C.L. Taylor: The Lie

Published by Avon

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2015

Copyright © C.L. Taylor 2015

C.L. Taylor asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780007544271

Ebook Edition © April 2015 ISBN: 9780007544264

Version: 2020-03-16

“ Black Narcissus for the Facebook generation; a clever exploration of how petty jealousies and misunderstandings can unravel even the tightest of friendships. Claustrophobic and tense, a thrill-ride of a novel that keeps you guessing.”

Elizabeth Haynes

“ The Lie is absolutely brilliant – The Beach , only darker, more thrilling and more tense. Compelling, addictive and wonderfully written.”

Louise Douglas

“Creepy, horrifying and twisty. C.L. Taylor is extremely good at writing stories in which you have no idea which characters you can trust, and the result is intriguing, scary and extremely gripping.”

Julie Cohen, 2014 Richard and Judy Summer Book Club Pick

“A gripping and disturbing psychological thriller: every bit as good as The Accident .”

Clare Mackintosh

“C.L. Taylor delivers another compelling read that’ll keep you turning pages way too late into the night. Warning: may cause drowsiness the following day.”

Tamar Cohen

“My heart was racing after I finished The Lie . Dark, creepy and full of twists. I loved it.”

Rowan Coleman

To Laura B, Georgie D and Minal S

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Praise for The Lie

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Acknowledgements

Read on for an extract of Strangers

Book club questions for The Lie by C.L. Taylor

A Conversation with C.L. Taylor

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also by C.L. Taylor

About the Publisher

I know he’s trouble before he even sets foot in the building. I can tell by the way he slams the door of his 4×4 and storms across the car park without waiting to see if his short, bespectacled wife is following him. When he reaches the glass double doors to reception, I avert my gaze back to my computer screen. It’s best to avoid direct eye contact with an aggressor. When you spend twelve hours a day with dangerous animals, you learn a lot about confrontation, fear and hostility – and not just in relation to dogs.

The bell above the doors rings as the man enters the reception area, but I continue to enter the details of a seven-day evaluation into the computer database. An Alsatian-cross called Tyson was brought in by an inspector a week ago. We’ve been evaluating him ever since, and I’ve identified behavioural issues with other dogs, cats and humans – unsurprising in a former drug-den guard dog. Some people believe that a dog like Tyson should be put down for his own good, but I know we can rehabilitate him. Your past doesn’t have to define your future.

“Where’s my fucking dog?” The man rests his elbows on the reception counter and juts out his chin, contempt etched onto his thin, sunken face. His shoulders are narrow beneath an oversized leather jacket and his jeans hang loosely from his hips. He can’t be much older than late forties, early fifties tops, but he looks worn down by life. I suspect he’s the sort to own a dangerous breed. Small man, big car. Big dog, too. No wonder he wants him back. He’s missing his canine penis extension.

“Can I help you?” I swivel round to face him, and smile.

“I want my dog. One of my neighbours saw the inspector turn up when we was out. They took him out the back garden. I want him back.”

“He’s called Jack, he’s a Staffordshire bull terrier and he’s five years old.” His bespectacled wife puffs into the reception area, her black leggings sagging at the knees, her pink lipstick neatly applied and her grey-streaked hair scraped back into a tight ponytail.

“And your name is?” I look back at her husband.

“Gary. Gary Fullerton,” the man replies, ignoring his wife.

I know the dog they are talking about. Jack was brought in four days ago. His right eye was so swollen it was sealed shut, his lip was torn and bloody and his left ear was so mangled the vet had to remove half of it. He’d been in a fight but it clearly wasn’t a one-off. You could tell that by the scars on his body and the wounds on his face. This owner’s obviously fresh from the police station. On bail pending a hearing, probably.

My smile fades. “I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

“I know he’s here,” the man says. “You can’t keep him. We haven’t done anything wrong. He got into a fight in the park, that’s all. We’ve got seven days to claim him. That’s what my mate said.”

I angle myself away from him so my shoulders are square on to the computer and we’re no longer facing each other. “I’m sorry but I can’t discuss special cases.”

“Oi!” He leans over the counter and reaches for the monitor, yanking it towards him. “I’m talking to you.”

“Gary …” His wife touches his arm. He glares at her but lets go of the monitor. “Please.” She peers at my name badge. “Please, Jane, we just want to see Jack, that’s all, just to check he’s okay. We don’t want any trouble; we just want to see our boy.”

Her eyes mist with tears behind her glasses, but I don’t feel sorry for her. She must know Gary enters Jack into fights. She’s probably objected from time to time, maybe tried her best to clean Jack up with a wet flannel afterwards, but, ultimately, she’s done nothing to stop that dog getting torn to bits.