I Never Lie Read online

  ‘Oh, good.’ Audrey seems even less concerned with Charlie’s welfare than Marysia. ‘So we know who the latest victim is now. Can you believe it? Sarah bloody Wilcox. And wait for it, she was also a member of COMEout, even though the CEO is adamant that the app has nothing to do with it. The police still seem to think that’s important. This morning they issued another warning to women using dating apps in east London. I wish they’d just put a ban on it. This shit is frightening. Marysia says she wants to keep the story going and do a spot on the evening bulletin. So we need to see if we can find a new line. I still think we should interview your neighbour. He’s the closest we’ve got to someone affected by the investigation. Maybe he can tell us just how shit the police are being about it. I’m sure he’s got an opinion on it.’

  Fuck. We can’t go anywhere near Charlie, because then she’ll uncover my lie about being late.

  ‘He’s resting after his accident. I’m not sure he’d agree to it.’

  ‘Well, yeah, but it’s just his hand, right? We don’t need to have that in the shot.’

  ‘He’s on super-heavyweight painkillers. I’m not sure he’d make much sense.’

  ‘Why did the police pull him in?’

  ‘He knew Maggie Horrocks. She did some work for him. Found the job on a local noticeboard. It’s not all that exciting.’

  ‘Yeah, but still. He must have something to say about what’s going on. Being picked up by the police can’t have been much fun. Is he on COMEout?’

  ‘I don’t know, Audrey. I don’t think we should bother him today.’

  She’s realised this train of thought is going nowhere.

  ‘Why don’t we do a report looking into how many people use dating apps? Might be good to get DI Brook to respond to the COMEout statement about how the app has nothing to do with it. I mean, come on. People weren’t born yesterday and the police really need to step up here before someone else dies.’

  It’s better than chasing Charlie, so I agree. ‘Sounds like a good idea. Do you want to organise a camera while I call DI Brook?’

  ‘Perfect.’ Audrey wanders off with purpose towards the crew desk, which is situated on the second floor.

  I’m reluctant to call DI Brook, but we need a story and one that doesn’t involve my neighbour. To my surprise, he agrees to it, and within the hour we are back at Hackney police station waiting for him to appear.

  ‘Alex. Hi. Sorry to keep you. It’s been one hell of a morning, as you can imagine.’

  ‘Hi. Sure. No problem.’

  He makes no attempt to ask me anything remotely personal about Greg or Nigel and instead concentrates on the interview. Jack tells us we’re rolling.

  ‘Thanks for talking to UKBC, DI Brook. So firstly, can you confirm the name of the fourth victim?’

  ‘Yes, it’s Sarah Wilcox. Once we had talked to the family, we were able to release her name. It is our belief now that all four women were drugged, most likely while out on a date. All four had a profile on COMEout. We are still investigating leads from their conversations online. Although there is one difference with Sarah Wilson, she was drugged but not strangled, which raises questions about whether they were killed by the same man.’

  ‘You say all four women met their end in the same circumstances, but you are still reluctant to use the term serial killer, aren’t you?’

  DI Brook wipes the bottom half of his face with his right hand and scratches his chin before answering this one.

  ‘And that’s why. We still don’t have conclusive proof that all four murders were carried out by the same killer, as I said Sarah Wilcox casts a new light on it.’

  ‘But you said they were connected?’

  ‘We said there were similarities in the method.’

  ‘But you are saying that all four women were members of the dating app COMEout and most likely met their killer online? You used the word man, does that mean you’ve got a suspect in your sights? You arrested someone over the weekend. Did that bring any new information to light?’

  ‘To answer your questions in order – yes, all the women were members of the dating app COMEout. Our advice is for the women of east London to refrain from using online dating apps because we want to keep them safe. We’re not clear yet whether the killer was male. The weekend arrest resolved one line of enquiry. It didn’t present a new one.’

  ‘So it could be a woman? Why would a woman do this?’

  ‘We aren’t ruling out any possibilities. My job is to protect the public from potential risks, and we believe at this time that there is a high risk from this app and others. The freedoms of online dating are enjoyable for most, but they do pose a risk because they leave people, men and women, vulnerable. Offenders can take advantage of this. Male or female.’

  I wrap up the interview shortly afterwards.

  ‘Why didn’t you push him on the serial killer line?’ Audrey looks frustrated.

  ‘I did.’

  She looks pissed off. ‘Well, there’s probably something we can use.’

  Jack nods, as if he knows anything.

  My phone buzzes telling me my Twitter following has just reached eighty thousand. That’s real firepower in our business. A measure of my success. This story has been the making of my career.

  ‘We need some online daters too,’ Audrey says. ‘Maybe Jack and I can do that and meet you back in the newsroom. I spoke to a couple of people earlier. They have agreed to talk on camera.’

  ‘Very good.’

  I’ve texted Greg back to tell him where to meet me: a coffee shop close to work. He’s wearing the same clothes as yesterday, not that it matters. I’d fancy him if he wore the same clothes for a week. There are some people who just have that hold on you.

  ‘Thanks for coming, Alex, I really appreciate it. I know you’re super-busy.’

  I nod because I don’t really know what to say. I notice that my water bottle is half empty. Christ. My heart is racing and I’m doing my best to just keep it together.

  ‘Look, I feel I owe you an explanation about Sarah.’

  ‘Why? We weren’t together. You can do what you want.’

  ‘I still want to explain.’

  ‘Okay.’

  I want to hear this, but at the same time I don’t, because I’m starting to properly lose it, and I can’t, not now, not while my career is on the up. Greg already has a coffee. He keeps fiddling with the teaspoon, but I don’t bother ordering a drink. I sip from my water bottle instead. I’m past caring. Underneath his good looks, he is just as nervous as me.

  ‘I’m not sure where to start really.’

  ‘How about the part where you shagged her? Don’t you think you should talk to the police?’ I don’t mean to be defensive, but I can’t help it. I want to tell him about the need to come forward, that the police have his name as a person of interest, but I can’t. I don’t know how to do that.

  ‘I’m sorry, Alex. I’m really sorry. I need you to understand what happened.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘After you left, I was a complete mess. Things got really dark for me for a while. I was in total denial about the fact that you’d gone, so when she turned up on my doorstep, I turned to her for some comfort.’ His eyes tell of the pain I imposed on him by walking out the way I did.

  ‘She turned up on your doorstep? How did she know where you lived?’

  ‘She worked in our local pub. You didn’t know that, I guess?’

  ‘She went to those AA meetings you forced me to go to. That’s how I knew her, but when she got a little obsessed with me, I stopped talking to her.’

  ‘Well, I’m not proud of the fact that I slept with her. You have to understand. She was together at a time when I wasn’t. And she picked me up. She understood what I’d gone through, the drinking. She put me back on the right path. I didn’t sleep with her then, but it left an impression in my mind, you know, so when she contacted me to say she had moved to London and she wanted to see me, I agreed. I was flying out of
London for a stag do. Figured it would be a place to crash. I suppose it was also a way of feeling close to you again. She said she’d been in touch with you and wanted to tell me how you were doing, and I believed her.’

  Just then, my phone buzzes. It’s Nigel calling. Perfect fucking timing.

  ‘I didn’t have any intention of sleeping with her,’ Greg continues. ‘You have to believe me. It just happened.’

  I don’t pick up, but Nigel calls back. He’s not giving up.

  ‘I’m sorry, Greg, but I really need to make a call. It’s work-related.’

  ‘Oh, okay.’

  ‘I don’t know how long it’s going to take. Can you wait?’

  He nods, but looks hurt. I leave him still playing with the teaspoon and step outside for a moment.

  ‘Alex. What the fuck is going on? Another woman is dead. Do you think the police are going to arrest me? That image they have, the one you told me about, I’m worried.’

  ‘Should you be worried?’

  ‘What are you talking about? If they arrest me, I’m going to tell them I was with you the night Alice Fessy was killed. You’re my alibi.’

  And with that he hangs up. My head is spinning.

  It’s weirdly comforting to know that Nigel’s life isn’t picture perfect, but I’m nervous about him being picked up by the police now. I don’t need to become a witness in this case. That would finish my career. You don’t recover from things like that. I take a swig from my water bottle to calm myself down and return to Greg, who picks up where he left off.

  ‘The next day I left for Spain thinking I wouldn’t see her again, and now she’s dead.’

  ‘Yes. I know the DI on the case. Maybe you should contact him if you’re worried.’

  ‘Christ. Why would I do that?’

  ‘They will have checked her phone records.’

  I let that linger between us. He rests his face in his hands.

  ‘I swear to you, Alex, I wasn’t seeing her like that. I slept with her once. It was really just a place to crash that got out of hand.’

  ‘So you stayed at her place?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Jesus, Greg. Do you have the address?’

  ‘No. I met her at King’s Cross and we got on a bus. It was late. I don’t remember where it was. London streets all look the same to me.’

  What a mess, I think.

  ‘Can I ask you something, Alex? Are you seeing anyone?’

  It’s not a question I was expecting. It’s a perfectly normal thing to ask, I suppose, but the timing feels off. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that my personal life hasn’t recovered from our break-up, so I interrogate him about his instead.

  ‘I saw your photo on COMEout when I was in Manchester. Are you online dating?’

  ‘What the hell is COMEout?’

  ‘It’s a dating site. God, Greg, which century do you live in? And don’t you read the news?’

  ‘Sometimes. It’s all so dull and depressing. My mate set up a dating profile, but I’ve never even logged on.’

  ‘You do know that COMEout is the dating app the police are looking at as a potential way that the killer found his victims, which might make you a suspect.’

  ‘I told you, I don’t use it.’

  ‘Tell the police that.’

  He looks afraid. The last time I saw this expression was when we lost the baby. He knew then he’d lost me too.

  ‘Do you think I should?’

  ‘No. I’m joking.’

  ‘How can you joke about something like that? Four women are dead, Alex.’

  ‘Oh, so you do read the news.’

  ‘No. I watch you on TV.’

  ‘I wasn’t fucking joking. I think you should contact them before they contact you.’

  This isn’t going well. Then it starts to get worse. He looks at my water bottle, then back at me.

  ‘Are you still drinking?’

  ‘Why do you always have to bring that up?’

  ‘Because I care about you.’

  ‘It’s like torture listening to you talk about it.’

  ‘Are you in a recovery programme, Alex?’

  ‘I’m in a good place right now. I don’t need this. My career is doing really well.’

  ‘I’m not asking you about your career. I’m asking you about your recovery.’

  ‘I’m doing fine.’

  I look at my phone as if receiving a text. I need to get out of here.

  ‘I’ve got to get back to work, Greg.’

  He wants to say something but doesn’t. He just shakes his head and stares into his coffee cup. The disappointment is written all over his face. It hurts me, but I’m bored of this record. I’ve heard it too many times before. I didn’t invite him back into my life to hear it again. I’m doing really well and I deserve some recognition, and if he doesn’t get that, he can just get lost.

  51

  January 2018

  Dear Diary,

  I’ve stopped going to AA meetings because I can’t face seeing my old flatmate after the cat incident. Searching for Alex’s connections on COMEout has become something of an obsession. It’s fascinating to see the links between people. It’s truly amazing to think just how connected we all are. The Internet is great for this.

  It’s probably time that I started looking for a job, but tracking Alex’s career and her thousands of friends on Facebook is so time-consuming, plus Dad is sending me money so I’m financially okay. I’ve had some really dark dreams lately where I want to hurt my parents, hurt Alex. Hurt myself. It’s like this urge just comes over me. I think it’s all part of recovery. I remember my therapist in rehab telling me that I would need to practically reinvent myself. I considered doing some more private therapy, but then it just seems to take me over the past again, and that’s a place I don’t want to visit. It’s far too painful and it messes with my head.

  52

  After the evening bulletin has finished, I get the all-clear to go home. I don’t hang around as my body is in so much pain. I need to lie down and sleep for the next twelve hours. But when I exit the building, Greg is standing outside in the cold waiting for me. There’s no way I can avoid him, so I cross the road towards him. It’s really chilly now and he’s not wearing a jacket, which makes me want to get him in out of the cold. Even though he’s upset me again, I still love him.

  ‘I’m sorry, Alex. Can we please not fight? It’s too painful.’

  ‘Then stop giving me a hard time. I’m doing really well at the moment.’ I hand him my scarf, which he takes gladly. ‘I’ve just done a report on the evening news bulletin where I was on set being interviewed. You should be proud of that, not going on at me about the past.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right. I just worry about you, you know.’

  He wraps the scarf around his neck and tucks it into his woolly jumper, which has holes in the sleeves. It’s one of the things I love about him. His unapologetic scruffiness.

  ‘That’s very sweet of you, but there’s really no need. I’m fine, really.’

  ‘Great. So, can I take you out for dinner?’ He’s smiling now, a sparkle in his eye. It’s tempting, so tempting.

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘Anywhere. The world is our oyster.’

  He’s making me smile too.

  ‘The night is young.’

  ‘I wish it was. I have to be up again at seven to work this story.’

  ‘We can go wherever you want, Alex, just steer the way.’

  I know I really shouldn’t, as I’m in such a mess, but before long we’re in an Uber heading back to my neighbourhood, to a Thai restaurant on Hackney Road. Greg orders a beer, but I don’t. He doesn’t say anything about my drinking, but stares at my water bottle, the one I’ve been carrying around all day that has a smidgen of clear liquid still in it.

  Dinner is nice. He tells me about the stag do he went on, which sounds like an absolute disaster. We have a good time in each other’s company. It�
��s like we’ve never been apart, like we just picked up from where we left off. It’s wonderful, actually, and I wonder why I walked away. Greg and I fit like a pair of skinny jeans, moulding to each other’s curves. It was like this from the day we met, playing Whitesnake on YouTube in a hotel lobby. We just knew that we were meant to be together.

  In the days that followed, we exchanged over three hundred songs via text message. Songs that we both loved. Not everyone experiences that, finding someone with exactly the same taste in music. I know my friends haven’t. Annabel chose Chris because he was sorted, together, he could provide for her if she had a baby, but she hates his music and hobbies. Greg and I were glued together by more than a sensible choice. We were glued together by music, culture and jokes. The stuff that happens every minute of every day.

  He pays the bill, which is nice of him considering I’m the one earning the London salary.

  ‘So, where are you staying, then?’

  ‘I’m kind of homeless at the moment; been living with a mate in Leicester for the past six months.’

  ‘Leicester? What are you doing there?’

  ‘Trying to start my own business. Production. Been doing freelance gigs all over the country.’

  ‘Okay. But what about tonight?’

  ‘Thought you could show me where you live, seeing as you forced me to come to your neighbourhood.’ He’s grinning like the Cheshire cat.

  The moment I’ve been waiting for has suddenly arrived, and all I can think about is whether there are any bottles lurking in places he might find them.

  ‘That depends on how nice you are to me.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll be nice. I’ll be very nice. Don’t you worry about that.’

  And there it is: a simple sentence laced with a smile is all it takes for me to let him back in, a promise that he’ll be nice to me. It won’t last, it never does once he discovers I’m still drinking, but for now I’m living the illusion, because deep down I still desperately love him and I need this. I need some comfort. Something familiar. Something I can hold onto.