I Never Lie Page 3

  ‘Terrible business, that woman dying here. I saw it, you know.’

  She speaks to me with boozy breath. Her accent isn’t local. It’s Brummie. She’s drunk, but maybe she really did see something. Maybe she sleeps in the park.

  ‘What did you see?’

  ‘Saw her with my own eyes.’

  ‘Have you told the police?’

  ‘Fuck the police.’

  Flinging the now obviously empty can of Special Brew onto the path, she stands next to me readying to leave. Her face has changed. She looks like she might swing for me, so I take a step back.

  ‘It’s you. You. Leave me alone. Get away… I’ll call the police. See, they’re coming… they are coming.’ She sets off in the opposite direction on unsteady feet.

  The interaction hasn’t helped with my nervous disposition. A couple walking towards me with their dog are amused by the scene and smile in that knowing way at me. The smile that says she’s crazy and we’re not, but I can’t smile because she’s wearing one of my once most prized possessions. I feel like I’m being tested, but by whom I don’t know.

  From this vantage point I can see a number of hipster-looking folk with frustrated children being questioned by uniformed police officers on the other side of the park. Behind them, a white forensics tent stands to the right of the children’s play area. A chill runs through me, as if I’m not already chilly enough. It’s an extremely grim picture of a place usually filled with sweetness and laughter. It feels bleak. I wonder how long before the children will return, if they ever do. I’m not sure I’d bring my child here, to the site of a murder. If I had one. If only I had one.

  I turn off the path. Within a few metres the long grass has soaked my leather shoes, and I regret having worn them. Sometimes I’m amazed at my absolute lack of judgement when it comes to such things. I’d be useless hiking or camping in the wild.

  Police tape and a media huddle greet me as I come closer to the crime scene. There are already plenty of people commenting on Twitter about the murders terrorising east London. The second case, in Homerton, of a woman found drugged and left for dead, was quickly connected to online dating. People who knew her came forward to say they believed she may have met her killer online, possibly a date gone wrong, although the police never elaborated on it. They might have to now that a third victim has turned up.

  To my right, a gathering of dog walkers in their trendy parkas and wellies are whispering amongst themselves. I wish I had warm clothes on. Their duck-down jackets look so cosy. All the dogs are on their leads, gunning to be free. Poor doggies. I’d love to have a dog, but my work life doesn’t permit it.

  ‘Morning, Alex. You all right?’ Jack, a cameraman I have worked with before, is already here.

  ‘You just got here?’

  He nods slowly. Jack isn’t easily spooked, but even he looks bothered by the scene we are confronted with. He also looks snug in his waterproof jacket and outdoor boots.

  ‘Can’t really believe it. We had a BBQ over there last summer.’ He points to the south side of the park. ‘I come here all the time.’

  Behind the police tape that marks out the crime scene, a tall man in a black mac is talking to a woman with red lips and equally red hair in white forensics overalls. DI Brook is a solid-looking man, a man who can handle himself. The woman looks enamoured with him. He is just about within shouting distance; not that I want to holler, but I do need to talk to him, and the sooner the better, so I take the few dreaded steps towards the tape to see if I can get his attention. My heart is doing somersaults. I open my mouth, but staring at the tent, I find myself unable to produce a sound. Then someone taps me on the shoulder, making me jump.

  ‘Sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you! I’m Audrey. Your producer.’ An extremely petite hand covered in silver rings and a four-leaf-clover tattoo reaches out for mine. She has a firm handshake, thankfully. And she is gorgeous; multiracial in appearance, although I’m not quite sure where from.

  ‘Hi. Sorry. I’m just having one of those days. Bit creepy, this.’

  ‘Me too.’ She winks. ‘I know what you mean.’

  ‘I live a couple of streets away, so it’s a bit daunting having all this on my doorstep.’

  ‘I can imagine. Well, I’m glad to be working with you if that’s any help. Big story, this one. Should keep us busy, which is good.’ She does look genuinely pleased.

  Jack pipes up. ‘Oh yes, should keep us very busy.’

  I’m used to his silly quips and ignore it. He leaves us alone and goes to set up.

  A second forensic officer exits the tent and joins the detective’s now animated conversation. The group look in the direction of the Pub on the Park, which stands close to the outer boundary of the crime tape. The pub where I met Nigel last night. I wonder if they think she met her killer there.

  ‘Audrey, right?’

  She gives me a smiley nod.

  ‘I’m sorry…’ I’m looking in the direction of the tent, ‘but I really need to talk to DI Brook.’

  ‘Right. Of course. The body is still here, just so you know.’

  ‘Ah, okay.’ That sends a shiver along my already chilly arms. ‘Who found it?’

  ‘A dog walker apparently. You okay? You look a bit pale.’

  ‘Fine, just cold, that’s all. Haven’t got the full studio make-up on today either.’

  She laughs at that. ‘Got ya. What would we girls do without make-up, hey?’

  ‘Exactly.’ I wipe my runny nose with an old tissue I find in my pocket. ‘They aren’t giving much away, are they? I mean, about the victim.’

  ‘No. Don’t think they’ve ID’ed her yet, but what’s-her-face…’ Audrey is pointing at the competition.

  ‘Laura?’

  ‘Yeah, her. She says they found something at the scene.’

  ‘Like what?’

  Her green eyes, heavily made up like a fifties movie star, blink back at me. ‘I’m not sure. That’s all she said. Really helpful, that one.’

  I nod at Laura, who is a few metres away interviewing a member of the public with her cameraman. She smiles back in recognition.

  ‘Can you run me through what we know so far, Audrey?’

  Audrey gives me the update, then turns away to answer her phone, which rings with the theme tune of Newsnight. I think we’ll get along.

  When I turn around, Laura MacColl is right behind me, grinning, which seems inappropriate given the circumstances. She’s been here since early this morning, not that you’d ever guess. She positively sparkles. Her shiny long, dark hair is well styled, as is her make-up. She’s wearing a crisp navy suit, unlike my crumpled, eclectically put together ensemble. She’s probably fifteen years younger than me and always looks smug about that fact, but today I’m one up on her, as UKBC has a much larger audience, being the public broadcaster.

  ‘Bit nasty, this, another murdered woman in the borough of Hackney.’ Her Scottish purr only adds to her attractiveness. ‘Feels a bit close to home, doesn’t it? I mean, I have friends who work and live around here.’

  ‘Do we know any more about how she died?’

  ‘No, we don’t.’ She returns the pronoun, albeit in a slightly sarcastic tone. ‘I’ve been here a couple of hours already and can’t get much out of them. It’s similar to the Homerton case and the Victoria Park one by the looks of it. Thirty-something woman left for dead in a park.’

  ‘You spoken to DI Brook?’

  ‘Good eye candy but not particularly helpful, that one.’

  ‘My producer said you got a tip from the Met?’

  She pushes her hair off her face and makes me wait for a moment.

  ‘Well, they found a gym card at the crime scene. The dog walker found it, actually, but he’s been told to keep shtum. I’m guessing it belongs to the victim.’

  ‘Right. Have you seen this card?’

  ‘No. No one has. My source won’t say any more than that. Lots of lost items get found in London parks every day.’ Laura’s
eyebrows lift as she says it.

  5

  January 2017

  Dear Diary,

  Today has been really rough. I feel physically sick: all I want to do is throw up. My brain isn’t working. My body has the shakes and is behaving in ways I’ve never known it to before. The optimism I felt about kicking the drink has all but vanished. I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing by stopping. My body hurts. My brain is like jelly. I feel like I’m about to die any minute. I can’t get out of bed, but I can’t sleep. I can’t do anything. I can’t function. Detoxing is so hard.

  It’s been two weeks since I went to my first AA meeting with Alex. I thought it would get easier, but it’s not getting easier, it’s getting harder. Alex told me she went to a walk-in clinic recommended by her GP before she tried AA. She is trying to cut down because her partner is really fed up with it. She says we exist in a state of oblivion to escape real life. A woman at AA asked me why I drink, and honestly, I don’t know. I’ve just been doing it for so long that I don’t know how to do anything else.

  God, I feel terrible today. My stomach aches, my joints ache, everything aches. My body isn’t reacting well to the withdrawal. It’s shaking. A woman in the AA group, Lorraine, recounted how she went through violent shakes when she quit and how it’s actually quite dangerous for you to just stop drinking. She said it can kill a person, said that it’s better to cut down slowly, wean yourself off it, which I hadn’t even thought of before. Even so, I decided to go cold turkey. It’s as if I have something to prove to myself. Although now I’m not sure it was such a good idea.

  I can’t really imagine my life without drink. It’s like trying to take the roots from a tree, I just don’t see how it will work, but I’m up for giving it a try. My mum isn’t helping. On the contrary, she is being moody and aggressive as usual. She was really angry last night because she doesn’t like me talking about it. I told her about the meeting in the church, but she just thinks I’ve joined some crazy cult. She doesn’t get it. She’s in denial, like I was until Alex saved me.

  I don’t know why I expect my mum to behave any differently really. For as long as I can remember, she’s said I was a mistake. That I ruined her life. That she was going places until I came along. She says I bring her down. She blames me for everything. Nothing is ever her fault, always someone else’s. She was so moody last night, I had to leave the room after she threw a plate across the kitchen. I’m used to her blaming me for her failed life, that’s nothing new, but the difference now is I’m starting to feel it isn’t about me at all, because AA is helping me to see things differently. The group tells me not to believe my mum. That it is her own frustrations that make her angry. That I’m not responsible for my mother’s life. That people are responsible for themselves. I’d never thought about it this way before.

  In a way, I feel sorry for my mum, because I am a bit of a burden if truth be told. I still live at home and I don’t pay rent. I wanted to be a writer when I left school but I haven’t written anything since I was sixteen. After I got back from the last AA meeting, that’s when I decided to stop drinking altogether and write this diary. Maybe one day it’ll mean something. Maybe I have a book in me after all.

  I have accepted that I am an alcoholic and I want to get better. I really want to get sober so I can have a successful life like Alex. It’s tough, though, I won’t lie. All I can think about today is having a drink.

  It’s probably a good thing that I can’t get out of bed because there is a lot of alcohol downstairs in the lounge. We always have lots of booze in the house. It’s quite normal for my mum to drink before lunchtime. In fact, I’m starting to think it’s my mother who taught me to drink the way I do and that’s a good reason to stop, because if I don’t, I may end up like her. I repeat: I may end up like my mother. She bitches at me all the time yet needs me at the same time. I’m starting to think about our relationship differently. It’s something I need to change, and I need to get sober to do that. I must not drink today.

  6

  The pressing need to talk to DI Brook takes over. When I turn around, I spot him lingering behind the tent, so I fill my lungs with air and shout his name as loudly as I can, but to no avail. He has clearly decided not to hear me.

  ‘They not listening to you, love?’

  An elderly woman dressed in black with silvery blue hair and a lively red setter has suddenly appeared beside me. Her face is half hidden behind what look like very expensive sunglasses. ‘Such terrible news to wake up to this morning.’

  I nod silently, unsure of what to say. The last thing I need right now is a member of the public asking me silly questions. I have a job to do and sometimes they just get in the way.

  ‘I’ve seen you before, haven’t I? You live around here?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She pulls her glasses forward, resting them on the end of her nose, to reveal watery grey eyes. ‘I know you, you’re on the news. Although I haven’t seen you on for a while. Not since that…’

  She stops herself. I know what she’s going to say. Not since that time you were pissed on air ranting about how the system had failed us all.

  ‘I’ve been busy doing research for a new investigative report I’m working on.’

  ‘So you got lucky today because you live around here? That it? I know how it goes, the pecking order. Worked in broadcasting when I was younger. Couldn’t take the cynicism and got out after a few years.’

  ‘Right.’ I really don’t need this now. It’s only midday and my nerves are shot. She’s not going away, though.

  ‘I love watching the news and talking about politics. You really must come for tea. I don’t get many visitors these days. I live on Navarino. Right on the corner of the park.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, but I imagine I’m going to be quite busy with this story.’

  ‘Of course. I didn’t mean today, silly. Number three, the red door. Just knock.’

  Audrey is back, looking purposeful, her eyes willing the pensioner to move on.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt, but they want a two-minute hit into the lunchtime bulletin. What we know now.’

  ‘Goodbye then, Alex. Please make sure you come and see me.’ The woman pushes her glasses back up her nose and shuffles off with her dog.

  ‘Who was that?’ Audrey nods towards her. ‘A neighbourhood pal?’

  ‘Just a dog walker.’

  ‘Not the dog walker?’

  ‘No. No.’

  ‘Oh. Okay. So, the report?’

  ‘It’s fine. Have you spoken to the police? I can’t seem to attract their attention.’

  ‘Managed to grab DI Brook at the press conference earlier, but only to get his business card.’ She hands it to me. DI John Brook, Serious Crime Division. There’s a mobile number on it. I already have it in my phone from dealing with him on previous cases, but I decide not to mention it. Best to let Audrey think she’s on it, which she is. In fact, I don’t know why I didn’t just call him before, rather than shout at him like a complete loser. I’m embarrassed to say my memory fails me more often than not, especially after a big night out.

  ‘Thanks, Audrey, you’re a star.’

  ‘No worries. I don’t think he’s going to talk to the media again today – at least that’s what he said – but give him a call. I did mention you might.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘It’ll be the first live report from the scene for us, so the editors say just keep it simple. They’re leading on it.’

  ‘I have done this before, Audrey.’

  ‘Yes, of course, sorry.’

  She looks a bit hurt by my reaction, which happens when I’m not fully in my right mind. Greg used to get on me for that all the time. Snapping at people. I should say something nice.

  ‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to sound short with you. It’s my first live for a while and I suppose I’m a little nervous.’

  ‘You’ll knock ‘em dead, Alex. You’re great at this job.’

  �
�That’s very kind. Thank you.’

  ‘We all have bad days. We’re only human after all.’

  She is being very sweet and understanding. Buttering me up. That’s nice even if she doesn’t mean it, because it’s exactly what I need today.

  ‘Thanks, Audrey, but today is going to be a good day.’

  With the business card in my hand, I put my headphones on and pull up DI Brook’s number from my contact list, then hit dial. While it’s ringing, I check my Facebook page. Two thousand and fifty-three people have wished me happy birthday. Wow. I guess many people feel like Audrey does, ready to give me a second chance. I mean, it wasn’t so bad what I did, bitching about the government live on air. There were a lot of people who wrote to me afterwards saying well done for speaking honestly. Didn’t help me with the editors, though. Anyway, that’s behind me now.

  DI Brook isn’t answering, and I hang up. Just then my phone buzzes. It’s a message from Richie, the chap I’m planning to meet later. I met him on a dating site, just like I met Nigel.

  Hey, sorry to do this to you, Alex, but something’s come up at work. Afraid I can’t make it tonight. Can we reschedule?

  It’s annoying, but I don’t bother to respond; there’s really no point. That’s how online dates go sometimes. They don’t always materialise, and if I’m honest, I can’t be bothered anyway, not now that I have a huge breaking news story to contend with. This is much more important.

  I try Brook again, and this time he answers after the third ring.