Lie to Me: A gripping psychological thriller with a shocking twist

by Jess Ryder

  ‘Pick me up? You mean, you’re arresting me?’

  ‘No, no, we just need to ask you a few questions.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Oh, Meri,’ he sighs. ‘Don’t you understand? This is a murder enquiry. You’re involved.’

  DCI Paula Abrahams shows me into what’s called the family room – a small rectangular space with a brown leather sofa, office armchair, and a wooden blind at the narrow window. A bowl of dusty potpourri, its aroma long departed, sits on the cheap coffee table.

  ‘Thanks for coming in,’ she says, gesturing me to the sofa. Her tone is terse, almost sarcastic. I watch her settle herself in the armchair, resting a pad on her slim knees, clicking her pen into action.

  ‘Can Eliot sit in on this?’

  ‘Detective Sergeant Myles? No, I’m sorry, he can’t.’ She looks up at me. ‘Can I start with your full name and date of birth?’

  ‘Meredith Louise Banks. Eleventh of the second, eighty-six.’

  She writes it down, then adjusts her body to sit up straighter. ‘I’m speaking to you as a witness in connection with the murder of Santianna Makepeace, which took place on Monday the 14th of April. In our discussion, I’m hoping to establish the nature of your relationship with Christopher Jay and what happened between you in the Star and Garter pub, shortly before the murder took place. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why did you go to Archway College?’

  ‘I wanted to talk to Christopher Jay.’

  ‘Was this a planned meeting? I mean, was he expecting you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So what did you want to talk to him about?’

  ‘I… er…’ What am I going to say? She looks at me steadily, waiting for my reply. ‘I wanted to ask him about my mother. She… she was a witness at the trial – I mean, the Cara Travers trial – and she’s a missing person.’

  ‘Yes, DS Myles explained. So what was it you asked Jay about your mother?’

  ‘I just wanted to see how he’d react when I mentioned her name.’

  ‘What else did you say to him?’

  ‘I can’t remember exactly.’ I feel myself going red and hot. She fixes her stare. I’m not going to get away with such a feeble answer, I can tell.

  ‘Did you reveal any details about the investigation? Things DS Myles might have told you, or let slip?’

  ‘No. Eliot’s got nothing to do with this. He wouldn’t talk to me about the case; that’s the main reason I wanted to talk to Jay. I was pissed off, I wanted to do something for myself.’

  ‘I see.’ She writes something down. ‘So you weren’t satisfied with how the investigation was going.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t that. I just… It’s what happened to my mother that interests me.’

  ‘When you went to see him, how would you describe Christopher Jay’s mood?’

  ‘Jumpy, aggressive. He was obviously nervous about the Cara Travers case being reopened—’

  ‘It’s never been closed,’ she corrects. ‘It’s being reviewed.’

  God, I really don’t like this woman, and I can tell she really doesn’t like me.

  ‘Okay, sorry. I’m not a detective.’

  ‘Too right you’re not.’

  ‘I didn’t make him kill that girl.’

  ‘I never said you did.’

  ‘So why am I feeling like you think I’m to blame?’ I fold my arms across my chest.

  Abrahams rests her pen on her notepad and puts her head on one side, studying me with an air of disappointment. ‘I’m surprised, given your…’ she pauses to add another pinch of sarcasm, ‘your involvement in the Cara Travers case review, and your friendship with Detective Sergeant Myles, not to mention the enormous amount of press coverage and numerous police appeals for witnesses, that you didn’t come forward of your own accord.’

  ‘I didn’t think it was relevant.’

  She sighs irritably. ‘When did you tell DS Myles you’d been to see Jay?’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘Hmm…’

  ‘That’s the truth. Eliot didn’t know, I swear.’

  ‘How did you know where to find Jay?’

  ‘I googled him.’

  She makes a loud tutting noise. ‘I really hope you’re not lying to me, for both your sakes.’

  The door opens and a young mop-haired detective pops his head round. ‘Can I have a word, boss?’

  ‘Is it urgent?’ He nods. Abrahams apologises and leaves the room. I sit there for – I don’t know how long – five or ten minutes. I drum my fingers on the arm of the sofa. Our chat’s over now; surely I’m free to go. I sigh loudly. This is all so unnecessary, such a waste of their time. It’s got nothing to do with the murder of this poor student and it’s not going to help them find Jay. I’m cross with Eliot for telling Abrahams; they never would have found me otherwise and all it’s done is cause a load of trouble for both me and him. I’ve started rehearsing a speech to Eliot in my head when Abrahams opens the door and comes back in.

  ‘You’ve been lying, haven’t you, Meredith?’ she says, standing over me, looking at me so sharply I could cut myself on her edges.

  ‘No. Not at all!’

  ‘DS Myles asked for a sample of your DNA and you agreed to it going on the national database, is that right?’

  ‘Yes. I was told there might be a match with an unidentified… with my mother.’

  ‘Well, the results have come through and there is a match.’ She raises her eyebrows and holds them there dramatically.

  My heart pulls up short and then starts pounding again, faster than before. Becca. They’ve found Becca. Images swirl in my brain. I see a body being pulled from a river, her corpse lying on a slab. I see her face, but it’s my face. I’m looking down at myself and I’m dead. I see a cardboard coffin being lowered into a mass grave. Everything’s spinning; my body’s swaying. I grasp uselessly at the sofa cushion, trying to hold on. They’ve found Becca.

  DCI Abrahams is just standing there, observing me, gauging my reaction; doesn’t seem to care that I’m struggling to take in the news, doesn’t offer me a glass of water for the shock. She’s looking at me like I’m nothing, a dirty mark on her white blouse, a piece of gum stuck to her shoe, like she hates me.

  ‘We know who you are, Meredith,’ she says. ‘And we know why you didn’t come forward.’

  I gaze up at her wide-eyed.

  ‘You’re Christopher Jay’s daughter.’

  Chapter Thirty

  Me

  ‘That’s impossible. It’s ridiculous.’ I stare at DCI Abrahams’s grim expression, as if waiting for her face to crack. ‘This is a joke, right? A sick joke.’

  ‘Putting on an act won’t help,’ says Abrahams impatiently. ‘A team’s already on the way to search your house.’

  ‘You can’t be serious. Christopher Jay is not my father! There must have been some mistake. Contamination of evidence. Mixed-up samples…’

  ‘His DNA was all over the murder scene – there’s no possibility of a mistake. I need to examine your mobile. Where is it, in your bag?’ She takes my phone and hands it to her assistant.

  ‘It’s not true. Please tell me it’s not true.’ I press my hands against the sides of my head and rock from side to side, trying to shake her voice out of my ears. She’s lying. I’m not going to listen to her. I know who my father is. I am not the daughter of a killer. My head starts to spin, my vision closing in from the edges.

  ‘Meredith – what are you doing? Sit up!’

  ‘I think I’m going to f—’ My eyes close and the world turns black.

  ‘Meri? Are you okay?’ Eliot’s voice. He’s sitting on the edge of the sofa. ‘This is a dreadful shock for her,’ he says. ‘You’ve got to give her some time.’

  ‘We don’t have any time,’ a female voice replies; Abrahams, I think. ‘If she knows something—’

  ‘She doesn’t. Can you call the duty doctor?’

  ‘I’m sure that’s not n
ecessary.’

  ‘She needs checking over.’

  The duty doctor arrives. He smells musty but his voice is kind. He takes me by the shoulders and tries to pull me up. I’ve gone floppy and he has to hold me to stop me falling to one side. I’m a doll, a soft toy; my bones have disintegrated and my insides are mush. I bend my head, making my hair fall forward so they can’t see my face. He takes my pulse and checks my blood pressure; it’s on the low side, but he says it’s no cause for concern. He makes me open my eyes and shines a torch in them till I blink. Satisfied I’m not going to die in police custody, he asks Abrahams if she’s going to make an arrest. She says not yet, she’s waiting for news. I lie down again and close my eyes, listening to the conversation going on over my head.

  ‘You can see how she is, there’s no way she knew,’ Eliot’s saying. ‘She went to see Jay because she thinks he killed her mother. The last thing she’d do is protect him.’

  ‘She didn’t come forward,’ replies Abrahams. ‘Doesn’t that strike you as suspicious?’

  ‘Yeah, I can see that, but… look, I know her really well, we’re friends.’ Friends? Is that all he’s prepared to admit to? ‘I promise you, she’s told you the truth. We both have.’

  She, she, she. As if I’m not here.

  Abrahams gets a call and by the tone of her voice I can tell she’s disappointed. They’ve broken into the house, and guess what, Christopher Jay wasn’t hiding under my bed.

  ‘I told you you were wasting your time,’ says Eliot.

  ‘Have they checked the loft, cellar, garden shed?’ continues Abrahams. ‘Any signs that he might have been staying…? Okay, well as long as you’re sure.’ She ends the call abruptly and turns to me. ‘Meredith,’ she says, ‘sit up, please. I need to talk to you.’

  ‘Can’t you see she’s not up to it right now?’ Eliot crouches down next to me. The tenderness of his touch is familiar and I start to cry.

  ‘DS Myles, return to your desk, please,’ says Abrahams sharply. ‘And stay there until you’re sent for. I haven’t finished with you yet.’

  But he ignores her. ‘Is there someone I should call, Meri? Graeme?’

  ‘No, not Dad,’ I croak. ‘Please, you mustn’t tell him. El – promise me.’

  ‘DS Myles, you’re skating on extremely thin ice here.’

  ‘I’ll call you later,’ he whispers, standing up. He walks out of the room, not bothering to shut the door.

  Abrahams questions me for the next hour or so and then I have to go through it all over again while one of her lackeys laboriously writes it down in his childish handwriting. Statement made and signed, I’m finally allowed to call a taxi, although Abrahams insists on keeping my phone for forensic examination, meaning she still doesn’t believe me, even though it’s completely obvious to anyone but a moron that I’ve told the truth. I think she’s just doing it to be a bitch and make me suffer for not coming forward.

  I sit in the cab, numbly looking out of the window, my eyes wandering through the crowds of shoppers, workers, tourists. I know nothing about these strangers yet I envy them. They look content with who they are and where they’re going. I can’t place myself among them. I feel like the victim of a life-changing accident, the cause pinned down to one brief moment that replays constantly in your head. A slip, a fall, a second of inattention, a decision so slight that at the time it didn’t even feel like a decision: to cross the road, overtake a car, climb a ladder; to reach into a cardboard box marked Baby clothes …

  As we chug painfully through the traffic, I try to do the maths. I was born eighteen months after Cara was murdered. Becca could have been having an affair with Jay from the moment he arrived at Darkwater Terrace, or even before that. Or she might only have met him during the trial. I wonder whether Jay knew about me. I don’t think so. There was no sign of it in his face when we met, though that doesn’t mean anything. People lie so easily.

  And what about Dad? My dear, dear father – he’ll always be my father, no matter what the science says. I stare out of the taxi window, the scene blurring with tears. Is this what he’s been trying to protect me from? If he finds out I know I’m not his biological daughter, it’ll break his heart. And if he doesn’t know already and I tell him, it’ll break his heart anyway. Which means that now I must lie too.

  I wish the detective hadn’t confiscated my phone – I want to talk to Isobel. Then I remember she gave me her business card. I fish it out of my bag and give her address to the taxi driver. He makes a big swooping circle in the street, setting off in the opposite direction. We head west towards Belsize Park, veering off down side streets littered with cars, the cab swerving around speed bumps and slamming on the brakes as schoolchildren wander across the road.

  Alice answers the door. She stares at my tear-stained face so disapprovingly I retreat a couple of steps. ‘Isobel’s working,’ she says.

  ‘Sorry, it’s an emergency.’

  ‘Really? You’d better come in then.’ She opens the door just wide enough for me to pass through and shouts up. ‘Izzy! Your friend Meredith’s here.’

  Isobel rushes down the stairs and sees the expression on my face. ‘Oh God, darling, you look like you’ve been in a fight. What on earth’s happened?’

  She pushes past Alice and envelops me. It seems to unblock something and I start crying again. Alice stands behind her, studying my face, her lips drawn in a thin line. Isobel ushers me into the front room and plants me on the sofa, sitting next to me and clasping my hands with both of hers.

  ‘She’s in shock. Needs something strong. Darling, would you mind?’

  ‘I think we could all do with a drink, don’t you?’ says Alice, slouching off to the kitchen.

  ‘So what happened?’ says Isobel. ‘Did they find out you’d been to see Jay?’ I nod. ‘Oh shit. Why didn’t you keep quiet about it? I bet they gave you a hard time. They’ve no right to, you know; you can lodge a complaint.’

  Alice comes back with a bottle of Scotch and three crystal tumblers. She pours me a shot, which I gulp down, the peaty bitterness of it scorching my throat.

  ‘Did you know all along? That he’s my father?’

  Isobel starts. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Christopher Jay is my biological father.’ The words taste like bile in my mouth. ‘They tested my DNA.’

  Alice lets out a low whistle and Isobel clasps her hands to her face. ‘But… but… oh my God… Oh, you poor darling.’ She looks down at the pattern on her shirt, thinking for a few seconds, and then adds, ‘How ghastly. Of all the people…’

  ‘I still can’t really believe it.’

  Isobel lets out a heavy sigh. ‘What a bastard… Christopher Jay has ruined so many lives.’

  ‘But now they’ve got him. This proves Rebecca Banks lied for him. Bang goes his alibi.’ Alice raises her glass. ‘Cheers!’ She downs the whisky and smacks her lips.

  Isobel gives her a warning frown. ‘Darling, please… this is not something to celebrate. Think of poor Meredith, what’s she been through.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ I say, staring miserably into my tumbler. ‘I’ve got to face facts. If Becca knew Jay before the murder, there’s a good chance she was involved in some way.’

  ‘I’d say it was the final piece of the jigsaw.’ Alice sits on the edge of the sofa, stretching her free arm across Isobel’s shoulders. ‘I always thought it was weird, the key witness just happening to be walking around Darkwater Pool in the dead of night. Would you go somewhere so creepy if you needed fresh air? God knows why the police ever believed her.’

  ‘They should have worked out that Becca and Jay were connected,’ agrees Isobel. ‘But it was par for the course with that lot, I’m afraid. Utterly hopeless. How Brian Durley ever made it to chief constable…’

  Alice swirls the ice thoughtfully around her glass. ‘Jay must have gone to see Rebecca straight after he killed Cara. He probably threatened to tell her husband about the affair unless she helped out.’

  I look up shar
ply. ‘No, that’s not possible. My father was at home that evening. He and Becca had had a row.’

  ‘That’s what he said in court, but—’

  ‘It’s all starting to make sense,’ interrupts Isobel, suddenly animated. ‘Becca confessed about the affair and what Jay had made her do. She was in big trouble, but your father forgave her and lied to protect her.’

  ‘He’d never lie about something that serious. He hates lies.’ I feel myself bristling. They don’t know him; nobody knows him like I do. ‘My father’s a good man,’ I say. ‘A really good man.’

  ‘Exactly,’ says Isobel, warming to her theme. ‘He was frightened about what would happen to Becca if she went to prison. He lied because there was no other choice, because he loved her. He probably thought Jay would be convicted anyway, so it wouldn’t matter. It wasn’t his fault it all went wrong at the trial.’

  ‘But now that the truth’s coming out,’ says Alice, ‘he might have to answer some awkward questions.’

  ‘Don’t say that. Please don’t! I can’t bear it.’ Tears start to well up behind my eyes and I cover my face with my hands.

  ‘You poor thing,’ soothes Isobel. ‘I can’t imagine how bad you must feel. Everywhere you look it’s a fucking awful mess. Still, I’m glad you came to us for help. You shouldn’t be on your own at a time like this. You must stay for a few days and let us look after you.’

  I’m not sure that’s a good idea, but what are the alternatives? I don’t want to go back to the house and face Fay, and I’m not ready to see Dad. I don’t want to involve any other friends and I’ve completely screwed up with Eliot. There’s nowhere else to go.

  ‘That’s really kind,’ I say, through wet fingers, ‘but… I don’t want to impose.’

  ‘You’re not imposing.’ Isobel strokes my hair. ‘We insist, don’t we, Alice?’

  It’s late. I lie on my back, legs straight, arms at my sides, the alcohol paralysing me, limb by limb. The bed is vast; sheets cold and icy. It’s as if Isobel has shrunk me and put me to sleep in her doll’s house. My eyes swivel from left to right. The room is square and sparsely furnished, Nordic style. Shiny grey curtains hang motionless like polished concrete and unframed monochrome seascapes float off the white walls. The bedstead is painted in cool eau de Nil with a matching chest of drawers – the wood smells new, as if it’s just come from the forest. I’m drunk and dehydrated with crying, but I like it here. I like the feeling of surrender.