Liar Liar

117

Everybody loves a love rat.

The journalist in Emilia bridled at that sentence – the use of the word ‘love’ twice in quick succession – but it was true nevertheless. Love rats made good copy, offering up plenty of salacious material while playing on the fears of their female readers. Throw a series of major crimes into the mix and the story becomes irresistible.

Helen Grace had kept the fourth estate away from Sharon Jackson for now, posting uniformed coppers front and back to keep the hacks away. Emilia hadn’t wasted any time there, taking off immediately to do door-to-doors in the neighbourhood, before visiting the local GP’s surgery, as well as Naomie’s former school. In Emilia’s experience, the professionals – head teachers, doctors, social workers – always remained tight-lipped, but those who assisted them were more willing to talk. Many a story had been culled from the loose lips of a PA, receptionist, nurse or even school caretaker, especially when flattery and a few free drinks were offered. And so it proved now as Emilia quickly put together a picture of a lonely, disenfranchised young woman who had often arrived at school with unexplained bruises. She would never point the finger at her mother, but, then again, why would she? The poor kid had nowhere else to go.

And when she was at home, what did she find? Her mother fawning over a man who just wanted to get his leg over without offering anything in return. The other mothers on Sharon Jackson’s estate had been only too glad to talk about their neighbour, who it now turned out had been harbouring a serial killer – painting a picture of her as an insecure, needy woman who had never managed to hold on to a man and took what pleasures she could when they were offered.

And in the end it had cost her. One of her love rivals – Denise Roberts – was already dead, while another had just had her house razed to the ground while she took a bath. Every punch, every clipped ear that Sharon Jackson had given Naomie had been paid back with interest, and though she would never betray this in print, Emilia felt a sneaking regard for the young woman who’d refused to take her punishment lying down. Her mother would rue taking her daughter’s submission for granted.

Emilia typed fast, the adrenaline of a big story driving her on, helping to craft the story by instinct rather than forethought. It was all taking shape very nicely and had played just as she’d hoped. She had been the first one to speak to Naomie and, though she couldn’t locate her now, she would ride that connection for all it was worth. This coup had been the result of clever investigative work – something she prided herself on – and she was pleased to see that her coverage of the arson attacks had already engendered a sea change in relations at the News. The national dailies had picked up on her interview with Naomie, she’d been on the radio discussing it and was due to appear on TV later today in an interview with BBC South – all of which had helped raise the paper’s profile and massively boosted sales. Her editor had certainly changed his tune – offering her a bonus and hinting at promotion. It had all worked out well, and though she had sacrificed her good relations with Helen Grace in the process, it had been worth it. Her career was on the up at last and she was happy to weather any fallout that was coming her way.

‘Bring it on,’ Emilia thought to herself, as she continued to type.