Deceit: A gripping, gritty crime thriller that will have you hooked

A noise in the distant recesses of her mind rendered her half-awake. For a moment, she was unsure where she was until she saw the huge inglenook fireplace and the antique trunk she and Justin used as a coffee table. Slowly, she pulled her aching body to an upright position and took large breaths of air. It was all coming back to her and her face crumpled in pain. After pushing the quilt from her legs, she frowned. She didn’t want to get her hopes up, but who had covered her over?

Like a fragile child, she got to her feet and gingerly made her way to the kitchen. The money was gone, and the medicine box was put away. Angie! It must have been Angie who covered her over. A deep sadness enveloped her because she knew then that she had to get herself together and deal with the mental anguish of being alone. The date on the kitchen clock was flashing, and yet Kara could not comprehend it. She’d lost six days. How the hell did that happen?

Snapping out of her daze, and in a rush to pull herself together, she made breakfast, and just as she finished the last mouthful, she heard what she assumed was the postman, as he shoved the mail through the letterbox. She looked down at the floor and saw a letter from Lucas Lane and Partners, Solicitor, their solicitor and long-term friend. With no stamp, she surmised it had been hand-delivered.

She fingered her way around the seal and then ripped the envelope open. She had to read the words twice in disbelief. Discounting all the legal jargon for the moment, the solicitor said she was to move out by the end of the week. What? She fell to her knees and screamed like a wild animal. ‘You bastard, you FUCKING BASTARD!’ Gagging in between sobs, Kara punched the door repeatedly. How could he be so cruel? This wasn’t her man; this was not him at all. He would never have thrown her out on her ear. She reread the letter, hoping she’d misread it, but the instruction was there in black and white.

Justin owned the house. It was his before they met, and now he was turfing her out to move in his girlfriend. How could he? This was their home, albeit in his name, but it was theirs. They’d shared and decorated it and made it their own.

Falling to her knees, she clenched her stomach, as if her insides were being pulled away from her. She gasped for air, as though her lungs wouldn’t work. Unexpectedly, she was fraught with an uncontrollable rage. Her otherwise disciplined persona was somehow switched off, as if the devil himself had taken control of her senses. Tidal waves of incensed fury pushed her to act so out of character, that she wasn’t fully aware of her actions. A sudden red mist descended and blinded her.

The sleeping tablets, the drink, and the feeling of utter betrayal pushed her to search the cupboards for something to destroy their love nest. If he wanted the house, then he could fucking have it. Yet, she was going to make dead sure he would never live in it again. She headed straight for the garage – his garage that housed every tool imaginable. There, by the garage doors, were the lawnmower and strimmer, which had stood unused because they employed a gardener, but Justin, being Justin, liked his man tools and toys.

By the side were two petrol cans, in case he ever needed to mow the lawn himself or fill up his car. In a fit of anger, she grabbed the cans and returned to the kitchen, intent on a mission. She would destroy their home – his home.

Her anger now reaching to a new level, she could only imagine Justin and some bimbo enjoying a house that she and Justin had painstakingly decorated and furnished. She splashed the petrol up the walls, over the sofas, up the stairs, and on the bed. Then, almost falling down the stairs breathless and seething, she ran into the kitchen, where she splashed the rest of the fuel over the worktops before throwing the can at the French doors, smashing the glass.

The sound made her rage heighten, as she pulled open a drawer, snatched the sharp carving knife, and began stabbing the highly polished cabinets, imagining it was his body she was desecrating. With one swift movement of her arm, she cleared the worktop of everything: the cups, the toaster, the kettle, and the antique vases belonging to his great-grandmother. They all crashed to the floor. Then, taking a deep breath, she reached for her lighter.

She backed away from the kitchen and towards the French doors. The broken glass on the floor pricked the heel of her foot and she winced in pain. Then, grabbing the newspaper that had been left on the kitchen table by the door, she set it alight.

Instantly, the flames grew at speed. Without a second thought, she threw the burning newspaper onto the kitchen worktop and retreated into the rear garden. Wearing only a thin tracksuit, the cold night air caused her to shiver. As she turned to walk away, an enormous explosion knocked her to the ground. The gas boiler had caught alight and had blown the side window clean away from its frame.

Kara lay on the cold damp grass, unable to move. The blast had also shot a heavy piece of the doorframe across the garden, striking her across the back. But all she could do was stare and watch as the brilliant-white detached house became steadily consumed with grey choking smoke. The growing flames flared up and out of the broken windows, licking the walls and turning them black. Everyone in the close could hear the loud bangs and whistles. As she lay there winded, a horrific high-pitched scream belted out from next door – it was not a woman’s scream.

It hit her all at once like a bat across the head. Her eyes widened at the destruction in front of her, and voices in her head were pummelling her with fury for her irresponsible actions.

‘Oh my God! Have I done this?’

Mr Langley was cradling his wife on the drive. Her head was bleeding profusely, and she lay there unconscious. The blast from the side window had shot shards of glass and debris just as Jenny Langley was taking the shopping from the boot of her car, resulting in her being hit hard around the head.

The neighbours ran from their homes to see Justin’s house billowing smoke from the flames. One man called the fire brigade and another called an ambulance. Hearing Mr Langley’s screams, they ran to his aid. Mr Johnson, a retired police officer, helped carry Jenny Langley away from the burning building and onto the grass where he rolled his jacket and laid it under her head. Mr Langley was in a blind panic. All he could do was hold his wife and offer up a prayer that she wouldn’t die.

‘Is anyone in there?’ asked Mr Johnson.

Mr Langley was too traumatised to answer. The rest of the neighbours couldn’t or wouldn’t help. They gathered in the close, watching the once beautiful house being destroyed and seeing yet more devastation as the windows blew out from the blasts.

Slowly, but surely, Kara got to her feet and tried to register the devastation she’d caused. Reality hit her; she had just burned down Justin’s house.

She heard the fire engine in the distance and knew then that she was in shit up to her neck. It was too late to turn back now though – actions have consequences.

Chapter 3 (#uee5236a8-454c-54b6-bbbf-2466ae5f3974)

Kara looked around the room. It was soulless, with just the one table, four chairs, and a recording machine for company. She cupped her hands around the hot tea, hoping it would control the shakes. Was it the cold or shock? She didn’t care, either way; all she felt was a deep head-banging numbness.

The chief superintendent marched into the room, with files under her arm, and sat pertly on the chair. Stony-faced and with eyes that were open but glazed over, Kara slowly peered up to see the middle-aged woman, with cold, spiteful eyes and wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, probably from too many cigarettes. With lank, lifeless, and short hair, with a few stands of grey, the policewoman was hardly a looker in the feminine stakes.

Cynthia Lipton, the chief superintendent at Bromley Police Station had been called on to interview the woman because the victim, Jenny Langley, was in the hospital on a life-support machine, and if she died, which was probable, then the person now in custody was looking at an accidental manslaughter charge with arson, which would carry a hefty sentence.

She sharply placed the folder on the table and clicked her pen. Then, having given the young woman the once-over, she concluded fairly quickly from her pale-as-the-moon complexion that Kara Bannon was in shock. This was going to be either like pulling teeth or watching paint dry. She introduced herself and quickly ran through the formalities.

She nodded to the young smartly dressed duty solicitor. ‘Well, are we ready to take a statement?’ she snapped.

Paul Reeves was fresh out of law school and ready to take over at his father’s law firm. Lipton knew he was green around the ears and assumed he would be overly eager to get stuck in. However, she was taken aback when he replied, ‘She wants to give a statement and is not interested in being represented, so I’ll sit in, but to be frank, she’s all yours.’

It wasn’t like him. Lipton frowned. Usually, he was a pain in the arse, meticulous at putting her sort in their place.

‘So, for the recording, please tell me your name, age, and occupation.’

Kara reeled off: ‘Kara Bannon. Twenty-six. Epidemiologist.’

Lipton glanced at Reeves with a questioning expression.

‘It means she studies diseases, how they originate, and how they affect the population,’ responded Reeves, smugly. He loved it when he got one over the police.

Kara remained focused on a tiny spider crawling up the wall just above Lipton’s head. ‘Actually, I am a tropical epidemiologist. I study rare diseases of a class four nature that appear in Third World countries.’

Her well-spoken accent and precise tones stirred unease in Lipton because Kara appeared to be in a trance, yet she was able to answer clearly and precisely. ‘Okay, Miss Bannon, tell me what happened.’

‘I took two cans of petrol from the garage, doused the whole house, and then I set it alight.’

Now, Lipton had to ascertain whether or not Miss Bannon did it alone and whether it was an act of revenge.

‘Miss Bannon, was anyone with you? Were you made to do this? I need to know why you did it?’

Lowering her gaze, she replied, ‘No one told me to do it. I had to burn the house down. I couldn’t let Justin and his new girlfriend move in. It was my home too.’

That was it. Lipton had a reason to charge the young woman with criminal damage, an arson attack, and a possible death by recklessness. She called in the custody sergeant who formerly charged Kara. Still in a stupor, she asked innocently, ‘Is Justin here yet to take me home?’

As the detective looked down at Kara, she realised then that the woman was unaware of the seriousness of what she’d done. Lipton’s mouth formed a smile, but she knew it didn’t reach her eyes. She wasn’t going to question her anymore; she had all she needed to charge and have the defendant remain in custody. As far as the chief superintendent was concerned, she had done her job – it was yet another notch on her arresting record.

* * *

The sergeant took Kara to a cell and placed a thick red blanket around her shoulders. Robert Wise, the custody sergeant, a big middle-aged man, with a salt-and-pepper-coloured moustache and grey hair, felt sorry for the woman. She wasn’t the normal scallywag who came and went. She had class and was polite. He organised another hot tea and a sandwich and brought them to her. ‘You will appear in court first thing tomorrow morning.’

With grief clouding her face, she took the drink and machine-wrapped sandwich.

Kara wondered if there was anyone out there who even cared that she was locked in a police cell. She had no family except Justin and his mother. Her own mother lived abroad now, and their only real communication was the odd phone call. ‘Is it all right for me to go home now?’

Wise gave her a regretful sigh. ‘No, Miss Bannon, I’m afraid you will be held until the court appearance tomorrow, and there, they will decide if they will let you out on bail, but I wouldn’t bank on it. This is a very serious charge over your head … Look, eat that, and try to get some rest.’

As the heavy metal door banged shut and she heard the rattle of keys, the silent cold truth slapped her in the face. This was it now. She was all alone. Not only had she lost her job, she also had to accept her relationship with Justin was over, and now her liberty was at an end. Everything had been destroyed in a single, petulant, and hostile act of revenge. She could not even begin to imagine what her future looked like.

Her hands trembled so much that she dropped the plastic cup, spilling some of the hot tea on her legs. The liquid quickly made its way through her thin tracksuit and burned her shins. She winced and curled herself into a foetal position, holding her knees close to her chest. She tried to sleep, as it was the only way to relieve herself of her haunting thoughts.

* * *

The next day, the door was opened, and the sergeant studied the frail-looking woman curled up like a baby. His heart went out to her. His own daughter wasn’t much older than this young lady. ‘Miss Bannon, do you need the ladies’ room? Are you hungry?’