Lies: The stunning new psychological thriller you won't be able to put down!

by TM Logan

  I looked from him to Larssen and back again.

  ‘A “no-body murder” sounds like a contradiction in terms,’ I said.

  Larssen frowned at me but said nothing.

  ‘Not really,’ Naylor said. ‘We have very grave concerns for Mr Delaney’s safety. We have a steadily increasing amount of evidence that foul play is involved, even without the discovery of a body.’

  ‘There’s no body to find,’ I said. ‘Because no one’s died.’

  ‘Our evidence suggests otherwise.’

  I shook my head and Larssen shot me a look that said, Let me handle this.

  ‘It’s not common, Joe,’ he said. ‘But it does happen. Makes the police’s job much more difficult.’

  ‘That depends on what else we’ve found,’ Naylor replied.

  ‘Can you give us an idea of what that is?’

  ‘You know that I don’t have to disclose it at this stage, Peter.’

  ‘I realise that, absolutely.’

  ‘But I’m going to all the same, in the interests of keeping you fully and properly informed. Three further items of evidential value that have developed over the last twenty-four hours.’

  ‘Thank you, Detective Chief Inspector. We appreciate it.’

  Naylor opened a folder he’d brought in with him.

  ‘Remember on Monday, Joe, when I told you about the blood found in Mr Delaney’s car, and how we were able to match it to his record in the database from a case last year?’

  ‘The bloke he fired from his company.’

  ‘That’s the one. Blood traces recovered from the underground car park of the Premier Inn, near Brent Cross, have also been matched to Mr Delaney.’

  In my mind’s eye, I saw the blood dripping from Ben’s ear onto the concrete.

  ‘We found a second blood trace at the scene,’ Naylor added. ‘Not matched to Ben Delaney. We’re still working on tying that sample to a suspect.’

  Larssen wrote something else on his pad and circled it.

  ‘Sure. What else?’ he said, in a tone that suggested he thought the DNA match was nothing to worry about. I couldn’t believe how calm he was.

  ‘DNA at the scene is number one,’ Naylor said. ‘Number two was also found at the scene.’

  He produced a clear plastic evidence bag from his folder, and laid it on the table.

  58

  There was something thin and black inside the evidence bag. Circular. The right size to fit around a wrist. A leather bracelet. My bracelet. The one that Mel had given to me on our third wedding anniversary. I’d lost it in the scuffle with Ben on Thursday night.

  ‘Evidence item four-four-one-nine-six-slash-A is shown to the suspect,’ Naylor said. ‘This item, a bracelet, was recovered from the scene and it also has traces of Mr Delaney’s blood on it. Do you recognise the bracelet?’

  ‘My client has no comment,’ Larssen said, without looking up from his pad.

  ‘Sure?’ Naylor asked me.

  I said nothing.

  ‘I was rather hoping that Mr Lynch would recognise it. Because he posted a message on Facebook about losing it on Thursday night.’

  ‘That was Ben,’ I said.

  ‘When he supposedly hacked your account?’

  ‘Yes. I lost my phone, he must have picked it up.’

  ‘Where?’

  Larssen shot me a look and said: ‘No comment.’

  ‘Is that why you deleted the message later?’

  I said nothing.

  ‘It’s an obvious thing, but we can often learn more from the messages a person thinks they’ve deleted than from the ones they leave up. In fact you deleted two Facebook messages you posted on Thursday night.’

  ‘I didn’t –’

  ‘My client has no comment,’ Larssen interrupted.

  ‘Of course, nothing’s ever really deleted, you know.’ Naylor said. ‘From anywhere. There’s always an electronic footprint. A record on a computer server somewhere in the world. Imagine that. Every message you ever sent, every website you ever visited, every picture you upload, every post on social media. Everything. The amount of information people are putting out into the public domain about themselves today . . . it’s unprecedented in human history. It’s all out there, all that data about you, stored forever. It’s just a case of knowing where to look.’ He paused for a moment. ‘And our technical people are very good at knowing where to look. It’s a gold mine, as far as law enforcement goes.’

  ‘The thing about a gold mine,’ Larssen said, ‘is you generally just end up with lots of worthless rock to show for your trouble.’

  ‘But when you uncover a nugget of gold, it makes it all worthwhile. And it’s the nuggets that we’re looking for. Which leads me on to our third evidence strand. Mr Lynch’s mobile phone.’

  ‘My client’s already indicated that he lost his phone,’ Larssen said.

  ‘Convenient,’ Naylor replied.

  ‘Happens to thousands of people, every day of the week.’

  Naylor said: ‘Do you know what metadata is, Joe?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Literally speaking it means “data about data”, ’ he continued, turning to another sheet of paper in his file. ‘Information generated as you use technology. In the case of your average smartphone, metadata will give you a list of numbers, coordinates, dates and times.’

  ‘OK,’ I said slowly.

  ‘We’ve gathered your phone’s metadata from Thursday night, which has allowed us to plot all of your movements over the course of the day and into the evening. It shows you at or near the Premier Inn for thirty-three minutes last Thursday, between 5.01 p.m. and 5.34 p.m.’

  ‘No comment,’ Larssen said again, for what felt like the fiftieth time today.

  ‘You went in first at 5.01 p.m. You claim that you left, and then went back a short while later, staying for just a few minutes. That’s pretty weird behaviour, don’t you think?’

  ‘I already told you about this on Monday. Check my home phone records – I called the hotel from the landline when I got home –’

  ‘Joe,’ Larssen said, a warning tone in his voice.

  ‘It looks like there was a call from your house phone to the hotel. But there’s no way to prove who made the call, the receptionist doesn’t remember it, and there’s no recording of the conversation. So it doesn’t really move things any further forward. It doesn’t help us. Or you. Why’d you go back? Because you realised you’d left your phone there and you knew it would incriminate you?’

  Larssen said: ‘No comment.’

  ‘Maybe you returned to the scene to look for your missing bracelet as well, knowing that it would link you directly to the crime? With Mr Delaney’s body already in the boot of your car?’

  I shook my head once, a small movement. I couldn’t stop myself.

  ‘Is that a no?’

  ‘No comment,’ Larssen said again.

  ‘Either way, you needed to sort out the situation you were in. Clean up the mess.’ He traced his finger down a column of figures on a sheet in his file. ‘So at 5.34 p.m. you’re on the move again, north-west, and then you stop again for twenty-four minutes. At this point, you switched your phone off – bit late by this point, considering the data trail it’s already left. You see, Joe, when a mobile is switched off, it records the phone mast it was last communicating with, so it can find it again quickly when you switch it back on. The nearest to your phone when it was switched off on Thursday night was a mast on the roof of the Kingsbury Leisure Centre. Which is right next to Fryent Country Park.’

  He paused and turned another page. I remembered my first meeting with Naylor at the park, two days ago – him getting out of his car as I emerged from the undergrowth, muddy, out of breath, with bloodied knuckles and an empty sports bag that belonged to Ben.

  Naylor said: ‘Why did you switch your phone off on Thursday night, Joe?’

  ‘I didn’t switch it off. I lost it at the Premier Inn.’

  ‘During
your fight with Mr Delaney?’

  Larssen gave another ‘no comment’ response.

  Naylor said: ‘The metadata from your phone records show that you left the North Circular at Neasden and headed north-west on the A4140, taking you to the country park.’

  ‘My phone may have done, but I didn’t. I went straight home to deal with William’s asthma attack, then back to the hotel. Then back home again, where I opened a beer and put my son in the bath.’

  ‘You went back to the country park on Monday morning. Why?’

  I looked over at my solicitor, and he gave me a brief nod.

  ‘Ben invited me there to meet him, he said he had something to show me. I told you this two days ago.’

  ‘Are you sure you weren’t looking for something else?’ he added. ‘Something you left behind? Or maybe you were finishing the job of concealment that you’d started on Thursday night?’

  ‘My client has no comment.’

  ‘Did you kill your wife’s lover and bury his body in that park?’

  ‘My client has no comment.’

  ‘How did you kill him? With your fists?’

  ‘My client has no comment.’

  ‘He slept with your wife. Did you beat him unconscious and then just keep on hitting him?’

  ‘My client has no comment.’

  ‘Or did you kick him to death? Did it feel good?’

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ I said finally.

  ‘Joe!’ Larssen said sharply, giving me a stern look.

  Naylor said: ‘Ridiculous in what way?’

  ‘My client has no comment,’ Larssen said again.

  Naylor sat back in his chair, a pained look on his face.

  ‘That’s a lot of no comment for someone who’s not done anything wrong.’

  DS Redford took over the questioning.

  She said: ‘Is it not the case that you found out Ben Delaney was having an intimate relationship with your wife? You killed him in a jealous rage. Maybe you didn’t mean to kill him, maybe you just meant to teach him a lesson. But you saw red and gave him a proper hiding and before you knew it he was bleeding and dying on the concrete in front of you. So you thought, “What the hell do I do now?” and you concealed his body and took his phone, and you’ve been trying to cover your tracks by posting various Facebook updates and sending text messages supposedly from –’

  ‘This is bullshit!’ I said more forcefully than I had intended. ‘And it’s exactly what Ben wants you to think. How can it be a murder when no one’s died? I’ve seen him, heard him on the phone, talked to him on social media. This is ridiculous.’

  ‘Joe –’ Larssen began.

  Redford said: ‘Would you say you lose your temper quite easily, Joe?’

  ‘My client has no comment,’ Larssen said, his tone that of the disappointed parent of a child misbehaving in public. He turned in his chair to face me and said: ‘Do you remember our discussion a few minutes ago, in this room, Joe?’

  ‘Yes, I remember.’

  ‘Certain advice that I gave you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It would be in your interests to proceed on that basis. Agreed?’

  His expression said: Calm down and keep your mouth shut.

  ‘OK,’ I said.

  Naylor put his hands behind his head and swivelled slightly in his chair.

  He said: ‘You’d be amazed how common it is, you know.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Suspects going back to the scene of wrongdoing. Like a dog returning to its own vomit. People just can’t help themselves, a lot of the time, even though they know it might draw suspicion. Sometimes they just can’t leave it alone, sometimes it’s about showing the police how clever they are.’

  ‘I told you: Ben asked me to meet him at that park.’

  ‘So you said. We’ll know soon enough either way – we’ve got a full evidence recovery team at the park tonight, checking sites of interest.’

  A shiver of fear went through me, like a razor blade sawing up and down my spine.

  Larssen said: ‘Of interest in what way?’

  ‘There are some interesting areas of woodland at the country park. Isolated spots. Quite private even though they’re not too far from the road. There are a couple of spots in particular that we’re taking a closer look at.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because they show signs of recently disturbed earth.’

  59

  Larssen spoke slowly, as if he wanted to make sure there was no room for confusion.

  ‘Could you be more specific about what you mean when you say “disturbed earth”?’

  ‘Potential burial locations.’

  The room suddenly seemed airless, claustrophobic, and I had a powerful feeling of wanting to be somewhere – anywhere – else in the world at that moment.

  Larssen said: ‘Burial of what?’

  ‘Burial as in shallow grave. Of human remains.’

  ‘With all due respect, detective, that seems incredibly presumptuous at this stage of the investigation.’

  ‘Does it? We’ve got the mobile phone data taking us there after our last known sighting of the victim. We’ve got the relationship between Mrs Lynch and Mr Delaney, blood on the seat of his burned-out car, we’ve got your client returning to the country park on Monday. We’ve got a six-foot patch of recently turned earth in the woods there, very near to the spot where your client emerged from the woods on Monday morning – muddy and out of breath. We have your client’s phone found at this secondary crime scene at the country park. And this afternoon the forensic team found a cigarette lighter at the scene with Mr Delaney’s DNA on it. Believe me, there’s nothing presumptuous about it.’

  He let this sink in for a moment before asking his next question.

  ‘Tell me again, Joe. What words would you use to describe your encounter with Mr Delaney last Thursday?’

  Larssen said: ‘No comment.’

  ‘When you left the car park on Thursday evening, he was unconscious, correct?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Describe to me again what you did in the following two hours.’

  Larssen gave me a small nod, so I ran through my movements as briefly as possible. The drive home, William’s asthma inhaler, the return to the car park. Home again, a bath for my son, dinner, washing-up, TV, bed.

  Naylor addressed his next point directly at Larssen, opposite him at the small table.

  ‘Despite appearances to the contrary, I’m not giving you all this case-relevant material because I’m a warm and fluffy human being and I want to be your best friend, Peter. I’m telling you so that your client is absolutely clear about the weight of evidence we already have in the bag. So we can perhaps shorten this whole process and save a lot of time, legwork and heartache for the victim’s family. Bearing in mind we’re only just getting started on forensic searches of your client’s car, his computer and his house.’

  ‘We appreciate your candour,’ Larssen said.

  ‘In the light of the new evidence, is there anything else that you’d like to tell us?’

  ‘A minute alone with my client?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Redford picked up the Dictaphone and said: ‘Interview suspended at 7.26 p.m.’

  She hit a button on the machine and followed Naylor out of the room.

  Larssen half turned in his chair and looked at me with an intensity I hadn’t seen before.

  ‘Well, Joe?’

  ‘Well what?’

  ‘They’ve been rather busy, haven’t they?’

  ‘Busy chasing the wrong man.’

  ‘But they seem to have put together a fair amount of evidence in a short time.’

  I looked at him for a sign that he believed me. A sign that he was on my side, that he would fight my corner. That kind of person seemed to be in short supply just now.

  ‘I’ve never been in this situation before. Never even been arrested before. How bad does it look?’

  ‘
Hmm. Well, that would depend.’

  ‘On what?’

  ‘On how honest you want me to be at this point.’

  I swallowed hard, my throat dry.

  ‘Just give me your professional opinion.’

  ‘Well, they’ve got the evidence from the mobile data, DNA evidence, physical evidence. They’ve got motive, in the affair between him and your wife. Opportunity, in your meeting at the hotel that night. A possible shallow grave site. It’s a rather . . . unfortunate collection.’

  ‘It’s bloody unfortunate, considering I didn’t do it.’

  ‘Do what, exactly?’

  ‘Kill him.’

  He paused for a moment before asking his next question.

  ‘You’re quite sure about that?’

  My stomach dropped and I stared at him for a moment. It felt like I’d just discovered my best friend – who was supposed to be watching my back – didn’t actually care either way what happened.

  ‘Yes. Certain.’

  ‘Do you ever play cards, Joe?’

  ‘Played poker with Ben a few months back. I was pretty terrible at it.’

  ‘Well, this is the point in the game when it’s time to put your cards on the table.’

  ‘OK,’ I said slowly.

  ‘The truth.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Can anyone else corroborate your movements last Thursday night?’

  I shrugged.

  ‘Only William.’

  ‘What about your wife?’

  ‘She came back from tennis a bit before seven-ish, I think.’

  He checked his notes.

  ‘And that was . . . an hour and three-quarters after your confrontation with Ben.’

  ‘Give or take, yes.’

  ‘Enough time for you to drive to Fryent Country Park, dump a body, and drive home again.’

  ‘With a four-year-old in tow? In Friday night traffic? Without being seen?’

  ‘It’s Naylor’s primary theory at the moment.’

  ‘It’s bonkers.’

  ‘Of course. But we also need to be ready for forensic results from property seized today from your house. How often had Ben been in your house, or your car, in the last three months? We can look at using any recent visits to counter forensic evidence they might find.’