Page 72 of Twisted Lies

‘And you saw how unhelpful she was with certain questions?’

‘I did.’

‘And you still think I was harsh with her?’

‘I think the main source of your anger is because she didn’t share the secret of their identity.’

‘She’s a police officer, and in the game of criminal investigation, nothing trumps murder.’

‘It was more than her job was worth.’

‘Nothing trumps murder,’ she repeated.

Bryant refused to budge. ‘It’s her job to keep their secret. Their lives depend on it.’

‘Let’s go ask Keith Phipps how that’s working out for him so far. Oh, hang on, we can’t cos he’s dead.’

‘You know, guv, there are days when I could say the earth was round and you’d disagree with me.’

‘Guess what my answer is,’ she challenged.

‘Nothing trumps murder, I know, so I think I’ll shut up and drive.’

Fifty-Eight

Frost groaned as she tried to get out of bed. On the third attempt, she managed to push herself to a sitting position and couldn’t wait to get out of the damn thing. She’d tossed and turned, moaned and groaned, trying to get her neck and shoulders into a comfortable position. Eventually, she’d hitched herself to a sitting position and fallen asleep, exhausted, for just a couple of hours.

She groaned some more as she made it to the bathroom and back again. She glanced at her clothes, but there was no way she was attempting to get dressed until she had to collect the hire car she’d arranged online last night.

Fitz wasn’t expecting her at the office, and she had played down the shunt when he’d called her, following her brief text message. She had told him nothing of the call from Morley’s people. If he was the man she thought he was, he would refuse to print any more articles on Trisha Morley to ensure her safety. And right now, she didn’t want him to be the man she thought he was.

Whereas she could lie to everyone else, she couldn’t as easily lie to herself. Yes, the accident had scared her. Yes, she’d wondered if she should continue; but just as she was scared, she was also now pissed off.

The truth was that she’d spent many years hating herself for backing off. Like many others, she’d been bullied mercilessly all her school life because of her deformity, and she had taken it. She had allowed the bullies to intimidate and frighten her. She had taken it silently and cried alone. She had despised herself for not standing up to them, and once she left school, she had vowed never to let anyone make her feel that way again.

For now, she would stay in her pyjamas and carry on with what she’d planned. Today her article was about the forensic evidence presented at trial. The pieces of Trisha that hadn’t burned with the rest of her.

She placed cushions on the sofa and made a pot of coffee before switching on her laptop.

It was time to throw another bun.

Fifty-Nine

Stacey couldn’t quite work out the woman who was sitting at the spare desk, fiddling with something on her phone.

Not once had she shown any emotion when talking about the lives of the family she’d been protecting, or when confronted by the horrific photos of Keith Phipps on the board. Leanne had identified the body, so she knew how Keith had looked, but Stacey couldn’t look at the pictures without feeling something and she hadn’t even known the guy.

Stacey understood the woman was available to them as a go-between to the UKPPS. She just wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do with her in the meantime.

She resolved to do nothing and pretend she wasn’t even there. Penn had already donned his headphones and got stuck in.

She picked up the phone and dialled the contact number she’d been given by the boss for DI Lynes.

He answered on the fourth ring.

She introduced herself.

‘I’ve been waiting for your call,’ he stated, his voice giving no indication of how he felt about it. ‘So you gonna give me any idea what’s going on? Why we have to open up all our findings to you guys up in the Black Country?’