The Last Lie

by Alex Lake

  Because he wished everyone harm.

  The thought surprised him, and for a second he resisted it, but then he realized it was true. He did wish everyone harm. If someone had an ambition he liked to see it thwarted; if they went on an expensive skiing holiday he hoped they’d break a leg on their first run; if they went to a job interview he pictured them having a brain freeze and making a fool of themselves. If he could be the instrument of their failure, all the better.

  At the station he walked down to the platform and waited for a Tube to arrive. Once he’d boarded the train and it rocked into motion he smiled. Yes, killing Kevin and Carl was a nice thought. Something else to look forward to when Claire was gone.

  Victoria looked up as he walked into the office. She smiled, her expression a mixture of surprise and delight at his unexpected arrival. ‘What are you doing here?’ she said. ‘Not that we’re not glad to see you.’

  ‘Thought I’d pop in,’ Alfie said. ‘Say hello.’

  ‘How’s Claire?’

  ‘As good as can be expected. You all OK?’

  ‘We’re fine. Don’t worry about us. It’s funny you came in right this moment, though.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Because one minute ago I took a message for you which is quite important. I was going to email you.’

  ‘What’s it about?’

  ‘A new instruction, in West Horsley. Nice listing. Seventeenth-century manor house on sixteen acres. Going for five million.’ Victoria raised her eyebrows. ‘A big one.’

  Alfie did not feel like taking on a sale, however large. He needed to focus on Claire and Henry Bryant.

  ‘Couldn’t Mike or Denise handle it? Now’s not a great time.’

  ‘That’s what I told the guy who called, but he said he’d heard a lot about you and he specifically wanted to work with you.’

  ‘Oh?’ Alfie was fairly sure he was not the type of estate agent who had that kind of a reputation. No one ever asked for him. He started to feel on edge. ‘Who was it?’

  Victoria looked at the paper in front of her. ‘It was odd,’ she said. ‘He didn’t give his surname. Only his Christian name. It’s Henry.’ She looked up at him. ‘He said you’d know him?’

  iii

  Alfie blinked. He put a hand on the reception desk to steady himself.

  ‘Are you OK, Alfie?’ Victoria said. ‘You look pale.’

  ‘It’s been a tough few days. Did he say anything else?’

  ‘He asked me to tell you he’d be at the house tomorrow evening at seven, and he’d like you to meet him there, if possible.’

  Alfie nodded. ‘Did he leave a number?’

  Victoria nodded. She passed him a piece of paper. ‘He said you can try to call, but he’s going to be at his place on the North Downs and might not have a signal.’

  ‘OK,’ Alfie said. ‘I’ll try him.’

  ‘Are you going to be there? If he calls again?’

  Alfie didn’t reply for a few moments. ‘I’m not sure,’ he said. ‘I need to check in with Claire.’

  He had no intention of asking Claire; it would only make her even more worried, but he needed to buy some time before giving Victoria an answer.

  ‘Do you know the guy?’ Victoria said. She was leaning forward, intrigued. ‘Is he a friend?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say a friend, exactly,’ Alfie said. ‘But I know him.’

  He sat at his desk, staring at the phone number. After a long wait, he picked up his phone and tapped it in.

  It was an automated response.

  The number you have dialled is no longer in service.

  Probably a no-contract phone, used once. Untraceable. Alfie’s own trick. He took a deep breath, and typed in the address of the house.

  It was not in any real estate database as being for sale, which wasn’t surprising if it wasn’t yet listed. Other than that, there was no information on it. He looked at it on Google Earth. It was a large manor house in its own grounds at the end of a long drive.

  Remote. Quiet. A good place for a secret meeting, especially if you intended to do someone some harm.

  He wasn’t sure he was going to go, not yet. He needed to think through what this meant, why Bryant had contacted him. This was about Claire – Bryant had abducted her, not Alfie – so why did he want to meet Alfie at this house?

  Maybe he wanted him out of the way. If he killed Alfie then he would have a clear run at Claire. Alfie shook his head. It was a risky strategy. He must have some connection to the house, and even if he didn’t, how was he to know that Alfie wouldn’t show up with someone? With the police, maybe?

  It was the obvious thing to do, but Bryant knew he wouldn’t, and there was only one way he could be confident about that.

  He knew Alfie had created Henry Bryant in the first place, which meant he would also know he had killed Pippa. He knew Alfie couldn’t bring anyone. Bryant would tell them what he had done.

  He felt a chill run through him. Had he known about Alfie before he abducted Claire? Was it why he had abducted her? Or had he worked it out since?

  Alfie didn’t know, but then he was getting used to that. He didn’t know much.

  Apart from one thing.

  He had to find out what Bryant wanted, and that meant going to the house.

  It also meant preparing properly. Alfie walked to the front of the office. Victoria smiled at him.

  ‘Leaving already?’

  ‘I’m not feeling a hundred per cent,’ he said. ‘I probably won’t be in for a few days.’

  ‘I understand,’ Victoria said. ‘What do you want me to tell Henry, if he calls?’

  ‘Tell him I’ll go tomorrow evening. It’s a big sale. And if he calls, please let me know.’

  He left and headed in the direction of the Tube station, in case Victoria was watching. When he was out of her sight, he hailed a black cab and gave the driver the name of a pub in Harlesden.

  The cab driver looked in the mirror and raised an eyebrow.

  ‘What you going there for?’ he said. ‘You must be very thirsty.’

  ‘Meeting a friend,’ Alfie said. ‘He lives near there.’

  The pub was on the edge of a large estate. It was shabby-looking, the windows dark and uninviting. Alfie paid the driver, and walked in.

  He was one of three customers. The other two were sitting alone at tables in opposite corners of the pub. One was smoking, despite the ban.

  The landlord, a tall man in his fifties with tattoos on his neck and arms, was standing behind the bar, his arms folded. As Alfie approached, he did not unfold them.

  Alfie sat at the bar. He looked straight at the landlord, and waited.

  After a long pause the landlord spoke. ‘You want a drink?’

  Alfie shook his head.

  The landlord narrowed his eyes. ‘What do you want, then?’

  ‘Something else. Something I understand you can help me with.’

  The landlord’s gaze was unblinking. ‘I think you might be mistaken,’ he said. ‘I sell drinks here. And only drinks.’

  ‘Then I have the wrong place,’ Alfie reached into his pocket and took out a bundle of twenty-pound notes. He unfolded three hundred pounds on to the bar. ‘Which is a shame. That’s the first half. If you change your mind, let me know.’

  The landlord glanced at the money. ‘You a cop?’

  Alfie shook his head.

  ‘How do I know you’re telling the truth?’

  ‘You don’t. But you know what a cop looks like. And it isn’t me.’

  The landlord scrutinized him in silence. ‘Well, I don’t know what you are, but you’re not a cop.’ He stared at Alfie and for a moment it seemed he would throw Alfie out, but then he gave a slight nod. ‘What you going to do with it?’

  ‘My business.’

  ‘OK. Then what, exactly, do you want?’

  Alfie told him.

  He arrived home shortly after four. Claire was sitting on the sofa, under a blanket. She was watchin
g a re-run of Teletubbies.

  ‘Interesting choice,’ Alfie said. ‘Which one is your favourite?’

  ‘Laa-Laa,’ Claire said.

  ‘Mine’s Dipsy-Wipsy.’

  ‘You mean Tinky Winky?’ Claire said. ‘Or Dipsy? There is no Dipsy-Wipsy.’ She switched it off. ‘It’s mindless, which is what I want. I don’t want to watch the news or some show about a detective solving a murder or one of those programmes where they bring people on stage to argue. You know – my mum shagged my boyfriend. That kind of thing.’

  ‘I get it,’ Alfie said. ‘You watch whatever you want.’

  ‘How was work?’

  ‘OK. I couldn’t really concentrate. I’m not going in for a few days, although there is one thing I need to do. A potential listing in West Horsley. The client wants to meet tomorrow evening at the house.’

  ‘Are you going?’

  He sat next to her on the sofa and stretched his arm around her shoulders.

  ‘If it’s OK with you. It’s a big place. Could be a good commission. But if you’d prefer me to stay here then I will. No big deal.’

  Claire nodded. ‘You’re so thoughtful,’ she said. ‘But I’ll be OK. Go and do it.’ She kissed him. ‘I love you, Alfie. And we’re going to be fine.’

  Thursday

  i

  The next morning, Claire was up early. When Alfie came downstairs, she handed him a coffee.

  ‘Do you want to go to breakfast somewhere?’ she said. ‘I feel like getting out of the house.’

  ‘Sure,’ Alfie said. ‘I’m glad you feel up to it. I’ll grab the keys.’

  There were two new security guards in the van. Carl and Kevin must have been getting some rest. Alfie tapped on the window.

  ‘We’re going to Boundaries,’ he said. ‘For breakfast.’

  The guard – a razor-faced young man with thinning hair and acne – nodded. ‘You want us to come?’

  ‘I think it’s OK,’ he said. ‘There’ll be plenty of people around.’

  Alfie took Claire’s hand and they walked down the street. The sun was already high in the sky and Claire turned her face towards it.

  ‘I feel almost normal,’ she said. ‘Like this is over. Maybe he’s given up, Alfie. Maybe he’s seen the guards and realized he can’t get to me, so he’s moved on.’

  Or maybe, Alfie thought, he’s turned his attention to me. He nodded. ‘I hope so. Then we can get on with our lives.’

  They walked for a while in silence. When they reached the café, Alfie looked at her. ‘Inside or outside?’ he said.

  ‘Out, I think. Enjoy the sunshine.’

  They took a seat. The waitress came – the same one Alfie had spent a few minutes fantasizing about – and stood by the table.

  ‘I’ll have porridge with fruit,’ Claire said. ‘And a poached egg on toast. Are they free range?’

  There was a flicker of contempt on the waitress’s face. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘All our food is organic and free range.’

  ‘Great!’ Claire said. ‘I’ll have a cappuccino as well.’

  Alfie folded the menu. ‘I’ll have the same. Thanks.’

  When they had eaten their breakfast, Alfie ordered another round of coffees. He gestured to a newsagent a few shops up the road.

  ‘I’ll grab the paper,’ he said. ‘We can sit in the sun and read it.’

  ‘OK,’ Claire said. ‘Sounds fun.’

  Alfie got up and walked along the street. The bell on the door jangled as he pushed it open. He grabbed a copy of The Times and went to the counter.

  ‘Twenty Embassy Number One as well,’ he said. He thought he might need them when he was at the house in West Horsley. He handed over a twenty-pound note and waited for his change.

  As he did he became aware that someone nearby was screaming. He looked at the newsagent.

  ‘You hear that?’ he said.

  The newsagent nodded. He held out the change. ‘Not my problem, mate. Probably just some troublemaker.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Alfie had a good idea who it was. He grabbed the change and ran to the door.

  Claire was standing by the kerb, pointing up the road. The waitress was beside her, one hand on Claire’s shoulder and a worried expression on her face.

  ‘There he is!’ she shouted, her voice high and ragged. ‘There he is!’

  Alfie followed her finger. He didn’t see anyone. He ran to her, and put his hands on her shoulders.

  ‘Claire,’ he said. ‘What is it? What happened?’

  She was shaking, her eyes wide and unfocused. ‘It was him,’ she gasped. ‘Again. He was here.’

  ‘Where? Where was he?’

  ‘In a car. He drove past.’ She looked around, wildly. ‘He was staring at me. And’ – she choked on her words – ‘he was holding up his phone, Alfie. He was filming me.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘He drove off. He’s gone.’

  ‘OK. We’re going too.’ He looked at the waitress. ‘Did you see anything?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. I heard her – your wife – screaming, so I came outside.’

  ‘And you didn’t see a guy in a car, filming her?’

  ‘No. I think he was gone by then.’

  ‘Right.’ Alfie took out his phone. ‘Will you be here for a while?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good. The police will want to talk to you.’ He dialled a number and put his phone to his ear.

  DI Wynne answered immediately.

  ‘It’s Alfie Daniels. It’s happened again.’

  ‘What has?’ DI Wynne said.

  ‘Bryant. He was here. At a café where we were having breakfast.’

  ‘I see,’ DI Wynne said. ‘Are you still there?’

  ‘Yes, but we’re going home. Claire’s upset.’

  ‘I understand, but I need you to stay where you are. I’ll meet you at the café soon. Tell anyone who witnessed it to stay there too.’

  ii

  DI Wynne sat in the armchair opposite Alfie and Claire. Mick was in the other armchair. Claire’s eyes were red from crying, and she was staring at her hands.

  ‘I’ll take up as little time as possible, Mrs Daniels,’ she said. ‘I think I got most of what I need at the café.’

  Wynne had met them at the café, asked them to walk her through what had happened. When they were done they had come home while Wynne spoke to the waitress and some of the other customers. Then she’d arrived at the house with some more questions.

  Claire nodded. ‘It’s OK,’ she muttered. ‘Take as much time as you like.’

  ‘So,’ DI Wynne said. ‘Talk me through it again. You were sitting at the café when Henry Bryant drove past?’

  ‘Yes. Alfie had gone to get the newspaper and I was looking in my bag for my phone. I got this strange feeling – like something was wrong – and when I looked up there was a car driving slowly past the café. He kept looking over at me, and, when he saw that I’d recognized him, he lifted up a phone and pointed it at me.’

  ‘Horizontally or vertically?’ DI Wynne asked.

  ‘Does it matter?’ Mick said.

  ‘It helps me get a clear picture.’

  ‘Horizontal,’ Claire said. ‘The phone was on its side.’

  ‘And then what happened?’

  ‘I jumped up and shouted at him. I wanted other people to see him. Maybe chase him down.’

  ‘How did he react?’ DI Wynne said.

  ‘He sped up,’ Claire said. ‘There’s a road up past the café and he turned into it. He disappeared.’ She sat forward. ‘What did the people at the café say? Did you talk to them?’

  ‘I did,’ DI Wynne said. ‘And they recalled your jumping up and pointing at a car and shouting. Unfortunately, none of them saw the driver. And none saw him filming you. I think it all happened a little too quickly.’

  Claire closed her eyes. ‘He got away with it. Again.’

  ‘Maybe,’ DI Wynne said. ‘But maybe there are details you can provide that will help
. Did you recognize the car?’

  ‘No. I don’t think it was the one he drove me to the forest in.’

  ‘Can you describe the one you saw today?’

  ‘It was dark red. Maroon. Quite long.’

  DI Wynne nodded. ‘One of the witnesses said you pointed at a Ford Mondeo?’

  ‘I guess,’ Claire said. ‘I don’t really know one car from another.’

  ‘Well, it gives us something to go on,’ DI Wynne got to her feet. ‘If you think of anything else, please give me a call.’ She looked at Alfie. ‘Could I have a word, Mr Daniels? We can do it on the way out. I’d like to get your impression of the events.’

  Alfie followed her down the hall to the front door. She opened it and beckoned him outside, then closed it behind her.

  ‘Mr Daniels,’ she said. ‘This could be a sensitive subject, so I’d like to keep it between us.’

  ‘OK,’ Alfie replied. ‘That’s fine.’

  ‘Thank you. Mr Daniels, I think there is a possibility – only a possibility – Claire is imagining these things.’

  ‘I don’t think so. I saw him too, outside the house.’

  ‘I know, Mr Daniels. But, apart from that one occasion, we have no evidence that any of the other things Mrs Daniels saw or heard actually happened. None of the witnesses today saw anything. And there were no fingerprints in the house after Bryant was here. Nor were there footprints or CCTV or any neighbours who recalled seeing him. There would normally be something, Mr Daniels. The truth of detective work is that it isn’t based on brilliant flashes of intuition or complicated chains of deduction, but on CCTV and witness statements and the DNA people leave all over every place they ever go. And there’s none of that in this case, which makes me wonder what is actually happening.’

  There’s plenty, Alfie thought. There’s a phone call and a meeting but I can’t tell you that.

  ‘I don’t think Claire is making things up,’ Alfie said.

  ‘Neither do I. I think she is totally sincere. But she has suffered a traumatic experience, and that can have profound effects. I wouldn’t want to overstep any boundaries, but you may want to consider talking to her doctor later today.’

  ‘What about the man outside in the street? I saw him too.’