Bold Lies Read online

  The van was waiting outside. Three more men came in and began stripping the lab. Everything was to go: the cabinets, the benches, the fridges, the Flexi chairs bought by George as a treat last Christmas; the rats, two mini pigs, one cyno monkey – which was quickly subdued by injection – as well as the pictures on the walls of grandparents, children, holidays and weddings.

  After the lab was emptied, the men disappeared for a few minutes and came back dressed in white protective suits, carrying cleaning equipment. They began scrubbing the floor and walls. Finally, when the place looked more like a garage again, the bodies were positioned. The men opened Emily’s legs and placed Mike on top of her. One of them pulled his trousers down and simulated anal sex with Mike. Another took a picture on his iPhone. Finally, a scrap of paper was placed on the bodies. On it was written in blue pen: Bitch.

  A groan caught their attention and they were startled to realise that Mike was still alive. One of the men pulled his foot back and kicked his head like a football. Mike fell silent, and the man who’d kicked him bent over and put his fingers to his throat: nothing.

  The men left and got back in the van. It was fully dark now, and there was no one about. Another man, who hadn’t been part of the tidy-up, came into the garage and looked around. Satisfied, he nodded and took out his phone, snapping a few pictures to prove that the job had been done and done well. Then he left, locking both the inner and outer doors using the keys he’d been provided with.

  Inside the lab, Mike’s mobile phone began to ring.

  Chapter 4

  Detective Inspector Kelly Porter stared at her computer screen. The office was undergoing a quasi-refurbishment: a few new chairs, a new carpet and a paint job. HR had ruled the old stiff chairs ergonomically unsound, and the whole force was getting replacements that could be set at the user’s preferred angle. Kelly had to admit they were comfortable. Some of her colleagues had spent the morning racing up and down the corridor on them. DC Rob Shawcross had just beaten DC Emma Hide three to two, and she was refusing to shake his hand. As a responsible senior officer, Kelly should have admonished them, but it was highly entertaining to watch. No blood or coffee had been spilled and it had taken mere minutes out of their day. On top of that, it had lifted the spirits of everyone who’d worked on the Tombday case three years ago. David Crawley had appealed his sentence, and the Old Bailey had delivered its verdict this morning.

  Tombday had been a complex web of money-laundering and trafficking, run by businessmen in the Lakes and reaching way beyond the UK borders. David Crawley had only been one cog in the wheel, but he was a childhood friend of Kelly’s and an ex-boyfriend. It was a touchy subject. The Court of Appeal had argued that it was never proved that he had obtained material benefit from the people he’d carried in his lorries, and that he was unaware of the transactions made in order to get them there. It was also ruled that the persons had come willingly rather than being coerced, and it was questionable that he had ever intentionally planned to exploit them. In fact, there were so many sections of the Trafficking Act that the original case failed to satisfy that Crawley’s offences were reduced to aiding and abetting, carrying a five-year sentence. On account of his impeccable record sheet in prison, and the fact that he’d served almost three years already, he had been freed this morning.

  It was a huge blow.

  DC Emma Hide brought Kelly a coffee and placed it on her desk. Kelly looked up and smiled at her junior. Her iPad pinged and she flipped it open to notifications from HQ. A 999 call had been transferred to the serious crime unit for North Lakes, and Kelly was expected to move on it straight away. She toyed with sending Emma along, but decided against it because she wanted some fresh air. Try as she might, she couldn’t keep herself tied to her chair, and this was a serious crime scene. She’d handed out plenty of domestics, illegal hunting and burglaries to her team. But this was different. A body had been found at Derwent Marina. As yet, it was unidentified. The only information she had was that it was male, and had been found by Graeme Millar, who ran the marina. If Graeme hadn’t recognised the victim, then chances were he wasn’t local. That raised a flag for Kelly. It meant that he was either a tourist or a traveller. A forensic officer was already at the scene.

  ‘Emma, I’ve got to go out. Are you working on the burglary at Allerdale House?’

  ‘Yes, guv. I think Kate said she was in between paperwork, though.’

  ‘How’s it going?’

  A local call early this morning had alerted police to something suspicious at Allerdale House’s boatshed. People knew one another round the lake, and apparently a kayaker had spotted that the doors were open and passed the information on to the police. Upon inspection, the first uniforms on the scene discovered that a crime had occurred.

  Old Lord Allerdale was dead, but his grandson and heir, Sebastian Montague-Roland, had been tracked down in London, and had supplied a list of items stored in the shed. The house had been standing empty for the last six months, but there were rumours that building work was due to start there to renovate the place and turn it into a luxury leisure complex.

  At first glance, the robbery looked like an opportunist break-in. An old pile like that with no one living in it was tempting for the criminal-minded, but apparently some of the equipment taken from the boathouse was valuable. This raised Kelly’s interest, as it meant that the place could have been targeted.

  ‘The site is still being processed, guv.’ Emma was dressed in casual gear and could have been planning to sprint out of the door for a run at any moment: but then she always looked like that, and carried it off. Kelly glanced down at her feet, and sure enough, she was wearing trainers. Kelly was relaxed about dress, up to a point. If they were driving round Cumbria, in and out of sheds and boat huts, then formal gear just wasn’t practical.

  ‘Can you ask Kate to come in here?’ she asked. Emma nodded and disappeared. Kelly sipped her coffee and scanned the few details she’d been given about the body found at the marina. Male, over fifty, Caucasian and naked. That was it. She knew Graeme Millar through Johnny; they drank in the same watering holes after a fell race or a lake swim. The Keswick area was extensive to an outsider, but the fell-racing world was an exclusive and tiny club, one that Johnny had only recently become part of. He and Graeme had much in common, in that Graeme had spent five years as an infantry officer around the same time as Johnny had been serving. They had an instant connection. It was the beginning of weekends of sailing lessons, and the inspiration behind Johnny’s boat purchase. Wendy had been transferred to Derwent Marina from Pooley Bridge in the spring, and Graeme turned a blind eye to the mooring fee.

  DS Kate Umshaw came into Kelly’s office and sat down. ‘I do like these chairs.’

  ‘I know. I think they’re a bit too comfortable, though. We need to take a drive to Keswick.’

  Kate raised an eyebrow. Everybody knew she preferred paperwork. This was one of the reasons Kelly wanted to get her out of the office for a change.

  ‘What’s happened?’ she asked.

  ‘Body. Derwent Marina.’ Kelly shared the sparse details she had so far, and grabbed her coat. Kate did the same.

  ‘Forensics are there. Let’s hope it’s just a drunk who found somewhere to shelter and stripped off.’

  ‘Did he die of exposure? In June?’

  ‘Might be a suicide. How are the nicotine patches going?’ Kelly asked.

  ‘Dull. It’s the worst decision of my life,’ Kate said. Kelly shook her head. Kate was one of those smokers who would choose a fag over a life jacket.

  They checked in with the rest of the team before they left, then headed to the lift. Eden House had several floors, and their office was at the top. Uniforms manned the lower floors, and the two women acknowledged nods as they filed out of the building towards Kelly’s car.

  They’d only gone a few hundred yards when Kelly began to feel the benefits of being out of the office. The thought of bumping into Dave Crawley was pushed to the back
of her mind, and she concentrated on the drive. With a bit of luck, the body would keep them busy all day. There might be a perfectly innocent explanation, but the Murder Investigation Manual dictated that the first rule of inquiry into a deceased body without an obvious cause of death was to treat it suspiciously.

  Derwent Marina was past the town of Keswick, at the end of a tiny road just beyond the village of Portinscale. Kelly had spent many school trips learning to kayak down there, and memories flashed back as she parked up outside the main office. Business had been suspended for the day, and uniforms were on the scene interviewing various groups and individuals. She spotted Graeme, and he waved. Kate got a bag out of the boot that contained all they needed to oversee the processing of a crime scene, and they walked over to him.

  ‘Hi, Kelly. I hoped it would be you they called.’

  Graeme looked ashen, and Kelly realised that it was easy to forget what the sight of a dead body did to people, even an ex-army man. Graeme hadn’t seen active service, though, not like Johnny, and so it was possible that he’d never encountered a corpse before, at least not one that had expired outdoors with no clothes on.

  ‘You all right?’ she asked. He was sitting on an upturned canoe.

  ‘It was the smell.’

  ‘Ah, I get it. That’s not something you’ll forget in a hurry.’

  He ran his fingers through his hair.

  ‘I understand you’ve given a statement?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Thanks, you can go then. Maybe go home and distract yourself with something else.’

  He hesitated. ‘When do you think they’ll take him away?’

  Kelly looked towards the boatshed, which was now cordoned off with police tape. She felt Graeme’s anxiety. This was a cash business and his livelihood depended upon it.

  ‘I won’t know that until I’ve seen him. I’m sorry.’ It was all she could say. There were no guarantees. His brow knitted and he got up slowly.

  Kelly and Kate walked through the trees towards the large shed. A uniformed officer standing outside moved aside for them. The tape extended around the back and down to the shoreline, but already campers from the neighbouring site were gathered, taking pictures with mobile phones. At least the cover of the shed meant the body was protected from exposure on social media.

  As soon as they stepped inside, Kelly appreciated what Graeme had said about the smell. Kate handed her a bottle of perfume and she rubbed some under her nose. She also heard flies. She climbed a ladder and made her way to the stern of the launch. Another smell caught her attention: recently varnished wood. It was in stark contrast and was rather beautiful. The forensic officer, in full kit, was clicking away with a camera.

  The dead man was slumped over the captain’s chair. Kelly reckoned he was in his late fifties, and apart from a huge wound to his temple, he looked as though he was asleep. It was an undignified way to go. His skin hung off his body in saggy rolls. He wasn’t fat, just not used to exercise. He was pale, almost white, apart from his arms and face, which were tanned from outdoor life. Kelly wondered if he was on holiday. He wasn’t malnourished or prematurely aged, which indicated a certain amount of prosperity; that ruled out vagrancy or homelessness. There was a watch mark on his wrist and an indentation on his wedding finger: the body had been stripped of every piece of clothing and jewellery.

  ‘Gunshot wound?’ she asked the forensic officer. He nodded. Kelly raised her eyebrows. It wasn’t what she’d expected to find on a Monday morning on the shores of Derwent Water. It would be difficult to keep this one out of the press; that was for sure.

  ‘We’ve got two entry wounds, but, so far all I can find is one exit, unless they came through the same mess. That’s one for the Coroner.’

  She didn’t need to get too close to recognise the wound pattern. On his left temple, two entry wounds had crusted over, and she could see that flies had laid their eggs already. On the other side, a massive exit wound had ripped his skull apart. It was something Kelly had witnessed a few times before, but never here in the Lakes. What was less obvious was why somebody had gone to all the trouble of removing clothes and jewellery to conceal the identity, but left the body in an obvious place. A cursory glance confirmed the absence of blood splatter or matter adhering to the surrounding panels of the cabin: he hadn’t been shot here.

  The man had been shot through the brain, execution style. If he’d done it himself, the gun would have fallen from his dead hand and would still be on site. He also probably wouldn’t be naked. And it would be messy.

  ‘Weapon?’ she asked.

  ‘Feel free to look around. I haven’t found anything.’

  With no weapon and no crime scene, just a dump site, and no name, Kelly knew that today would indeed be a busy day. Happy Monday, she thought.

  Chapter 5

  Alexandros Skarparis drove into the immense car park owned by Ravensword on the labyrinthine Dockland Industrial Estate. He hadn’t slept well, and it had little to do with Aphrodite the cat. He appreciated his mother’s grief, but he had other, more pressing matters to worry about. Last night he’d gone to the Thai Orchid on Bethnal Green Road, admittedly later than arranged, only to be told that his party hadn’t turned up. He’d tried the mobile numbers of all three of his colleagues, and each had gone to voicemail.

  He’d driven to the garage in Bethnal Green, parking on Old Ford Road, just short of the canal. The garage was in darkness, the bolt double padlocked, and there were no cars parked in their usual spots. He’d never come across this sort of dilemma before, and they’d never discussed it. He’d had no choice but to go home and eat fish and chips in front of the TV, alone and puzzled. Vexation soon turned to concern as he tried his friends’ mobile numbers over and over again. He called work colleagues, trying to find the whereabouts of his three co-workers by asking banal questions that could wait until their next shift together at Ravensword. He’d even been so bold as to call Emily’s husband, pretending that he’d misplaced his work pass to the gym, wondering if Emily had picked it up. The call had been returned at midnight, when Emily’s husband had begun to panic and rang the police. He couldn’t get hold of her either.

  All Alex’s efforts had come to nothing, and now when he tried their numbers, the calls didn’t even go through to voicemail anymore; their phones were simply dead. He tried the garage once again, but it remained locked up like before. They shared responsibility for the keys, and he racked his brain for ways to get hold of a spare. Perhaps one of their lockers at work might yield what he wanted. Then he remembered that George always kept a key in a toolbox in his garden shed at home. He sat in his car looking at the factory where he’d worked for the last nine years, never taking a day sick, and decided that today was the day to break that record. He needed to know why his friends had disappeared off the face of the earth. He told himself that George had hit traffic on the way back from his holiday in the Lake District, and that Emily had taken her dog to the vet, and that Mike had a relative to visit in hospital. But it didn’t shift the feeling in his gut.

  He rang the lab inside the gargantuan facility, just in case one of them had arrived for work before him. None of them had. All four of them worked in the neurocellular research section, investigating the neurotransmitters responsible for reward pathways. Their lab was affectionately known as the Happy Bus, because part of their work involved creating newer and better antidepressant drugs. The irony, which wasn’t lost on their associates, was that it was indeed a happy lab. Alex realised with a painful pang of panic that he was growing more perturbed by the minute for his friends.

  ‘Have any of them checked in at all overnight?’ he asked the lab coordinator.

  ‘No, Alex. I haven’t seen them at all. I thought George was on holiday.’

  ‘He was due back yesterday. It’s just that I think I’m coming down with flu, and I wanted to let them know I won’t be in today.’

  ‘Ah, no worries, I’ll tell them as soon as they come in. Get well
soon. Take care of yourself, there’s a lot going around…’

  Alex started up the engine again and swung out of the car park, directly underneath a CCTV camera.

  George lived in Wanstead, in a town house tucked away behind mature trees and a stone wall. Alex had been to dinner there many times. George lived alone, and had done since his divorce. The death of his daughter had driven a wedge between him and his wife that could never be removed. But that was a long time ago, and George had never remarried.

  Alex parked along the street and walked to the house, going straight around the back. The gate was unlocked and he peered through a few windows, seeing nothing. There were no lights on, or any movement of any kind. The back garden was George’s pride and joy. Blooms exploded all over as the plants and trees sucked the goodness out of the June light, thriving in their well-chosen plots. A pond glimmered in the early-morning sun, and the sound of rushing water over the rocks and reeds made Alex smile. He imagined George sitting here reading The Lancet or some medical tome, with his cup of tea and a couple of ginger biscuits.

  The shed was at the bottom of the garden, and he followed the path to it. It was locked. Birds chirped, and bees flitted between lavender and jasmine. Alex knew that the key was kept under a pot behind the pump for the pond’s water feature. He took it out and unlocked the shed door. It didn’t take long to locate the bunch of keys for the lab.

  He heard voices at the front of the property and thought it might be the postman, or even George himself. But something made him stay in the shed, out of sight. He reached out to the wooden door and eased it closed, then craned his neck to peer through the small window.