Someone is Lying, page 19
‘This is Kay Whiting,’ she tells him. She pauses for a moment, wishing she had worked out what to say next when he speaks for her.
‘Ah, Mrs Whiting. Do you know where your son is?’
‘He’s here,’ she says. ‘Well, not right at the moment, but …’ She trails off.
‘I tried to speak to him earlier,’ he says. ‘And now I cannot get hold of him. I need to talk with him urgently. Do you know where he is and why he is not answering my calls?’
‘No,’ she says. ‘But please, can you tell me what this is about?’
Five minutes later, Kay puts the phone down and stares at Billy, who has appeared at the top of the stairs, asking what is for tea. ‘What’s the matter, Mummy?’ he says when she doesn’t answer him.
‘Nothing’s the matter,’ she lies, and forces a smile, putting on a face as she tells him, ‘Chicken nuggets again?’ She has nothing left inside her to think about making anything more complicated when she has just been told the police want to speak to Dylan about a hit-and-run. One that Issie has said Dylan was responsible for.
When is her world going to stop caving in on her? Will it only give up when it crushes her for good? Kay leaves Billy and goes into her small kitchen, her hands trembling as they clutch onto her sink. How could her son, who she loves with all her heart, have walked out of her house and not told her any of this? Was she right to be worried about him, she thinks, as all the memories of his father come crashing down on her once more until she sinks to the lino and huddles herself into a ball. She doesn’t know how much more she can take.
Jess
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
13 July
It’s a relief to have slept in my own bed knowing Issie is tucked up in the room next door. There’s something about the safety of home you don’t get from hotels in foreign countries. Despite feeling more settled, I found myself creeping into her room last night, the way I used to when she was young, watching her from the doorway and checking she was breathing.
Then I had stood in my own darkened bedroom, my fingers parting the curtains as I’d looked out on the street beyond, just to check Dylan wasn’t there, watching, waiting.
Not knowing where Dylan is frightens me. His mother is apparently none the wiser, though by now we all realise we cannot trust Kay’s word.
At Heathrow airport, when I received the message he’d already flown home, I demanded to know if he could still track Issie on his phone. It turned out he could, and I forced her to block him. She proved she had as she held out the phone to me, though I couldn’t help but think she was too reluctant to do so for my liking. Maybe I’m looking for things that aren’t there but it doesn’t take a genius to work out she could easily make her location visible again if she so wishes.
Either way it means Dylan knows exactly where we are. He knows we must be home, and I know it’s only a matter of time before he is here too.
Despite these thoughts, I ended up sleeping heavily now I’m back in my own bed, although I wake at six thirty with the unsettling knowledge that in less than half an hour Scott will be in the same country, fully refreshed from a night in first class on Virgin Atlantic, a luxury I only dream of, but that Scott appears to take for granted. By 10 a.m. he will be standing on my doorstep.
I get out of bed, shower and sit in a towel in front of my mirror telling myself it is only natural that, despite the horror show my life has recently become, I still want to look my best when my ex-husband arrives. I do not want him any longer, but I do want him to realise his mistake, to feel regret, to go back to Rita with a level of guilt I’m not sure he’s had.
When I finally dress I go back into Issie’s bedroom where she is still sound asleep, stretched out in the double bed she’s had since we redecorated when she started secondary school. Her blue elephant is tucked under her chin – the way she used to sleep with it – and in an instant I am back there again, years before, when she was a little girl.
I lean my head against the doorframe, wiping away the tears that come too easily these days. I haven’t recognised my daughter lately but she is still here in front of me, she has been here all the time, buried beneath the abhorrent secret she felt she needed to keep from me. In this moment I know I will do anything in my power to protect her. Whatever she throws at me, whatever she keeps from me. When you love someone as unconditionally as you do your child, isn’t that a given?
At quarter to ten my hands are wrapped around my third mug of coffee of the day when the doorbell rings. I freeze, take a breath and then answer it.
To my surprise I don’t even flinch when I see Scott standing on the other side of my door. His lopsided grin that I once adored now makes him look pompous. His hair is greyer than I imagined, his skin saggier. He looks older than I expected, I think, as I say hello and stand aside, waving him inside the home he once bought for us all to spend the rest of our lives in.
He glances up the stairway, raises his eyes but doesn’t make any comment on how nice it’s looking before turning to me. ‘How are you doing, Jess?’ He leans in for an awkward hug, kissing one cheek and then going for the other but I pull back, leaving him hanging in mid-air.
‘How was the flight?’ I ask, as he leaves his case beside my shoe rack by the front door and kicks his shoes off next to mine. I peel my eyes away from them, the sight so alien and yet at the same time hauntingly familiar.
‘Fine,’ he replies, as he follows me into the kitchen, his gaze drawn around it as he takes in all the changes I have made. He nods in response to them but doesn’t say anything. He makes me feel like I am on show to him, waiting for his inspection and his criticism of the home I have created for me and Issie. I can’t bear to think of him phoning Rita and telling her about our lives, marvelling at how she has created a better home for them.
Seeing him standing here, inside my house, makes me realise that the walls I have built up around us since he left have been smashed down in a moment. I am laid bare all over again.
‘Coffee?’ I say, turning away from him. His presence is a necessity and I must keep reminding myself of this. He is an unwelcome guest but Issie and I need him and that’s all that matters.
‘Lovely. You know how I take it.’
‘You’ll have to remind me,’ I reply, though of course I haven’t forgotten: black, strong and half a sugar, because despite his infatuation with a healthy body he has a sweet tooth.
He laughs like I have made a funny joke, a sound that jars as he tells me black, strong, half a sugar. When I have made him a coffee and he is sitting up at the kitchen island I find myself wondering if he thinks I have aged too, and if he is comparing me to Rita who Lois always used to assure me looked so much older than I ever did.
‘You look well, Jess.’ He peers at me over the rim of his mug as he takes a sip. ‘Where’s Issie?’
‘Still asleep. I don’t want to wake her, she’s been exhausted.’
Scott waves a hand. ‘There’s plenty of time to see her,’ he says and asks me again how I have been.
‘I’m relieved to be back and to have her home,’ I say.
‘And this Dylan?’
‘He flew back before we did. He was in England before us, but the police can’t find him. He must know that Issie has spoken to them and that she’s done the one thing he went out of his way to stop her doing,’ I say. ‘Who knows what’s going through his head now. What he’s capable of, what he’s planning.’
‘Has she said what he actually did with her last week?’ Scott asks.
‘No. She won’t talk about it. All I know is that he frightened her into not having any contact with anyone, at a time when she must have been desperate to.’
‘Yeah, well I’m here now,’ Scott says. ‘I won’t let him get to her.’
Only it isn’t as simple as that I’ve realised. It’s not even Dylan turning up at the house that worries me most. It’s the strange notion that Issie is inexplicably still linked to him in ways I don’t understand. That while I am worried about what he will do, I’m equally anxious about how she might behave. But then maybe I do understand, I think, as I look at Scott. How long did he have a hold over me for?
I shrug and tell him, ‘She’s holding something back from me, only I don’t know what it is. It’s like she’s covering for him still but I don’t want to keep pressing her because—’ I break off before saying, ‘I found her writing his name out on the window of the plane.’ I mime doing so with my fingers.
He screws up his eyes at me. ‘And?’
‘It felt creepy. I mean, why do that unless you’re thinking of someone? After what he did and then she’s there, scrawling his name on a pane of glass like he’s some long-lost love. It freaked me out,’ I admit. ‘So I don’t know if she’s still in contact with him or not.’
‘You think she might know where he is?’
‘She says she doesn’t. I don’t know if I believe her though,’ I sigh. ‘What if she thinks she’s still in love with him?’
He raises his eyes. ‘Seriously?’
I turn to my own, now cold coffee. ‘It’s possible.’
‘Jesus. What’s that girl playing at?’ Scott scowls. ‘Doesn’t she realise what kind of trouble she’s in?’
‘Yes, I’m pretty sure she does, but—’ I break off, shrugging.
After a beat, he shifts back in his chair and changes the subject. ‘What’s been going on with you other than all this then, Jess?’ He cocks his head and glares at me earnestly, like he expects to find I have been falling apart over the last eight years.
The truth is my life did fall apart, but I kept it from him as much as I kept it from Issie and I’m not going to let him see how much he broke me now. ‘All that’s important is what we do about our daughter,’ I say.
‘Well you did the right thing coming back to England.’ If he’s annoyed I haven’t taken his bait then he’s not showing it. ‘If they want to question Issie about anything, they have to get her back to Portugal, and the only way they can do that is by offering to pay for your flights. But you can refuse. I have a friend, Hugo Campbell. He’s a criminal lawyer in London and I’ve had a chat with him about our case.’
‘We call them solicitors over here,’ I say. ‘And what do you mean, “our case”? Do we really need him?’
‘If she needs legal representation then we need a solicitor.’ He emphasises the word. ‘And he’s one of the best.’
‘I’m sure,’ I mutter wryly, though in all honesty I’m pleased. If Scott’s money can provide the best for Issie, I will take every penny.
Issie comes downstairs an hour later and I feel myself tense, though Scott is currently standing in the garden, talking into his mobile, animatedly gesticulating in the air with his hands.
She pauses in the doorway as she watches him pacing the lawn and I see her flinch as if she isn’t sure what to do, though I sense she wants his attention. Eventually he sees her and holds up his hand in a wave, a gesture to say he won’t be long. In this moment, I wish more than anything that we didn’t need him to be here. He’s come all this way for Issie, and yet he’s still prioritising a work call over her. I don’t want him breaking my daughter’s fragile heart any more than it already is.
When she sees me watching her, she turns away and walks over to the sink to pour herself a glass of water. She has seen Scott twice in the last year when he has flown over to the UK on business, but not properly since she went over last summer, and I can’t tell if she’s pleased to see him or not.
Eventually he comes inside and Issie makes a fuss of something on her own phone in an attempt to make out she wasn’t waiting for him. ‘Hi,’ she says awkwardly. She is lingering cautiously and I can see she isn’t going to go to him. Her right foot is tapping nervously on the floor as she waits to see what he’s going to do.
‘Iz,’ he says, striding over and pulling her in for a hug. She allows his embrace but stiffly puts her arms around him in return. When he pulls away he tucks a hand under her chin and says, ‘You doing all right?’
Issie nods. ‘You didn’t have to come over,’ she says as he wanders back to the dining table where he has laid out some papers and his iPad. He drops his phone on top of them.
‘I think I did,’ he replies, which stops the conversation short.
I’d like to leave the room and their awkward charade behind me but I don’t want to risk what he might say to her. Doesn’t he see what she needs from him? Is he so intent on making sure he stays on top in his relationship with his own child?
Instead, I busy myself, tidying, wiping down already clean surfaces. Eventually, after half an hour of talking to him, Issie heads back up to her room.
Later, I am thrilled when I open the door and find Carla standing the other side of it. I hug her tightly as I say, ‘I didn’t know you were coming over.’
‘Issie and I have been talking,’ she murmurs nervously, hugging me back.
‘It’s good to see you,’ I say. ‘I hope more than anything you girls can sort things out.’
Carla smiles sheepishly. ‘It’s nice to see you again, Jess. How is she?’
‘I’m hoping you might be able to find out. She’s very …’ I search for the word I want to use and settle on, ‘withdrawn. She’s in her room if you want to go up.’
I watch Carla go as Issie appears at the top of the stairs. They hug silently before Issie pulls her away, out of my sight. My body tenses, as I make for the kitchen, at the sight of Scott studiously poring over his laptop, his work beginning to spill out further.
Carla is with Issie for two hours before the two of them come downstairs. Out of the corner of my eye I see them by the front door. ‘Scott, do something to distract Issie,’ I say.
‘What?’ He looks up from his laptop.
‘Do something to get Issie’s attention,’ I hiss. ‘I want to speak to Carla.’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know. Anything. Tell her you want to talk to her in the garden,’ I suggest as he stares at me blankly. ‘For God’s sake, just do it.’
‘Okay,’ he says as he reluctantly gets up and I push him to the door, watching him fumble over a pathetic reason to get Issie away as Carla leaves.
As soon as they are out of earshot, I run out the front. ‘Carla, wait!’ I call. She stops at the end of the driveway and turns towards me, tossing the keys to the Mini her parents bought her in her hand.
‘Nice car,’ I say.
‘Thanks. I did ask Issie if she wanted to go out in it, but …’ She shrugs.
‘Was everything okay between you?’
‘Yeah, I guess.’ Carla frowns. ‘I don’t know. She’s not herself.’
‘Did she say anything about Dylan?’
‘She told me about the accident,’ Carla admits. ‘But not much more. She didn’t want to talk about him.’
‘She didn’t say if she was still in contact with him?’
Carla shakes her head.
‘Do you think she is?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe.’
I let out a sigh. ‘I think there’s more she isn’t telling me. I fear there’s something to come.’
Carla’s gaze drifts over my shoulder and back at the house. ‘We don’t really have the same friendship we used to,’ she says.
‘You’ll get that back,’ I insist, desperate for it to be true. ‘And you’re both off to London in September as well.’
Carla looks at me quizzically. ‘Issie isn’t going to London,’ she says.
‘What do you mean?’ I laugh. ‘Of course she is.’
‘No. Iz cancelled her place at uni a few months ago. You didn’t know that?’ she says slowly when the look on my face must tell her I don’t.
‘No, I didn’t.’ It’s my turn to look back now, to where my daughter is somewhere on the other side of the walls of my house, harbouring yet one more secret. ‘Why would she do that?’
‘Honestly? I don’t know.’ Carla shrugs. ‘All I heard is that she said she didn’t want to do it any more. She stopped being fussed about much this last year. She wasn’t bothered about working for her A levels, she was too engrossed in spending time with him. I should have asked her just now, I guess, but I don’t know, somehow I don’t think she would have told me.’
‘She gave everything up for him, didn’t she?’ I murmur. ‘And I didn’t even know.’
‘How didn’t I know?’ I ask Carla again when she doesn’t respond, as if she could possibly have any of the answers I need. I knew Dylan had a hold over Issie but I didn’t realise how much. And even now, she still won’t let go.
GONE: true crime podcast
Lucy Hawes
EPISODE 106: ISSIE ADAMS AND DYLAN WHITING: THE DEATH OF BEATRIZ MOTTO
PART TWO
No longer a missing persons case, or that of a stolen car, this was now an investigation into the death of a twenty-two-year-old Portuguese woman, only the police’s main suspect had vanished.
Issie and Dylan were undoubtedly scared of what would happen to them when they made the choice to leave Beatriz Motto on the side of the road – and let’s remember that, despite what people may or may not think of Dylan Whiting at this point, he is still only nineteen. Issie, of course had only just turned eighteen herself. These are two young and vulnerable people in a distressing situation in a foreign country. It is highly probable they weren’t thinking straight.
But with Issie coming clean and telling the police what had happened that night, Dylan’s subsequent behaviour was being scrutinised. Did he plan on running from the truth forever? The case was about to take yet another sharp turn when one of the workers at the rental hire company where Dylan had picked up the car on the fourth of July, returned from holiday to discover what had happened.
Until this point, no one knew why Beatriz Motto was wandering the dark lanes of Graça late at night. However, when the worker came back from holiday, he told the police that he recognised her face.
He reported that he had seen Motto outside of the rental company on the night of the fourth of July. More importantly, he claimed to have witnessed her in conversation with Dylan Whiting moments before he hired and drove the car that would later, reportedly, hit and kill her, in what, up until now, had been described as a horrendous accident.
