Truth, Lies, and Revelations

By Nicholas Ralph Morgan

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 Susannahs 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.

But Scott harbors a secret that will send him to prison if it becomes common knowledge, and he fears Gavin will despise him when he learns the truth. Even so, the lies and deceit have to end. Scott urges Gavin to visit him in New York, welcoming the chance to explain events that have transpired over the past nine yearsSusannahs manipulation; his homeless life sleeping on the New York streets; and his prison sentence for a crime he didnt commit. Though this punishment eased his guilty conscience, Scott did not intend to become a killer.

Scott yearns to return to Martinique. He could be arrested, but the urge to be reunited with his family is too strong to resist. Even as he plans, however, a tempestuous storm is brewing with potentially fatal results.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jun 15, 2011
• ISBN: 9781450295185

Nicholas Ralph Morgan

Nicholas Morgan grew up in England as the youngest of five children in a musical family. His life has centered on the stage, where he enjoys singing, dancing, and acting. He currently lives in England, where he enjoys writing passionate, dramatic, and suspenseful tales. This is his third book.

Book preview

Beyond Any Doubt

Susannah survives the harpoon attack. She uses her acting ability to escape imprisonment and pretends to be mentally ill. To a degree she is successful and is sent to a sanatorium. Gavin and co are furious and seek to kill Susannah. They are afraid she will escape justice. Rebecca goes undercover as Cassandra and visits Susannah in the sanatorium, pretending to be her closest friend. Rebecca arranges a weekend’s leave. This is a ploy to kill Susannah. Susannah realises that she will be arrested the moment she is discharged so sees the weekend’s leave as her chance to escape the sanatorium and imprisonment. But Susannah is no match for Rebecca, Veronique and Gavin. They force tablets down Susannah’s throat and leave her for dead. However, Detective Martinez comes to Susannah’s rescue. Susannah pleads that the overdose was a suicide attempt. This emotional confession suits her fictitious deranged act. Susannah is returned to the sanatorium.

Romance begins to blossom for Gavin and Veronique. They get engaged and plan their wedding. But life is never trouble free. Susannah escapes the sanatorium and is eager to seek revenge. She decides to kill Rebecca but murders Jeswana by mistake. Susannah relents and agrees to leave Martinique. She manages to con $500,000 out of Gavin and starts a new life in Paris with a new identity as Chantelle Duveton. This new lifestyle gives her confidence. She takes the lead role as Eva Peron in the musical Evita. Yet Susannah cannot resist returning to Martinique to scupper Gavin and Veronique’s wedding. During the reception she holds the family at gunpoint, but her murderous intent is thwarted by Detective Martinez.

Susannah is arrested and during the trial it transpires that Kirsti Løvik is Susannah’s sister-in-law. The jury find Susannah guilty and she is sent to prison for thirty years. Susannah hates prison. Della is the Top Dog and also a lesbian. Susannah is desperate to escape, but Della refuses to help her unless they have sex. Susannah does not agree. She is confident she will find her own way to escape. One despicable night Della rapes Susannah.

Eight months later Susannah manages to escape from prison. Gavin and Veronique flee to Norway for safety. Susannah is in pursuit and traps Veronique and Gavin on the cable car at the ski resort. She almost kills them but Karl intervenes. They fight. Karl overpowers her by using a fire extinguisher and a ski stick. He stabs her to death. The local coroner, Tor Hegland appears on the scene and removes Susannah’s body. Air rescue arrive to save Gavin and Veronique from the doomed cable car which is about to drop into the mountainous valley.

Now that Susannah is dead life can return to normal for the Harrison household. However, two years later Tor Hegland is brutally murdered. So who killed him?

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A certain Dilemma

It is six years since Greg was murdered. Life for the Harrison household has returned to normal since Susannah’s death. Gavin and Veronique now have a son named Gregori. However, Karl raises speculation that Susannah could be alive and responsible for killing Tor Hegland. This is a chilling prospect for Veronique, who employs Detective Martinez to investigate further.

Someone attempts to sabotage Gavin’s empire. Ants are discovered in the sugar dispatch. The plantation is temporarily closed down. Drugs are planted at Calypso Tavern and an avalanche destroys the ski resort. Gregori is kidnapped with a $2million ransom. He is returned safely but all suspect Susannah is the culprit.

Sadly Ursula and Godwin Chambers, Rebecca’s parents were murdered. The brakes on Rebecca’s new Mercedes were tampered with which caused their horrific death. The hunt is on for Susannah. Gavin suspects she is hiding on his yacht. Rebecca discovers this to be the case. She and Susannah fight. Gavin turns up and douses Susannah in petrol. She becomes a blazing effigy. The yacht is completely destroyed in the fire taking Susannah’s corpse to the seabed.

Scott Myles telephones Gavin. For many weeks he has been emailing Gavin regarding extra security. Scott Myles openly encourages him to buy a gun, but Gavin has no intention of doing so. Now that Susannah is dead, Scott Myles decides to contact Gavin directly. On Christmas Day he telephones him. It is time to reveal the truth.

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 death of his mother the sole parental responsibility lay with Scott Myles. He would protect his son and say what white lies he could.

Scott Myles resumed his seat at the table. He had not long eaten breakfast. An empty bowl that had been used for cereal remained beside the newspaper. Scott Myles picked up his novel as if to read more about the cricket bat murders, but he could not, as he was unable to concentrate. He placed the book to one side. Instead, he glanced at the weekly Martinique newspaper which was still opened at the relevant article. The very article he had read several times. The plight of Gavin Harrison and the death of Susannah Crawford were sensationalised in the first few pages. The only remaining link Scott Myles had with the Caribbean island of Martinique was the weekly chronicle. The newspaper had arrived yesterday, Christmas Eve. He only began reading it late last night. Ever since then his mind could not rest. Scott Myles silently wept as he re-read the in-depth article relating to Gavin Harrison, a local business tycoon who had wrestled with death and the psychopathic killer Susannah Crawford. The editorial had made the comparison between Joan of Arc who was burned at the stack with that of Susannah meeting her fiery demise on Gavin’s yacht. The article also mentioned Susannah’s several attempts to kill Gavin, listing those she had killed in the process including Angelo Esteros, Eletsi Tapica, Jeswana Beauvais, Ursula and Godwin Chambers, Tor Hegland and Gavin’s brother Greg Harrison. Plus how Susannah had caused the avalanche at Snøby, Gavin’s ski resort, killing over fifty people including Gavin’s lifelong friend Karl Stevens. The story also told how Susannah had been convicted of murder but had managed to escape from prison.

Scott Myles cried as he read through the editorial. The catastrophic truth seemed unbearable. He felt guilty, yet how could he make things right? Perhaps now that the evil Susannah was dead he stood a chance. He had meant to contact Gavin sooner, but as time had elapsed it seemed harder to do. But then again Susannah had controlled him. How she had enjoyed applying her fiendish and manipulative streak, such was her blackmail. How could he have been so stupid? Would Gavin ever forgive him? Under the weight of his troubled conscience Scott Myles sighed heavily. Why had he allowed Susannah’s twisted judgement to influence him? Yet he had to admit that he had inadvertently encouraged her manipulative streak.

Scott Myles had deferred contacting Gavin long enough. All morning he had mulled over what to say and how to explain everything. Let spontaneity rule the moment. All he hoped was that Gavin would listen to him.

I know you will hate me for this Gavin, muttered Scott Myles. He picked up his mobile from the table and speed dialled Gavin’s number. He waited nervously for Gavin to answer.

Hello, said Veronique. Scott Myles recognised her soft dulcet tones. It felt good to hear her voice again, but it was Gavin he must speak to first. Regardless of all previous wrongs, it had to be right that Gavin should be the first person to know the truth.

Hi there, replied Scott Myles, accentuating his American accent. Can I speak with Gavin please?

Of course, he is just outside. I’ll get him for you, replied Veronique courteously. May I ask who is calling?

Scott Myles, he replied. Veronique noticed his American accent and assumed he was an overseas client. She went to call Gavin, who was at Greg’s graveside paying his respect. Scott Myles stood up and moved away from the table. He paced back and forth. His agitation did not abate as he waited for Gavin to come to the telephone. Through the earpiece he could hear distant sounds in the background. Scott Myles tried to remain composed, yet he was fully aware of the shattering revelation he was about to deliver. Please forgive me Gavin, he whispered.

Hello and Merry Christmas, said Gavin, having rushed to the telephone. And I do not want to buy a gun or anything else.

Hello Gavin and I am so sorry but I hope you will let me explain, replied Scott Myles nervously. There was a time when Gavin would instantly have recognised the voice, but it had been many years and Scott Myles had acquired an American twang. He had purposely cultivated a profound New York dialect. It was an essential requirement for Scott Myles to blend in with the Yanks. But now at last he could speak more freely.

Who is this? questioned Gavin.

It’s me Gavin, it’s Greg. I faked my death. Please let me explain.

Who is this? demanded Gavin. Is this a sick joke?

No Gavin, it is really me, please don’t hang up. I am your brother Greg.

You can’t be Greg. Why are you doing this?

It is me Gavin, listen to me, you must recognise my voice.

My brother is dead. Who the hell are you?

I’m not dead. Remember our holidays in Weymouth as kids; I pinched your swimming trunks because I had forgotten mine. And our pet rabbit Bundles. Please Gavin you must let me explain, I have wanted to do so for years. Gavin stared in front as he listened. The more Greg spoke, the more his acquired American accent faded.

What happened on your tenth birthday? quizzed Gavin.

I broke my arm, fell off my new bike. Greg did not need to say any more. Gavin recognised his brother’s voice.

Greg what the hell have you done? stated Gavin. Was he imagining this? He would have said more but he was in shock.

It is good to hear your voice Gavin. I know this must be a shock and you will hate me.

Why did you do this? interrupted Gavin abruptly, scarcely knowing what to say. Greg continued to speak but Gavin could only grasp isolated phrases. The moment was too surreal.

It was Susannah, she was blackmailing me, informed Greg. Please come to New York, that’s where I live now. For obvious reasons I cannot travel to Martinique. I can’t explain everything over the telephone. Anyway, how are you?

How am I? said Gavin. I have been grieving for over six years for my dead brother, who died in my arms, and all this time you were alive. How could you do this to me? What the hell possessed you to be so deceiving? Have you any idea the pain you have caused? Greg allowed Gavin to vent his anger. The comments were hurtful but to be expected. And why did you not contact me sooner? demanded Gavin. Gavin felt guilty for being angry. How many times had he yearned to speak with Greg once more? All those times speaking at his graveside, now beyond the wildest imagination they were having a real conversation, no longer fictitious in Gavin’s mind, yet he had to express his feelings.

I am so sorry, cried Greg. But it has been hell for me too. Susannah blackmailed me and I could not figure out what to do for the best. At one time I almost killed her.

What has Susannah got to do with this? questioned Gavin.

Please say you will come to New York and let me explain. I know it’s Christmas Day so there won’t be a flight for a few days, but come before New Year. I need to see you, pleaded Greg.

Why can’t you tell me now? You can’t ring up then leave me in suspense!

It really would take too long, and I wouldn’t know where to begin to tell it briefly, except I was foolish, stupid, dense and deserve all the hate you can give me. Please come to New York.

I will, I will come, responded Gavin. He could not refuse his brother’s request; besides, he needed to know the full situation. I’m married to Veronique now.

I know you are. I have kept up to date with your life, if not from Susannah then from what I read in the Martinique Chronicle. I have it delivered every week, replied Greg.

Have you been with Susannah all this time, helping her to kill me? presumed Gavin angrily.

No, no, of course not. That is why I tried to kill her, to stop her from hurting you, but I did not succeed. Please don’t hate me Gavin, I need you, replied Greg emotionally.

This is definitely a shock. I am lost for words, but I am glad you are alive, said Gavin. This is gonna be some explaining on your part and it better be good.

I know and I will tell you everything, even though some of it you will hate me for, but my life can’t be any worse than it already is, confessed Greg. Come to New York as soon as you can, in the next couple of days. I’ll give you my telephone number. Gavin wrote the number on his desk pad.

How are you anyway? asked Gavin.

Like a huge weight has been lifted from me now I am speaking to you, and the fact that Susannah is dead, replied Greg. I can’t wait to see you.

Same here, but I think Veronique will want to travel with me, is that ok?

Sure of course it is, just get here as soon as you can.

I still cannot believe I am talking to you. After all this time.

I know; it is strange for me too. I would give anything for things to be as they were, reflected Greg.

I was at your graveside earlier saying to have you back would be the best Christmas present ever. Never expected it to happen.

I am sorry for all the hurt I have caused you, but I just messed up big time and paid the price ever since, relayed Greg. How is Rebecca?

She has a broken heart over you and now the death of her parents.

I don’t think she will ever forgive me. Is she not seeing anyone?

No she is not. Shall I tell her you are alive?

As much as I would love that it cannot be. If people know I am alive then I am likely to be arrested. By the way my name is officially Scott Myles and I am a New York citizen.

You have a false identity? questioned Gavin.

Yes and that is how it has to remain.

I’m glad you are alive but could kill you for doing this to me, but I will come and see you, surmised Gavin. He began to get emotional as the conversation continued.

Didn’t mean to reduce you to tears, responded Greg, who too was crying as he spoke. Look at us both crying over the telephone, well that’s never happened before. You can’t hate me any more than I hate myself. Just for us to keep in touch is all I ask.

Definitely, I would not have it any other way, agreed Gavin, wiping the tears away. I will call you tomorrow to let you know what flight we are on.

Thanks and don’t tell anyone, not even Loretta and Tobias… began Greg. He was overwhelmed and unable to finish the sentence. He just broke down in tears.

Hey come on, don’t get so upset, it will be all right, consoled Gavin. I’m trying my hardest not to cry.

My life is such a mess and I have caused so much pain, but I didn’t mean to, sobbed Greg.

I know you did not mean to. You must have had your reasons. I am sure we can sort this out. I think Loretta and Tobias should know, they would not tell anyone else, but I won’t say anything for now. Let us meet up and have a good talk, replied Gavin sympathetically. He could only surmise what trouble Greg had got himself into. Gavin would reserve judgement. In any case with Susannah involved most of it was probably her fault.

It had been thirty minutes since Veronique had taken the call from Scott Myles. She approached the study. Surely Gavin was not still on the telephone? Veronique entered the study and saw her husband seated at his desk. He had just replaced the receiver. His emotions were suspended in time, and his mind in deep thought. Gavin looked across at Veronique as she walked towards him.

Your Christmas dinner is getting cold, she curtly remarked. You should not be doing business on Christmas Day. Veronique noticed Gavin’s watery eyes. Gavin what is wrong?

It’s Greg, replied Gavin calmly.

Oh darling, don’t upset yourself. I saw you by his grave earlier.

No I mean that was Greg on the telephone. He is not dead.

Excuse me! commented Veronique, partially shocked by Gavin’s remark.

Apparently he faked his death.

Now hang on a minute. I answered the call from a Scott Myles, that was not Greg’s voice, rebuked Veronique.

No he puts on an American accent because of his new identity.

Oh Gavin this is someone playing a joke. After all we have endured don’t be taken in.

I am telling you it was Greg. I do know my brother’s voice, replied Gavin defensively. He now lives in New York and wants me to visit.

I do not like the sound of this. You can’t take such risks. He could be an impostor, questioned Veronique, suddenly concerned for her husband. Had he suffered some type of breakdown and had convinced himself that Greg was alive? What could she do?

There is no need to fret Veronique. I am not losing my mind. I shall be on the next available flight, probably the day after tomorrow. You can come too.

I am trying to understand what is happening here, said Veronique. She then noticed the telephone number Gavin had written on his notepad. Is that his number?

Yes it is, replied Gavin. Veronique picked up the notepad and dialled the number.

I need to find out for myself, she uttered.

Hi there, Scott Myles, said Greg, answering the call.

I thought your name was Greg, replied Veronique boldly. Greg recognised her voice.

Veronique, it’s good to hear from you. I guess you did not believe it was me, remarked Greg, his American accent not as prevalent as before. Veronique realised it was Greg but she had to vent her anger.

Damn right I didn’t. You have got some explaining to do and it better be good. Have you any idea the pain you have caused?

You have every right to be angry, but I too have not been without pain, responded Greg.

What possessed you to pull a stunt like this? questioned Veronique harshly.

It would take too long to explain over the telephone, that is why I want you to come to New York.

You always were Jack-the-Lad with your impulsive behaviour. You never think first. That is the classic sign of selfishness. Veronique paused for breath. Greg did not say anything. He had to expect adverse comments. After all we have gone through, I had to make sure you were not an impostor. Her temperament mellowed as she continued. However, I am glad you are ok. It’s better you’re alive than dead. I’ll pass you to Gavin.

Don’t speak to you in six years now twice in one day, commented Gavin, having taken the receiver from Veronique.

How things can change, remarked Greg. I’m just gonna walk around Time Square. You should see the Christmas tree. It’s truly magical. I even went to midnight mass last night. Imagine that, me in church, praying, relayed Greg full of self-pity.

It will be ok Greg. I am not going to turn my back on you, replied Gavin, noticing his sibling’s vulnerability.

Thanks brother, it is good to hear you say that, but you have not heard the truth yet so I won’t hold you to it. Anyway, what plans have you got today? I bet my nephew is all excited.

You should have seen him earlier, opening his Christmas presents. He even reminded me of you, stated Gavin. "Loretta and Tobias will be over