I Never Lie Page 15

  The pit of my stomach feels it first. The adrenalin. I suddenly have a pressing need to leave. Can this really be happening? It’s a mega lead. One I have to follow up even if it’s a prankster.

  ‘I’m really sorry, but I have to go. It’s work. They need me.’ I scribble down my number. ‘If you find anything, give me a ring. Hell, give me a ring anyway. You’re not alone, you know.’

  ‘Okay. Thanks for coming, Alex. It’s nice to have someone to talk to.’

  We have a hug before I go. Once I’m outside, I receive another text from Sarah with an address and a simple sentence: I NEED YOUR HELP. The address is less than half a mile from where I am, which is unsettling. I’m in two minds about going there. I mean, it could be some crazy, trying to hurt me, you never know; but on the other hand, my career needs this. It would be an exclusive of epically career-making proportions, so I head off in that direction, bottle in hand. I must have swiped it on the way out.

  35

  September 2017

  Dear Diary,

  Today I discovered something about myself that I am ashamed to write here. It hit me like a high-speed train, bulldozing my life into something resembling a broken pot that can never be put back into its original form. It happened in group therapy. I was listening to this woman talking about abuse she had suffered as a child, explaining how her uncle had touched her when she was seven years old. I mean, can you imagine. She said it out loud in the group meeting, I was shocked, but the emotions she exposed struck a chord with me, uncovering feelings that I had long buried, and in that moment I think I may have found the reason for my drinking.

  Listening to someone else talk about it stirred a long-buried trauma, and now I don’t know who I am any more. I’m lost. Completely lost. Everything I thought I knew about my life has changed, and not for the better. I wish I’d never come here. I wish I didn’t have this feeling in the pit of my stomach. It’s as if I’ve suddenly got this awareness about something that happened to me when I was a child.

  After the session, a flash of memory from when I was four or five years old came back to me. I couldn’t grasp it at first, but then another image appeared. An image so disgusting I didn’t know what to make of it. I’m standing in the kitchen waiting for Mum to appear and give me some food, but she never materialises and instead a man stands in the doorway holding out some jelly babies. I am told to follow him to my room, where he promises to read me a story, but he doesn’t read me a story. He tells me to lie down on the bed and take my clothes off. The memory is so disgusting I want to vomit. I want to cry, but I can’t because I’m paralysed with fear. The fear that having uncovered this about myself, I will never be the same person again.

  36

  When I wake up, it’s early morning. There’s a load of missed calls from work, followed by an email asking if I’m okay. Shit. That email also says I was supposed to be at work last night. Fuck. As hard as I try, I can’t remember how I got home. It’s one big blank. I remember meeting Annabel in the park, then going to Maggie Horrocks’ place, but after that, nothing. Absolutely nothing.

  On the bed beside me is an empty wine bottle, and next to that, a bottle of vodka, half full. I have to stop doing this to myself, I really do. I must have blacked out. This is not good. If I don’t get my shit together, I’m going to end up losing the one thing in the world that really matters. My job.

  I check the headlines on my phone. Luckily there are no new developments in the case, so I probably got away with it this time, but I must detox today. I must. It will be tricky, because I’m working. I’m so pissed off with myself for caving in. I don’t even remember buying the alcohol. I search my phone for any clues as to what I did, but there’s nothing. I remember what Annabel said about Charlie, though. Shit.

  First things first. I send an email to my editor explaining that I had low blood pressure yesterday, something I deal with every month around the time of my period. I apologise for not calling in, but say that as I hadn’t heard from them, I assumed they didn’t need me, and that I fell asleep. It’s a lie, but it does the job.

  Today’s top story is the fallout from the Glasgow terror attack. They have arrested a guy, recently converted to Islam. It’s such a cliché. Second story is about floods in the north of England. Cumbria has been hard hit and York is under two metres of water. I still can’t believe I blacked out last night – I haven’t done that for a while – but then I realise that yesterday was the anniversary of my miscarriage. It looks like Facebook reminded me last night with a happy photo taken just before it happened. It must have set me off. I’m filled with shame.

  A knock on the door prevents me from spiralling into a black hole of shitness. It’s Charlie. I don’t know what to say to him yet about Maggie Horrocks and am unsure of whether to answer, but he’s shouting at me to open up, saying it’s important and he’s not going away. I give in only after I’ve stashed the bottles under the bed. The last thing I need is another lecture from him.

  ‘Alex. Thank God you’re in. I’ve been feeling so bad since yesterday. I’m really sorry I had a go at you. Reading about these murders got me thinking.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’

  He follows me into the kitchen like a lost puppy.

  ‘I really am sorry, Alex. I don’t want to judge you. You know that, right? I’m just worried about you, that’s all. You got home really late last night, didn’t you?’

  ‘Been long days. Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.’ I put the kettle on. ‘Life really couldn’t be better. I’m in an awesome place. Got a great job and over thirty thousand followers on Twitter.’

  ‘Come here.’ He stands up and puts his arms around me, which feels mildly patronising, but I let him do it because I know it’ll get rid of him quicker. ‘It’s none of my business what you do or how you do it. I just care, that’s all.’

  ‘I get it, I really do, and I appreciate it, but honestly, there’s no need for you to worry about me. I’m really great.’

  ‘Okay.’ He kisses my forehead tenderly. ‘You mean a lot to me, Alex.’

  ‘As much as your new girlfriend?’

  I don’t know why I said that. It sounds mean. Sometimes I just can’t help myself when I’ve had a drink; it puts me in a defensive mood. Greg used to pull me up on it all the time. My head is thumping. I grab some aspirin from the drawer and knock back a glass of water. I’ve decided to leave the Maggie Horrocks thing until my head is clearer. The last thing I need is another argument with him.

  ‘Look, Charlie, I don’t mean to be rude, but I really need to get on.’

  ‘Oh, sure. So we’re good?’

  ‘Yes, we’re good.’

  ‘I’m glad. Oh, by the way, I looked for your key, the one you gave me a while back, and couldn’t find it. Did I give it back to you?’

  ‘Oh. I don’t think so.’ He could well have done, not that I remember. ‘Don’t worry about it. I’ll get a new one cut.’

  ‘Up to you, just thought I’d mention it. Hey, what have you done to your wrist?’

  I look down and see a series of grazes on the inside of my right arm. I must have got them when I blacked out. I don’t remember. Shit.

  ‘It’s nothing. Must have happened when I was at work. Think we were trying to carry some heavy gear yesterday.’

  ‘Do you want me to bandage you up?’ He smiles.

  ‘Don’t be silly. It’s just a couple of grazes, but thank you.’ I give him a hug to compensate for my moody comments. We say goodbye and promise to catch up later.

  It doesn’t take me long to get ready, surprisingly, considering what kind of state I’m in. My brain is so foggy. I’m just about ready to leave the house, applying some red lipstick in the hallway mirror in an attempt to make myself look healthier, when there’s a knock on the door. I assume it’s Charlie back to tell me he’s found the key, so I open the door completely unprepared for who I find on the other side.

  ‘Hello, Alex. Mind if I come in for a moment?’

 
; DI Brook looks as composed as he always does, although he’s stooping, aware that he is taller than my door frame. I really don’t want to see him the way I feel right now, or have his beady eyes darting around my home, but there’s nothing I can do. He’s already crossed the threshold.

  ‘I’m getting ready for work,’ I say, hoping to prevent him from entering further, but it’s useless. He’s already made up his mind that he’s coming in.

  ‘Just need to ask you a few questions. Routine stuff. In here?’ He points ahead towards the open-plan living space at the end of the hallway.

  The familiar whiff of pine forests tickles my nostrils as he glides past. I follow him into the kitchen.

  ‘Do you mind?’ He gestures to the chair where Charlie was sitting less than ten minutes ago.

  ‘Be my guest. I really don’t have long, though. I need to leave for work.’

  I’m confused by the fact that he’s here in my kitchen. I hope I didn’t do something stupid last night.

  ‘How can I help you, DI Brook?’

  ‘It’s about Alice Fessy, and more importantly, that fella you mentioned at the station yesterday. Nigel. Do you want to sit down?’

  ‘I’m fine standing, thanks.’ I’m not going to actively encourage him to stay.

  ‘Okay. Well, we found CCTV footage of Alice exiting London Fields station around six o’clock on the night in question.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Well, she was followed by a man. Possibly the man you mentioned.’

  He pulls a file from under his coat and opens it, then spreads a collection of images captured from CCTV on the table.

  ‘Do you recognise this man?’

  The images are grainy and it’s hard to tell who the man is. It’s even hard to recognise Alice. I squint, but it doesn’t help. Whoever he is, he’s walking slightly behind her.

  ‘Take your time. It’s really important we identify this man.’

  I stare at the grainy black and white image.

  ‘I’m sorry, I just can’t say for sure that it’s him.’

  I feel like my accusations have got slightly out of hand. I was only trying to protect Greg. But as DI Brook starts to put the pictures away, I notice that the man is wearing a pair of black and white stripy Converse, just like the ones Nigel put on in my bedroom the morning after he stayed. Shit. Now I can’t not ID him, because if it is him, it’s going to seem weird if I don’t.

  ‘I do recognise those shoes, though. Nigel has the same ones.’

  DI Brook leans closer. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes. I’m quite sure. They’re distinctive.’

  He smiles. ‘Well, thank you, Alex, that is very helpful. Very helpful indeed. Did you manage to find out his last name?’

  ‘No. Haven’t seen him again yet. I’m not sure I want to now either. Do you think he might have something to do with it?’

  ‘We’re following up all leads, as you can imagine. I tell you what, if you have his dating user profile handy, that would help.’

  I really just want the detective out of my house, and if this helps get rid of him, so be it. I’ve gone and done the worst of it now anyway.

  ‘Of course.’

  I launch my dating app and show him the page with Nigel’s details on it. I even send him a screen shot. I feel like a total cow doing it, but I have no option with DI Brook breathing down my neck.

  ‘What about… my ex?’ I can’t bring myself to say Greg’s name.

  ‘We’re still following leads. We haven’t found him yet.’

  After DI Brook has shown himself out, I sit and think. I don’t know how I feel about what’s just happened. Why come to my flat? Does he want to spare me the embarrassment of going to the station a second time? Was he in a rush to show me those images because they are about to make an arrest? I’ve just realised that I may become a key witness in a murder trial, if it gets that far. Perhaps that’s why he came to my home address. It crosses my mind that I’ve never told him where I live.

  37

  September 2017

  Dear Diary,

  I have another week left in rehab. I want to call my dad and tell him to come and get me, but then I think better of it. What would I tell him? Does he even know? I really, really, really want a drink. I need to blot this out. We talked about it in my one-on-one session, which was really difficult because I don’t want to share this with anyone, let alone a good-looking man, but Tim was really understanding. He said it wasn’t my fault. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this bad. I want to die. I just don’t want to be here any more. Knowing what I know now, I don’t think anyone will ever love me. How could they? A victim of childhood abuse. I hate Alex for setting me on this course. And I hate my mum for allowing that man to do such a thing.

  My family life has been completely destroyed with this one memory. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at my mother again. And my dad, how did he let this happen to me? I wish I had never listened to Alex or the people at AA. What do they know about childhood abuse? I just want to be back on my park bench with my bottle of gin. Back to who I was four months ago. Anything would be better than this. They say ignorance is bliss, don’t they; now I really understand what that means. I couldn’t even cry today. It was such a shock. I just felt dirty. I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive Alex for this. I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive any of them.

  38

  It’s eleven o’clock by the time I get to work. Philippa, the editor on shift, sees me arrive.

  ‘You okay, Alex?’

  ‘Much better, thanks. Sorry for not coming in yesterday. I thought someone would call me if I was needed. I tried to get in to see the doctor, but I couldn’t get an appointment. I really need to do that when the story dies down.’

  She grins at the pun. ‘Are you well enough to work? We don’t want you collapsing on air.’ She’s trying to look concerned, but really she’s more worried about her bulletin. I don’t have the best track record.

  ‘I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.’

  ‘Good.’ She turns on her heel and struts off across the newsroom.

  Audrey is logged on to one of the hundreds of computers dotted about the place, so I find a spot next to her and sit down.

  ‘Hey, Alex. How you doing? Missed you yesterday.’

  ‘Took a rest day. Felt a bit under the weather.’

  ‘Oh, sorry to hear that. Hope you’re feeling better.’

  ‘Much better, thanks.’

  ‘I’ve been trying to locate Sarah Wilcox. There have been plenty of sightings of her around London Fields. I’ve been talking to a few people on Twitter, trying to piece together a map that might tell us about her habits and where we might find her. Weird that the police can’t just locate her from her phone or address. You’d think they could do that easily. I mean, no one just disappears any more, do they? I was thinking about calling her mum and talking to her, but I wanted to run that by you first.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe, but she’s unstable.’

  My two screens spring to life just as a collective ‘Shit!’ sounds around the newsroom.

  ‘Oh God, no.’ Audrey turns to me, fear in her eyes.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘They’ve found another one, Alex. They’ve found another fucking woman.’

  Philippa has appeared as if by magic. ‘It’s London Fields again.’

  I feel queasy. The water bottle in my bag is filled with vodka, and all I can think about is how much I need a swig, but Philippa is talking to us so I need to pay attention. Keep it together a bit longer.

  ‘Alex, we need you down at the scene right away. Audrey, you’ll go with her. I’ll find you a cameraman and he’ll meet you there. We need you live on the one o’clock bulletin.’

  My head is in a spin. While Audrey organises a couple of things, I sneak off to the toilet and feed my shakes with a shot. Next thing I know, we’re in a taxi. Audrey won’t stop talking, but I don’t engage. I’m exhausted both mentally and physically. I need all m
y strength just to get me through the next few hours. I’m pissed off that I wasn’t able to detox yesterday. It sucks, actually.

  The taxi drops us at the north entrance of the park and we walk the rest of the way. The familiar white forensics tent comes into view. Uniformed police are combing the area. DI Brook is standing outside the tent, hands in pockets. This time he looks in my direction and nods. There are plenty of people milling about. Laura MacColl is there, looking sparkly, and Jack has just arrived. Audrey goes to help him.

  ‘Miss South, we meet again.’ DI Brook is suddenly standing in front of me.

  ‘Sadly.’ I manage a feeble smile. ‘So, can you give us a good clean quote on camera that you believe unequivocally that it is a serial killer? Is four women enough?’

  ‘We need to go through the same rigorous process of investigation before I can do that.’

  He is fudging it again. In his hand is a clear plastic bag, which he shows me. ‘We found this at the scene.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘A key.’

  ‘Do you think it belongs to the suspect?’

  ‘Possibly.’

  ‘Why would anyone leave that behind? It seems careless, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Maybe they were high and didn’t notice they’d dropped it. It’s dark out here at midnight.’

  ‘That’s the time of death, is it?’

  ‘In a window either side of that, yes.’

  ‘How was she killed?’

  ‘Drugged and strangled like the others.’

  ‘Do we know who she is?’

  ‘We’re working on it. I can’t imagine it will take too long.’

  He leaves me with that thought and heads back towards the tent.

  Jack and Audrey have set up with the tent behind us. It’s a good shot for the bulletin.

  ‘What did he have to say?’ Jack nods in Brook’s direction. ‘Still none the wiser, I bet.’

  ‘Well, he still won’t give a good clean sound bite about a serial killer.’

  Jack is angry. ‘That’s ridiculous. East London has a modern-day Jack the Ripper on its hands and the DI in charge of the case can’t just say it as it is. The whole investigation is a bloody joke.’ He’s shaking his head. ‘They need to find this guy and they need to do it quickly.’