Page 1 of Twisted Lies
Prologue
She sits in a room that is nothing more than a magnolia-coloured square box without windows. A small arc of spotty damp is forming in the corner to the left of the door.
The single metal chair digs into the back of her thighs. It is not built for comfort. The steel table is a simple square with smear marks wiped across it. She looks around, although there is nothing more to see, and her heart races even though she knows she’s done nothing wrong.
How long will she be here? Who will open the locked door and come to get her?
Despite the assurances she gives herself that she is safe, her hands knit together in her lap and begin squeezing each other to release the tension building there.
Her stomach lurches as she hears footsteps and then a key in the lock. She is apprehensive but eager to know what comes next.
Two men enter the room dressed in jeans and polo shirts. She has not seen either of them before. They don’t lock the door. Does that mean they are finally taking her from this room?
She looks from one to the other but doesn’t speak.
Her hands are squeezing the life out of each other beneath the table.
One man approaches while the other stays close to the door. He leans against the wall and folds his arms. Is he guarding the door in case she tries to run?
‘Give me your phone,’ says the man who has approached the table.
Unwittingly her left leg has developed a very slight tremble.
‘Is th-that really necessary?’ she asks as the quiver from her leg works its way up to her tongue.
She sees the hint of a smile which he quickly hides behind his emotionless face.
He is pleased she is nervous.
He holds out his hand in response to the question.
The man at the door yawns. He is either tired or bored. How many times has he done this before?
She reaches into her back pocket and takes out her phone. She hesitates as though she is handing over a part of herself.
That one device contains many things she needs to live: contacts; photos; social media; appointments; reminders.
‘Will I get it back?’ she asks, trying to force confidence into her tone.
He takes the phone from her hand, removes the SIM card and tosses the phone to his colleague, who catches it.
They have done this before. They are following a script.
The man in front of her throws the SIM card to the ground and uses the heel of his shoe to grind it against the floor. Metal and plastic split open against concrete.
Her gasp is audible as she considers what he has just destroyed.
He lays his hands palm down on the table and brings his face closer to hers.
‘It’s time for you to understand that your life as you knew it is gone.’
One
‘Sir, are you kidding me?’ Kim asked, looking for any trace of humour in his expression.
The response in her head had been:Have you been smoking crystal meth?, and she was momentarily relieved that her mouth had translated that thought to a more suitable response to offer to her boss, DCI Woodward.
The relief didn’t last long, as she found no hint of amusement anywhere on his face.
