One Little Lie. Sam Carrington

      Just talking about what his mum had said to the police had touched a nerve.

      ‘Your mum really believes in you. You know that, don’t you?’

      There was a scraping sound as Kyle drew in his legs, tucking them under the chair.

      ‘You know she doesn’t believe you would be capable of such a crime. Of murder.’ Connie was on a roll. Her passion for forensic psychology was reignited in that moment; she wanted to do a good job, like she always felt she had prior to the Hargreaves incident. Looking at Kyle now, she was suddenly eager to get something from him. A reaction. Even if she couldn’t get him to speak. She picked up a piece of paper containing her scribbled notes and, holding it so she could see it and Kyle’s face easily above the paper, began reading:

      ‘Kyle wouldn’t purposely hurt anyone. He’s always been a kind, considerate boy, but he was used. People took advantage of him, of his vulnerability. He couldn’t have done this on his own. It’s impossible.’ Connie read the words loudly, leaning in towards Kyle’s face. She was pushing it, she knew – but something made her feel safe; she didn’t sense he was a risk to her.

      Kyle’s breathing rate increased; Connie could hear the flow of air as it pushed through his nostrils and was quickly drawn back in again.

      This was the most reaction she’d ever known Kyle Mann give. His mum was the key. The way she could get him to speak, she was convinced of that now.

      Without much thought of the consequences, Connie played her trump card.

      ‘I know your mum feels incredible guilt about you being here. She believes she’s let you down, that she could’ve done something to prevent it.’

      His eyes were wide now. Focussed on Connie for the first time.

      She continued. ‘I know this, Kyle, because she told me. The other day in fact, when she came to see me for my help.’

      Kyle lurched forwards. Connie’s pulse banged in her neck.

      ‘You’re lying,’ he shouted, before slamming his back against his chair, the plastic bouncing with the force.

      Connie’s mouth slackened. She’d done it. Made him utter actual words.

      She stalled in her shock, but quickly recovered; she had to keep it going now she’d made a breakthrough.

      ‘I wouldn’t lie to you, Kyle. I think you should know what your mother is going through.’

      A pang of guilt struck her. She shouldn’t have told him, she’d really compromised herself now. In her eagerness to get Kyle to speak, she’d broken the code of conduct.

       Dammit.

      What if Kyle’s stony silence didn’t stretch as far as his mum? He could call Alice, tell her what Connie had said. She’d be in all kinds of trouble. Again. But she’d done what no one else had been able to: she’d made Kyle Mann talk. She may only have this one chance. She had to continue – and deal with the consequences later.

      ‘She’s not the only one who thinks you didn’t act alone, is she? The police also suspected you were with someone else that day. That another person was as responsible, if not more so than you, for the murder of Sean Taylor.’

      ‘They’re wrong.’ His voice was a quiet rasp, as though not speaking for all this time had dried his vocal cords and stringing a whole sentence together was challenging.

      ‘Are they, Kyle? Even your mum?’

      ‘Especially my mum. I’m not the son she thinks I am.’

      Connie sat back, turning over in her mind what Alice had revealed so far about Kyle during her sessions. The aggressive, almost bullying nature she’d described as part of the behaviour she’d endured from Kyle at home, prior to his offence, was not the same picture Alice had painted at the time of his arrest. Didn’t sound like the Kyle she’d spoken of in the transcript Connie had read. Had Alice lied in the interview with the police in an attempt to protect him?

      ‘I would really like to hear an account of what happened in the lead-up to Sean Taylor’s death. How did the day begin for you, Kyle?’

      He snorted and shook his head. ‘I’ve done all this.’

      ‘Well, actually you haven’t. If your records are correct, you gave “no comment” interviews. Where did you spend the day, Kyle?’ Connie laid her notes down and rested her elbows on the table.

      Kyle shrugged his shoulders. Had he verbally communicated all he was willing to? An unexpected sense of disappointment swept through her.

      ‘Who else did you see that day? Did you meet up with someone?’

      He averted his eyes from Connie’s. She was losing him.

      ‘Who was it? Someone you used to game with online?’ Connie immediately regretted her question. She was using things arising from Alice’s session as a way of forcing Kyle to speak. It was so unethical, she felt her face grow hot with the knowledge of what she was doing.

      Kyle’s own face flushed, his eyes growing wider, darker; his pupils dilating.

      Connie swallowed hard as he pushed violently up from his chair.

      He left the room without saying another word.

      Someone else had been involved with Sean’s murder, she felt sure now. The one that got away. And for some reason, Kyle was protecting him.

       CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

       Tom

      The house was even quieter than usual. He knew he must be alone. He was glad. At least he didn’t have to worry about being caught; he was getting fed up of having to deal with endless questions. He could talk online uninterrupted. His sessions had increased again. The time it’d taken to organise the gaming site had taken far more effort; it was time-consuming getting the right people involved. Keeping them on his domain, even more challenging. Everyone thought they were a gamer these days. Most didn’t know the skill it took. Most didn’t realise the thrills would diminish later down the line. When they’d played as long as he had, they’d come to the same conclusion: online slaughter isn’t enough. Once you reach a certain level it’s more difficult to get the adrenaline going, more difficult to feel alive.

       When you’re at my level, things have got to get real.

      He’d lasted four whole years. He’d tried to recreate the thrills online only. But now the urge was too strong, he needed more.

      He’d obviously got away with the last one, so he should be fine.

      It was time.

      He needed another kill – and he’d found the perfect player.

       CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

       Deborah

      I lie still, watching as Nathan dresses in his charcoal-grey suit. He’s still attractive – he’s aged exceptionally well. He doesn’t even have any visible grey in his hair, and is not receding, or balding like a lot of men his age. He keeps himself trim, weekly visits to the gym, plus running and golf at the weekend. I can see why he gains female attention at work. There seem to be a lot of women employees at the district council offices. When I used to pop in to see Nathan on my lunch breaks, I’d noticed how the reception desk was manned by dolled-up, pretty women. Back when I really cared, it would bother me, how they tripped