienced before? Connie was all too aware there were people – criminals – out there who knew what to look for when choosing their victims, knew how to manipulate others for their own gains. There was a strong possibility Kyle was such a person; a targeted victim, easy to influence.

  ‘Do you think you are vulnerable, Kyle?’

  He shrugged and lowered his head.

  ‘How many friends do you have?’ Connie continued.

  ‘Not many.’

  ‘How easy do you find it to make new friends?’

  Kyle remained with his head bowed; Connie could see his bottom lip protruding, like a sulking child.

  ‘My mum didn’t really like friends coming over, so online was all I had.’ His voice was muffled, his chin lowered onto his chest.

  ‘Kyle, look at me a moment.’ Connie waited for him to respond. ‘That’s better. Did you play the online games with someone in particular? One person more than others?’

  ‘I mostly played on one person’s server. There were a lot of gamers who wanted to be in this guy’s group. It was one of the best – we were all top players, but he was even better. He was big in the gaming world – was important.’

  ‘Really? How did you know that?’ Connie felt her body shift forwards in anticipation. Was she getting somewhere?

  Kyle shrugged again. ‘Cos he told me.’

  ‘Okay, and you believed him?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t I? He had no reason to lie.’

  Connie’s pulse skipped. Kyle trusted this guy at his word. Maybe it’d been his downfall. Perhaps being too trusting was his vulnerability. Could this other gamer be the one everyone thought was involved in Sean Taylor’s murder?

  ‘Did you tell anyone about your friend?’

  ‘No, not really. My mum knew I was talking to other gamers, but he said it would be better if I didn’t talk about him. He said my mother was nosey enough and would stop us from chatting.’

  ‘So, you spoke about your mum with … what was his name?’ Connie tried to be nonchalant, slip in the question in the hope Kyle would automatically say his name.

  He stared at her, then gave a wry smile.

  ‘I can’t tell you. But yes, I talked about my mum. How she didn’t know what to do with me, how to cope with me.’ He looked thoughtful, his gaze wandering to the window. ‘I feel bad. She was always worrying about me and all I did was tell her to leave me alone. She’d make excuses to come into my room, listen to what I was saying – she even tried to join in the conversation I was having with my mate. It was embarrassing. I had to pretend I’d stopped gaming at one point because she was interfering so much. We couldn’t talk properly.’

  ‘You and this one mate?’

  Kyle’s face flushed red. ‘I … I shouldn’t be telling you.’

  ‘It’s good you are talking, Kyle. Better for you.’

  ‘Not better for my mum, though.’

  ‘It will be, Kyle. She’ll be delighted you’re making some progress.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant. Look, thanks for being so nice, but I can’t say any more. Can I go now, please?’ His eyes shone with tears.

  Someone had done a good job on this young man.

  Had Kyle Mann’s silence been protective – of his mum?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Connie

  The week had seemed never-ending, but finally it was Friday, and Connie was looking forward to a relaxing weekend ahead. She yawned and stretched back in her chair. She’d caught up with the admin she’d neglected due to the prison visits and now a tiredness crept up on her. Yesterday’s interview with Kyle had taken it out of her mentally and emotionally; she felt drained. The write-up of the session had taken her two hours. Hours spent inside the psychology portacabin when she’d really planned on taking the report home to complete. Jen had had other ideas – she’d wanted the low-down and to read Connie’s session notes there and then. And she’d asked Connie to do a further interview with Kyle Mann.

  Despite dreading the prospect of yet more time inside the prison walls, Connie was strangely keen to continue. Jen gained the governor’s permission to extend Connie’s temporary position as independent psychologist, and it was agreed she would go back next week. Her professional curiosity, and something else she couldn’t put her finger on, were compelling her. She wanted to get to the truth. Kyle’s truth.

  If she managed to help Alice in the process, that would be a huge bonus. She’d perhaps be able to use some of what Kyle had said in her next counselling session with Alice – indirectly, at least. But, she’d have to make damn sure she didn’t disclose the fact she’d been visiting Kyle. She hoped Kyle would also refrain from speaking to Alice about her. She’d found out Kyle didn’t get any visitors – according to Jamie, he never sent out any visiting orders. But just because he didn’t want his mother visiting him, that didn’t mean he never called her or sent a letter.

  Connie gathered the paperwork together and filed it away in her desk drawer. She got her coat and bag, and made her way out of the office. She’d be able to get the earlier train and be home by 5 p.m. She really hoped Lindsay would be home in time for them to eat together. Another night with only Amber and her own thoughts for company didn’t seem at all appealing.

  Connie drew the heavy, beige lounge curtains to block everything outside from view, and to prevent anyone looking in at her. A tingling sensation trickled over her skin as if an army of ants were crawling across it. She rubbed violently at her arms to rid herself of the feeling.

  Was she being paranoid, or was someone watching her? She’d first experienced the uneasiness as she disembarked the train at Coleton station. There was a sense of déjà vu about it. Maybe that’s all it was. But as she’d rushed inside her house, closing and locking the door, her nerves hadn’t settled.

  It might even be Luke.

  She dismissed the thought. Her brother wouldn’t dare risk being here, and no doubt her father had seen to it he didn’t come within a hundred miles of Coleton. It was more likely that her involvement with Kyle Mann had somehow triggered her reaction. He was clearly afraid of the repercussions of talking, giving the other person away – so much so, he’d seemed afraid for his mother’s safety. Should Connie be worried for her own?

  Connie wished Lindsay would get home now. She checked her phone. No messages. She went to the kitchen fridge, grabbing a bottle of white wine from the rack. The year had begun so positively, how could it have changed so quickly?

  A car door banged. Lindsay was home.

  Connie ran to unlock the deadbolt on the front door. Her heart plummeted as she saw a man unfold himself from the passenger side of the car and pull up to his full six-foot five-inch height.

  Dammit. She’d brought Mack, her DS, with her. Lindsay got to the door first, and Connie gave her a stern look as she stepped aside.

  ‘Sorry, Connie,’ Lindsay said. ‘If I didn’t bri
ng the work home, I’d never have left tonight.’

  ‘It’s fine.’ Connie gave Mack a tight smile as he approached the doorway.

  ‘Hey, Connie. Good to see you,’ Mack said, not quite making eye contact.

  Connie had briefly been involved with Mack’s son, Gary. It was a very short-lived affair eighteen months ago, which hadn’t ended well for either of them. Connie and Mack were civil now, but not exactly friends. Lindsay had done her best to build bridges, but they were both too stubborn.

  ‘You too, Mack.’ Connie closed the door behind him, locking it again.

  ‘Everything okay?’ Lindsay’s brow furrowed as she observed Connie locking the door.

  ‘Well, actually, I could do with a chat. Privately.’

  ‘Ah. Sorry, can it wait a bit? We’ve got to go over some work stuff.’

  Before Connie could respond, Lindsay ushered Mack into the lounge.

  ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ Lindsay smiled as she made a move to close the lounge door, leaving Connie standing in the hallway. ‘We’ve got a new lead in the misper case to discuss.’

  Connie threw up a hand, slapping it against the door to prevent it from closing. ‘Really? You’re keeping me out of my own lounge?’

  ‘I didn’t think you’d mind, as it’s so important. Once we’re done, I’ll come and get you. Perhaps we could order a takeaway after?’ Her tone was bright, an attempt to bring Connie around.

  ‘Well, I do mind. Actually.’ A lump formed in the back of Connie’s throat. She was being pushed out. And at a time when she needed support. ‘You said you’d be here for me if I needed to talk.’

  Lindsay relaxed her grip on the door and put out her other hand, laying it on Connie’s shoulder. ‘I won’t be very long,’ she said, her eyes, heavy and tired-looking, squinting at Connie. ‘Unless … I mean, if you really need to talk right now, I guess we could put this on hold for a while …’ Lindsay turned away from Connie and gave a shrug towards Mack.

  Connie’s face grew hot. She suddenly felt silly and needy, and the way Lindsay was looking to Mack like they were both attempting to calm a stroppy child, made it all the worse. Tears were threatening.