The Darkest Lies: A gripping psychological thriller with a shocking twist Read online

  Your father’s car pulled into the drive as I crossed the hundred yards or so from store to house. He jumped out, looking at me expectantly. Chin down, eyes serious.

  ‘Any sign?’ he called.

  An impatient shake of my head as I strode past him and pushed the front door open, hoping, hoping. ‘Beth? Beth! Are you here?’

  The only reply was the scrabble of claws racing across hardwood floors. Wiggins appeared, wagging his tail. He reared on his back legs, placing his front paws on my thighs. I pushed him down impatiently, calling for you again, my daughter.

  ‘Melanie…’ Jacob trailed off. His face reflected my fear.

  Standing in the hallway at the bottom of the stairs, all the pounding adrenaline, the fluttering panic for you solidified into something new. Something worse.

  ‘Someone’s taken her, Jacob.’

  Wiggins jumped up again. I pushed him down. He jumped up and your dad grabbed his collar.

  ‘Who? Come on, we just need to call some friends—’

  ‘I called everyone. I phoned all her friends. She’s disappeared.’

  ‘What about our parents?’

  Damn, I should have thought of that myself. Perhaps you’d got it into your head to catch the bus to see one or other set of grandparents. It would be the first time you’d ever done it, but you were, after all, at that age where you were starting to want to push the boundaries. No longer a child, not yet a young adult.

  We both made the calls round family, me on my mobile, your dad on his. Brief conversations that lanced the hope that had risen in us. We both signed off with the same thing: ‘Call us on the landline if you hear anything.’

  Jacob looked at me, his usually clear blue eyes looking dangerously pink.

  ‘I think it’s time to call the police,’ he said, voice thick.

  I nodded. Hung onto his arm, toddler-like, as he dialled 999.

  ‘Shit. Okay, umm, I want to report a missing person. My, my daughter appears to be missing,’ he said, reluctant to say the words that would make this nightmare a reality.

  A faint reply could be heard from the other end of the line. Jacob spoke again. ‘I was at work when my wife called and told me. I told her not to be hysterical.’ He gave an embarrassed laugh – you know how he always does when under real pressure. I squeezed his bicep, let him know we were in this together.

  More questions and answers. Listening to the one-sided conversation was frustrating.

  ‘What’s going on? Why don’t they send someone?’ I stage-whispered.

  Jacob frowned, shaking his head at me, and started giving a physical description of you.

  ‘For goodness’ sake,’ I hissed.

  ‘Just get off the phone and send someone!’ Jacob sounded agitated now, so unlike his usual calm self. If he was worried, that made me all the more worried. Extricating his arm from my grip, he ran a hand over the blond stubble of his closely cropped head. Frowned again. ‘What, outside now?’

  My head shot up. I ran to the front door, flung it open expecting to see you, Beth. A squad car was pulling up. Jacob stood beside me, phone still in his hand, hanging loosely at his side. A faint voice came from it. I took it from him and hung up.

  Uniformed officers stepped from their car and started up the garden path. But with every footfall, the strength that had carried me this far seemed to erode.

  This was actually happening. To me. To my beautiful daughter. To my perfect, happy family.

  The world began to narrow into a dark tunnel. My knees gave way, as if someone had kicked me at the back of the joint. A shout from the police and they rushed forward, hands reaching as I fainted.

  Three

  They were guarding me, I realised. Jacob beside me on the sofa, his fingers woven with mine, studying me intently. With no fat on his face the muscles and bone structure showed clearly, and the clenching and unclenching of his jaw could be seen by all. Wiggins was on the other side of me; ears back, tail tucked firmly down, body pressed up tight against mine. Man and dog equally worried since I had fainted.

  Two police officers sat in front of me now, their uniforms making them strangely anonymous, drawing my eyes away from their faces. Five minutes after meeting them, their names were forgotten. Nothing mattered, except them finding you.

  ‘We’d like to take some details from you, if you feel up to it,’ one officer said.

  ‘Of course.’ I nodded forcefully to show I was up to the task.

  ‘How old is your daughter?’

  ‘Beth’s thirteen,’ Jacob replied. ‘She went to stay with a friend last night, but didn’t arrive. We only discovered this morning. Someone must have taken her.’

  ‘Could she have stayed with another friend?’

  ‘No. No, she’d have told us. We’ve called round friends and our family. No one has seen her.’

  ‘Why do you think she was abducted?’

  ‘I have no idea. When we woke up this morning everything was normal, then my wife realised she wasn’t at Chloe Clarke’s. I… we looked everywhere. Beth wouldn’t just go off on her own, she’d tell us… She tells us everything, we’re very close. Something must have happened.’

  ‘Okay, how tall is she?’

  ‘Umm, she’s, what, about an inch shorter than you, Mel?’

  ‘About that. About five two.’

  One officer asked all the questions; the other scribbled notes. ‘Right, so she’s about five feet two inches. And is this the most recent photo of her that you have?’

  I leaned forward, instantly the proud parent despite the circumstances. ‘Yes, this was taken at Christmas. It shows her eyes, they’re a beautiful colour – grey with a hint of green to them, like the sea. She gets her hair from both of us.’ My gesture took in Jacob and myself. ‘But it’s much paler. Like spun gold, with just a touch of strawberry blonde.’

  I could almost see you rolling your eyes at my description, Beth, furious with embarrassment. The officer seemed to agree, repeating only: ‘Green eyes. Long blonde hair.’ You wanted to have your long hair cut, but so far I had resisted your entreaties. I wanted to keep my little girl for a bit longer.

  The constable took the photo back from me. ‘Okay. You say she’s about five feet two inches tall. Do you know how much she weighs?’

  Jacob and I exchanged a helpless glance. ‘Uh, probably, I believe she was… I don’t know. I’m not sure. She’s slim. Very slender,’ he offered.

  ‘She’s only about seven stone,’ I guessed.

  ‘Right. Do you remember what she was wearing last night when you last saw her?’

  ‘Uh, before she went out I believe she was wearing blue jeans and a red jumper?’ Jacob’s voice went up at the end of the sentence, unsure.

  ‘Yes, a red jumper with Minnie Mouse on the front.’

  ‘You believe?’ The policeman had picked up Jacob’s uncertainty too.

  ‘No, we’re sure,’ I confirmed. ‘She had her winter jacket on, too – it’s black, padded and has a reflective strip in the shape of a chevron front and back. It’s quite distinctive.’

  Scribble, scribble, scribble, it all went down in the notebook. ‘Are there any friends you might not know about? Has she ever run away before?’

  ‘No, Beth’s a good girl.’ We talked over each other, saying the same thing. Jacob nodded at me, giving me the go-ahead.

  ‘She tells us everything. She’s a joker sometimes, but she’s also caring, sensitive, sensible; she would never let us worry like this.’

  Then we both explained the last time we had seen you. My voice caught as I told how Jacob had been watching football, so I’d walked you part of the way to your best friend’s house. In the morning, I’d only called Chloe’s house because I had wanted to go food-shopping and had wondered if you’d want to come, or stay a bit longer with Chloe. I’d spoken to Chloe’s mum, Ursula.

  ‘When it became clear Beth had never arrived…’ My whole body convulsed as the tears came again. Jacob clutched my hand, staring at me so f
iercely, as if trying to absorb my pain. After a minute, I managed to get myself together again. ‘When it became clear she’d never arrived, I called Jacob. And then we called you.’

  ‘This is just a routine question,’ the officer apologised, ‘but where were you both last night?’

  ‘Here. Together. All night,’ said Jacob.

  I opened my mouth, but the constable’s next question blew all thoughts away.

  ‘Can you think of anyone who would want to hurt your daughter?’

  ‘Good grief, no! No way!’

  ‘Okay. Could we have a list of your daughter’s friends?’

  We compiled the list, then another of our friends, family members, pretty much everyone we came into contact with. We had already got in touch with them all, but the police insisted they needed it anyway.

  ‘What about hobbies? I’m just trying to get a clearer picture of what Beth is like.’

  ‘Nature. She’s nature-mad.’ The officer waited, clearly wanting more. ‘You know, watching wildlife, all that kind of thing. She loves going to the woods to look for signs of badgers and foxes, or to the marsh to watch birds. She wants to work in conservation when she grows up.’

  I couldn’t hide the pride in my voice.

  ‘Could she have gone out into the countryside to do some nature-watching? Or to play alone?’

  ‘No.’ I shook my head, certain.

  ‘I think we have everything we need for now. Thank you.’ The officers stood in unison at some unspoken sign.

  We were left alone, uncertain of what to do next.

  Not for long, though. A knock on the door came. Then another and another. The house soon filled. Family, friends, villagers, all coming together to help the search for you, our missing girl. In a small community such as Fenmere we all know each other, and are always there for one another in times of trouble. It heartened me; surely it wouldn’t be long until you were found.

  A Family Liaison Officer was assigned by the police, too, making sympathetic noises and trying to explain what was happening. She introduced herself as Britney Cooper. She seemed nice enough, but I couldn’t take her seriously. Not with a name like Britney. And she was so young! Only in her early twenties, with round eyes that seemed to match her round face. Her ginger bob accentuated her childlike features too. I wanted someone with gravitas. Someone I knew had the skill and experience to find you. Not a child.

  With every second that passed you seemed to slip further and further from me. I couldn’t take in a word anyone said to me. They were the whirlwind; I was the still centre, sitting on the sofa, crying.

  My own mum, your Granny Heather, enveloped me in a trembling hug that did nothing to soothe me. I didn’t want my mother’s tears, and didn’t want to use valuable strength fighting irritation. After longing for the police questioning to be over, now I felt redundant. I stared at the thick woollen rug, my eyes following the twisting strands; the previously homely and warming deep orange colour looked like a warning sign. The air felt too thick to breathe properly, and our home was too hot, with the radiators on full and so many people crammed inside. A pressure built inside me. Any minute I might explode.

  Boom.

  It propelled me from my seat and my mum’s arms, across the room full of people huddled together, having conversations in low voices, and into the kitchen.

  Now what?

  At a loss, I put the kettle on. I didn’t want a drink, but other people might and it gave me something to occupy myself. Mum bustled in behind me, clearly loath to leave me alone.

  ‘Want a hand?’ Her face was so soft with concern that it hurt me to look at it.

  ‘Could you ask who wants what, please? Tea, coffee, whatever.’ The excuse to get rid of her came in a flash.

  Alone at last. I leaned against the counter and sighed. The corkboard in the kitchen was opposite me, full of important appointment cards, invites to birthday parties for you, bills to pay for me and your dad, silly notes to one another, drawings and photographs. It was a huge thing, yet still crammed, and each pin held so many bits of paper that the points were not driven in far, everything precarious. Peeling back the layers would have been an archaeologist’s journey back in time.

  The reminder to pay for your guitar lessons was most prominent. You had only started them a couple of months before, as an early Christmas present, and were just coming down from your initial enthusiasm. Your dad and I weren’t sure if you would do them for much longer. When we asked about them, you just shrugged.

  A note from your dad to us stood out too. Do you remember it? It started with him saying he was nipping into town, so not to worry that he wasn’t around, and ended with him going on about how much he loved us. You had scrawled Sloppy devil. Love you loads too! at the bottom, and approximately a hundred kisses.

  Below it was a photo of you and your dad, faces smushed together, pulling silly expressions at the camera. That had been taken on Saturday, exactly a week ago.

  ‘We have a perfect life together. Untroubled, full of laughter. We are not the kind of family this sort of thing happens to: police, drama, worry, this isn’t us. We’re close, have no secrets,’ I said out loud to myself. A mantra against what was happening.

  Closing my eyes, my mind’s eye burrowed deeper into the detritus of the noticeboard, into the precious memories hidden beneath the surface.

  The drawing you had done of a ballerina when you were six. That had gone down in the annals of family history, a source now of much hilarity. The ballerina doing impossible splits; her thighs weirdly lumpy where the green felt-tip pen had wobbled in inexperienced hands; her face, unintentionally, a grimace of shock; her smile more of a round ‘o’. Every time we looked at it we all laughed, your own giggles always giving permission to mine and Jacob’s. You didn’t like to take yourself too seriously.

  I bit my lip, though, remembering how proud you had been when you first drew it, jumping down from your seat at the kitchen table and running over to me, holding the picture high like a streamer. I had lifted you up, so tiny, so light in my arms, and given you the biggest hug.

  Please God, let you be okay. Please let us find you quickly. I can’t cope…

  Four

  Grief crushed my chest. I needed air. Stumbled to the back door, threw it open and dragged in lungfuls. The late January cold felt like a slap in the face, clearing me of hysteria.

  I clutched the door frame, not to keep myself upright but because it was something solid in a world suddenly as unreliable as a mirage shimmering in a desert heat haze. Looking to my left, over the low fence that ran along the side of the drive, I saw movement. Police in high-vis vests strode around the village, breathless, urgent. I shifted to get a clearer view. They trampled down the four lanes our home sat on, through long grasses, going up to their ankles in muddy sections of drainage dykes.

  I couldn’t tear my eyes away. Not even when a warm arm came around my cold shoulders.

  ‘Come on, duck. Melanie… Sit down. Dad and John have gone to join the search,’ said Mum.

  John? I hadn’t even realised my brother had been at the house, but didn’t acknowledge Mum’s words. Couldn’t engage my brain, too intent on staring at the police, willing them to find something. Dreading in case they did.

  Come on, Beth, call home. Breeze through the door with an excuse. Any excuse. I won’t be angry.

  The officers called out to villagers they came across: ‘Have you seen a teenage girl on your travels? Possibly distressed?’

  ‘I’ll keep an eye out,’ came the repeated reply. ‘I’m joining the search now.’

  ‘I should get out there again, look for her,’ I decided.

  Mum’s gentle touch restrained me.

  ‘Why don’t you stay here, eh? Don’t want Beth coming back to an empty house, do we?’ She spoke in that over-bright voice adults use on young children.

  ‘Has Jacob gone with Dad and John?’

  ‘No, love. He wanted to but the police persuaded him to stay here. Yo
u know, he’s in a bit of a state, like you… Might do more harm than good.’

  How the hell was it possible to do more harm than good in this situation? But I’d no strength to argue; it took everything I had to keep myself together. Poor Jacob, being overruled by the police, though. No chance of anything stopping my dad – your Grandpa Mick – or your Uncle John; they were both so stubborn. That was where you got it from, I supposed, though I wasn’t like that at all. Too soft for my own good. As for Jacob, he was a gentle man; artistic, kind, sensitive. Stubborn, in his own way, but only on matters such as family coming first, fidelity; the things that count to a good man – the ideologies that someone should be immovable on.

  How long had I been standing there? How long had you been missing? A hole had been ripped in my heart, and I couldn’t seem to breathe. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold myself together. Turned to speak to my mum, but she had slipped away, perhaps some time ago.

  A thwump, thwump, thwump that had been so far distant I hadn’t noticed it now became impossible to ignore. Squinting in the low winter sun, I found the culprit. A helicopter crawling across the limitless sky like a blue and yellow beetle.

  Where are you, Beth? Come home. Please, baby, come home.

  A scream ripped through the silence – Mum, making a sound I wouldn’t have thought her capable of. I shivered, turning slowly for fear of what I might see. She walked towards me, careful as a bomb disposal expert.

  ‘Your dad called. They’ve found Beth.’

  Five

  They had found you, Beth! Thank God!

  ‘It’s bad. They don’t want anyone down there,’ Mum added.

  It was bad; okay, I could deal with bad. I disregarded your gran’s scream from moments earlier, shoved aside the shock on her ghostly face. I concentrated on the positive – because it was all I could deal with, Beth; there was no other option. You must have changed your mind, started walking home last night after all, perhaps by a different route. Got hit by a car and injured, but you would be fine.