When New York resident Scott Myles reads the news in the Martinique newspaper that Susannah Crawford has died, he picks up the telephone and calls his brother, Gavin Harrison. With Susannah's death, Scott is finally free of this deceitful woman who has blackmailed him for the last nine years. Scott can finally reveal to his family that he is alive, not dead as they had presumed.

Truth, Lies, and Revelations

By Nicholas Ralph Morgan

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2011 Nicholas Ralph Morgan
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4502-9517-8

Contents

Chapter 1 Scott Myles................................1Chapter 2 Nine Years Earlier.........................21Chapter 3 The Dinner Party...........................41Chapter 4 The Affair.................................58Chapter 5 Deception..................................84Chapter 6 Barty......................................111Chapter 7 The Picnic.................................132Chapter 8 Duped......................................149Chapter 9 Prison.....................................165Chapter 10 The Perfect Murder........................182Chapter 11 Mutilation................................198Chapter 12 Private Eye...............................218Chapter 13 One down: One to go.......................233Chapter 14 Carmen....................................248Chapter 15 Forgiveness?..............................265Chapter 16 An Unsuspecting Twist.....................284

Chapter One

Scott Myles

You should not be doing business on Christmas Day.

Drake's murderous adrenalin was rampant. It had been weeks since his last murder. Agitated yet excited, the stout fellow left his home. Of course he ensured to take the cricket bat with him. Who would suspect it was his trusted weapon? Forensics would have a field day if they ever examined the infamous cricket bat. The wooden fibres retained the blood of each victim. What a murderous trophy. He was proud of his sporting weapon and the abstract bloodstains enriched its beauty. The unassuming villain sensed that one day his pride and joy would be on display in London's macabre museum. He would be forever caught in history. What an honour!

The time was just after 1am. It had rained all evening but now the clouds had parted and the moon was shining brightly. The recalcitrant murderer waited in the dark alley, hiding behind an overgrown oak tree. Drake had lost count of how many times he had waited beneath Mother Nature's exuberant generosity. How ironic to wait under a tree that gives us oxygen, the birth of life, when he was so eager to extinguish that life. Drake was proud and had nicknamed himself Drake Dracula. The taste of blood was refreshing. He breathed deeply. The smell of cut grass was prevalent. Soon the smell of death would be even better. He had not waited long when he heard footsteps approaching. He tucked the cricket bat under his arm as he stepped out of the alley. A six-foot gent was walking towards him. A perfect victim, he thought. Drake was hungry for the thrill of death. The gent's tall stature posed no threat. In fact Drake welcomed the challenge. He may only be five-foot five inches tall, but the added strength and vigour of his cricket bat enabled him to maintain supremacy.

The nefarious little man smiled at his victim as the gent passed by. They briefly made eye contact. People say the eyes are the window to the soul, but they are also the lock to many secrets. The gent was completely unaware of his looming fate. How deceptive Drake's passing smile had been. That euphoric moment had arrived. Gripped with adrenalin, the pernicious Drake Dracula swung the cricket bat from under his arm and bashed the gent on the head. Oh what a buzz Drake got as the gent fell to his knees. It seemed too easy, but the task was far from over. Death loomed closer as the excited fellow wielded the cricket bat for a second bash. The gent fell to his front but the cricket bat had not finished. It was almost as if the bat had a will of its own. Blood splattered everywhere. Several more blows and the gent's skull was crushed. Now that the goal of death had been scored once more, it was time for his murderous dessert. In true Dracula style, Drake savoured the seconds as he licked the blood from the cricket bat. The taste enriched him ...

Scott Myles closed his crime novel. The fictional story seemed too farfetched. The cricket bat murders failed to ease his troubled mind. He dropped the book on the Martinique newspaper as he stood up from the table. Sometimes he wished that his life was just pure fiction. Why had he made so many mistakes? No doubt if his life was a novel, some would think it farfetched if they read it. Scott Myles finished his whisky then walked across his small living room. He knew he could not put off the inevitable any longer; he had to make that telephone call.

The gurgling sounds of his six-month old baby boy distracted him. Toby lay in his cot in the far corner. His gloating father who had risen to the challenge of being a single parent picked him up. Perhaps this bundle of joy was the only good thing to emerge from the dire events of the last nine years, but perhaps his estranged family would think otherwise.

Scott Myles cradled his son as he looked out of his apartment window. His humble abode was situated on the twentieth floor. He had a panoramic view of New York. The Statue of Liberty stood proud and triumphant. It was a symbol to the whole world of justice, peace and freedom, a liberty that was every human's right. But that was not the case for Scott Myles. He stared at the monumental statue that endorsed the irony of liberty that was now his life. Yes he had freedom to move about, go shopping, perform the mundane duties of his job, but Scott Myles was living a lie. Where is freedom when you do not live the life you should? He was trapped in an alien world. He missed his family and the life he used to have. Circumstances had robbed him of his true liberty, yet he only had himself to blame.

His open plan apartment was nowhere near as lavish or representative of how Scott Myles used to live. It contained all the usual décor and furnishings. A second hand settee, which had seen better days, faced the panoramic window. Behind was a table, which served two purposes, one side to eat off, the other to read his newspaper from. To the left was an archway that led into the kitchen, to the right his bedroom. His job at the New York Herald enabled him to pay the monthly rent. Who would have thought that at one time he had owned his own place, had his own business and was considered to be very wealthy. Those bon vivant years now seemed so far away.

The frost-covered rooftops glistened in the sun's morning rays. The wintry dawn was picturesque and fitting for this Christmas Morn. Scott Myles had no pre-arranged plans so expected to spend Christmas Day in his rented apartment, just looking after his baby. A CD player broke the silence, playing the traditional Christmas carols and songs. His mind was full of memories as he listened, his eyes a little watery as a result of sentiment and guilt. The morning sunlight caught his side profile as he surveyed the Manhattan skyline. His once tanned complexion had become paler. His once thick black wavy hair was now completely grey. The emotional and stressful years had allowed middle age to prematurely seize his body. Scott Myles looked ten years older than he actually was. If someone had foretold that his life would end up caught in poverty and old before his time then he would not have believed them. He thought his youth and vitality would last forever, not to mention his lavish lifestyle, but then he had been too complacent.

Scott Myles moved away from the window and replaced Toby in his cot. The little angelic infant had fallen asleep again. What would Toby surmise if he knew the true circumstances of his existence? Those questions would not be asked just yet, thank goodness, and after the...