Liar Liar

by Mel Sherratt

  Liar Liar

  Mel Sherratt

  Copyright

  Published by AVON

  A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

  1 London Bridge Street

  London SE1 9GF

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020

  Copyright © Mel Sherratt 2020

  Cover design © Henry Steadman 2020

  Cover photography © Henry Steadman

  Mel Sherratt asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

  Source ISBN: 9780008368067

  Ebook Edition © February 2020 ISBN: 9780008368074

  Version: 2020-01-31

  Praise for Mel Sherratt:

  ‘An absolute masterpiece. Twisty, turny and full of surprises!’

  Angela Marsons

  ‘Mel Sherratt’s books are as smart and edgy as her heroines’

  Cara Hunter

  ‘Mel Sherratt is the new queen of gritty police procedurals’

  C.L. Taylor

  ‘Twists and turns and delivers a satisfying shot of tension’

  Rachel Abbott

  ‘Heart-stoppingly tense. I love Mel Sherratt’s writing’

  Angela Clarke

  ‘Gripped me from the first page and didn’t let go until the heart-stopping conclusion!’

  Robert Bryndza

  ‘A writer to watch out for’

  Mandasue Heller

  ‘Uncompromising, powerful and very real – an important new voice’

  David Mark

  ‘Mel’s vivid imagination really brings her characters to life’

  Kerry Wilkinson

  ‘Mel Sherratt is a unique voice in detective fiction’

  Mail on Sunday

  Dedication

  For all staff in the Emergency Services who risk their lives so that we can feel safe

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Praise for Mel Sherratt

  Dedication

  Monday

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Tuesday

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Wednesday

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thursday

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Forty-One

  Forty-Two

  Forty-Three

  Forty-Four

  Forty-Five

  Forty-Six

  Forty-Seven

  Friday

  Forty-Eight

  Forty-Nine

  Fifty

  Fifty-One

  Fifty-Two

  Two Weeks Later

  Fifty-Three

  Fifty-Four

  Fifty-Five

  Author Note

  A Letter from Mel

  Acknowledgements

  Keep Reading …

  About the Author

  The Grace Allendale Series

  About the Publisher

  MONDAY

  ONE

  Caleb Campbell freewheeled down Ford Green Road, taking the bend a little too sharply for the icy road conditions as he weaved his way past the evening traffic. It was nearly half past six and he was meeting Seth Forrester in less than five minutes. It wouldn’t do to be late. He’d seen first-hand what Seth was capable of when he was annoyed; wouldn’t like to get on the wrong side of him.

  He turned left and raced along Rose Avenue, making a mental note to buy new batteries for his lights as he took a sharp right into the entrance that led to Harrison House.

  It had been trying to snow for most of the day, the damp sludge soaking his jeans but at least he wouldn’t be late. It wasn’t cool to be pedalling like the clappers on his BMX. Caleb had been saving up for a new pushbike and couldn’t wait until he had enough money for it. Almost there, it wouldn’t take long now before he had the rest. He’d had to hide the stash from his older brother and his mum, for different reasons. His brother would probably tell his mum; his mum would want to know how he had managed to acquire four hundred pounds.

  He’d earned the money from Seth. It was only fetching and delivering parcels, small items, things he could carry on his bike. His friend Shaun had told him not to get involved with Seth; said he’d end up as a drug runner for him. But Caleb was cleverer than that. He would earn what he needed and then stop.

  When he heard a woman cry out, he glanced up to see where the noise had come from. He skidded to a stop on the bike, unable to believe his eyes. Before he knew what was happening, there was a scream, a dull thud and a moment’s silence before all hell broke loose.

  Caleb froze. He knew Seth was dangerous, but this? Had he really just …

  Realising he had seen too much, he turned back the way he’d come and pedalled away quickly. If he stayed here, he would be picked up and questioned by the police. If he became a witness, he would be persecuted, maybe threatened not to testify. And there was no way he could deliver his package now.

  ‘I saw nothing,’ he repeated over and over. ‘I saw nothing. I saw nothing.’

  There were cameras on the main road so he took a right out of the car park and skidded down an alleyway that led him onto another road. Across that and he was in the middle of the Bennett estate.

  After a few minutes, he slowed to catch his breath. Chucking his bike to the floor, he paced up and down beside it, covering his mouth with his hand to stop the vomit that was threatening to erupt.

  What the hell had happened back there?

  Caleb had seen way too much. If he couldn’t hold his nerve and lie through his teeth, he was a dead man walking.

  Mary Stanton had lived in Harrison House for five years. Retired seven years ago now, she’d moved in shortly after her husband had died. Their two sons had left the city in their early twenties to do better things. One lived in Devon, the other Brighton. She didn’t get to see them much nowadays; could remember the last time she had held her grandson, Sebastian, in her arms as if it were yesterday, but in fact it was over six months ago.

  She didn’t mind so much. Th
ey were busy, had their lives without her, and who would want to come back here when they had friendlier neighbourhoods, good jobs and prospects further afield?

  Mary didn’t get out much and didn’t see many people, so the walkway outside her flat was her lifeline. When her legs weren’t playing up, she could stand there for hours, leaning on the concrete railing. Even when the pain of rheumatoid arthritis got particularly bad, she could perch herself on a high stool. She loved to watch the activities of the people around her. Everyone knew her; waved at her when they went past. Sometimes she even looked after a child or two, if anyone was in dire need of a helping hand. She enjoyed that, as long as she wasn’t taken for granted.

  Plus she liked it at Harrison House. It was only three storeys high, not like one of the huge tower blocks in the city centre. There was a camaraderie she enjoyed, despite a lot of the tenants coming and going before she got to know them. She wouldn’t say she was a busybody but she did know a lot of what went on. People liked to offload to her, share gossip too. Of course she never said anything to anyone, so she had garnered a certain trust among the regular tenants, often being seen as a confidante. Her eyes and ears were the best things she had left. At least she could be a small part of the community.

  Should she go outside? After all, she would have been there under normal circumstances. People might notice she was missing. She pushed herself up to standing, then sat back down again with a thump.

  She couldn’t go out. Not after what she had seen. There had been a commotion to her right, people in the car park. And then across the way, something else was happening. That awful scream. Then she had seen something that would haunt her forever.

  So when the police called, because she was certain they would, she would say only one thing.

  ‘I saw nothing,’ she whispered under her breath, her stomach swishing around with nausea. ‘I saw nothing.’

  TWO

  Harrison House was an L-shaped building. There were forty-eight flats, eight on either side of each landing with a shared staircase at its middle. Entrances to every two-bedroomed home opened out onto a covered communal walkway, a three-foot concrete railing in front, the rest open to the elements. At the side was a residents’ car park. A large strip of grass wrapped almost all the way around the building, then stretched to the main road.

  Over the years, the block had got itself a reputation for housing troublesome tenants. It had been a hot spot for domestic violence, and there was even a murder there in 2015. But since Trent Housing Association received a grant to renovate the block, the area had slightly improved. Still, in amid the good people it had problem residents, despite trying to clean itself up.

  DS Grace Allendale was doing her last call of the day. It was half past six, past her usual finishing time but she’d wanted to check a tenant out.

  ‘Really, he must think we’ve fallen off a Christmas tree,’ Grace said to her colleague, DC Frankie Higgins as they came out of flat 202. ‘Croxton isn’t just taking cannabis for medicinal purposes. We need to get on to the drugs team and see if they’re scouting him out before we go into someone else’s investigation with our size eleven’s, but for my money he’s under the radar and we’ve just stumbled on— What the hell is that racket?’

  She could hear shouting; it seemed to be coming from the car park to their right. She was just about to go downstairs and intervene when a blood-curdling scream rang through the air. It wasn’t a cry of anguish, or fear. It was one of sheer pain and it was coming from below them.

  She and Frankie stepped towards the edge of the walkway and looked over the rail to where the noise had come from. To their left this time, a woman was running across the grassed area, followed closely by a man. Grace could make out a shape in the direction they were heading. The woman dropped to her knees as she got to it and screamed again.

  ‘Oh no.’ Grace raced to the end of the walkway and hurled herself down two flights of stairs, Frankie hot on her tail. She pushed open the entrance door in the communal hallway and tore across the grass towards them.

  The woman had long blonde hair, a small frame and skinny arms and legs underneath her jeans and jumper. Water from the grass was seeping through her slippers. The man was medium height and build. His hands grasped fistfuls of his short, dark hair as he paced the ground, breath coming in rasps.

  ‘My baby,’ the woman cried.

  ‘Wait!’ Grace shouted, trying to get their attention.

  ‘He’s broken,’ the woman sobbed. ‘My little boy, he’s broken.’

  ‘Don’t move him. Please be careful!’ Grace drew level with them. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ the man said. ‘He just fell.’

  ‘From which floor?’

  ‘The first.’

  ‘We’re police officers.’ Grace took out her warrant card and identified herself and Frankie. She dropped to the ground next to the infant. The boy’s eyes rolled back inside his head and then he lay still. She could already hear Frankie on his phone to control.

  ‘Male, toddler. Looks like he’s fallen about five metres onto hard ground. Pulse, Grace?’

  Being careful not to move him, she felt around his neck, and nodded with relief when she found it. It was weak but he was still alive.

  Please don’t die, little man.

  By now several people had come to join them and Grace could see residents in the flats above standing looking over the rail.

  ‘What’s his name?’ she asked. The woman had stood up now and was in the man’s arms.

  ‘Tyler,’ the man spoke for her. ‘Tyler Douglas. Why don’t you do something? Don’t just leave him. He’ll die!’

  ‘As police officers, we’re trained first responders only. I’ve checked to see that his airway is clear and that he has a pulse. But I’m not medically qualified to assess injuries from a fall like this,’ Grace explained. ‘It may cause him more damage if I move him. The paramedics will be here soon. How old is he?’

  ‘He’s two – three next month.’

  Grace took off her coat and laid it over the boy’s chest to keep him warm. The mid-February temperature seemed to be dipping by the minute, puffs of cold air coming from everyone’s mouths. Really, she wanted to help him more but she didn’t know how.

  ‘He isn’t making any noise,’ the man said. ‘Shouldn’t he be crying?’ He paced again before turning back to them. ‘Can’t you do something?’

  Grace stood up. ‘Are you his dad?’

  He nodded.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Luke Douglas.’

  Grace eyed the woman. ‘And you’re Tyler’s mother?’

  The woman nodded too, her bottom lip trembling and her body already shivering. ‘Ruby Brassington.’

  ‘What happened?’ Grace asked again, glad that Frankie was with her as he told the gathering crowd to move away. In the distance, sirens could be heard getting louder by the second.

  ‘He fell.’ Luke pointed down to the lifeless figure, a trickle of blood now appearing from the toddler’s left ear.

  ‘Was he on his own on the walkway?’ Grace had to be clear.

  ‘I don’t remember! It was all so quick.’

  Grace turned to the woman. ‘Ruby?’ she urged.

  The woman shook her head. Their eyes locked but she didn’t seem able to focus.

  ‘Ruby,’ Grace repeated, feeling relief flood through her as the ambulance pulled up. ‘Did you see what happened?’

  ‘No, I saw nothing.’

  Before Grace could ask anything else, the paramedics were running towards them. The few people who had gathered moved back to let them do their work.

  It was several minutes before Grace could tear herself away from the scene unfolding in front of her. Tyler had been moved to an ambulance, its door closed. Ruby Brassington had gone to fetch her handbag so she could travel with Tyler to the hospital. Luke Douglas was talking to Frankie, looking shell-shocked as he stepped from foot to foot. Eventually, as uniform
ed police arrived and cordoned off the area, she beckoned Frankie over.

  ‘Where’s the father gone?’ she asked as they stood to one side.

  ‘Upstairs to get his car keys.’

  She paused for a moment, taking in what was happening around them. The ambulance with its doors closed, lights flashing. The crowd of onlookers now moving away. People on the walkways above looking down at them.

  ‘That little boy can’t have got up over that concrete railing and fallen on his own.’ She glanced around before continuing. ‘I don’t buy that they saw nothing, like Ruby said.’

  ‘Oh, I hear you.’ Frankie’s face darkened.

  One of the paramedics got out of the ambulance and waved for Grace’s attention. A man in his late forties, she knew he would see the same thing in his dreams as she would tonight, even though neither of them had witnessed the accident. A helpless child falling to the ground. Regardless of how it had happened, it was a tragedy. It was going to be an emotional few days for the family.

  Grace jogged over to him. Through the open door of the vehicle, she could see Tyler attached to monitors and strapped on a board to keep his head and neck still. It wasn’t needed at the moment as he lay motionless, but who knew if he would suddenly come to life again during the twenty-minute trip to the hospital? She prayed that would be the case.

  ‘We’ll be off soon,’ the paramedic told her.

  ‘How is he? He’s so quiet,’ she murmured.

  ‘Touch and go, I think.’

  ‘Is the mother travelling in the ambulance with you?’

  ‘Yes, she’s gone to fetch her bag.’

  A minute later, Grace heard the entrance door bang loudly, and turned to see Ruby running back towards them.

  ‘I’m here, my little soldier,’ she said as she got inside the ambulance. She sat down next to a uniformed officer who had been assigned to accompany them to the hospital.

  ‘What number flat do you live in, Ruby?’ Grace asked.

  ‘114.’

  ‘I’ll head up afterwards.’

  ‘Tell Luke to check on Lily.’ Ruby didn’t take her eyes from Tyler’s as she rested a hand on his forearm. ‘He’s following in the car.’

  ‘Lily?’ Grace queried.