Page 52 of Twisted Lies

Damn, that woman knew he was privy to the Phippses’ past, and she would be back with a piece of paper that would force him to hand over the records.

He had known the minute the car pulled on to the drive that it was police officers, and they only ever visited him for one reason. He had been determined not to allow them access to the house, fearing they would find some clever way to get into his paper records: some kind of diversion or sleight of hand.

He had played the only card he had. A polite refusal when first asked was acceptable, even to law enforcement. Not complying with a court order was another matter entirely.

‘Damn, damn, damn,’ he cursed aloud as he headed back into his office, unsure of his next move.

The last thing he wanted to do was piss off Matrix Enterprises. It wasn’t that they gave him a lot of business, but they were happy to foot the bill for as long as he deemed necessary.

Yeah, of course Tommy Phipps had experienced problems when the family first moved to the Black Country. Who wouldn’t? He was a kid. And on his monthly report to Matrix, he’d listed issues like ‘displacement anxiety’ and ‘past life grief’, but the kid kept coming back, still talking about missing his friends, his school and relatives. All perfectly normal, but he was being paid a handsome amount per hour to listen.

He wanted to maintain the trust of Matrix, and he had no idea what would happen if his records got into the hands of the detective inspector.

He took out his phone and scrolled down to the contact listed as ‘Babysitter’.

The call was answered on the second ring. The voice was breathless. ‘What?’

‘It’s Doctor Crewson,’ he said, unlocking the filing cabinet.

‘What is it?’

The voice was short and sharp.

‘The police were here, asking about Tommy.’

‘Shit. What do they know?’

‘Not a lot,’ he said, placing the file on the desk. ‘They’re fishing, but I’m pretty sure they’re going to be back.’

‘Okay, let me think.’

The phone went silent, and he listened for the response. He wasn’t surprised when the three words came.

‘Destroy the file.’

He leaned over and switched on the shredding machine.

‘Okay,’ he said as the tension started to ease out of his body. ‘And thanks for your help, Leanne.’

Forty-One

Frost dropped her reading glasses onto the court transcripts and rubbed at her eyes. It made for depressing reading – but more than that.

She was well aware that there was nothing she could do to change the direction of the forthcoming trial. Her motivation in writing the series of articles had been to bring TrishaMorley’s name back into the spotlight, to refocus the public on what the man had actually done, instead of the saintly image that was filling column inches.

Reading the transcripts in full, she could see why the jury had struggled to convict him.

The Crown Prosecution’s case had focused not on the forensics so much as the pattern of behaviour of Nick Morley. Cleverly, the defence had not disputed that Trisha Morley was dead, just that Nick Morley was the one who had done it.

But the strategy of the CPS had been flawed. Yes, Trisha’s medical records showed a litany of horrific injuries – but there was one major issue, Frost realised, as she read once again through the list she’d made.

Injury – Broken finger… Reason – Hammering a nail.

Injury – Facial swelling and bruising and cut lip… Reason – Walked into a door.

Injury – Broken foot… Reason – Slab dropped on toes.

Injury – Dislocated shoulder… Reason – Fell over in bathroom.