One Little Lie

by Sam Carrington

  They were at the block. Verity unlocked the door and as they walked onto the wing, she held the door for Connie. She didn’t answer the question. Very odd. Something definitely wasn’t quite right.

  ‘Morning ladies,’ Jamie said as he disappeared into the wing office with two mugs. ‘If I’d known you were coming I’d have made you a cuppa.’

  ‘No, you wouldn’t,’ Connie said as she followed him in. ‘And you did know we were coming. You’ve always been tight with your cups of tea, Jamie.’ Connie smiled as she put her name on the board to let everyone know she was on the wing and going to be using the interview room. Being on the wing, with officers nearby, was a more reassuring environment than when she carried out interviews in the more secluded portacabin. She was about to put Verity’s name on, but as she turned she realised she’d already left. Connie looked out the office window in time to see her skulking down the path.

  ‘What’s up with your mate today, then?’ Jamie’s eyes followed Connie’s.

  ‘Must’ve been annoyed you didn’t make her a drink,’ Connie said, trying to hide how Verity’s demeanour had unsettled her. ‘Right, work to do. I’m seeing Kyle Mann in the interview room next door. How’s he been on the wing over the weekend?’

  ‘Good as gold, mate. Never no trouble, that one.’

  ‘Does he speak to the other inmates?’

  ‘Not that I’ve witnessed. But he has been making phone calls, which is a new thing. Not sure if it’s a good sign or not – but at least he’s talking to someone.’

  Connie’s heart rate picked up a little. Phone calls to who? Had he been speaking to Alice? She’d probably find out soon enough. The hard way.

  ‘Okay, thanks, Jamie.’ Connie straightened, smiling widely to conceal her anxiety. ‘I’ll only be an hour or so.’

  Connie left the wing office and settled in the room along the corridor. She’d just put her folder on the table when there was a knock.

  ‘Come on in, Kyle. Take a seat.’

  ‘Morning, Miss.’ He sat down, his eyes lowered, arms crossed.

  ‘How have you been since I last saw you?’

  ‘All right, I guess. You?’

  ‘Good, thanks. Right, I want to finish the interview today so I can complete your assessment. I want to concentrate on the day of the offence, and for you to talk me through what happened.’

  Kyle spoke with no hesitation. It was as though now he’d begun talking, a dam had burst, and he wanted to tell her his story. His voice was monotone as he described what he did. How he forced Sean Taylor to his knees, tied his hands behind his back, made him lower his head. How he sunk the blade into Sean’s neck, left it, handle sticking out, and walked away without a thought about the incoming tide. Connie had heard a lot of bad things – descriptions of crimes, hideous acts of violence – and Kyle’s story wasn’t particularly unique in that way. But what did strike Connie was the disparity between what she was hearing now and how Kyle had come across to her since their first meeting – his quiet persona, his vulnerability.

  ‘Was he drugged?’ she asked.

  ‘What, Sean? Not that I knew.’

  ‘You didn’t give him anything yourself?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then how did you overpower him, get him to submit the way you describe?’

  Kyle stared at her for a while before answering. ‘He did what I asked him to. That was it.’

  ‘Why did you do it, Kyle?’ Her brow creased as she asked this. She really did feel confusion as she fought to reconcile what he’d told her with what his family had said, with the picture she had built up of this young man in her own mind. If she was honest, like Alice, she too didn’t want to believe him capable of such an act, not without some serious manipulation in any case.

  ‘Always wanted to know how it felt, putting a knife in for real. Not just in a game.’ Kyle shrugged, his words spoken matter-of-factly. It was as though he was talking about something far removed from himself, from reality.

  ‘Why did you choose Sean?’

  He lifted his shoulders, kept them there for a few seconds before dropping them. ‘Dunno, really.’

  ‘Was he someone you knew from the online gaming?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s it.’ He shuffled in his seat. ‘Yes, a gamer, like us.’

  ‘Us?’ Connie immediately latched onto his use of words. Had he slipped up?

  ‘Me. Like me,’ he corrected himself. But it was obvious to Connie he meant he hadn’t acted alone.

  ‘I realise you don’t want to tell me about the other person or even people involved, but this session isn’t being recorded, you know – it’s only me and you.’

  ‘I am not a grass. My mum might be telling you some bollocks about me, but I’m not a grass.’

  Connie didn’t want to get side-tracked by the subject of his mother now. She wanted to press him further about who else might’ve been involved in the murder.

  ‘You feel the need to protect this other person. Do you owe them?’

  ‘I don’t want to talk any more.’

  ‘Why are you afraid of them?’ She was so close, she was determined not to let this go.

  ‘I’m not afraid of anyone.’ He spoke assertively, looking right into Connie’s eyes for a moment before turning away sharply. ‘I wish I’d not started talking to you. I’ve made everything worse.’ He propelled his feet forwards, knocking the table leg and sending it shuddering a few inches across the floor.

  ‘I’m sorry you feel that way, Kyle,’ Connie said, ignoring what he’d done. ‘But worse for who?’ Despite Kyle’s apparent discomfort for this line of conversation, Connie felt compelled to forge ahead.

  ‘For everyone.’ Kyle’s eyes glared.

  ‘So, this guy on the outside, the one who’s got away with murder – he’s going to do what, precisely? Kill again?’ Connie knew she might be pushing it, but everything was pointing to there being someone else involved, maybe even responsible for Sean’s murder. She wanted Kyle to admit it. ‘Don’t you think you owe it to others to do something before he does more harm, ruins others’ lives?’

  ‘Stop!’ Kyle banged his fists down on the table. ‘Shut up now.’

  ‘I don’t understand why you’re the one in here, and he’s free out there.’ Connie waved her arm, alluding to the outside world, free of bars.

  Kyle shook his head, sighing loudly. But he remained in his chair. He hadn’t stormed off yet, at least.

  ‘Is it because this guy was the only male figure you had in your life, the only role model because your dad left you?’

  Kyle frowned. ‘My dad wasn’t great, but he was around.’

  ‘But he left the house, your mum – he didn’t live with you. It must have had an impact.’

  ‘Look, I don’t know what my mum’s been telling you, but my dad never left us. He went on and on at me, said I was wasting my life, and I rebelled against him. We had our arguments, but no more than most families. I don’t think they had a clue what was going on with me. I didn’t most of the time.’

  Connie took notes as Kyle spoke. It was interesting that he was giving a different story about his home life to Alice’s. Connie had no reason to doubt what Kyle was telling her was true. But Alice – did she have a reason to manipulate the truth?

  ‘Your dad, where is he now?’

  ‘I assume he’s still at home, with my mum. Why?’

  ‘Was there abuse when you were growing up, Kyle?’

  ‘Abuse?’ He sat forwards. ‘Jesus. No. Why are you asking this?’

  ‘Sorry, it’s the picture your mum …’

  He got up. ‘This is bullshit, she has to be called out on this.’ He shook his head, turned and left the room.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Tom

  He couldn’t stop fidgeting; the excitement had built to an obscene level. A few calls, some last-minute alterations, and he was good to go. She’d played her part well so far; he was impressed with her commitment and ability to stay below the radar,
keeping out of sight while waiting for the right time. She had even more patience than him. He’d formed a good, strong, tight team. Nothing could go wrong, no one could stop him. He was the top player – The Boss – no one could beat him.

  He gave her the signal.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Connie

  Rather than chance being a bit late and Alice not waiting, Connie had ordered a taxi to take her back to Totnes. It dropped her right outside her consultancy, and now, coffee next to her, Connie retrieved Alice’s therapy file from her computer and sat rereading the notes she’d made so far.

  It could be possible Alice felt responsible for Kyle’s behaviour, had internalised it, and made it her own failure. But maybe when speaking of it, she felt the need to protect herself, her self-worth, by fabricating the actions of others – in this case her husband – thus allowing the blame to be directed away from her. Basically, she could be using self-deception as a coping mechanism, by not confronting a truth about herself she found too terrible. Connie also wondered if Alice was planning on seeking out Sean Taylor’s mum as an abstract attempt to diminish her own feelings of guilt.

  Alice was certainly becoming a more complex client than Connie had first thought. In a moment, that complexity might be even further added to. If Kyle had immediately called Alice after leaving the interview room, then this session was going to be challenging. As Lindsay had quite rightly pointed out, she was compromising her position, and no good was going to come of it.

  Connie paced from one end of her room to the other, the heels of her shoes making lines in the pile of the beige carpet. She wanted this over with. She checked her watch. Alice was late. Opening the window, Connie hung her head and shoulders out clear of the frame, checking up and down the street. Alice wasn’t in sight in either direction.

  Was she late, or not coming?

  If it wasn’t for this morning, Connie would think it very strange Alice would miss a session she herself had asked for – had stated she needed for extra support. Not today of all days. But given the fact Kyle might have put her off, told her not to come, then perhaps it should be of no surprise.

  Despite doing it for the best intentions – to encourage Kyle to speak out and stop protecting the other person – Connie had crossed the line. If Kyle had spoken to his mother, then she too would know that now. She wouldn’t trust Connie enough to carry on her sessions.

  The time passed slowly, Connie clock-watching and periodically checking the road outside. She slammed her hands on the desk. ‘Stupid woman.’

  She’d compromised her professional duty, broken the code of conduct. Now she’d probably lost a client, and done untold damage in the process.

  Connie snatched up her bag, took her coat from the stand and left. She was going to see Lindsay.

  Connie approached the entrance to the police station, hesitating before pushing through the huge glass doors. While it was the only possibility of seeing Lindsay these days, she wasn’t sure what kind of reception she’d get, particularly from Mack. If, of course, they were both in the station and not out on a job.

  The man at the front counter made a call and a few moments later Connie heard familiar footsteps behind her.

  ‘Business or pleasure?’

  ‘Neither,’ Connie said.

  ‘Hmm.’ Lindsay pressed her lips together and raised her eyebrows. ‘Okay, sounds like a cup of coffee and a chat material. Follow me.’ Lindsay turned tail and disappeared up the stairs. Connie hurried after her.

  The whiteboard at the end of the incident room brought a sudden, sharp memory back to Connie as she followed Lindsay through to the coffee machine. Connie’s own photo had been on the very same board last year. She shuddered. Now, though, it was filled with things relating to Isabella Bond. Connie had a twinge of uncertainty about showing up, creating an unwelcomed interruption for Lindsay. The room was a buzz of activity: phones ringing, officers all talking at once. A very different environment from her own work. She’d enjoyed being part of the team last year, when she’d been asked to consult on the Hargreaves case. She hadn’t realised how much she missed teamwork and company until she’d been catapulted back into it.

  ‘So, what’s up?’ Lindsay asked as she handed Connie a polystyrene cup of unidentified deep-brown liquid. Could be tea, could be coffee – she probably wouldn’t be any the wiser when she took a sip.

  ‘After our talk about how to handle seeing my client and her son in the same day—’

  ‘Oh, God. It hit the fan?’

  ‘No. Well, not yet, anyway. I saw Kyle this morning, but she didn’t turn up this afternoon. I think he’s told her and now she’s pissed off with me.’

  ‘She would have every right to feel that way if she believes you’ve been keeping the fact you’re seeing Kyle from her,’ Lindsay said. She was always straight-talking, never sugar-coating anything.

  ‘Yes, and I’m worried about her.’

  ‘Did you try calling?’

  ‘Of course.’ Connie took a tentative sip of her drink. ‘When I was waiting at the train station. I got a disconnected tone, which is worrying given that it’s the main contact number she supplied at her initial consultation.’

  ‘Ah, well, perhaps she doesn’t want you to get hold of her. You might have to wait it out, see if she comes to you.’

  ‘You can’t … you know, check—’

  ‘Sorry to disturb you, Boss. We need you a sec.’ DC Clarke walked in between her and Lindsay. Connie recognised him; she’d had dealings with him last year.

  ‘Sorry, Connie. Hang on if you want.’ She moved off towards the team who were all congregated around Lindsay’s desk.

  Connie could hear parts of what was being said. There’d been a violent assault, a woman seriously injured in her own home. Something about a head injury. A hate crime. The words were distorted; Connie’s ears hummed. As the team began to disperse and some headed for the door, Lindsay rushed over to Connie. ‘Sorry, have to go. Catch you at home later?’

  ‘Sounds like a serious one; I doubt I’ll see you later,’ Connie said, forcing a smile to prevent coming across as critical. ‘I overheard parts. Something about a woman being attacked, possibly a hate crime?’

  ‘Yes, doesn’t sound good. Left for dead, so could be looking at attempted murder.’

  Connie grabbed Lindsay’s arm before she ran off. ‘I’ve got a bad feeling.’

  ‘About this?’ Lindsay asked.

  ‘Maybe it’s just a coincidence, but the timing …’

  ‘You think this might be your client because she failed to attend her session with you? Come on, I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for that – you know, like she’s found out about you visiting her son.’

  ‘Yeah, thanks.’ Connie rolled her eyes. ‘But, you’re probably right.’

  Connie stood a while after Lindsay and the team had left, not quite able to shake the feeling in her gut; the nagging suspicion that she knew the victim was going to be Alice Mann.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Connie

  Connie was sitting on the sofa, her laptop balanced on her knees. She trawled the internet for news of the attack. It was unlikely she’d find anything – it had only been a few hours since Lindsay and Mack rushed off to the victim’s home. She’d checked her texts and emails every few minutes in the hope of seeing one from Alice. The only messages on her mobile were from Scott. She frowned. Had she given him her number? She thought she’d taken his. Damn, she must’ve drunkenly allowed the ‘I’ll call you now and then you’ll have my number’ trick. She scrolled past his texts, tutting to herself; she’d have to respond to those at some point later. For the tenth time, Connie tried the mobile number Alice had given in her initial consultation. It was still not connecting.

  The bang of the front door made Connie jump. She flung the laptop on the coffee table and ran out to the hallway, bumping into Lindsay coming the other way.

  ‘Shit, Lindsay. Didn’t hear your car.’


  ‘No, I’m parked down a bit. I’m only popping in quickly, then I’m going to the station. Will probably be a late one.’

  The fact Lindsay was popping in instead of going straight to the station rang an alarm. Connie was almost afraid to ask. ‘So?’

  ‘So, it appears the victim was the target. It wasn’t a burglary gone wrong or anything. She sustained head injuries and has been put into an induced coma.’

  ‘God, how terrible. Was it a hate crime, like you thought?’

  ‘The graffiti painted on the wall inside the house certainly points to a hate crime, or some kind of revenge attack, yes.’

  Connie’s mouth dried. ‘What’s the victim’s name, Lindsay?’

  ‘It’s not been released yet, we need to contact her family.’

  ‘You can tell me, though. It’s not like I’m going to put it on Twitter.’ Her voice had raised an octave, the dread of the answer pressing on her vocal cords. Lindsay pursed her lips, clearly contemplating whether she should release this information. ‘Please, I’m driving myself mad here. If you tell me her name, I can get on with my evening and worry about how I’m going to make it up with my client instead.’

  Lindsay closed her eyes for a moment, then said, ‘You tell me your client’s name, and I’ll give you a yes or no.’

  ‘Okay.’ Connie took a deep breath. ‘Her name is Alice Mann.’

  Lindsay’s eyes widened. She didn’t need to speak, Connie could see the answer in her shocked expression. She stumbled backwards, her back hitting against the staircase.

  ‘Fuck.’

  Lindsay dragged both of her hands down her face. ‘It’s your client. I can’t believe it. How do you keep getting involved in stuff like this?’

  ‘Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Well, shit, Connie. First the Hargreaves case, now Alice Mann?’

  ‘I’m not trying to get involved in anything! She sought me out.’

  ‘But you’re the one who’s seeing her son, the murdering bastard, as was written in red on Alice’s wall.’ Lindsay’s eyes were wide, her pale freckled skin flushed red, matching her hair.