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Back False Witness Save as PDF
Chapters (100)
  1. Cover
  2. Title page
  3. Dedication page
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
  59. 56
  60. 57
  61. 58
  62. 59
  63. 60
  64. 61
  65. 62
  66. 63
  67. 64
  68. 65
  69. 66
  70. 67
  71. 68
  72. 69
  73. 70
  74. 71
  75. 72
  76. 73
  77. 74
  78. 75
  79. 76
  80. 77
  81. 78
  82. 79
  83. 80
  84. 81
  85. 82
  86. 83
  87. 84
  88. 85
  89. 86
  90. 87
  91. 88
  92. 89
  93. 90
  94. 91
  95. 92
  96. Acknowledgements
  97. DEAD GUILTY
  98. 1
  99. FALSE WITNESS
  100. Also by Michelle Davies

Beside him, Imogen shifted awkwardly in her seat.

‘Do you think it’s plausible?’ Maggie asked her.

Imogen wrung her hands, obviously agitated. ‘I guess . . . I mean, it sounds ridiculous, and on the one hand I think it’s total nonsense . . .’

‘But on the other?’ Maggie prompted.

‘I’m scared it might be true.’

22

The Wheatsheaf was set back from one of the main arterial roads that ran through Mansell. The front entrance was reached down a flight of steep, narrow stairs and Alan’s hand skimmed the metal handrail as he made his way down them.

It was far earlier in the day than he’d normally start drinking, but the phone calls with Gayle and Gus had left him feeling rattled and he needed a pint to take the edge off his nerves. He wasn’t expecting the pub to be busy at two in the afternoon – most of the regulars who drank there arrived at the end of the working day, just as he usually did.

He’d come across The Wheatsheaf on his first weekend in Mansell, on a walk to familiarize himself with his new neighbourhood. It was one of only a few town pubs that hadn’t been converted into a mini supermarket or knocked down to make way for flats and as a consequence did a healthy trade amongst locals. Soon it had become a daily habit for him to take a detour home from the school to duck through its shabby doorway.

The front entrance led into a lounge bar conspicuous for its sparse furnishings: a few tables circled by some uncomfortable-looking hard-backed chairs. This was where infrequent customers tended to drink, away from the locals who noisily dominated the snug bar next door that was rammed with overstuffed easy chairs, small round tables and stools that wobbled precariously when sat upon.

Alan had kept to the lounge the first few times he’d visited, until he felt brave enough to venture through.

The landlord, Doug, didn’t question why he was drinking so early – he simply set a pint of Adnams on the bar and batted away the £10 note Alan proffered.

‘On the house,’ he said. ‘I bet you need it after what’s been going on at the school. Gus was in here last night talking about it.’

The colour drained from Alan’s face and his hand shook as he picked up the glass. Beer sloshed over the side, depositing a puddle on the bar that dripped onto the carpet next to his feet.

‘Watch where you’re slinging that about, that’s good beer you’re wasting,’ said Doug with a chuckle.

‘Sorry, if you give me a cloth I’ll wipe it up,’ said Alan.

Doug leaned over the pumps and mopped up the spillage himself.

‘Must’ve been a shock for you, seeing the kid hit the deck like that.’

Alan couldn’t meet his eyes. ‘What did Gus say about it?’