Perfect Little Lies (DS Nick Bailey & DC Zoe Hall Thriller Series Book 1) Read online

  First published in Great Britain in 2021 by Rampage Press

  Copyright© S A Tameez 2021

  All rights are reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the publisher.

  eBook - ASIN: ‎ B09796P96C

  Rampage Press

  11 Duke Street, Buckinghamshire

  HP13 6AA

  www.rampagepress.com

  [email protected]

  Also by S A Tameez

  The Refugee

  Let Me Out

  Area-L

  Children’s Fiction

  Alex The Extraordinary

  S A Tameez is a crime thriller writer who is best known for his emotional thriller novel The Refugee and psychological thriller Let Me Out.

  The British born author began his writing journey after graduating from Buckinghamshire University. He wrote for numerous blogs, websites and news articles before writing his first novel.

  Tameez spends his spare time encouraging young people to read and teaches creative writing.

  To keep updated with the author, you can find him on his official author website: www.satameez.com

  PERFECT LITTLE LIES

  By S. A. Tameez

  RAMPAGE PRESS

  Chapter 1

  The town was quiet – people roamed like zombies – eyes glued to screens; earphones plugged into ears – oblivious to the world around them.

  See no evil – hear no evil.

  It was easy to be invisible. No one was watching – no one was listening – except me.

  I sat in Starbucks, a few tables away. Like a lousy cliché, I hid behind a pair of large sunglasses and last week’s newspaper. I watched as she sipped her white chocolate mocha. Her golden ponytail waddled as she spoke to the boy opposite her. Animated. Unable to wipe the childish grin from her face. Her dimples, which usually only appeared when she smiled widely, were frozen on her cheeks.

  Who was he? I speculated.

  A friend?

  A boyfriend?

  I didn’t like him. Not because he was sitting with her – I didn’t like his kind. Tall and athletic; all the looks, no personality, no brain.

  A pretty boy.

  She liked him. She made it obvious.

  It wasn’t fair that people like him got everything.

  And it was damn unfair that people like her went around breaking hearts.

  She had to be stopped.

  I had to stop her.

  And for more reasons than one.

  After

  Startled — Nick glanced at the traffic lights. They had been green long enough to irritate the driver behind. He was usually the one who impatiently horned to wake the driver in front. But not today. Today was different. Today, he wouldn’t mind if the world just stopped spinning.

  “You OK?” Stacey asked. More an accusation than a question. She searched his face for the truth. A moment longer and she would infiltrate the walls and find it. He couldn’t allow that, he was prepared to say anything other than the truth.

  Truth, whole truth, and nothing but lies.

  Because lying and not telling the truth were completely different.

  “Yeah, fine,” Nick replied without facing her in case his eyes betrayed him.

  “It’s just… you haven’t said a word the entire way.” A deafening silence filled the car. “You are still excited about everything, right?”

  “What?” He coughed lightly, “Course,” He felt a lump spawned by guilt and nerves in his throat.

  “Good! Because I’m going to need you now.” This was a demand, criticism, and question all in one. A simple statement to an outsider but in actuality, a complex, encrypted message. Decrypted, it meant – you better be there! You have not been there for me so far! You will be there, right?

  “I know, honey. I’m right here.” Nick gave the default response.

  “You’re miles away.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just work and…”

  “And…”

  “Well,’ He paused. He reminded himself that he didn’t have to say anything. Under no duress. He had the right to remain silent – especially regarding his feelings and thoughts. He had exercised those rights for a while now and was the better for it.

  “I’m nervous.” The words sprayed out like water from a burst pipe. He didn’t even realise he confessed until it was too late. He didn’t want to admit, even to himself, that he was anxious, afraid even. But his brain had gone into autopilot. And this was not good for anyone. He had to regain control – stop himself from saying something he would later regret. The truth.

  Stacey’s smile cut through the tension like a knife.

  “Me too,” she said with relief in her voice. It was as if she knew Nick was panicking all along but needed him to admit it. “But you need to keep it together.”

  “I know,” he replied like a schoolboy being told off, “I’m sorry.”

  “And stop apologising.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Jesus, Nick,” she laughed. “We’re going for a scan, not a murder trial!” She stared out of the window and shook her head.

  How could he possibly tell her he’d be less nervous at a murder trial? He couldn’t. She wouldn’t understand, and even if she did, it would just complicate things. The last thing he needed right now was complications.

  “I know… and I am excited.” He turned the heating down – sweat formed above his lip. He wiped it quickly, accidently scratching himself with his watch but tried not to wince.

  “OK, good.” She rubbed her bump. “Now drive a little faster, we might get a parking ticket.”

  She was good under pressure and often found the comedy in tragedy. A quality Nick both liked and loathed. She was brilliantly funny, but her timing was usually off.

  He was no stranger to pressure. He was a Detective Sergeant in the MET. DS Nick Bailey, he would proudly introduce himself if anyone asked. From young, Nick longed to be a copper. His father was a PC and had been exactly that for 30 years. He loved it and never planned to move up ranks. Nick’s mother would nag him for not being ambitious, but Nick knew that wasn’t true. His father was a proud bobby on the beat.

  “PCs do the groundwork.” He’d say to Nick whenever they spoke about his job. “I couldn’t sit behind a desk in the ‘Brains Department’ all day like those big-bellied bureaucrats. No, I belong out there, on the front line.”

  He admired father for that; he knew what he wanted and held his guns. Nick wanted to be just like him – he religiously wore his father’s helmet while scoffing his cereal every morning. When Nick did eventually join the force, the thrill of solving crimes intrigued him far more than patrolling the streets in uniform. The helmet had lost its appeal.

  His palms were moist as they approached the hospital. He secretly hoped lack of parking would force him to drop her off at the front and let her go in alone.

  There was plenty of parking.

  He despised his selfish thoughts.

  Time changed according to circumstances – staring at other people flicking through outdated magazines in the waiting room until the overworked and demotivated nurse called your name felt like days. Then waiting for the scanning equipment to be set up and nervously anticipating the midwife’s verdict would feel like forever. Whereas, if he inconsiderately waited in the car, he could read a book or listen to the radio, and it would feel like minutes before Stacey waddled back wit
h the results. A cowardly yet appealing alternative.

  He tried not to sigh when he saw the empty parking bay next to the entrance – how bitterly convenient.

  The waiting room was how he had imagined it. Murky carpets with faint stains and scattered wooden chairs. An aroma of damp wood combined with strong disinfectant.

  Stifling.

  Most of the chairs were occupied. A quick scan of the room. A young couple sat in the corner facing away from each other as if they had just had a row. A man in a white shirt sat close by bashing away at his laptop and cursing under his breath. An elderly couple with eyes half open and young boy that looked mischievously at the water dispenser.

  The automatic door let in a refreshing breeze but only opened twice in the 30 minutes they waited until Stacey’s name was called.

  “Follow me.” The chubby nurse said as she dragged her feet along the corridor. Her tone and body language suggested she didn’t want to be there. No eye contact and no attempt to smile. They were simply a name on the clipboard, and her purpose was to ensure the name got to the designated room. Anything above that was clearly not her remit.

  Stacey locked her fingers through Nick’s and squeezed his hand. It felt natural, as if they were designed to fit. Nick pressed back and as if like a secret combination, it unlocked a smile. They smirked at each other like naughty school children. It had been a while since they had spent any “real” time together. Stacey had continued to teach up until the eighth month of the pregnancy despite having some complications in the first trimester, and Nick had been bogged down with case after case, or so he told himself. Late nights and early starts almost every day. No morning jogs, date nights or sitting on the couch and reading together for the past several months. Two people who shared a house, shared a mortgage and bills but lived separate lives.

  The strange split-second moment of staring into each other’s eyes and holding hands ignited something deep inside him, something he thought had gone forever. Nights of creeping into the house, hoping she would be asleep so he could look through casework, now seemed like wasted prospects. Openings to be happy. But life was a difficult juggling act. Not easy to sit in front of the box pretending to care about what happened to Ian from EastEnders after working on a homicide case all day. The faces of victims, the list of suspects and the niggling feeling that you missed something important – something right under your nose. The real world was much more twisted than the shows Stacey watched.

  The nurse banged her knuckles on the door twice and then opened it. A bright room with dazzling white walls surrounded by complex looking machines. A blond-haired lady, who Nick assumed was the midwife, swivelled her chair and greeted them with a smile. She was thin and wore red lipstick and didn’t look a day over 35. For reasons he couldn’t explain, he expected her to be an old overweight woman with cloud-like hair and an empathetic smile. Served him right for not attending any of the previous scans. He wasn’t getting nominated for the husband of the year award that was for sure.

  His phone vibrated in his pocket as Stacey lay down on the bed. He knew it was the station. He had been working on finding a missing girl for a week, and there were no solid leads. Harold was on his back about the investigation. This was the kind of pressure he was used to.

  He wanted to take the call – he needed to take the call. He glanced at Stacey as she lay on the bed and the midwife pasted gel on her bump. Her face was glowing, and their fingers still intertwined. He couldn’t ruin this for her – for them. He wasn’t part of the pregnancy; this was her thing and he was merely a chaperone. A terrible chaperone. Torn between being a husband and a detective – now it would be a three-way tear. Impossible.

  The phone wasn’t stopping. It was an important case, but which one wasn’t? One important case would finish another would start – each feeling more important than the previous – a never-ending cycle of misery. There would always be a case he needed to attend to, but would there be many more moments like this? Being here for his other half – better half – sharing the excitement, sharing the joy?

  He used his other hand to reach into his pocket and caressed his way to the volume button. He pressed it, and the buzzing stopped. A difficult choice as the case was going nowhere and had received a lot of press attention. He had to keep reminding himself that it was work and this, he stared at Stacey, was life. They both had their places and their rights. Unlocking his fingers, letting go of her hand might mean letting go of her for good. He didn’t want that. She meant more to him than anything else.

  He smiled when their eyes met, but her smile faded. It was as if she had intercepted his thoughts or his eyes betrayed him and told her everything. Informed her that he was here but not entirely. She had him but not all of him.

  The phone vibrated again, this time the room was silent. Stacey’s expression indicated she heard it.

  “Sorry,” Nick whispered and rummaged in his pocket to silence it again.

  “Don’t be,” Stacey said. “It’s probably work. Shouldn’t you take it?”

  “No. I don’t want to take the call right now,” he lied. All he wanted to do was take that call.

  Stacey squeezed his hand a little harder, and her smile resurfaced, “I know how important your job is, and besides, the baby is fine. Look.” She gestured to the monitor that showed a disproportionate head and body and two little legs kicking. Nick’s eyes remained glued to the screen. That was the first time he laid eyes on their little boy. Guilt took the form of a fist and punched him hard in the gut. He simultaneously felt hungry and sick.

  His phone vibrated again.

  “Take the call!” The midwife commanded without looking away from her computer screen. Stacey and the midwife chuckled and then began talking among themselves. Although it felt sinful, he slipped his hand out of Stacey’s and crept towards the door without looking back.

  “Nick Bailey,” he answered quietly, ignoring the ‘no phones’ symbol on the wall next to him.

  “Nick, where have you been?!” the voice on the other end demanded.

  “Sir I—”

  “A couple of joggers discovered a body in Southbank.”

  “When?” Adrenaline coursed through his veins. It didn’t matter how many times he heard about a body being found, he never got used that sinking feeling. And in that split second a million thoughts flashed through his mind; who did they find? A man? A woman? A child? He didn’t know which was worse. If there was a worse. A life was a life and a life lost was life lost.

  “An hour ago. A young, IC1 female. Blond, 5’7. She fits the description of Sarah Fowler.”

  Nick’s heart dropped to his ankles. His chest tightened. He had so desperately hoped to find Sarah alive – wished she had run away to prove a point or make a statement, though his instincts and experience had already told him otherwise. No one ran away without taking anything. She vanished without a trace. If this was Sarah, he had failed.

  “I need you to get down there now. I’ve sent you a text with the location.”

  Nick peered back towards the door behind which his future lay. He sighed silently and rested the phone on his forehead. How could he tell Stacey he needed to rush off the first time he showed the slightest interest in her and their baby? He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. This was his time to shine as a husband and as a soon to be father. He needed to tell Harold that this was his day off and he was not a detective today. Today he was a husband, a family man.

  “Nick?” He could hear DCI Harold Bishop’s voice from the phone’s speaker.

  He put it back to his ear, “Sir,”

  “Well, are you on your way?”

  He paused, “Yes, on route,” he said robotically. Defeated in his fight against himself. Proving that he already prioritised his job over his family.

  He put the phone back into his pocket and rested his forehead on the door. Only if there was a pause button. Better yet, rewind. He felt like a drug addict moments before relapse. He thought of the brief hand in hand encou
nter he had just had with his wife and then the expression she would have when he told her that she wasn’t important enough for him to hang around.

  He took a few deep breaths and pushed the door open.

  “There you are. Thought you might have run away.” Stacey said, now standing. “We’re all done.”

  He hadn’t seen her this happy in months. It was wrong, he should be sharing that smile, sharing the delight, but instead, he was drowning in guilt. Guilt for failing to be there for her and guilt for not finding Sarah Fowler in time.

  Stacey looked in his eyes; he was now convinced she could read his mind.

  “Thank you,” she said to the midwife who returned the smile, and they left the room.

  “What’s wrong?” Stacey asked as they walked through the corridor towards the exit.

  “They’ve found a body.” Nick said. He knew he shouldn’t be telling her that but told her anyway. Perhaps he told her so she could sympathise with his emotional neglect for her. Or perhaps it was so she felt guilty and told him to go.

  “Oh my God!” she said and then moved closer and lowered her voice, “Do they know who it is?”

  “No. A young girl.” He dared not say her name. Less painful to say, ‘a girl’ or ‘a man’ or better yet, ‘a body’. The less human, the better. A feeble attempt at desensitisation.

  “The girl that went missing?” Her eyes opened wider. A cold breeze rippled through him.

  “You know about the missing girl?” He still couldn’t bring himself to say her name in the fear that if he did, her spirit would be summoned and question why he didn’t find her in time.

  “Of course. People have been talking about it, and it’s in the papers,” she spoke fast without taking a breath. “But her mother was adamant she ran away, that’s why she did that appeal asking her to return home. They had some argument. She stormed out and didn’t come back.”

  “Wow. You have been keeping up to date with things.”