Innocent Lies (Reissue) Read online

  INNOCENT LIES

  A gripping detective mystery full of twists and turns

  DI Tom Mariner Book 2

  CHRIS COLLETT

  Revised Edition 2017

  Joffe Books, London

  www.joffebooks.com

  FIRST PUBLISHED BY PIATKUS 2005 AS “BLOOD OF THE INNOCENTS”

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The spelling used is British English except where fidelity to the author’s rendering of accent or dialect supersedes this.

  We hate typos too but sometimes they slip through. Please send any errors you find to [email protected]

  We’ll get them fixed ASAP. We’re very grateful to eagle-eyed readers who take the time to contact us.

  ©Chris Collett

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  THERE IS A GLOSSARY OF ENGLISH SLANG IN THE BACK OF THIS BOOK FOR US READERS.

  CONTENTS

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  EPILOGUE

  DI MARINER SERIES

  FREE KINDLE BOOKS AND OFFERS

  Glossary of English Slang for US readers

  CHARACTER LIST

  For Joe and Beth.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  This is the second mystery featuring Tom Mariner. It is set in the early 2000s, when the internet was in its infancy, mobile phones had yet to evolve into smart phones, and people still read print newspapers.

  CHAPTER 1

  Striding to the window, Tom Mariner pulled the metal frame shut with an irritable bang, before releasing the venetian blind. It jerked down notch by notch, snagging on its tangled cord as if in the final throes of death. The immediate problem was solved, reducing the hammering and banging from the extension work in progress below to a series of muffled thuds, but neither action did much to alleviate the heat or glare from the midday sun that beat relentlessly in through the south-facing window. His was not an office designed for heat waves. It wasn’t designed for cold snaps either, but right now the prospect of a biting frost or a raw wind was as distant as the Outer Hebrides and the sting of icy rain on his face would have been a refreshing relief. He needed a drink.

  But when he got there, the water cooler was empty and there were no replacement bottles, forcing him to sift through the loose change in his pockets and head for the soft drinks machine on the ground floor. He joined a long queue, then when his turn came, the machine greedily swallowed his money and refused to cough up the can. He was poised to give it a hefty kick when probationer PC Liam Grady intercepted, calling down the stairs to him. ‘There’s a Miss Streep on the phone, sir. Claims she has some new information on a city-centre armed robbery you dealt with back in March. I did ask if she could come to the station, but she insisted that you’d want to go out to talk to her. To be honest, she sounded a bit of a fruitcake. Do you want me to deal with it?’

  Mariner slammed his open hand into the side of the machine in frustration. ‘No, it’s okay. I could do with a break. I can get a drink while I’m out!’ He glared at the machine. ‘And if she is a time-waster it won’t take me long.’

  ‘Right, sir,’ said Grady uncertainly.

  * * *

  In fact it took Mariner less than ten minutes to get from the station to the address given: a house on a small but exclusive, newly built estate in leafy Bournville. Four- and five-bedroom executive homes set in several immaculately landscaped acres among mature oaks, their combinations of colonial and mock-Tudor fascias rendering each one marginally unique. Number eighteen stood towards the end of the winding cul-de-sac. Mariner walked up a block-paved drive, past a gleaming new BMW convertible and pressed the doorbell. After a moment the door cracked open a couple of inches and behind it, out of sight of the street, Mariner saw Miss Streep.

  Young and pretty, her thigh-length, burnt-orange silk shirt complemented the colour of her eyes. As he watched she let it fall open at the front, revealing that underneath she was wearing very little. ‘Please come in, Inspector.’ She smiled.

  Mariner swallowed hard, his professionalism on the line. No contest really. With a furtive glance around to check that he was unobserved, he stepped into the hallway and immediately the door closed on him, she grabbed his tie, pulling his face down to her level and kissing him full on the mouth, while her other hand sought out his already expanding crotch.

  ‘You have to stop doing this, Anna,’ Mariner said, sometime later, lying back on the pillows, his pale skin glistening with perspiration, while she sat astride his abdomen now wearing only the silk shirt. ‘Someone at the station is going to catch on to these women all specifically asking for me to make house calls when I’m meant to be working. I can’t always just drop everything on a whim.’

  Anna was pragmatic. ‘This is only the second time, and you’re entitled to some kind of lunch break, aren’t you?’

  ‘In theory yes, but you know how that works.’

  ‘It’s the only time during the week when I can guarantee that Jamie’s not here. It seems a shame to waste the opportunity. Besides,’ she added, artfully. ‘You do always have the option of turning me down.’ She slid down over his thighs and started work again.

  Mariner’s gaze swept over her exquisite body as he felt the blood flowing back to his groin. She’d put on a little weight since he’d first known her, rounded out a little, but all that had done was make her more irresistible. ‘Oh, yes,’ he said, as if she’d pointed out something new.

  In truth he was a little afraid of what might happen if he did decline these invitations. Anna had saved his life, well, his sex life anyway. Single-handedly, as it were, she had resuscitated his seriously ailing libido and now, to paraphrase Harold Macmillan, he’d never had it so good. Added to which, she was bright, she was great company and he . . . well, he liked her . . . a lot. It was too much to risk. Except at times like this, when he felt guilty knowing that he should be somewhere else; his mind on other things. Fighting his natural urges, he propped himself up on his elbows. ‘I really should go.’

  ‘Okay.’ Anna stopped what she was doing and climbed off him, eliciting another sigh. Her casual acceptance of the demands of his job disconcerted him. His ego would have liked the occasional protest, except that wouldn’t have worked either. It never had with previous girlfriends. And Anna didn’t have time to get hung up on what may or may not be commanding his attention. Since assuming sole responsibility for Jamie, her autistic younger brother, she’d been presented with a whole raft of needs and demands that had to take precedence. Mariner understood that — most of the time.

  Before dressing, he ducked under the shower for a few minutes, putting on An
na’s shower cap to keep his hair dry. He didn’t want the other detectives on the squad thinking he’d developed a sudden fetish for showering in the middle of the day, even during a heat wave.

  ‘Lovely,’ said Anna when he reappeared still wearing the cap. ‘And there’s a pair of French knickers in the drawer—’ Mariner snatched off the hat and threw it at her, spraying her with water, making her wriggle and shriek and giving him the overwhelming urge to re-join her on the bed. ‘What shall we do on Friday night?’ he asked instead, pulling on his boxer shorts.

  She wrinkled her nose. ‘Actually I fancy a quiet night to myself. I’ve got stuff to do.’

  Mariner curbed his disappointment. ‘Saturday then?’

  ‘If you feel like coming begging with me.’

  ‘Begging?’ Mariner repeated, checking that he’d heard correctly.

  ‘Look in the small bedroom.’

  Mariner walked through, buttoning his shirt as he went. He pushed open the door, or tried to. After a few inches it jammed and when Mariner poked his head through the gap, his eyes lit on an Aladdin’s cave piled high with consumer booty: a wine cellar, electrical store and toy emporium all crammed into one tiny confined space.

  Letting the door close, he went back to Anna. ‘If you’ve started shoplifting again I’ll have to turn you in, you know that.’

  She ignored him. ‘It’s for a tombola stall at Bournville festival next month, to raise funds for Manor Park,’ she said, proudly. ‘Don’t you think I’ve done well?’

  ‘Manor Park’s nowhere near Bournville,’ said Mariner. The festival was a local event held in the grounds of the chocolate factory, not two miles away, whereas Jamie’s respite care facility was located a good six miles out of town, in the wilds of the Worcestershire countryside.

  ‘It doesn’t matter, apparently. We’re a registered charity, so they’re happy to accommodate us. All we have to do is find a day’s worth of prizes.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Simon’s helping me.’

  ‘Oh great.’ Mention of Jamie’s care-worker forced out the response with more sarcasm than he’d intended.

  Anna was oblivious. ‘That might look like loads in there,’ she chattered on. ‘But it’ll be nowhere near enough to keep us going for a whole day. This Saturday we’re targeting Harborne and Bearwood, asking all the shops if they’ve got anything to donate.’

  ‘Is that legal?’

  ‘We’re only asking them. They’re at liberty to say no.’ She smiled one of her most persuasive smiles.

  ‘Same as me then. Hobson’s choice.’ Mariner sat on the edge of the bed to tie his laces.

  ‘You could donate something,’ she said suddenly as the thought occurred. ‘Granville Lane, I mean.’

  ‘What, like a CS canister signed by the chief superintendent? That would be a coup for an adventurous five-year-old.’

  ‘How about a weekend for two in the custody block? Or a set of handcuffs. I can think of a few couples who’d go for that.’ Her smile was pure mischief. ‘There must be something. What about a tour of the nick?’

  ‘I’ll give it some thought,’ said Mariner. ‘In all the spare time I’ll have on Saturday.’

  ‘Poor old you. Look, this is the least I can do. Manor Park has been a lifeline for me.’

  ‘I know.’ God, she was gorgeous, even with a face like that on her.

  ‘Shall I give you a call when we’ve finished? We could go out somewhere to eat.’

  ‘I suppose it’ll have to do.’ Fully dressed, he leaned over and gave her a slow and tender parting kiss. ‘I’ll talk to you soon.’

  * * *

  But driving back to the station Mariner couldn’t shake off a creeping sense of dissatisfaction. He hadn’t meant to sound so aggrieved. His reaction was especially ironic given that Anna’s independence was one of the things that had attracted him to her in the first place. It had been liberating to be with a woman who had as many obligations as he did, and who therefore wasn’t constantly checking up on him. But somewhere recently the balance had shifted and increasingly the relationship was on her terms only.

  To begin with that had been inevitable because of her commitment to Jamie, and Mariner had waited patiently while Anna did what she felt was right by her younger brother. But now with regular respite care Jamie was becoming more independent and Mariner had always assumed that in consequence he and Anna would spend more time together. Instead, she just seemed to find other things to occupy her, such as this latest round of frenetic fundraising. The fact that she was completely open and honest about her intentions, giving him absolutely no reason to feel threatened and thereby casting him as the selfish one, only salted the wound. It was a new experience. Accustomed to being more needed than needy, Mariner didn’t much like the reversal.

  * * *

  The air conditioning had made his car just about tolerable by the time he pulled into the station parking lot, and he’d have liked to have lingered a while in the relative cool. But glancing up he caught sight of a familiar figure pacing the pavement outside the main doors, pulling anxiously on cigarette. He got out and walked over to her.

  ‘Colleen?’

  Turning, the young woman flicked ash onto the pavement. ‘You took your time.’

  ‘I was out on a call.’ Shagging my girlfriend, but we won’t go into that. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘It’s my boy: Ricky,’ she said. ‘He didn’t come home last night.’

  Here we go again, thought Mariner, but he said nothing and hoped that his face had stayed neutral. Mariner had known Colleen Skeet for more than ten years, since back when he was in uniform and her husband used her as a punch bag on a regular basis. She must be in her mid-thirties now, though she still looked little more than a kid herself, small and painfully thin, her mousy hair pulled back from a pale, freckled face into a tight ponytail. Today, only the dark circles beneath her eyes betrayed her age and the extent of her anxiety.

  ‘Have you reported it in there?’ Mariner nodded towards the station.

  ‘They said I could talk to someone. But I wanted to wait for you.’

  ‘Well, here I am. Let’s go inside, out of the heat.’

  ‘I can’t smoke in there.’

  ‘Maybe I’ll bend the rules a little.’

  ‘You don’t like it though.’

  ‘Christ, Colleen. When did you start considering my sensibilities?’ It raised a weak smile. ‘All right. Finish up and then we’ll go in.’

  CHAPTER 2

  ‘So tell me what’s happened.’ The interview room was eight feet square, with a tiny window, and even without Colleen’s cigarette smoke the air was heavy and stale.

  ‘Ronnie turned up,’ she said, chewing on a fingernail. She was sitting back in her seat, the other hand cupped beneath her elbow. ‘He was there Saturday afternoon when I got home from work.’

  Mariner shook his head in disbelief. ‘Why do you let him in?’

  ‘He’s the father of my kids.’ She was petulant. ‘Whatever he might have done, he’s still their dad. He’d brought Ricky the new Man U shirt, which really annoyed me because I’d already said he couldn’t have another one.’

  ‘All the choices around here and he’s still a Man U fan?’ said Mariner. ‘That lad’s got no sense of loyalty.’

  ‘Ronnie was spinning all sorts of yarns, you know, all the usual crap about how he’d sort things out and one day he’d come home and we could all be together like before.’

  ‘I hope you didn’t fall for it.’

  ‘What do you think? He’d already had a drink. Ricky knows it’s all rubbish too, but I think underneath it all he really wants to believe him. Ronnie might not have been the best husband but he was good with Ricky, taking him fishing and to the football. Ricky would love to have his dad back and us be a happy family again.’

  ‘Wasn’t all that happy as I remember it,’ said Mariner.

  ‘You know what I mean. Anyway, Ronnie stayed all day Sunday, took Ricky down the social c
lub with him, stopped the night. On the sofa.’ She emphasised those words. ‘When we got up Monday morning, Ronnie had done his disappearing act. Ricky was upset but I thought he’d get over it. I mean, it’s not the first time, is it? When he was little it didn’t seem to matter so much. He had me. But now he’s growing up. He sees his mates going off to the match or down the pub with their dads and he knows he’s missing out.’

  ‘How old is he now?’

  ‘Fifteen, the kind of age where he needs a man about.’ She looked up at Mariner, catching him off-guard. ‘You must remember that.’

  Mariner had forgotten how well Colleen knew him. A moment’s indiscretion in the dead of night, once when she was going through a bad patch — the second beating within a fortnight. ‘My dad used to hit me too,’ she’d told him. ‘I must deserve it.’

  ‘That’s rubbish,’ he’d said. ‘Nobody deserves this.’

  She’d laughed, a short, bitter laugh. ‘Yeah, I don’t suppose your old man ever laid a finger on you.’

  ‘No,’ he’d admitted. ‘But that’s only because I’ve never met him.’

  She’d looked at him differently after that.

  ‘It’s too long ago,’ he lied now, though in his case there had never been any question of his dad turning up. He wondered if having a disappearing dad was worse than having one who’s non-existent.

  ‘Anyway,’ Colleen went on. ‘Ricky went off to school as usual Monday morning a bit quiet, but I never thought anything of it. He wasn’t there when I got home from work that night. He must have come in after I’d gone to bed. Then last night he didn’t come in at all. His bed hasn’t been slept in.’

  ‘Ricky has done this before,’ Mariner reminded her gently. ‘Gone off.’

  ‘Not like this. A couple of times he’s stayed out all day at the weekend, and sometimes late after school, too.’ She leaned in towards Mariner, urgency written all over her features. ‘But he’s never been out all night. First thing I knew, I got a call from the school asking where he was because he hadn’t turned up. When they talked to his friends — and that didn’t take long — they hadn’t seen him since yesterday afternoon. They got let out early because of the heat. Ricky hasn’t stayed out this long since before Ronnie left us.’