I Never Lie Page 13

  ‘Alex. Thanks for coming in.’ DI Brook has entered the room and swoops down on the chair opposite me.

  My heart is racing. I need to calm down.

  He is just as I remember him: tall, well built. The body odour definitely isn’t his. He smells like a pine forest. His suit is a smart dark blue, his shirt black and his tie grey, quite stylish for a copper. When he sits down, I notice his striking eyes – they are translucent, like the Northern Lights – and unlike most of the men who live in east London, he is clean-shaven.

  ‘I appreciate you’re busy with everything that’s going on.’

  ‘I’ve got the morning off. Not quite as busy as yesterday.’ I smile, but he doesn’t respond. I’m sweating. It’s a cold sweat.

  ‘So. You may or may not know why I’ve asked you to come in.’ His manicured hands tap the file on the table in front of him.

  ‘I guess it has something to do with the case.’

  ‘Yes. Without going into too much detail, we looked at Sarah Wilcox’s phone records, and one number came up repeatedly.’

  ‘Okay. I’m still not sure what this has to do with me.’

  ‘The number is registered to a Mr Greg Bailey.’

  He lets this sink in before continuing.

  ‘We did a search and found that the two of you used to occupy the same address in Manchester. In fact, you lived there for approximately six years.’

  There’s only one answer I can give, not that I really want to.

  ‘Greg was my fiancé – now my ex-fiancé – and it was seven years.’

  ‘Do you have any idea why Sarah Wilcox would be texting your ex-fiancé romantically?’

  ‘Romantically?’

  I don’t know why I feel so sick hearing this. Mrs Wilcox did allude to it – not that I had any proof that it was my Greg she was talking about – but now that it’s all out on the table, quite literally, in a file, there’s absolutely no denying it. I’m feeling even more queasy than I did when I sat down. Looking at the file, I wonder: is it just the phone records in there? Or have the text messages been printed out? And I’m begging the universe not to show me that. I don’t think I could take it. Not on today of all days.

  He nods. ‘Yes.’

  ‘No idea. Why would I?’

  ‘I can imagine this is hard to hear, but we really need to find him.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry, but I can’t help you with that. I haven’t seen him in at least nine months.’ The Milk Tray comes to mind, but I say nothing of it.

  ‘So you haven’t been contacted by either of them since you moved to London?’

  ‘Yes. I mean no. I mean…’

  ‘Take your time Alex.’

  I’m so confused by all the questioning, I just want to get out of here.

  ‘I moved to London for work, Greg and I broke up, and there really is nothing more I can tell you.’

  He stands up and readies to leave.

  ‘Okay, well I won’t keep you any longer. You are free to go now, but if you think of anything that might be of use, please call me.’ He slides his business card across the table. ‘My email has changed.’

  I tuck the card in my jeans pocket and smile feebly. That’s it. That’s all he wanted to tell me. I need something more from this meeting. I need reassurance. I can’t let him go like that, acting as if my Greg is a suspect.

  ‘There is something.’

  He’s staring at me blankly, not saying a word, just listening.

  ‘It’s a bit embarrassing, to tell you the truth. You see, I met this guy in the pub the night Alice Fessy was killed. We met on COMEout and… well, I’m pretty sure he’s a serial dater. I thought I should mention it.’

  ‘It’s not a crime to be a serial dater, sadly. In fact, there are plenty of men and women like that. The Internet makes it very easy.’ His tone has softened. ‘What would make you think he’s a possible killer? Did he hurt you?’

  I’ve already realised how stupid this sounds.

  ‘Yes and no. Kind of. I mean, it’s probably nothing. I shouldn’t even have mentioned it. Really, please forget what I just said.’

  ‘No. no. Look, if you have a concern then of course I will check it out. Is there a particular reason you think he might be dangerous?’

  I really don’t want to mention the sex part, but I’ve started this so now I have to finish it. Charlie is right. I do get myself into awkward situations when I’ve been on a binge. The voice in my head is there niggling at me, and I wonder if I’m not just being overly paranoid because of my withdrawal. Too late now. DI Brook is looking at me as if I have something really important to say. I need to win him over. I need to protect Greg.

  ‘I’m a bit embarrassed to say it, but…’

  ‘Anything you say will be treated in the utmost confidence. You can trust me, Alex.’

  ‘Well, when we were making out, he had this obsession with my neck. I mean, I think he almost strangled me.’

  ‘Almost strangled you?’ I have his attention now.

  ‘Well, I can’t remember too well, but yes. He held my neck very tightly until I found it difficult to breathe.’

  ‘Do you have a name?’

  ‘Nigel.’

  ‘A surname?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘A phone number?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He pulls his notebook from his inside pocket and holds his pen at the ready. I fiddle with my phone and dictate it to him, wondering whether I’ve done the right thing.

  ‘When did this sexual encounter take place?’

  ‘The morning that Alice was found.’

  ‘Was he with you the night before?’

  ‘Yes, we went for a drink and then he came back to mine.’

  ‘If you were worried about him, why did you take him home with you?’

  ‘I’d had quite a bit to drink.’

  ‘Right. Well, what time did you meet?’

  ‘Around nine o’clock.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘At Pub on the Park.’

  ‘Okay. Well thanks for this, Alex. That’s very helpful.’

  ‘Have you established Alice’s time of death?’

  ‘We think it could have been somewhere between eight and nine o’clock, so that would make it difficult for him to have done it, unless he killed her immediately before coming to meet you. How was he when he turned up? I mean, was he flustered?’

  ‘Not really. I mean, he was a little out of breath, said he was running late, but not flustered. But then I don’t really know him.’

  ‘Okay. Well, thank you, Alex. We will follow it up. I appreciate your cooperation today.’

  DI Brook walks me back the way I came in, smiles and shakes my hand before showing me through the door that connects to the reception area.

  ‘We’ll be in touch if there’s anything else.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘It’s just routine.’

  Within moments he has disappeared into the depths of the station. He looked quite smug as he did so, or is that my imagination playing tricks on me again?

  31

  September 2017

  Dear Diary,

  After the daily check when the staff go through my personal belongings to see if I’m hiding alcohol, I get to chill out for a bit in my room before the one-on-one session. Not that I’d really call it chilling out. I don’t know how you can chill out in rehab. Everything seems so much more intense here. They have given me my phone back, which is good, even if I don’t have anyone to call any more. I got a message from Greg asking where I was and if we could meet up. I didn’t respond because I don’t really know what to say. I don’t want anyone to know I’m in here, only my dad. I guess my mum knows too. I’m sure he’s told her where I’ve gone.

  Talking to a therapist on my own was really difficult. It’s so much easier to hide myself in a group setting, because when there are other people around, I don’t need to talk too much. Tim, who is really good-looking, asked me to fill out
a form with the following questions on it:

  1. What is your earliest childhood memory?

  2. Note down a happy memory from childhood.

  3. Note down an unhappy memory from childhood.

  4. Who are the family members who have the biggest influence on you?

  5. Do you have siblings? How many?

  6. Are you close to your mother? Father? Siblings?

  He wanted me to write down my thoughts so that we could discuss them together in the next session. It didn’t feel good. In fact, it felt terrible, because I couldn’t really remember much about my childhood. Tim was very nice and said I could take as long as I needed, but after almost two hours the pages were still blank. I couldn’t come up with anything. Nothing. It’s as if my childhood never happened. I couldn’t quite believe it. Tim said it’s because I’ve blocked it out, but how can someone have absolutely no recollection of their childhood? It’s just crazy. I’ve never thought about it before, but now that I have, I feel almost alien. I mean I don’t know anyone who can’t come up with something.

  Tim told me not to worry, that it’s not that uncommon, that I have suppressed things with drink, that together we will work to unblock the memories. He says I have to get to the bottom of what makes me drink so that I can stop. I need to know what my triggers are. For the first time in my life, I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff about to free fall, not knowing how this will turn out.

  32

  When I leave the station, I receive a message from Nigel asking how I am. God, I feel terrible. I’m not sure if I’ve done the right thing. I mean, what do I know really? I don’t reply and instead decide to ignore it. The police interview seems a bit unreal now. I’m not sure what my game was. Maybe I was upset after seeing Nigel with someone else, even though I had no right to be. I put it down to my brain being all out of sorts because I’m detoxing.

  The weather has changed for the better; at least that’s a positive. It feels much milder than it has for a while. Walking back across the Fields, I feel like the loneliest person in the world. I’m worried about Greg, but I’m angry too. What did DI Brook mean about him texting Sarah romantically? It’s niggling at me. It really hurt to hear that even though I did a good job of pretending it didn’t. I mean, who is this girl? I just met her a couple of times. What was Greg doing with her? And what was she doing with him? Perhaps it’s time to contact him, to find out. But not today. Today is about detox.

  The police cordons have gone now and the park looks and feels like it’s getting back to normal. I plop myself down on one of the many benches at the north end of the Fields, wondering what I should do with myself. The sun is warming, but it’s unable to melt my growing discomfort. I get a second message from Nigel, a link to a song. I don’t reply. Not yet. I’ll end up saying something I shouldn’t because I’m all out of sorts today. I actually feel quite guilty about what I’ve just done. Fortunately my phone rings and I don’t need to think any more of it. It’s Annabel.

  ‘Hey up, lass. How’s things? Thought I’d call and see how your birthday turned out.’

  ‘Hey. Not bad in the end, thanks. I had a drink with someone, nothing special, then ended up going to Manchester to interview the Wilcox family.’

  ‘Yes. I saw. I also saw you weren’t able to do a live report. What happened? It was a shame, as the interview was powerful stuff.’

  ‘Thanks. Yeah, was a bit disappointing I didn’t get on air from Manchester, but shit happens. Technology isn’t foolproof.’

  ‘True. So how was it going home?’

  ‘Strange, but okay.’

  ‘Listen, can we meet up? There’s something I want to talk to you about and I’d rather do it in person.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Are you free today?’

  The only thing I want to do is go home and lie down, but it’s best for me to keep busy. And it’s best to be around people. Keeps me from hitting the off licence.

  ‘Yeah. Well unless anything shifts on the story. They gave me the morning off.’

  ‘Great. I’ll come to you. Haven’t been over that way for a while, and I hear the Fields are nice this time of year.’

  I note the sarcasm in her voice.

  ‘Safe as houses. I’m just doing a few errands around the neighbourhood.’

  ‘Okay, so say in an hour? On the south side, towards Broadway? That way if we get too cold we can pop into a café and have tea or something.’

  ‘Sounds good. See you soon.’

  As soon as I hang up, I get another link from Nigel. Another song. I decide it’s probably better to reply than ignore him because it doesn’t seem like he’s going to stop. Plus who knows what he was up to last night. Charlie was right. I’m good at reading stuff into situations I don’t know enough about. It’s the journalist in me, always looking for a story.

  Hi, Nigel. Good to hear from you. Bit busy today, but will be in touch. A x

  Within moments, I get a text back.

  Okay. Let me know when you’re free. Can’t wait to see you. N xxxx

  Two songs and four kisses. He’s keen. I dig around in my bag and find some ibuprofen and neck a couple. I need to try and keep it together when I see Annabel.

  * * *

  An hour later, I’m waiting for her at the south end of the Fields, high on caffeine and painkillers. I seem to have spent my entire morning avoiding going home. I feel like death but she looks amazing. She was always slender and athletic but managed to gain quite a bit of weight during her pregnancy. Now, though, she has her head-turning body back. Baby Marlow is sleeping in a designer buggy.

  ‘You look fantastic,’ I say.

  We hug it out for ages. It’s been months since we’ve seen each other. I’m hanging on for dear life, not that she knows it. She’s wearing a sporty parka with a duck-down hood. Black jeans and black Converse. Her hair is much longer than it used to be, and much redder. Marlow looks content wrapped in a fleecy alien-themed blanket. He’s grown since she posted the last round of photos on Facebook. They change so much in the early days, don’t they?

  ‘Oh my God. He’s so adorable, look at him.’

  I’m being polite, but it’s been quite hard to see her since Marlow arrived on the scene because it reminds me of what I don’t have. A child.

  ‘He can be. He can also be a royal pain in the arse. He’s had colic so he cried a lot in the beginning. It was a real test of patience, let me tell you.’

  I’m not going to buy into her feel-sorry-for-me line. She has a child. I don’t.

  ‘Well, you look great and so does he.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ve been working out almost every other day. Did fitness in the park for a bit, and I’ve been swimming. I have this CD that I dance along to by Gwyneth Paltrow’s trainer, it’s fab. There’s no way I’m going to let myself go just because I have a kid. Shall we walk and talk? It’ll let him sleep a bit longer while we burn calories.’

  ‘Sure.’

  Our stroll takes us past the meadow, along a path beneath large oak trees. A number of cyclists whizz by in the adjoining lane.

  ‘So what is it? Is it about work? Do you want to come back?’

  ‘God, what I wouldn’t do to come back to work, but no. It’s too early still. Look, you know that girl who died? Maggie Horrocks.’

  ‘The second victim? What about her?’

  Marlow snuffles, then continues to purr.

  ‘I think Charlie, your neighbour, knew her.’

  I stop walking, and she does too.

  ‘What do you mean, Charlie knew her?’

  ‘Do you remember that swim club night we had? Where I got my certificate?’

  ‘At King’s Hall Leisure Centre?’

  Annabel nods. We are standing in the middle of the Fields, where the path forks in two directions: to our left away from the cricket pitch, or to our right snaking along it.

  ‘Is that where Alice Fessy was found?’ She looks past the bushes and towards the play area at the nort
h end, which is completely empty.

  ‘Yes, in the wooded part next to the playground.’ I gesture with a nod. A passing man looks at us; he knows what we’re talking about, because everyone is talking about it. No one goes over there now.

  ‘Bit morbid.’

  ‘Just a bit, yeah.’

  ‘Let’s go this way instead.’

  We turn left to cross the park, so we can loop back round to Broadway.

  ‘I think you’re mistaken about Charlie. He would have told me if he knew her.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘How long have you been thinking about this?’

  ‘Since I heard about her death. I didn’t want to get involved, but since the news about Alice Fessy broke, it’s been on my mind.’

  A chocolate cockapoo bounds across our path, almost colliding with the stroller.

  ‘So you’re telling me now?’

  She shrugs her shoulders. ‘I didn’t want to upset you. I know you have a lot on your mind already.’

  This annoys me, but I guess she means well.

  ‘Don’t you remember her being there that night?’ she asks.

  ‘Who, Maggie Horrocks? No. Should I?’

  ‘You were smoking outside with Charlie.’

  ‘I don’t smoke Annabel, you know that.’

  ‘Well, you’re not a smoker. But you have the occasional one, don’t you?’

  ‘I have the occasional drink too, doesn’t make me an alcoholic, does it?’

  ‘Right.’ She rolls her eyes at me, which I find a bit upsetting.

  We turn left again and head back towards Broadway.

  ‘Anyway, I saw him with her that night, smoking outside later on, and then again the next time I went to the club. In fact, I saw him with her a few times after that.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean he killed her.’

  ‘No, but you know him well. Does he use dating apps?’

  ‘Not that I’m aware of.’ Although I do wonder how he met his latest squeeze. Maybe there’s more to Charlie’s dating life than he lets on.

  Annabel is still pressing the subject. ‘Well, do you think I should go to the police?’