Little White Lies (25 page)

Within seconds, a policewoman is at my side. I turn quickly, but there’s no sign of Christian as a train rushes past.

He’s vanished. The officers scramble past each other in a flurry.

“He crossed the barrier! Possible fatality!” a policeman calls into his walkie-talkie. “Ambulance required!”

What
?
I stare at the train in horror as it slows into the station, my blood running cold as realization dawns.

Oh my God—Christian jumped in front of a train!

“So let me get this straight, Cinderella.” Detective Inspector Goldsmith glances at my still-shoeless foot as he leans back in his chair and smooths his ginger comb-over. “You’re saying that Leo Niles, a guy who’s convicted for burglary, who left a teenager in a coma, who broke his curfew, kidnapped you, and held you hostage in order to escape from the police, has somehow convinced you he’s actually innocent?” He smiles at me like a primary-school teacher.

“He
is
innocent.” I glare at him. His face is the same shade as the dirty gray walls but even more pitted.

“I’ve heard of Stockholm syndrome, of course, but I’ve never understood it.”

“Maybe you’re not smart enough?” I suggest.

His smile hardens. “If Niles is innocent, then why did he run?” He leans forward. “Why did he cut your throat?”

My hand flies to the plaster on my neck.

“And why did he break his curfew in the first place?”

“Because you put him in danger,” I counter angrily.

“I
did?” He raises his eyebrows so high they’d almost meet his hairline, if he had one.

“You were the only ones who knew where he was living, except, oh yeah, the mob of violent thugs who torched his house. Funny, that.”

“The
only
ones?” He arches an eyebrow and my stomach lurches.
Does he know?

“Young lady, there are any number of ways Niles could have inadvertently disclosed his location—p
eople get careless.”

“Yeah, especially police,” I mutter.

He narrows his eyes, now in headmaster mode. “I’m sorry?”

“Lose something, did you? Like a crucial piece of evidence?”

He frowns. “What?”

“Poppy’s mobile. With a text that Christian told you would prove his innocence. A text
you
said wasn’t there.”

“His name”—the detective smiles grimly—“is Leo Niles. And he lies. He’s a con man.”

“Only you
didn’t
have the phone, did you?” I continue, my eyes not leaving his for a second. “You never had it.
You
lied. Because I’ve seen it.”

His smile disappears. “Now, listen—”

“And now it will prove he’s innocent.”

He looks at me for a moment. “You mean you have this phone?”

I hesitate, my hand clutching the mobile in my pocket.

He looks at me over his glasses. “If what you say is true, then technically it’s evidence.”

“Evidence you
technically
already have,” I counter. “If what
you
said was true.”

“Perverting the course of justice is a serious offense, young lady,” he warns.

“I don’t have it.” I shove the phone deep into my pocket. I don’t trust him not to wipe the text the minute he sees it.

“Look.” He leans forward. “Heaven knows what Niles has told you, and he’s obviously been quite, shall we say,
persuasive
?” He raises that eyebrow again and I want to pluck it straight off his forehead. “But I led the original investigation, and I have the case file here, and there’s nothing that suggests we ever had Poppy’s mobile phone, or that Niles ever mentioned it to us.”

I stare at him, my jaw set, trying to read his expression. He’s lying. He’s lying to cover his own back.
Isn’t he?

“If you really want to help Leo, to protect him, to give him a chance to prove his innocence, then quite honestly the best way to do that is to convince him to come in.”

“You mean he’s alive?” I say hopefully.

“We haven’t found a body. But sometimes with train accidents there’s not much of a body left to find.” The detective sighs heavily. “Even if Niles escaped, he’s clearly not safe out there—there are people who want to punish him for Poppy’s death, and they’re willing to take the law into their own hands to do so. That is not justice.”

He’s right. Even if Christian got away, where would he go? He’s got an injured leg, he’s wanted by the police, hunted by violent vigilantes... what chance does he have?

Just Poppy’s phone,
I remember, gripping it tightly. It’s his only chance. The only way to prove he’s innocent—the only way he can ever really be safe.

“Help us help him,” DI Goldsmith says, all “concerned father” now. “We can protect him. And if he truly has new evidence, then we will investigate that. Fairly. Justly. Now,” he says gently, “do you know where he might be?”

“No,” I sigh miserably. “I have no idea.”

“Looks like we’re going to be here for a while, then.” He sighs. “I hope you haven’t got any plans for the rest of the day.”

“What?” I glance at the clock. It’s five past two. Poppy’s funeral’s in less than an hour—I’ve been at this stupid police station for over two hours!

“I’ve got all the time in the world.” DI Goldsmith smiles smugly. “We could chat all day, as far as I’m concerned. Or—if you decide to be more cooperativ
e—you can go. It’s up to you.”

I stare at the clock, torn. I can’t give him Poppy’s phone, can’t risk the only possible piece of evidence that Christian’s innocent getting “lost” in the system.

But I can’t miss Poppy’s funeral either. I owe it to Poppy, and Aunt Grace and Millie. I can’t let them down, can’t miss my chance to say goodbye.

“I’m not hiding anything!” I protest.

“Really? Let’s start with your name, shall we, Cinderella?”

“Louise Shepherd,” I say. “You’ve seen my ID.”

“Your
fake
ID, yes. But there’s no Louise Shepherd with your date of birth on the electoral roll, which tells me you’re
lying
.”

My pulse races. I can’t tell them who I
really
am—can’t risk him contacting Neil, or upsetting Aunt Grace, today of all days. But today of all days, I can’t be stuck
here
all afternoon either.... I glance at the clock again anxiously.

Just then, an officer knocks on the door. “Excuse me, sir, this just came through.”

DI Goldsmith takes the sheet of paper and reads it; then his eyebrows shoot through the roof.

“Well, Cindy,” he says. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“Would you like a ride home, love?” a policewoman asks when they finally let me go.

I hesitate. I need to get home as quickly as possible—Aunt Grace will be wondering where on earth I’ve got to—but it won’t help anyone if I show up in a police car. How would I explain?

“No thanks,” I tell her. “I’m fine.”

I step out of the police station and gaze at the busy streets, the bland row of shops, and realize I’m totally lost. And without Christian by my side I feel completely alone.

Where is he?

I head into a phone box, pull some coins from my purse, and call Kenny.

“Lou!” he cries as soon as the call connects. “Are you all right?”

“Yes— No!” I wail miserably. “I’ve got less than an hour to get to Poppy’s funeral and I have no idea where I am, I can’t even see a tube station, and—”

“You’re on Florence Street,” Kenny interrupts. “Cross the road away from the police station, turn left, and take the first road on the right. Vix is waiting for you.”

“What? How did you—”

“Your watch,” he reminds me. “We’re here for you, Titch. Now hurry!”

I find Vix exactly where Kenny said.

“Lou! Thank goodness!” She jumps out of the car to hug me. “It’s twenty past two—I thought you were going to miss the funeral!”

“So did I,” I admit, opening the passenger door.

“No, get in the back,” she tells me. “It’ll be easier to change.”

“Change
?
” I climb in and gasp to find a black dress hanging up, and a shoe box, a black clutch bag, and a packet of sandwiches on the seat.

“Well, you can’t wear a T-shirt and jeans to a funeral!” She shrugs.

“Vix, you are incredible!” I tell her.

“You’d better believe it.” She grins as we pull off. “Kenny’s at your house already, making your excuses. I think the latest is a huge jam on the M1.”

I grin as I tug off Christian’s hoodie. “What would I do without you guys?”

“Um... you’d be late, and grubby, and you’d have been eaten by a dog.” Vix laughs as we swing round a corner. “Luckily you’re never without us—thanks to your watch, we can find you anywhere. Speaking of which, do you know what happened to Christian? They said on the radio that he ran across a railway crossing—did he get away?”

“I don’t know.” My heart flips as I pull the dress over my head. “I think so. They haven’t found a body, and the detective was grilling me pretty hard... that’s a good sign, right?”

“Definitely,” Vix says.

“I hope so, anyway.” I can’t afford to think of the alternative.

“Do you have any way of getting in touch with him?” Vix asks. “Do you know where he’d go?”

“Nope. This time I’ve well and truly lost him,” I sigh. “But it doesn’t matter.”

“What?”

“The only thing that matters is proving his innocence—
actually, can we make a quick stop?” I say quickly as we drive past a mobile phone shop. “I need to get a charger for Poppy’s mobile.”

“Pass it here,” Vix says. “Kenny said there’s a universal phone charger in the glove compartment.”

“What?”

“You’re in his gadgetmobile, remember?” she says. “It’s got
everything
.”

“That’s incredible!” I scramble into the front passenger seat as we wait at traffic lights, watching as Vix plugs Poppy’s phone into the charger, then connects it to the car’s cigarette lighter socket.

Please work, please...

Finally the screen flickers to life.

“Yes!”

Quickly I press the message icon, but it takes forever to load up. I stare at it, waiting, waiting, as it gradually—
agonizingly slowly
—hums back to life, my fingers tightly crossed, praying that Christian’s text is on there.

Suddenly a list of phone numbers springs up before me, and I scroll down them swiftly, searching, searching.... There’re texts from me, from Aunt Grace and Uncle Jim, from other people I don’t know.

“Christian’s number’s not there,” I say, a cold chill shivering down my back.

“What?” Vix says. “Are you sure?”

“Yes—I memorized his number as soon as he gave it to me—it’s not here!”

“Calm down,” Vix says. “Check again.”

I scroll down desperately, further, further, till I’m back months before the assault. Then I check again, more slowly this time, scouring the digits as they pass. But it’s still not there.

I stare numbly at the screen. “Poppy must have deleted it.”

Vix looks at me and I know we’re thinking the same thing.
If it was ever there.
Ignoring the pricking pain in my eyes, I scroll back to the beginning and read all the texts sent the day of Poppy’s attack, in reverse order.

Darling Poppy, we’re all thinking of you. Hope you recover soon xx

I click the next.

You’re in our prayers, dearest Poppy. We love you so much

I open the third text and my heart leaps into my throat.

Hi Popsicle! Hope you’re having a great summer! Mexico is fantastico! I’ve got you a sombrero! See you soon! Lxx

I screw my eyes shut. It’s from me. I hadn’t heard what had happened yet—Aunt Grace decided to wait till I was home, as she didn’t want to ruin my holiday. My stupid,
stupid
holiday.