Carrion Comfort

by Aline Templeton

  And what was the ‘awful thing’ he’d been talking about? What would happen now to poor Gabrielle, so lost and broken? Jealousy had become her own default setting where her sister was concerned, but when she’d seen her so pitiful today, frightened and in tears, it had reminded Francesca that they hadn’t always been adversaries. Oh, they’d had their spats – what sisters didn’t? – but it was the break-up that had forced them to choose sides. If Gabrielle went with Pat, she had to choose to stay with Lilian. Philip Larkin was right about parents and what they did to you.

  So, what was she to do now? Given her strained relations with Gabrielle, going to tell her what was going on might be seen as troublemaking – gloating, even. But she couldn’t pretend she hadn’t seen that obscene embrace and Gabrielle had a right to know that the ‘mothering’ that Lilian had done so much of lately was a mockery.

  She got up with sudden decision. She didn’t know where David had gone – home, perhaps, to look after his sick wife with his usual cossetting? The thought made her feel sick. The back door was never locked; she could slip into the house unseen and wait till she could get her sister alone. Then, if Gabrielle liked, they could confront him together.

  With sudden decision she got up and walked out of the flat.

  Lilian didn’t know what to do with herself. Mercifully Malcolm would be out for the next hour or so because she didn’t think she’d be strong enough to put on a convincing act of normality. In fact, she couldn’t imagine how she’d do it even in an hour’s time. She went into the sitting room and sat down, trying to keep calm when what she really wanted to do was scream and scream. She couldn’t even let herself cry; red and swollen eyes would be hard to explain away.

  She hadn’t thought it would come to this. She had become adept over the years at shutting out of her mind anything that was uncomfortable to think about and she could pretend that the little things she did – the lies about arrangements, the moving around of domestic objects, even the suggestive placing of the knife – were just a kind of practical joke.

  Her present torment was all her daughter’s fault. She’d been coldly, cruelly angry when Lilian had told her about the divorce. She’d even called her a whore: ‘You don’t love Malcolm!’ she’d cried. ‘You’re just doing it for his money because Dad’s going bust.’

  ‘It’s you broke up this marriage!’ she’d screamed at her. ‘You always had to come first – you had to come between us. Pat talks to you, not me.’

  ‘That’s because the only time you talk to him is when you want more money and he hasn’t got it just now and you make him feel bad about that. But believe me, he’ll succeed. He’s clever – he’ll move on from this and he’ll make far more than Malcolm ever will. You’ll regret what you’ve done.’

  And she had, too. It had been intolerable to see Pat prosper, along with the daughter who’d humiliated and rejected her. She’d never, never forgive her for that. Gabrielle had sown the seeds of hatred and it was her own fault that they had grown into this.

  Lilian got up to pace around, twisting her hands together. She must stop thinking about the next hour or two, think instead about what would come later, think instead about the dream: the little house in Umbria with an olive grove. She loved Italy; she’d always felt it was her spiritual home. Pat, however wealthy he was, would never have agreed – sophistication wasn’t his thing – and Malcolm thought an occasional week’s holiday in a good hotel was enough.

  But David – he was different. From the moment they’d met they’d known: this was the real thing. They had the same tastes, the same aspirations – yes, even the same faults. They’d both tried poor when they were young and rich was better – much, much better. Now it was within their grasp if they were clever and brave and patient. David’s task was the hard one; all she had to do was keep calm and act the way a fond mother should.

  She hadn’t shut the door and now she saw Francesca coming quickly down the stairs and breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn’t decided to come down quarter of an hour ago.

  ‘Hello, Fran,’ she called. ‘Going out?’

  Francesca turned and there was a look on her face that Lilian had never seen before – loathing, contempt. She came quite slowly across the hall and confronted her.

  ‘I saw the two of you. It was obscene. You’re a disgusting person.’ She drew back her hand and slapped her mother hard across the face. ‘That’s for Gabrielle. I’m going to tell her now.’

  She whirled out of the front door and slammed it behind her. A moment later Lilian heard her car leaving in a scatter of gravel.

  Lilian turned white so that Francesca’s fingermarks stood out red on her cheek. She could hardly breathe from shock as her world fell apart about her.

  There was only one thought in her head – to warn David. She ran through to the kitchen to fetch her phone then remembered – he’d forbidden her to use it. How far would he have got with his plan by now? What if Francesca—

  No, that mustn’t happen. She must follow her, talk her down, try to persuade her that what she saw had been just a sudden impulse, while she was comforting him about his worries over Gabrielle. Yes, that would do, provided she got there in time.

  She found her keys and ran to the car.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  DCI Strang was getting irritated. ‘I thought they’d have got here by now. I suppose there must have been some sort of hitch, but it would have been helpful if they’d let me know. I’ve better things to do.’

  ‘Like bringing in David Ross,’ DC Murray said. ‘Have we enough to charge him, boss?’

  He shook his head. ‘Enough to rattle his cage but that’s all. Can’t see him breaking down and confessing, can you? We have to hope forensics can come up with something from that path through the bog – so far that’s only a theory. And now I’m stuck here till we’ve shown them where to find it.’

  ‘What do you want me to do meantime?’

  Strang glanced round. ‘There’s the tea trolley. See if you can blag me a sandwich and a cup of tea – I think it’s marginally better than the coffee.’

  ‘Only marginally,’ she said darkly. ‘Right, boss.’

  As she went to do it he clicked on the computer, hoping something new might have come in but he was disappointed. The report from DC Wilson about the investigation that morning was there, though. He hadn’t read it himself, so he might as well check what they had done.

  He was skimming it when something caught his eyes. He stopped, went back and read it again. Was that significant, given what they knew now?

  ‘Livvy, tell me something,’ he said as she came back with the tray.

  David Ross looked at his watch. How long would it take for the dose to act? Not long, considering how much he’d given her on top of the stuff she’d had last night in the hospital. And he didn’t want to leave it too long in case she just vomited it up again – you could never be sure that the system wouldn’t rebel. Time was too short to allow for a botched attempt.

  He checked what he was taking upstairs for the third time. The temazepam bottle with Lilian’s prints on it, that if all went well could be explained by Gabrielle having taken it from her mother’s medicine cabinet; the cap wiped, ready to have Gabrielle’s fingers clasped round it. The glass that held it, polished clean now, to be left at her bedside with her prints only. The knife—He couldn’t find the smallest one – ironic, really, if Gabrielle herself had started moving it about and putting it in odd places. The next size would do: it would have his prints on it but that was reasonable as long as the final grip was Gabrielle’s.

  Yes, it was all in place. He felt powerful, in control; whatever suspicions the police might have, suspicions weren’t proof and once Gabrielle was dead he was safe.

  Time to go.

  Francesca Curran drove fast down the narrow road. She hadn’t a clear plan in her head, except to tell Gabrielle what she needed to know. She didn’t want a confrontation with David before that; it would definitely be b
etter to talk to her sister before he realised she was there. She parked the car on the side of the road and walked the hundred yards or so to the back gate. If he was in the sitting room she’d be spotted but there was no sign of him there and she went round to the back of the house.

  She pressed herself to the wall as she worked her way round to the kitchen window and peered in; no, he wasn’t there either. With infinite caution she turned the handle of the back door and let herself in; so far so good. There was a tray with a teapot and cup – and a vase with a rose in it. She felt furious at the hypocrisy. Gabrielle was presumably upstairs in bed; she’d looked so ill this morning.

  Where was he, though? Up at her bedside, pretending to be the devoted husband? Francesca tiptoed out into the hall and listened. There was no sound of voices. He’d obviously brought the tray back down after giving her the tea and the door to the office was shut. That was promising. As silently as she could she went upstairs, keeping to the edge of the treads; she remembered from her childhood that they creaked when you went up the middle.

  She tapped on the door and opened it. ‘Gabrielle?’

  David Ross was standing by the side of the bed, holding Gabrielle’s limp wrist. He had a knife in the other hand. Gabrielle’s mouth was open, and she was drooling; there was a thin rim of white showing below her eyelids and her breathing was slow and laboured. Francesca screamed.

  The shock made him drop the knife with a stream of obscenities. ‘You fool!’ he screamed. ‘Have you any idea what you’ve done?’

  ‘Saved my sister’s life,’ she said with more bravery than she felt. ‘And I’m calling the police.’ She was groping in her bag for her phone as she ran out of the room, but he moved fast. He was on her; she shrieked as he grabbed her by the hair and pulled her back into the room.

  He was beside himself with rage, spittle forming at the corners of his mouth. ‘It’s bad enough, what I’ve been forced to do already. But your idiocy—’ He looked at the knife on the floor, then from her to Gabrielle.

  Francesca didn’t really believe it. This couldn’t be happening to her. It was too crazy. He was shaking her by the hair so that she couldn’t think properly, she could only shudder convulsively and wail in pain. She hadn’t known fear like this existed.

  A car drew up outside. Ross froze; a moment later the front door was thrown open and Lilian’s panicky voice called, ‘David! Where are you?’

  Francesca yelled, ‘Mum! Mum, help me!’

  As Lilian’s footsteps pounded up the stairs Ross swung her round so that her head came into violent contact with the doorpost. She saw stars, then collapsed.

  Lilian burst into the room, then stopped. ‘Oh my God, David, what have you done?’

  Murray squinted over Strang’s shoulder at the screen. ‘Seen something, boss?’

  ‘I might have,’ he said slowly. ‘Livvy, I want you to talk me through exactly what happened after you arrived at Ross’s house last night.’

  Puzzled, she took him through it again. When she said, ‘He was in shock,’ he said, ‘Stop there. How did you know?’

  ‘He was swaying, shaky on his feet. Said he was cold.’ She sounded a little defensive.

  ‘So, you went to make tea. How long did it take?’

  She shrugged. ‘I had to boil the kettle. And he wanted brandy – took me another minute or two to find that.’

  ‘And when you came back he was sitting beside his wife, at the fireside?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. What do you mean?’

  ‘I may be making too much of this but the thing that leapt out at me from Wilson’s report was that she’d found prints on everything she’d tested – apart from the poker beside the fire.’

  Comprehension dawned. ‘Smudges,’ she said. ‘It had been wiped.’

  ‘Maybe Hay wasn’t so wrong after all – maybe that was what saved Gabrielle’s life.’

  ‘You think Morven attacked her, knocked her unconscious, but didn’t hit her afterwards? And he saw his opportunity – but why would he want to kill his wife?’

  ‘The same reason that he doesn’t want us to speak to her. She knows something. And he knows that I’m going to insist on speaking to her any time now. She could be in serious danger.’ He got up. ‘Forensics are going to have to wait.’

  Lilian Sinclair had begun to shriek, ‘What have you done? What have you done?’

  She was working herself into hysteria. David Ross, his jaw taut with rage, stepped across and slapped her on the cheek where the marks of Francesca’s slap still lingered.

  Shocked more than hurt, she stopped with a gasp. Until earlier today she had never been struck in anger and she burst into tears. ‘You hit me!’

  He was grasping his hands into fists in an effort to control himself. The stupid bitch had ruined everything. It took a superhuman effort of will to sound reassuring as he said, ‘Darling, I had to. You were hysterical. It’s all right now. Let’s calm down and you can listen to me.’

  ‘But look at them, David!’ She gestured to Gabrielle, ashen grey and breathing stertorously now; to Francesca, unconscious on the floor. ‘We’ve got to get help—’

  ‘No!’ His voice was like a whip crack. Then he softened it. ‘My love, we have to be realistic. Yes, we’re in a bad mess – this shouldn’t have happened.’ He put his arms round her and she allowed herself to be escorted to a settle that stood in the window. ‘Sit down here beside me. I’ll explain what we’re going to do, and it will be all right.’

  ‘How can it be?’ She sobbed.

  ‘Just listen.’ His voice was hard again, and she recoiled but didn’t speak. ‘Gabrielle is unstable. Everyone knows that. Malcolm will vouch for it, and her head injury tipped her over the edge. She and Francesca have been at daggers drawn for years. Something went wrong – a row over Niall, perhaps? Something like that – we can work out the details of what to suggest later. Gabrielle goes for her with the knife she’s been using lately to let out her frustrations – like slashing the towels, OK? – and she kills her, then takes the sedative she’s stolen from you and kills herself.

  ‘It would only take minutes and we can be back at Westerfield House before Malcolm even gets back from lunch. Once I’ve spoken to him I come back here and make the terrible discovery.’ It was amazing what you could do when you were under pressure. Not many people would have the brains to come up with a scenario like this on the spot. He went on, ‘So you see, my sweetheart, it won’t really have changed anything.’

  Ross gave Lilian that special smile, the one she had always told him melted her heart. But she wasn’t melting this time. She was staring at him, her face a mask of horror.

  ‘I think you must be mad,’ she said. ‘And I must have been mad too, to go along with any of this. Are you suggesting that I should stand by and watch you massacre both my daughters?’

  Fury rose in him. ‘You didn’t seem to mind when it was one. And I never realised you were so fond of Francesca, either. You’ve always been scathing about how pathetic she is.’

  ‘But for God’s sake, that doesn’t mean I wanted to kill her! David, we have to—’ She got up, but he pulled her back down.

  ‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘We don’t have to. I’ll tell you what – you can choose. Gabrielle killed her sister, or she killed her sister and her mother. It’s up to you.’

  He jumped to his feet and in two strides was across the room, picking up the knife he had dropped. As Lilian sat, frozen with shock, he came across holding it.

  ‘You – you won’t get away with it!’ she stammered. ‘They’ll know you did it.’

  Ross paused, looking down at the knife in his hand. ‘I suppose they might. But this way, there’s a chance they might not. And I was always a risk-taker, wasn’t I? All right, Lilian – crunch time. Which way is it going to be?’

  DCI Strang reached the narrow road towards the Rosses’ house and slammed his foot down. As a trained police driver he was enjoying the exhilaration of the challenge, taking the exact angle
into the first corner that would get him round at maximum speed while still setting up the car for whatever might be there beyond. It was only when he heard DC Murray release her breath that he realised she’d been holding it.

  He laughed. ‘Relax, Livvy – I know what I’m doing.’

  ‘You may know. I don’t,’ she said tartly, gripping the arm rest, then gasped again as a car appeared, holding the middle of the road. With smooth competence Strang steered the car past with two wheels on the verge and then back onto the road, barely dropping his speed. He caught a glimpse of the terrified face of the other driver; that might teach him to keep to his own side in future.

  They were passing Fergus Mowat’s farm now. It wasn’t a lot further to the house, and Strang suddenly slowed down. There was a Peugeot 108 parked a couple of hundred yards back, and there was an Audi A3 right by the front gate.

  ‘I saw both those cars parked outside Westerfield House,’ Murray said.

  ‘Yes. Francesca Curran’s and Lilian Sinclair’s, I guess. Natural enough that they’d have come to see Gabrielle. That’s a relief – I needn’t have scared the living daylights out of you after all.’

  ‘Me scared? Nah. I was nearly beginning to enjoy it. Nearly.’

  He drew in to park just in front of the Peugeot and they got out. ‘If it’s possible, I want to see Gabrielle first. If Ross puts up resistance, I slam him with the false alibi while you phone for the police doctor to come and see whether she’s fit to be interviewed. Right?’

  ‘Right, boss,’ she said as they walked up to the front door. She had just raised her hand to knock when Strang said sharply, ‘Wait. Listen. Is that a woman crying?’

  She could hear it too, coming from the front room upstairs. Then the voice rose sharply to a scream. ‘No! No! David, you can’t!’

  They were both off and running, Strang in front taking the stairs three at a time. He flung open the door on a scene of horror: a barely conscious woman on the bed, a woman on the floor with her eyes closed, but stirring; a white-faced woman on the settle by the window.