The Last Lie: The must-read new thriller from the Sunday Times bestselling author. Alex Lake
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one of the reasons … it’s one of the reasons I love you.’
She blinked. There they were, the three little words that made all the difference.
I.Love.You.
‘Oh my God,’ she said. ‘I love you too, Alfie Daniels.’
Hearing her words also made all the difference to Alfie, but not the ‘I love you’. It was hearing his name.
It reminded him that she knew who he was, and that she held his fate in her hands as a result. And it made everything clear to him. He knew exactly what he had to do.
‘Let’s go,’ he said. ‘I have my car. We can book into a hotel. I can’t wait any longer.’ He took her hands in his and stared into her eyes. ‘And then I’m going to tell Claire it’s over. Tonight.’
She blinked rapidly, her lips pressed together. ‘Do you promise?’ she said.
Alfie nodded. ‘I promise.’
He told Pippa there was a hotel he had in mind in Tunbridge Wells, a hotel that was special to him and that, although it was a long drive, was worth it for what was, after all, a special occasion. He had no intention of going to a hotel there, but it sounded good. It was the kind of place where girls like Pippa imagined illicit assignations took place. He switched off his iPhone; he had a plan for what he would tell Claire later and it involved her being unable to get in touch with him.
As they approached Tunbridge Wells he turned on to a B road heading east. Pippa glanced at him.
‘Is this the right way?’ she said.
‘Yep. It’s a quiet little place. It’s in the countryside. Hardly anyone knows about it.’
Which was all true. Hardly anyone did know about their destination. The only thing he had failed to mention was that it wasn’t a hotel.
Ten minutes later he pulled into layby. It was on the edge of a dense forest. He switched off the engine, then put his hand on her knee. Her jeans were soft and expensive. He ran his hand up to her crotch.
‘Alfie,’ Pippa said. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m getting desperate,’ he said. ‘I can’t wait any longer. I want you. Now.’
‘How far is the hotel?’
‘Not far. But I thought’ – he turned and placed his hands on her cheeks and pulled her towards him – ‘we could get started early.’
She twisted in her seat and kissed him. As she did, he put his hands on her cheeks and held her face. She gave a slight moan and, for a second, he hesitated.
Then he slid his hands down her face and around her neck, and began to squeeze.
‘Alfie,’ she gasped. ‘What are you doing?’
He squeezed harder, and she squealed as the pressure increased and her windpipe began to narrow.
‘You silly little girl,’ he muttered. ‘Did you really think I was in love with you? Then you’re more stupid than I thought. But that’s good for me, because it made this easy.’
He looked at her. Her eyes were beginning to bulge in their sockets. Strangely, he felt nothing. Just a deep calm. He pressed harder, felt the flesh yield.
‘I couldn’t have you wandering around knowing that Henry Bryant and Alfie Daniels are one and the same,’ he said. ‘You understand that, right?’
In her eyes he saw that she knew she was going to die. She grabbed his wrists and tried to pull them away. She was surprisingly strong. He supposed she was desperate.
He focused on putting as much pressure on her throat as he could. Gradually, her attempts to pull away his hands grew weaker – he had some scratches which would need some explanation – until they stopped entirely. Slowly, he relaxed his grip, ready to tighten it at the slightest sign of movement.
There was nothing. He examined her face. She was wide-eyed, her mouth slack and open.
She was, without question, dead.
And Alfie felt great.
Claire looked at the call log on her phone. She’d tried Alfie eleven times since she’d got home from work. Eleven calls, none of them answered. She’d been expecting him home, expecting a quiet night together as they talked through their options.
She had not been expecting an empty house and eleven unanswered phone calls, or the intense and deepening worry. She imagined everything that could have possibly happened to him: hit by a car, mugged, stuck at work.
Suicide.
It was this that brought her out in cold sweats. He was a sensitive, caring man who had found out he couldn’t have his own children, which was what he wanted more than anything else. He hadn’t ever said much about his childhood, but she got the impression it hadn’t been all that happy even before both his parents had died. She thought that was part of the reason he wanted to be a father so much; like her, he wanted to put right some of what had gone wrong in his own life.
So it was entirely possible he had killed himself. She loved him, but she knew he was not the strongest of men, and that made this situation all the more worrying.
She picked up her phone and glanced at the time. Nearly midnight. That was it. She’d call him one more time, and if he didn’t pick up she was calling the police.
It turned out there was no need to call the police after all. Five minutes later he was back, assuming that it was him stumbling around in the hallway.
The door to the living room opened. She watched Alfie walk in, the top two buttons of his shirt open. His hair was dishevelled and his face was red. The harsh smell of whisky came off him in waves.
He stared at her, his mouth an unhappy line. He looked close to tears. Claire felt her anger – along with the worry – melting away.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ she said, her tone much softer than she’d been imagining it would be for the last few hours.
‘Went for a drink,’ Alfie said. His words were slurred and indistinct. He was not a big drinker and she had never seen him like this.
‘On your own?’
He nodded.
‘Where?’
‘Bunch of places.’
‘Why, Alfie?’
He shrugged. ‘Why do you think?’
‘You should have called. I was worried.’
‘I’m sorry.’ He looked away from her, his gaze unfocused. ‘I couldn’t face you. I feel like I’ve let you down.’
‘Alfie!’ Claire said. ‘That’s the last thing you’ve done! This isn’t your fault. It’s nobody’s fault. It’s just one of those things. It’s sad – of course it is, I mean, I’m devastated – but I don’t blame
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