More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
As I ate my breakfast and got dressed for work, I gave Jamie’s surname a test drive. Mrs Maya Taylor. Maya Taylor. Mrs Jamie Taylor. Any of them sounded pretty damn good to me.
Joe Krakovsky liked this
My phone rang as I was staring out of the window, daydreaming about where we’d go for our honeymoon. Antigua or Barbados? Prague or Barcelona? ‘Maya Morgan speaking,’ I said.
The policeman cleared his throat uncomfortably. ‘I’m afraid that a few hours ago, we had a report of a dead body being found in a wood near Tyttenhanger.’
I thought I was safe from the past. Safe in my new life with Maya. Safe in my job. My home. In a cocoon of happiness that I’d come to really believe I now deserved.
I turned onto my side, staring at my bedside unit at the black-and-white photo of Jamie and me. A selfie I’d taken during a picnic in a field near Codicote.
‘I know this is very difficult for you, but as you know, we found Jamie in an area known as Bluebell Wood,
I shook my head. ‘And why wasn’t there a suicide note?’ My voice rose. ‘Look, I don’t think…I don’t…Jamie can’t have killed himself.’ A look flitted across his face. A look that said he’d heard it all before. Denial. ‘I’m very sorry, Maya. I know this is difficult, and often people don’t want to believe that a loved one would do something like this, but the enquiries I’ve made so far all point to suicide, without a shadow of a doubt. A lot of people don’t leave notes.’ ‘What enquiries?’ He watched me for a moment before taking a breath. ‘The rope I took away matches the rope Jamie used in the
...more
‘Again, often people who are considering suicide get their affairs in order before they go. It’s very common. I believe that’s what Jamie was doing in his last days.’
I took a taxi to the garage listed on the card Tony had given me. I didn’t have a car because it was a useless expense. I walked to work and didn’t really leave St Albans that often.
I told her about Jamie’s laptop having been wiped. The bizarre things moved around in the house. The smell of cigarettes that day and the same smell in Jamie’s car. How a few things were missing, like his last three months’ phone bills and his mobile phone and jacket.
The rest we didn’t know yet, but these people were leaders of the Establishment. The elite. Peers of society. That much was clear. So they could do anything they wanted with impunity. They wouldn’t be caught and forced to stop. They wouldn’t be punished for what they were doing. They were untouchable.
‘Come on! What are you waiting for?’ the children’s minister sneered. The other men laughed and jeered and suggested things for the boy to do. ‘Get down on all fours and cock your leg like a dog’, ‘Pant like a dog’, ‘Bark!’
My slow, shaky movements belonged to a ninety-year-old instead of a thirty-seven-year-old.
“If you tell a lie big enough and keep repeating it, people will eventually come to believe it. The lie can be maintained only for such time as the State can shield the people from the political, economic, and/or military consequences of the lie. It thus becomes vitally important for the State to use all of its powers to repress dissent, for the truth is the mortal enemy of the lie, and thus by extension, the truth is the greatest enemy of the State.” ~ Joseph Goebbels
Chapter 26 We sat on a bench in Hyde Park, probably looking like any regular couple out enjoying a rare sunny day in February.
I drove from St Albans to Wheathampstead then took the road to Codicote.
‘No.’ He sat down at the kitchen table, leant back, and scrubbed his hands over his face. ‘Do you think they report the truth?’ He laughed, but it was devoid of humour. ‘Mainstream media is a way to
control the masses. They brainwash us with their own agendas to get public opinion swayed in a certain way. They’re in the business of selling lies. Lies and cover-ups. And if you sell the lie, and keep selling it, people start to believe it, and then it becomes the truth, and the public don’t question it because it’s there, in black and white and colour in the papers, on the news!
A well-crafted and perfectly executed lie. Stage false flag attacks, created by our own security services, blame it on terrorists, blow up British or US soldiers, bomb our buildings, fly planes into them, lie about weapons of mass destruction that can annihilate us in forty-five minutes flat. And bombard people with it in the media. Terrorists! Terrorism! Cells! Al-Qaeda! Isis!
Simon called one day to say that he’d spoken to some journalists, and there was a media blackout on the story. They’d been issued with Defence Advisory Notices by the government, warning them not to publish any intelligence that might damage national security. The Cabinet Office’s Media Monitoring Unit would not let anyone else touch it. Simon explained how difficult it was to get someone to report it when their salary depended on not reporting it. Someone had also tried to hack into Truth.com’s website and take it down, but they hadn’t succeeded.
Mitchell’s lips thinned into a tight line. ‘We’re living in a perverted and twisted smokescreen of democracy that’s nothing short of dictatorship, where the unelected actually rule. And behind it lurks a powerful and arrogant network of people who are raping us all and are totally unaccountable for their actions. It’s a lose-lose situation for everyone except the elite few.’
MITCHELL Chapter 49
Maya Morgan, 37, was seen driving erratically by several eyewitnesses before appearing to drive her Jeep Cherokee purposely off the main road,
