Hard Truth

by Jay Gill

  “It’s better you don’t know. If you did know, you and I wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  “Why is that?”

  Tony Horn could feel Lyle’s hot breath on his face as she leaned in close and said, “Let’s just say, the other men who were with Richter when he crossed me were taken apart piece by piece with a filleting knife. Toe by toe, finger by finger, ear by ear, eye by eye, tooth by tooth, hand by hand, foot by foot.” She smiled. “You get the picture. I kept them alive for days just to hear their screams. When they begged me to kill them and end their suffering, I kept them alive longer.”

  Horn’s wide eyes never blinked. He’d heard stories about Lyle, and as her face hovered inches from his now, with absolute hate in her eyes, he suddenly believed every word he’d ever heard.

  Tony Horn agreed he was happier not knowing what Richter had done.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  I arrived home from Spain exhausted, emotional and desperately in need of some family time. It’s my family that grounds me and reminds me what real life is about. I was glad to be back. I needed time to listen, share, relax, laugh and love. I was keen to spend quality time with those who are truly important in my life.

  Moving from London to live on the south coast, in Dorset, and walking away from my career at Scotland Yard were two of the biggest decisions of my life. One of the toughest things about the move was knowing I’d be leaving my parents behind. So, it was the icing on the cake when they said that if I agreed, they’d like to join us in Dorset.

  I can recall how Mum, also known as Nana Hardy, took my hand and said, “We’d like to join you down south. Neither your father nor I want to miss a second of our granddaughters growing up. You know they mean the world to us.”

  I didn’t hesitate for a second. “Of course I want you with us. I just didn’t know if I should ask.”

  With her tongue firmly planted in her cheek, Mum added, “Also, Monica and I have spoken, and we are both in agreement that it will take both of us to keep you on the straight and narrow.”

  “Is that right?” I said, with delight still on my face. “Scheming behind my back? I’ll have to watch myself.”

  Today, Mum and Dad have settled into a lovely home just down the road from us. And every day without fail, they visit us. Sometimes it’s just a quick hello; sometimes they pop in to help out or share a meal. Occasionally, they come by just to check up on me and make sure I’m not considering going back to taking the kind of risks I took back at Scotland Yard.

  Everyone was at the house when I arrived back from Spain. I’d received my welcome-home hugs and kisses, unpacked my travel bag and showered off the dirt of travelling. Now, happy and clean and smelling of soap, I was putting the kettle on to make tea when Mum took me to one side.

  Never one to dance around a question, she asked, “How are things between you and Monica? You two look so perfect together. Are things working out?”

  “Incredible – she’s the most amazing woman. I’m completely in love. And the girls are over the moon that Monica and I have finally made things permanent between us.”

  “I don’t need to tell you how close you were to losing her. I’m so glad you came to your senses.”

  I said, “There isn’t a day goes by I don’t think of Helena. I miss her – of course, I do. But now I think of her with fond memories. I remember all the good times we had together. My memories are happy ones. They’re not full of regret and grief.”

  “And tell me truthfully, Jamie, how are the girls adjusting to life on the coast? They seem happy – but are they?”

  “They love it here. The new house, living by the beach, new friends, new school. They adjusted easily, the way children do. The move was what we all needed. I just wish it hadn’t taken me so long to see it.”

  Mum said, “Well, you mustn’t beat yourself up about it. Sometimes, things happen when they’re meant to. You’re here now, and I haven’t seen you look so happy in a very long time.”

  “And here is my beautiful Monica,” said Mum, turning as Monica came into the kitchen, “radiant as ever. Is this son of mine looking after you? He’d better be; otherwise, he’ll have me to answer to.”

  “I think so,” said Monica, with a cheeky grin. “There’s always room for improvement, but with a little time I’ll whip him into shape.”

  “I hope you’re listening, son. I just hope you’ll soon be putting a ring on this poor girl’s finger.”

  “Mum, for God’s sake, do you ever stop?” I said awkwardly.

  Mum added, “I brought you up to always do the right thing and to speak your mind. If I’m not speaking the truth, you just let me know.” When she didn’t think I was looking, she winked at Monica. They both had a little laugh at my expense.

  Alice appeared at the back door, her face pale and her eyes wide with fear. I could see from her face something wasn’t right.

  We all stopped our laughing.

  I asked, “What is it, Alice? What’s wrong? “

  “It’s Grandad Hardy. He’s fallen over. He’s holding his chest.”

  “Oh, my dear God, no,” said Mum.

  Monica took Mum’s hand and put an arm around her to keep her steady.

  “Show me,” I said. “Where is he?” I grabbed my phone and followed Alice.

  We ran to the back garden and found Faith with her small hands holding her grandad’s head as he lay on the grass

  Faith said, “We were playing hide and seek. We were having fun.” She looked up at me, her eyes full of fear and questions, her lips trembling as she said, “Is Grandad going to be okay?”

  Mum stepped forward. Crouching beside her husband, Mum placed a hand on his cheek. “Henry, can you hear me, darling?” She looked up at Monica and said, “Aspirin – do you have any aspirin? Quickly, Monica, quick as you can.”

  Monica ran to the house in search of aspirin.

  I phoned for an ambulance.

  As I spoke, the words felt like they weren’t coming from me, that none of this was real, that this was a nightmare I was desperate to wake from.

  “It’s my father,” I told the dispatcher. “I need an ambulance right now, please. He’s had a heart attack.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  I found the ward and the nurse pointed me in the direction of Dad’s bed. Behind a privacy curtain, I found Mum clutching Dad’s hand while he slept. He looked like he’d aged twenty years. He now looked pale, frail and vulnerable, not at all like the strong, tireless man I knew him as.

  Who was this man in front of me?

  It was hard to comprehend what I was seeing. My dad, the man I always thought of as invincible, was now lying in a hospital bed connected to a heart rate monitor. The tough, uncompromising, retired and highly decorated chief superintendent, known at New Scotland Yard for his straight talk and zero tolerance on crime, had just gone toe to toe with death and, for the time being, come out on top. We needed to make sure it stayed that way.

  I spoke to Mum in a hushed voice. “What did the doctors say?”

  “It was a heart attack. They’re doing tests. He’ll need an operation to put one of those stent things in. Right now, they’re stabilising him, and he’s on thinning medication for his blood.”

  “Where’s the doctor now? I want to speak to him.”

  “The doctor said she’ll be back as soon as she has more news. Don’t make a fuss, Jamie. Your dad’s stable and they’ll let us know as soon as their tests are completed. Come and sit here beside me.”

  “Do you want me to phone Brad?” I hadn’t spoken to my brother in a few months. He’s a Royal Marine who, when I spoke to him last, was heading out on operations off the coast of Africa. I wasn’t sure how I intended to get hold of him, but I felt like I needed to do something.

  “No, not yet. No point worrying Bradley until we know more.”

  I said, “Dad will be fine. He’s as tough as they come.” I wasn’t sure whether I was reassuring Mum or myself.

 
; I stared at the heart rate monitor. It was hard to think, and harder to find the right words, so Mum and I sat quietly for a while. We hoped Dad knew we were there, supporting him and praying for him.

  Chapter Forty

  Emma waited.

  Her eyes felt heavy, and she was fighting sleep. It was nearly 11 p.m., and it had been a long day.

  She sat at home in silence and in near darkness. The only light in the room came from her laptop, perched on the coffee table in front of her, and a table lamp on the far side of the room. A moth circled the table lamp; it bashed into the lampshade before resting on a nearby curtain.

  Emma waited and listened.

  Watson looked up at her. He rolled over onto his back, lifting a front paw, hoping for a belly rub. Emma didn’t notice. She was deep in thought.

  Kelly Lyle’s letter circled her brain, going around and around in her mind. Emma had memorised the words, but still, the same line stood out.

  …I need you to see the big picture. James deserves to know the truth…

  She picked up a copy of the letter. The original was at the lab being tested by the techies – even though it was unlikely anything useful would come of it. She looked down at the laptop, willing it to notify her of an incoming email.

  Once again, she read the letters and numbers on the back of the letter: GU851PH52.

  What did they signify?

  Perhaps the letters and numbers were some sort of code, the numbers representing a letter’s position in the alphabet – number 1 being the letter A and number 5 being the letter E, etcetera. Maybe it was an anagram. Emma spent some time moving the letters and about but couldn’t form them into anything useful.

  Emma then wondered whether, maybe, the code was a map co-ordinate. Was it the location of another body?

  She messed around with the code in her mind for a little while longer before closing her eyes and waiting.

  Be patient, she told herself. Let Vince work his magic.

  Vincent Constantine rarely left his home; to Emma, and anyone else even remotely acquainted with him, it seemed he lived online. His first language wasn’t English or Spanish or French or German. No, Vince’s first language was computer code. those seemingly random letters, numerals and characters that, when arranged in the right order, create the language that gives your computer instructions. To the untrained eye, computer code makes no sense at all, but to Vince, those letters, numerals and characters were the gateways to a whole other world.

  Vince had worked for a while for GCHQ until his resignation. He had then worked on surveillance and clandestine operations with the National Security Agency and had also helped set up the platform for the National Cyber Security Centre. Until his sudden resignation, his desk had been in a soundproof office in a building that had no name. The sort of building where even the cleaner needed the highest security clearance just to be able to refill the soap dispenser.

  After a bitter disagreement over the sharing of sensitive information with foreign agencies, Vince had had enough and just up and walked away. He had set up shop on his own and now worked freelance.

  Four minutes ago, Emma had sent an email to Vince with Kelly Lyle’s code. If anyone could figure out what it meant, Vince could.

  Emma closed her eyes.

  Come on, Vince.

  The laptop chimed. The sound of an email reply.

  It was from Vince. Please be good news.

  Emma read the message.

  Subject: Too Easy

  Message: Hi Emma,

  Your code is a UK address – reversed! Too easy. Next time, I want a challenge.

  GU851PH52 to 25HP15 8UG.

  It’s an address. House number 25. Post code HP15 8UG

  You can find it on Google Maps.

  I’m still single and holding out hope there will be a you and me one day. You’ll always be the only girl for me. Hope you’re doing okay?

  Vince ended his message by signing off (backwards) with evoL ecniV, which he no doubt considered hilarious.

  Emma opened Google Maps and tapped in the address: house number 25, post code HP15 8UG. If Vince was right, and he always was, the house was in the town of High Wycombe, Buckinghamshire.

  Further online searches showed the property had once been managed by a letting agency called Majestic Lettings.

  It was a long shot, but Emma made a call to Majestic Lettings, hoping she might reach someone. No one answered. She left a voicemail message.

  Emma then called the nearby police station and requested officers wake up whoever needed waking to get keys to the property.

  No longer feeling tired, Emma looked at the time. 11.37 p.m. High Wycombe was a two-hour drive. At this time of night, with little traffic, she’d get there quicker.

  Emma grabbed what she needed and headed up the M27 motorway. As she drove, she spoke to officers who had woken the somewhat bewildered owner of Majestic Lettings, Mr Bobby Singh. She rang off, called Mr Singh, and insisted she must get into the property tonight.

  Mr Singh wasn’t happy at being woken in the middle of the night or the idea of police officers entering a property he managed without a warrant. Emma quickly mentioned she was investigating multiple homicides. He was more receptive when Emma suggested he might be seen as impeding the investigation by not cooperating. But also, should visiting the property lead to an arrest, she would be sure to mention his public-spirited contribution at a future press hearing. Mr Singh agreed to assist.

  After she rang off, Emma wondered whether she should have told Hardy what she was doing. The address had come from Lyle, and she wasn’t entirely sure what she was looking for or what she might find.

  Why was Lyle interested in Hardy’s late wife anyway? Maybe she wanted to screw up Hardy’s life again just as he was getting it back together.

  Emma decided to keep her investigations to herself for now.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Just before 2 a.m., Emma arrived at the office of Majestic Lettings. She peered through the glass in the front door and could see a light on out the back. She knocked a couple of times. Mr Singh made his way from the back office to the front door and let her in.

  He was a short man with bloodshot eyes and a high-pitched voice. He greeted Emma and said, “This is all very unusual. I hope you understand, I wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t for a murder investigation. My clients – ”

  Emma interrupted what was sure to become a monologue on the quality of his service. She was too tired and too keen to see inside the property. She also knew Mr Singh lived upstairs in the flat over the office, and she didn’t consider his coming downstairs and handing over a key to a police officer as the inconvenience of the century. Deciding she might need his assistance later, however, she felt it best to proceed with politeness.

  “I appreciate your cooperation. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

  “I really should be coming with you, but my wife has had to fly home to Scotland to see her parents and I’m here supervising the children.” His eyes flicked upstairs.

  “I don’t need to inconvenience you further. I’ll just take the keys and take a look around the property. I’ll push the keys back through your letterbox when I’m done.”

  “That would be ideal. Now, you have to understand that nobody has lived in the property for a very long time. We had some squatters living there for a while, but that was all dealt with. Since then we’ve had no tenants. The rent is paid, anonymously, every month and the owner of the property has decided they would rather keep it empty. It’s beyond me, but it makes my life a lot easier, so I don’t complain. What I’m saying is, we do our best, but I haven’t visited the property myself in a while so I can’t vouch for how it looks. Someone pops in from time to time to check there aren’t any burst water pipes, but beyond that, I don’t know.”

  Stifling her impatience, Emma nodded that she understood. “I don’t want to keep you from your family any longer. If I could take the keys, I’ll be on my way.”

&
nbsp; The little man shifted uneasily and reluctantly handed over the keys. “Please be careful. Don’t damage anything.”

  Key in hand, Emma Cotton headed to the car without looking back.

  A few minutes later she was outside the property. She pulled into the driveway. The light from her car headlights showed the building to be well maintained – on the outside at least. The lawn was short; the small patch of garden and the driveway were weed free.

  Emma reached into the glovebox and pulled out a torch. She flicked the switch, gave it a shake and a tap, and the light came on.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Emma shut the front door behind her. She flicked the switch to turn on the hallway light. It clicked, but no light came on. ‘Shit. The fuse must have tripped,’ she thought.

  The house smelled damp and felt cold. Stepping carefully, Emma shone the torch into each downstairs room. There were no furnishings to speak of. The rooms were empty except for carpets and the occasional set of curtains.

  The only exception was the dining room, which had a dining table and four ornate high-back chairs.

  Emma shone her light into the kitchen. There were no electrical appliances, and all the cupboards were empty. A single upturned glass sat beside the kitchen sink.

  Back up the hallway, Emma shone the torch into the under-stairs cupboard, which was also empty except for an off-cut of carpet and the household fuse box.

  Leaning inside, she flicked the only switch that was down. No light came on. She then tried the main switch, pushing up, then down, then up. Nothing. ‘I guess Mr Singh, is skimping by not paying for electricity. I bet his customer wouldn’t like that,’ thought Emma.

  She made her way upstairs, each step creaking and springy like it might give way beneath her. The air became thicker and damper as she moved further up the house.