The Truth Will Out (12 page)

For a second, Helen froze. Then retreated. She shut the door and rested the side of her head on it. When she had agreed to allow Matt to join the Air Cadets last year, she hadn’t bargained on him discovering the world of girls.

Suddenly, a damp shiver rippled down her back, reminding her that she needed to change. The rain had soaked through her coat, wet trousers clung to her ankles. She withdrew to her own room, grabbed a black jumper from the closet and sat on the bed unbuttoning her shirt.

This wasn’t the first time she’d encountered a girl in Matthew’s room, but certainly the only time she’d interrupted something. Helen closed her eyes, desperately trying to recall her own memories at sixteen. Like him she was still at school, studying for her GCSEs. Was she interested in boys, experimenting at this age? She cast her mind back twenty years, but no particular memories came to light. Until John…

As she threw the jumper over her head and stood to fasten her jeans, she thought about the boys’ father.

Helen met John at university and they married soon after graduation when they discovered she was pregnant with an unplanned Matthew. He joined the Army and she played mum. They were married for four years before he died suddenly on a routine helicopter flight from Nuneaton to Oxford. Not a day passed when she didn’t think of him in some way; miss his laugh, his friendship, his zest for life. At times like this she missed his support too, even though he would probably have burst out laughing and turned the whole event into some kind of joke.

For some reason her mind switched to Dean. Dark and athletically handsome, he couldn’t be more different to John. She remembered how he charmed her mother, wheedled friendship out of her boys, and then let them all down. He would be the last person her mother would expect her to meet this evening.

Helen moved back across the landing and hesitated outside Matthew’s room. Her fingers lingered on the handle momentarily, before she changed her mind and headed back down the stairs.

As she entered the kitchen, her Mother handed her a parcel. “Lasagne on the run,” she smiled. Spending the majority of her life with serving police officers, she was well versed in the unusual habits forced upon them.

Too guilty to refuse, Helen took the foil-covered container and placed it in her bag. “Thanks. Did you know Matthew has a girl in his room?”

“Yes, Leah.” Her mother nodded. “They’re just listening to some music.”

“They were doing a lot more than that when I walked in.”

Jane Lavery turned her attention back to the dishwasher. Mugs clicked together as she unpacked.

Helen raised her brows. “He’s only just sixteen.”

Her mother stopped for a moment and met her gaze, a model of composure. When she finally spoke, her voice exuded a quiet confidence. “I’m sure it’s all very innocent.” She turned back to the dishwasher.

Helen stared at her mother’s back astounded, wondering when she had suddenly embraced liberalism. But this was a conversation for another day. “Make him come downstairs, please?”

Her mother looked back at her and nodded silently.

Helen glanced at the clock. “I’ll speak to him later. I need to go now.” She held up her bag. “Thanks for dinner.” And with that she sped out of the kitchen, threw a jacket over her shoulders, called a goodbye out to Robert in the lounge and banged the door shut after her. It had taken less than ten minutes.

Using her bag to shield her head from the unrelenting rain, Helen ran to the car and hurried in. Once seated, she rubbed the back of her neck irritably at how her mother’s values had mellowed somewhat over the years. She certainly hadn’t been this laid-back with Helen in her teens.

She leant forward and turned over the engine as thoughts of work swept back into her mind. She glanced down and flicked the switch to change the radio channel to BBC Hampton, hoping to catch the news. It was always handy to know how far ahead, or indeed behind you, the press were. Instead she was confronted with a Kings of Leon song, “Sex is On Fire”. She promptly turned it off. That was all she needed.

Chapter
Twelve

The moment she was through the door of Hayes Coffee House, Helen spotted Dean. He was seated in the far corner, phone glued to his ear, wearing the blue top she bought him last year. Meeting him here, like this, felt wrong somehow. She hesitated awhile and watched him. He seemed to be having an animated conversation with someone on the phone. Curiosity drove her feet forward.

She’d almost reached him before he noticed her. He immediately stood and pocketed the phone, sending a stray serviette to the floor.

“Everything okay?”

A smile stretched across his face. “Of course.”

She paused. “Because you looked like you were in the middle of something.”

“No, it’s fine. You know what it’s like in this job. Everybody wants a piece of you.” His face softened. “I’m so glad you came.”

She extended a wary hand, but instead of shaking it, he pulled her close to him and kissed the side of her face. As their cheeks brushed, she inhaled that same odour. Combined with the strong smell of coffee and vanilla in the cafe, it was intoxicating.

She nodded abruptly, retrieved her hand and sat, averting her gaze to look around the cafe as she battled to keep a lid on her composure. A young girl, probably early twenties, sat on one of the large sofas in the window, bent over a laptop, her head softly tipping to music from barely visible headphones. Two women were deep in conversation on tall stools beside the bar. The waitress fiddled with what looked like an old CD player behind the counter.

The peacefulness of the atmosphere calmed her. She turned back to Dean, “There was something you wanted to discuss?”

“Yes, of course. Shall we order first?”

She looked up at the menu behind the counter, an automatic gesture - she knew exactly what was on the board. “Just a latte, thank you.”

Helen watched him look towards the counter. The waitress was over in an instant. “Two lattes, please. And two of those double chocolate cookies.” He flashed Helen a smile.

“Oh, not for me… ”

“Who said they were for you? I might be hungry.”

The waitress’ giggles dissipated into the air as she retreated. When he looked back at Helen there was a twinkle in his eye. “So, how have you been?” he asked.

“Fine.”

“You finally got the Homicide Team then?”

“Yes.”

“Pleased?”

The muscles in her thighs tightened. He wasn’t going to make this easy. The last thing she wanted was to engage in small talk, but if she left now she had gleaned nothing. And she needed something. “Of course.” She forced a fleeting smile. “Hard work though.”

He sat back in his chair and sighed heavily. “Know that feeling.”

Silence hung in the air. A surge of laughter turned Helen’s head to the two women at the counter who appeared to be chuckling together at some private joke, lost in their own world.

“How are the boys?”

Helen turned back and fidgeted uncomfortably. “Good.”

“Still playing footie?”

She forced herself to be polite. “Robert is, yes. He’s in the youth league finals on Sunday.”

“Wow! I’ll have to see if I can get over to watch it.”

Helen shook her head as she spoke, “I don’t think that’d be a good idea.” She looked down and found a deep scratch, gouged in the corner of the table. She ran her finger along it.

“Helen, we need to talk.”

She raised her eyes to meet his. “Yes, you said you had some information about the case?”

He leaned forward. “I do. But first we need to talk about us.”

Helen immediately stood. “I have no… ”

“Sit down, please?” The pain behind his eyes irked her. “Just hear me out? That’s all I ask.”

Helen sat down slowly. This was the conversation she dreaded. The one she wanted to avoid.

“You and I had a huge misunderstanding… ”

She widened her eyes as she interrupted, “You lied. You said your marriage was over. You were separated.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t lie. My wife and I were separated last year. But we hadn’t sorted out the financial arrangements, so I was living at the same house in the spare room. That way I could still be around Honey.”

“Honey?”

“My daughter. That text message you received, the one you thought was for my wife? It was meant for Honey. You are right next to each other on my phone.”

Helen desperately tried to recall the few details of his life that he had told her. He had talked about his daughter. She recalled her being around the same age as Matthew, although they’d never met. “Isn’t your daughter’s name, Lucy?”

Dean smiled gently. “Honey is her nickname. I’ve called her that ever since she was a kid.”

She knew that Lucy loved to perform. She remembered how proud he was when she was offered the role of Sandy in a local production of Grease last summer… She racked her brains. Not once did she remember Dean calling Lucy that nickname. She eyed him suspiciously. “Why should I believe you?”

“Because it’s true. I’ve moved out now. I wanted to make a clean break, to show you that I’m serious about you.”

Helen closed her eyes and shook her head. A lump the size of a golf ball pushed its way into her throat. This was more than she could bear. “It’s too late.”

“Don’t say that.” He moved a hand towards her.

His touch prised her eyes open. She dragged her hand back. Right now, she wasn’t sure what to think. “Why didn’t you say so?”

“You wouldn’t take my calls remember? I sent you endless text messages, which I don’t suppose you read?”

Helen’s mind reeled. She had consumed herself in her own sadness, rolled herself up and protected herself from the calls, the messages. The only way she could deal with the blow was to block it from her mind. Until now.

The waitress arrived with their drinks. They were accompanied by two large cookies on separate plates. She placed them down by his coffee. As soon as the waitress retreated, he pushed one towards Helen. “Everyone knows that chocolate is good for you,” he grinned.

Now she saw it. The reason she had fallen for him: the mischievous wit, the boyish charm. This is what had reminded her of John, what made her chuckle. But this, coupled with remarkably handsome looks, was a recipe for disaster.

She ignored the biscuit, looked him straight in the eye. “What was it you wanted to discuss, Dean?”

His mouth was full of cookie and he wiped his lips slowly. She cursed the rush of excitement that hit her. “I want to have a little chat about Jules Paton. Perhaps I can help you with some background.”

Helen jerked her head back. “You said you didn’t have anything?” Dean didn’t answer. He finished the cookie on his plate, scooping up the last of the crumbs with his index finger. “What exactly can you tell me?”

“Well, I guess you know all the obvious – twenty-eight-years-old, five foot eleven, skinny, blond – we call him ‘Willo The Wisp’…

“Dean. We’ve got every officer in the county looking out for him. We know what he looks like.”

“Sure. Well, he was studying sociology and politics at university until he crashed out in the second year. We think that’s where his coke addiction started.”

“We know that too, he was at Nottingham.” Helen scratched the back of her neck. “Do you have something new for me?”

She watched as an intense expression spread like a stain across his face. “He came back to Hamptonshire when he left university and looked for jobs to fund the party boy lifestyle.”

Helen rose from her seat. The chair squeaked on the tiled flooring. “Dean, if you haven’t got anything new to tell me…”

Dean grabbed her arm. “Give me a chance? Please?”

She slowly sat, but her legs still twitched.

“He took jobs in insurance, sales, anything - used his charm to worm his way in.”

You should know, thought Helen.

“But the money was never enough. So, we think he started supplying, selling at big events like parties, weddings, that sort of thing.”

Helen frowned. “Then why haven’t we brought him in?”

“Because he hasn’t been caught in the act.” His mouth twisted awkwardly. “It’s a bit complicated.”

“Oh?”

Dean sighed. “Jules’ family. They were kind of friends of mine.”

“Am I hearing you right?”

His face turned sheepish. “Look, it’s no secret. I went to school with his older brother. We were in a band together. Haven’t seen him in years, but I bumped into Jules a while back. He knew I was in the job and offered some information.”

Helen massaged her temples. “He was an informant?”

Dean’s face contorted. “Not, technically…”

She lifted a brow. “An unregistered informant?”

Dean sighed and looked at the table. When he eventually raised his eyes, they were intense. “We met up a few times. He gave me information. Possible deals and criminal associations. Nothing credible as it turned out. There was talk of a shipment of drugs. But it was always on the horizon.” He sat back in his chair, scratched the back of his ear. “It all stopped a couple of months ago.”

“What happened?”

“He withdrew. Became difficult to get hold of. Said he wanted out, not only with me, but also with the guys he was working with.”

“Why?”

“No idea. Then a week ago, he stopped answering my calls and disappeared altogether.”

***

Nate flexed his triceps as he hovered in the shadows. His victim should have been back hours ago. He rested his eyes a second, blinked, then froze again, like the street entertainers dressed as statues in the city centre.

Nate had developed a knack for patience, honed through experience. He cast his mind back to an encounter at school with Celia Birtle. Celia had been the most popular girl in senior year with long golden curls that looked as natural as sunshine; large blue eyes, a flawless complexion and legs that went on forever. Every testosterone filled guy in the school wanted to get into her pants.

Most kids gave Nate a wide birth through school. He had no interest in his peers, didn’t share their obsession with music, football or comics. Being alone never troubled Nate. Nobody bothered him - he wasn’t sure whether that was because he was bigger than the other kids or a result of being Chilli Franks’ nephew. But he didn’t care. He focused on his boxing and spent hours in the gym every night. By the time he was sixteen he had a six pack and arm definition an Olympic athlete would be proud of.