by Lake, Alex
It’s quite pitiful. I start to wonder what I ever saw in her. I thought she was like me, but maybe she is like the rest of them. A bug. An insect.
I continue reading.
‘What you must understand is that we love each other. We always have. But Annabelle became trapped in an abusive marriage. We will not say what she suffered, but suffice it to say she was mistreated in every imaginable way by her so-called husband.’
Her humming grows louder. It sounds like an insect. She is pathetic.
‘We have decided to take our lives together. It is a fitting end to a great love story. Do not mourn for us; we are happy. This is what we want. With love.’
I put the pad down.
‘What do you think?’ I say. ‘Your idiot husband will believe it, I’m pretty confident. And even if he doesn’t, he’ll have his doubts. That’s the great thing about it. Whether he thinks it’s real or not, he’ll never know for sure. And that will torture him.’
I smile at her.
‘That’s my final gift to you, Annabelle. You’ll take to your grave the knowledge that your husband and children will never get over your betrayal of them.’
Annabelle
1
She just wanted to drown him out. Switch him off. Erase him from her life. Erase him from the universe.
There had been things about Guy – the supercilious manner, the arrogance, the aloofness – that had always annoyed her, but she had overlooked them. They were friends, and he had his good points: supportive, generous. And after all, no one was perfect, right?
Now she couldn’t believe she had put up with him. She hated the sight of his smug face, and the sound of his whining voice.
And she didn’t want to know what he was saying. She didn’t want to hear him read his letter, didn’t want to hear him crow about how Matt would be tortured by the doubts the letter would sow.
She couldn’t help hearing it, though, and she had to face it. Not only would Matt – the man she loved more now than ever – have to deal with losing her, he would always wonder if she had been unfaithful to him.
He would think she hadn’t, would suspect that the suicide note was faked, but he wouldn’t know. That was Guy’s final act of cruelty.
And it would extend to the children too. Had their mum abandoned them? Had she preferred to die with her lover than be there for their graduations and wedding and newborns?
The only silver lining was that Guy would die too. His master plan was a joint suicide. It didn’t help her, but at least it stopped him doing this to other people.
She hummed louder.
‘Quite pathetic,’ Guy said. ‘Infantile.’ He frowned. ‘You know,’ he said. ‘You’re wasting your last minutes on earth like this? I don’t know what I ever saw in you. It’ll be a relief when I’ve killed you and I can get on with the rest of my life.’
She froze.
What was that? Get on with the rest of his life. She stared at him, eyes wide.
A smile spread across his face. It was thin and joyless and lizard-like, but this time it was real.
‘Oh my,’ he said. ‘You thought I was actually planning a double suicide, didn’t you? That was your solace.’ He laughed. ‘No, it’s only you who’s dying today, Annabelle. The suicide note will be for both of us – so they will assume I’m dead. They’ll never find my body, though. They’ll put it down to the tides.’
He tore off the paper and put it in his shirt pocket.
‘Seriously, you think I’d kill myself for you? You’re nothing. You’re not special. You never deserved me in the first place. I thought you were like me, but I was wrong. I wouldn’t do it for anyone, but wasting my life over you. I’m a lot more important than that. So I’m going to kill you. There’s no need for me to die. Once you’re gone, I can get on with my life. My new life. Because Guy Sanderson will have to disappear, obviously. But I’m glad about that. I’m sick of him. I can’t wait. It’s going to be fun.’
She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing she was upset, but she could not stop herself from giving a low moan of desperation.
‘Now you see,’ he said. ‘And what’s more, I will come out of this even stronger. You will come out of it at the bottom of a cliff. I will throw you to your death – I’m quite looking forward to seeing you fall and watching what happens when you hit the ground. I’ve never seen anything like that. And then I will walk away.’
He turned and started the car. She closed her eyes as they pulled out of the lay-by.
2
Annabelle’s stomach constricted and she was gripped by a sharp, debilitating panic.
She knew, in that moment, that she was going to die.
She was gagged and bound in the back of a car with a man – one of her oldest friends – who was intent on killing her and who seemed to have no concern whatsoever about getting caught. She had no idea what his plan was but he clearly thought he could disappear without trace, and he was probably right. She had no idea what he had set up, but it doubtless included a new identity, money and whatever else he needed.
And she was the last obstacle.
She wanted to say, Leave me here, you don’t need to kill me, but even if she could have taken out the gag she knew there was no point. He was not going to change his mind. She had seen it in his eyes.
He was enjoying this. He was having fun.
As the car moved off, she closed her eyes and tried to curl up – the little she could – into the foetal position. A bolt of pain shot through her shoulder.
This was it. This was how her life ended.
Wynne
1
Her phone rang. She did not recognize the number.
‘Wynne.’
‘This is PC Jim Travis,’ a male voice said. ‘We think we may have seen your suspect.’
She sat up in the chair. She had been looking out of the window, turning over Annabelle Westbrook’s case in her mind, looking for an angle that might give her an insight into her next step.
‘Where?’ she said.
‘One of our cars passed a silver Audi parked in a lay-by outside Bexhill.’
She opened Google Maps on her computer and looked for Bexhill. It was on the south coast.
‘Did they stop?’ she said.
‘No. They hadn’t got the alert. When it came through they remembered the car and called it in.’
‘They need to get back there, now,’ Wynne said.
‘They’re on the way,’ the PC said. ‘Should be there in minutes.’
Wynne looked at the map. ‘Which direction were they going in?’
‘Eastbourne,’ he said. ‘They were heading that way.’
‘Call me as soon as you hear anything,’ Wynne said.
2
Wynne traced the road along the south coast with her finger until it reached Eastbourne. Was it them? A silver Audi in a lay-by? There must have been thousands of silver Audis in the country, some of them parked in lay-bys.
But not all of them were within striking distance of Guy Sanderson’s house.
So it was possible Guy Sanderson was taking her to Eastbourne. But why? Probably not a day out at the seaside. Perhaps he had a boat there and was planning to flee to the continent.
Probably not that, either. It was too easy to trace, but she would make sure all the marinas and harbourmasters were alerted to look for a private boat leaving the Eastbourne area in the next few hours.
It might make sense to do that nationwide.
She googled Eastbourne and read the Wikipedia page. It was in the county of East Sussex, population 107,000 as of July 2019.
Nineteen miles east of Brighton.
And immediately east of Beachy Head.
There followed facts about Beachy Head. It was the highest chalk cliff in Great Britain, apparently.
It was also a famous suicide spot and, Wynne thought, the perfect spot for a murder.
She reached for her phone. As she did it rang. It was the same number.
‘PC Travis?’ she said.
‘Yes. Our officers returned to the lay-by.’
‘And?’
‘The Audi was gone.’
‘I think I know where they’re headed,’ Wynne said. ‘We need people there, right away.’
‘Where?’
‘Beachy Head,’ Wynne said. ‘They’re going to Beachy Head.’
Annabelle
He was humming.
He was about to end her life and he was humming.
She didn’t know what she felt most: the fear of what was coming, or the terror she would never see Matt and Norman and Keith and Molly again or the hatred of Guy or the desire to survive, to get out of this at any cost.
No, she did know. It was the last of them.
It was the desire to survive.
At that moment she decided she would do whatever it took to stop this. There was no line she would not cross.
The car pulled to a stop. They were next to a hedge that bordered a field.
‘Car parks are too busy,’ he said. ‘It’s a short walk to the cliffs, but we’ll be fine.’ He looked out of the window at the grey skies. Drizzle spotted the windscreen. ‘There won’t be too many people out today. So we should be able to find a quiet place.’
He turned to look at her.
‘Now,’ he said. ‘Let’s you and me have us a little chat.’ He was speaking in a faux-American accent, like a grotesque cowboy. ‘You need to know a couple of things, buttercup. Firstly’ – now he was back to his normal voice – ‘I’m going to untie your feet. Not your hands, of course, but you need to be able to walk. And I don’t want you running away, or even trying to. I don’t want you drawing attention to us. If you do’ – he drew out the last word and, as he did, raised his right hand. He was holding a kitchen knife. Even in the dull light the blade glinted – ‘I will slit your throat. It will take seconds. And I’ll be gone.’ He held her gaze. His eyes were flat and emotionless. ‘And then I will do the same to your children. Remember that. You struggle, and you and they die. You don’t, and it’s just you.’
He opened the car door and got out, the knife tucked under his armpit, then opened her door.
‘Put your feet out,’ he said.
The seat belt made it difficult to move but she held them up enough for him to be able to reach down and untie her feet. He reached over and unclicked the seat belt.
‘Get out. And no fuss.’
She stood up. The rain on her face was glorious. She looked around to see if anyone was nearby.
She would do whatever it took.
He grabbed her damaged elbow. She ignored the pain – it was hard, but she could not be put off by mere pain. Not now.
‘Let’s go,’ he said.
I pull her towards a gap in the hedge. It’s about two hundred yards to a path – where there might be people, so I will have to watch for that – and then from there about another fifty yards to a part of the cliff that can be descended to a small platform, which is hidden from view.
And it is from there she will fall to her death.
No one will see, no one will know, and I will be gone for good.
She resists, but not much. It feels like a token resistance. I wonder whether she has given up. I wouldn’t be surprised. She is not like me. Maybe she will accept her fate.
Either way, it makes no difference. I will get my way.
And perhaps she knows that, which is why she has given up.
We cross the field. I slip the knife – part of me wants her to protest so I can follow through on my threat. I have never slit anyone’s throat before, but there will be other opportunities – out from under my armpit and press it against her hip.
A little reminder of what awaits her, and her children, to keep her on the straight and narrow.
I can see the path ahead, and then the spot that goes down to the small platform. There is no one around, but I speed us up nonetheless. I don’t want to rush this – it is too pleasurable – but I don’t want to get caught. That would be a disaster.
My fun can wait until we are hidden from view.
She lets me hurry her along. I have to say I am a little disappointed that she does. I would enjoy a bit more fight, a bit more challenge.
This is all too easy.
Annabelle
She could smell the sea. It was a glorious smell; she wondered whether it would always remind her of this moment, whether it would be ruined by Guy.
That assumed, of course, she would ever smell it again.
She breathed in deeply and let it fill her lungs.
It gave her strength. She felt it fill her muscles.
Guy looked around, and then sped up. He must be worried about being seen. For a moment she considered fighting back in case someone was nearby, but then she felt the blade against her hip and decided not to.
Besides, it was no bad thing to let him think she had given up. It might make him complacent, and at this time, that was all she had.
She took another deep breath.
That salty tang of the sea air; it was too good to leave behind. She let him walk her along, let him think she was broken and submissive.
And she smiled.
Fine. If she wants to go this easily, I will let her. It simply confirms this is the right thing to do. Any lingering doubts that maybe she is worthy of me after all have gone.
She is worth nothing. It is a liberating feeling.
Like all the others. It is a burden, in some ways, being me. I realized I was different when I was about ten. I could see that other people were bothered if they said something and it upset someone. They cared what people thought.
I never even considered it.
I still don’t. From a young age I thought other people didn’t have minds. They were just hollow shells. It was only me that was truly real.
And so it was only me that mattered.
Then came Richie and I learned I could be hurt by them. I learned I had to fight, I had to do whatever I could to protect myself.
So killing him – and all the others – was a simple matter of survival. And every animal has the right to survive.
And if I happened to enjoy it? Well, that was simply the icing on the cake.
I know they have names for me: Narcissist, sociopath.
It is a sign of how different I am to all the others that they see those names as negative. They describe people like me as lacking something.
A conscience, empathy, a soul.
I see it as only positive. My life is simple: I want something, and I take it. Provided I don’t get caught, there is no downside.
No: what they think I lack is what makes them weak.
I am strong. I will prevail. People like me will prevail.
We are the next evolution of humans. A different species.
So killing her is like slaughtering a pig. Or a dog.
It is nothing.
We cross the path and approach the cliff. The wind whips the rain across my face. I can feel the salt air sting my cheeks.
It is a smell I have always hated. It is the smell of chaos, and I am a bringer of order.
Wynne
It was incredibly frustrating, but there was nothing she could do but wait. She was sure they were close and she would have given anything to be there, to get to Guy Sanderson before he was able to harm Annabelle Westbrook any more than he already had.
She stared at the phone, willing it to ring.
DS Dudek opened the office door. ‘Any update?’
She shook her head.
‘Well,’ he said. ‘It’s in the lap of the gods now.’
‘That’s not where I want it,’ Wynne said. ‘I want it in my hands.’
Her phone buzzed. She looked at the number.
‘It’s him,’ she said. ‘PC Travis.’
‘Looks like there might be some news after all,’ Dudek said.
She shushed him and answered the phone. ‘Hello?’
‘We found t
he car,’ Travis said. ‘It’s parked on a roadside near the cliffs. Two officers are at the scene.’
‘Are you sure it’s his car?’
‘Yes. They ran the licence plates. It’s him.’
‘What are the officers doing?’
‘They’re looking for Sanderson and Annabelle. They haven’t found them yet.’
‘Tell them to look faster,’ Wynne said. ‘And get as many people as you can there, right now.’
‘We are. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear something.’
Wynne put the phone down and looked at Dudek.
‘We’ve got him,’ she said, but she did not feel any joy. ‘I just hope that’s good enough. Because this is a race against time, now. They have to get to him before he kills Annabelle Westbrook.’
Here we are.
The ledge is narrower and rougher than I remembered. It is chalky underfoot, of course, and slippery with rain. It is also hidden from view. I had a worry that it was not, but that worry was ill-founded.
I push her to the edge. It is a sheer drop to jagged rocks on which the sea is pounding.
‘Fittingly dramatic,’ I say. ‘This would be a good place for someone in your books to commit suicide. Shame you won’t be writing any more, though, isn’t it?’
She tries to step back from the fall. I hold her in place. I want her to be able to contemplate what is going to happen to her, imagine herself falling, falling, to the hard ground below.
‘Well,’ I say. ‘I must admit to a little disappointment, Annabelle. This is a lot easier than I imagined. It’s such a shame it didn’t work out for us. I mean, if only you had a little more imagination, you could have gone along with my plan. A bit of plastic surgery, a new look, and a life of pleasure. I would have got you whatever you wanted. You can see now that I am good at getting things.’ I sigh. ‘But, you chose this.’
She shakes her head and muffled sounds come out. She is trying to tell me she didn’t choose this, or something equally banal. She thinks she didn’t choose it because she doesn’t want it, but that’s just another example of her lack of vision. She chose it implicitly when she rejected me.
