Джеймс Паттерсон - Liar Liar

I looked, keeping my head low, pretending to browse through a magazine in a convenience store while I filled my hoodie pockets with snacks for the road. Something told me I was going to be on the move soon. Regan was going to kill again. He was going to make things ‘personal’. There weren’t many people who meant anything to me anymore, not now that Sam was dead. I’d felt better after warning Whitt. But I needed to think laterally. Be smart. He might murder someone I cared about, or he might murder someone in front of me. Make the experience ‘personal’ that way. Any of the people around me could be a target. Even the strangers. He’d said he wouldn’t follow me, but Regan was a liar, a manipulator.

The shopkeeper was oblivious to my stealing. He stood with a hand on the glass countertop, chatting to a young mother who was buying lottery tickets.

Mention of my name on the television in the corner of the store distracted me. The people at the counter had turned to watch. I pulled my cap lower as a picture of me flashed on the screen beside a video of my chief, Pops, reading from a piece of paper. He looked old, tired. A man I recognised as Deputy Police Commissioner Joseph Woods stood at the corner of the screen, looking bored. Was he on the case now? I knew little about Woods other than that he was powerful, a hard-arse who had influence and knew how to use it.

‘She is an official missing person,’ Pops said. ‘We want to stress that the reward for her whereabouts does not imply any wrongdoing on Detective Blue’s part. The reward is being offered by an individual, not the New South Wales Police.’

One hundred thousand dollars for Harriet Blue’s location , the banner read.

‘Oh no.’ I covered my eyes. I knew instantly that he had done this himself. Pops didn’t care about money. He wanted me home. I was his pet project. His lost cause. He would never stop believing in me. He would not let me ruin my career, my life, by taking revenge on Regan.

‘This’ll flush her out,’ the shopkeeper commented as I shoved the magazine back onto the rack. ‘A hundred grand? Shit, everyone in the city will be lookin’ for that woman.’

Great , I thought. Just what I need .

My phone buzzed. A text from an unidentified number. Regan. It was a single word.

Nowra .

A suburb two hours’ drive south of Sydney. What? Why was Regan so far away? I held the phone and tried to breathe. Who did I know in Nowra? How would I even get there?

I walked out of the convenience store and turned right, almost ran to the entrance of the train station I knew was on the corner. Stealing a car now in the broad light of day would be too risky. I snuck through the wheelchair access ticket gate and headed down the stairs.

Chapter

28

DEPUTY COMMISSIONER WOODS didn’t look up at the sound of a rapping on the door to his office. He’d spent a half an hour adjusting the space to suit his needs, removing Chief Morris’s many distractions – the framed photographs on his desk, a misshapen clay mug a child had obviously made him, framed awards on the walls. Woods hadn’t needed to take Morris’s office as a command space – there were plenty of other offices in the building that would have suited his needs – but sometimes it was necessary to send a message to the gawkers outside the glass doors. Big Joe Woods was here, and he was cleaning house. Already a detective had stood up to him in front of the task force. He’d nail Whittacker in time, as publically and ceremoniously as he had dumped all Morris’s knick-knacks in a box in the corner.

The officer at the door approached when Woods failed to look up from his paperwork.

‘Deputy Commissioner,’ the officer said. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Nigel Spader. I wanted to take a minute to welcome you to the building, and to the Regan Banks task force.’

Woods didn’t answer. He liked making them uncomfortable, the underlings. It was far more effective than shouting at them, hurling things across the bullpen, as he’d seen other men of his standing do. His approach was psychologically deeper, less predictable. He felt the detective on the other side of his desk squirm.

‘I really think we’ve wasted enough precious time in this investigation so far,’ Nigel said.

‘Oh?’ Woods straightened in his chair, finally looked up.

Nigel lowered his voice.

‘If I may speak candidly, sir. I really feel that the Banks investigation has been tragically mishandled, and I’m looking forward to having someone with your experience and skill in command.’

Woods felt a smile attempt to creep to the surface of his face. He pursed his lips, denying it, and gestured for Nigel to shut the door.

‘I followed the Elizabeth Crassbord case closely,’ Nigel said, seating himself rigidly in the chair before the Commissioner. ‘Very admirable work, sir.’

‘Spader, was it? Oh yes. You were part of the original Georges River Killer task force, weren’t you?’ Woods said, glancing at his personnel pages. ‘You’ve been here since the beginning.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Nigel said. ‘And I think that yesterday’s incident in the records room was indicative of the disaster this case has been from the beginning. A double murder in our own station?’ Nigel shook his head, puffed out his cheeks. ‘We have a lot of reputation-saving to do. And I think that, when you bring down Regan Banks – and I know you will, sir – part of the clean-up is going to have to be making Harriet Blue accountable for her role in this.’

‘Now there’s an unusual standpoint.’ Woods plucked at his lower lip. ‘Everyone around here seems to be an avid Blue fan.’

‘Not me,’ Nigel sneered. ‘Harriet Blue is a disgrace to the badge, sir. She has physically assaulted me on a number of occasions. Well, I mean to say, she’s attempted to. Unsuccessfully. I was there when her brother was arrested, and I can tell you straight up that rumours of his innocence are unfounded.’

‘Hmm.’ Woods appreciated the man before him. This Nigel Spader was a gifted arse-kisser, but Woods never tired of having arse-kissers around him in his work. They were good for morale. He tapped Spader’s name on the list before him as though trying to make a decision and watched as the detective’s eyes sparkled with excitement.

‘Detective Spader, I like your style. I’m going to charge you with being my right-hand man in this investigation,’ Woods said. ‘Of course, on paper, my second in command has to be Chief Superintendent Trevor Morris. But, I think you and I will both agree, Morris has really fucked the dog on this one.’

Nigel laughed, perhaps too hard.

‘There will be a lot of recognition for the team involved in bringing Banks down,’ Woods said. ‘I’ve been offered six-figure publishing deals in the past for stories of my cases. I’ve been asked to appear on television, to act as a consultant on crime dramas. But I’m a reserved kind of man.’

‘Of course.’ Nigel nodded.

‘I’ve always seen opportunities for promotion on the job as far a more valuable form of reward,’ Woods said. ‘And believe me when I say that, if you stick by my side on this, there will be such opportunities on offer. I guarantee it.’

Nigel stood and straightened his shirt, trying to contain the excitement obviously flickering in the corners of his mouth. As he went to the door and grasped the handle, he paused, trying to decide whether to say what he said next.

‘Deputy Commissioner.’ Nigel took a deep breath. ‘Before I go, I’d just like to add … Many of us experience family difficulties, and these can impact on our standing in the job. But I want you to know that I believe, and many of us believe, that your daughter’s situation in no way reflects on your character as a police officer.’