by S W Kane
‘Raymond!’ she shouted, struggling to sit upright, the pain in her leg making her gasp as she tried to get up. With horror, she watched as Raymond and Palmer rolled perilously near to the edge of the drop opposite.
‘Raymond!’ she shouted again, dragging herself over to the hatch doors. With difficulty, she managed to flip one of them shut just as the pair rolled on to what would have been, a second ago, thin air. They were now half on, half off, the door – Raymond straddling Palmer, who was wildly punching at him. She was edging herself towards the two men, to position herself behind Raymond so that she could try to drag him back, when she heard a yell and saw Raymond lift his right arm and bring it down hard on Palmer’s neck. Palmer let out a strangled yowl, his hands reaching for his neck, and in that split second Raymond rolled off him.
Palmer’s hands clutched at his throat, blood trickling from between his fingers, something sticking out of his neck. Raymond backed away, a mixture of blood and shock on his face, unable to take his eyes off Palmer. Palmer tried to get up, but he misjudged, a look of surprise on his face as he realised his mistake.
Connie and Raymond watched as he plunged into the water with a loud splash. Neither of them spoke for a few seconds – the water lapping at the underside of the boathouse and their breathing the only sounds.
‘He k-killed Ed and Ena,’ said Connie. ‘P-Palmer did.’
‘No,’ said Raymond, shaking his head. ‘Palmer didn’t. That was Mr Calder.’
She looked at him in confusion and then back to the water. ‘W-what are y-you talking—’ But before she could finish the sentence, a hand shot out of the murky water. Connie hadn’t spotted them before, but recessed below the hatch was a set of wooden steps leading into the water, which Calder was now desperately trying to cling on to.
‘Fuck!’ she screamed as his head emerged from the water like a monster from the deep, his other hand grasping the next rung on the ladder. Something protruded from his neck.
Raymond got to his feet, and they both watched, transfixed, as Calder hauled himself up until his hands were on the edge of the hatch; it was like watching a zombie rise from its grave. The current was strong, and Connie could tell that he was having a hard time holding on. Calder looked at them both in turn.
‘Help me,’ he rasped.
‘Why?’ asked Raymond, matter-of-factly.
Connie was now shaking uncontrollably and instinctively took a step back, unable to take her eyes off the man she’d thought was Charles Palmer.
Calder tried to smile. His lips were turning blue, his grip on the edge of the hatch weakening. Blood was oozing out of his neck, running down his shirt.
Connie glanced at Raymond, but his eyes were fixed on Calder.
‘You killed her friend,’ said Raymond.
A boat went by outside, sending waves over Calder, and he spluttered, struggling to hang on. ‘He was on my property. And like I said.’ He gulped. ‘Wrong place, wrong time.’ He spat out a mouthful of river water and, summoning all his strength, once again tried to haul himself up out of the water.
‘No,’ said Raymond quietly, before lifting his foot and bringing it down with a sickening thud on Calder’s remaining hand. ‘You’re wrong. It’s my property.’
CHAPTER 49
Connie and Raymond were standing by the open hatch when Kirby burst into the boathouse, Connie trembling violently. He’d seen the tracks in the snow, and then the light from the boathouse glowing through the greyness, when he emerged from the folly.
‘What happened?’ he asked. ‘Are you hurt?’ His mind was still reeling from the lake room, wondering if he’d imagined it. It was like something from another planet, strange and otherworldly, but he hadn’t had time to stop and take it in properly. He’d seen the second tunnel and knew it had to be the way into the grounds of Marsh House, so had wasted no time.
‘C-Calder tried to kill m-me,’ Connie stammered.
‘He was here?’ Kirby asked, staring at the gaping hatch.
‘He fell,’ said Raymond, glancing at Connie as he spoke.
Kirby looked into the water and felt like he was staring into the mouth of a beast that had just eaten, and he half expected a belch. All the Armani suits in the world wouldn’t save Calder now.
‘If R-Raymond hadn’t come when he d-did . . .’ Connie’s voice trailed off.
Kirby pulled out his phone and punched in the number for the Marine Policing Unit. ‘When did he go in?’ he asked them, waiting to be connected. It couldn’t have been that long ago; he’d only been ten minutes behind Raymond.
‘J-just now,’ said Connie. ‘A m-m-minute?’ She looked at Raymond, who simply nodded.
Mart Stevenson picked up the phone on the third ring, and Kirby explained to him what had happened. ‘We’re on our way,’ Mart replied. ‘He’s not going to stand a chance in this weather,’ he said solemnly, before hanging up.
Kirby heard a noise outside, and Anderson suddenly appeared at the door, breathless, Charles Palmer behind him.
‘What’s going on?’ Anderson asked, looking around. The small building suddenly felt crowded.
‘Calder’s in the river,’ said Kirby. ‘MPU are on their way.’
‘Shit,’ said Anderson.
Palmer had edged around Anderson and stood staring at the open hatch, realisation dawning. ‘Oh my God . . .’
‘What happened?’ Kirby asked, looking at Connie and Raymond.
‘He f-found me in the l-lake room,’ Connie stuttered. ‘There was a man down there, after I spoke to you on the phone. He attacked me. C-Calder pulled him off.’ She looked into the water. ‘I thought I was s-safe. B-but he brought me here and t-tried to kill me. I th-thought he w-was Palmer.’
Palmer said nothing, in shock, taking it all in.
‘He said Ena k-killed his mother,’ she went on. ‘What did he mean?’
‘The trainee nurse that Tom Ellis mentioned to you, the one who killed herself? That was Calder’s mother. Her name was Ruthie Abbott,’ said Kirby.
‘But—’ began Connie.
‘Calder was convinced that Ena killed her,’ said Kirby. ‘Something which, sadly, we’ll never know for sure.’ No one said anything for a few moments, the water’s rhythm now gentle as though nothing had happened.
It was Raymond who broke the silence. ‘I saw Ena do it.’
They all turned to look at him.
‘In Keats Ward, I saw Ena put a pillow over Nurse Abbott’s face. There were feathers everywhere and—’ He stopped, looking embarrassed that he was the centre of attention.
As Raymond was speaking, Kirby felt the strangest sensation come over him, and for a brief moment thought he might faint. He quickly pulled himself together, thankful that all eyes had been on Raymond.
‘And you never said anything, all these years?’ Connie asked.
Raymond shook his head. ‘Ena made me promise. She put me to sleep to help me forget. But then I went up there, a few days ago, to where you found her body.’ He looked at Kirby and Anderson. ‘And that’s when I remembered. I didn’t want to, but I had to know. Will I be in trouble?’
‘No, Raymond, you’ll be fine,’ said Kirby, catching Anderson’s eye. ‘Take them back to the house, will you?’
‘Sure,’ said Anderson, looking like he’d just woken from a bizarre dream. ‘Come on, Miss Darke, let’s get you warm and call an ambulance. You too, Raymond.’
Kirby watched them go, leaving him alone with Palmer. He couldn’t help but wonder whether Raymond had been telling the truth when he said that Calder had fallen. He’d seen the look on Connie’s face.
‘This is just insane,’ said Palmer, running a shaking hand through his hair. ‘Will Patrick survive?’ The open hatch transfixed him.
‘Not with the currents and the temperature, no.’
‘Christ,’ said Palmer, hugging himself. ‘I can’t believe it.’
‘Did you tell him about Ruthie Abbott?’ asked Kirby.
‘I had no idea . . . he nev
er said anything to me, about her being his mother. This is all my fault.’
‘How did you find out about Ruthie?’ Kirby was having difficulty trying to piece it together in his mind.
‘My aunt mentioned her. She told me there were two people there when my mother died – Ena, and a trainee nurse called Ruthie Abbott. She never mentioned a son.’
‘And you told Calder this?’
Palmer nodded. ‘It was why I was here, why I’d been left the house – why I was selling to him. He was sympathetic. I had no reason not to trust him and . . .’ He shook his head. ‘He had a key,’ he said, quietly. ‘Patrick did. To Marsh House. I gave it to him. Then one day, I came home unexpectedly and found him at the house. It seemed a little odd, but I forgot about it.’
If Calder had keys to the house, he could have let himself in on the night of the murder and taken Ena’s body into Blackwater via the tunnel. It didn’t explain how he’d got her there in the first place though. ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’
Palmer shrugged. ‘Why would I? I . . . we were sleeping with each other, for Christ’s sake!’ He was doing his best to hold back tears.
‘Does his wife know?’ asked Kirby, remembering the frosty atmosphere at the house in Clapham.
Palmer nodded. ‘I got the feeling there was no love lost on either side but that it suited them both to be seen to be married.’
‘You mean married to someone of the opposite sex.’
‘There’s still a lot of prejudice out there. Especially in Patrick’s world.’ Palmer looked at him. ‘I don’t expect you to understand.’
Kirby could hear the familiar sound of the Targa’s engine approaching outside – the boat the MPU used.
‘He was going to buy the house from me, help me sort my life out. He . . .’ Palmer shook his head. ‘I can’t believe he killed those people. Did he, really?’
‘It does appear that way,’ said Kirby. Based on Connie’s attempted murder, Calder was certainly capable of it, but there was also Lloyd’s involvement to take into account, if he was involved at all. He could see Palmer visibly flagging and decided the best thing was to get him back to the house and continue the conversation later. ‘Come on, let’s get out of the cold.’ He led him away from the hatch and out of the boathouse.
The freezing fog was even thicker now, creeping up the garden towards the house. The folly gate hung open in the murk, like a prop from a Hammer Horror film. ‘Why did you need the key?’ Palmer asked, staring at the small structure.
‘There’s a tunnel, which leads next door to Blackwater.’
Palmer looked completely bewildered.
‘You didn’t know?’
Palmer shook his head and fell silent again as they made their way through the snowy garden, and Kirby wondered whether he was telling the truth. He and Calder could easily have been in it together, two men drawn together by events of over five decades ago – events which had shaped both their lives profoundly – both seeking retribution. But Kirby didn’t think so. Palmer appeared visibly shaken by the evening’s events, so he either knew nothing about the murders or he was a very good actor. He also wondered where Ed Blake fitted into all this. He’d known about Tom Ellis and Palmer’s mother, so had he also known about Ruthie Abbott? And then there was Ellis, who lay dying in hospital and who was more than likely Palmer’s biological father. Kirby wasn’t quite sure where to begin with that – Palmer seemed fragile and now wasn’t the time, although time was one thing Tom Ellis didn’t have.
All the lights were blazing on the ground floor of Marsh House as they approached across the lawn: Anderson, Connie and Raymond’s footprints were clear in the snow, heading to the French doors. Inside, someone had lit a fire, and Connie sat huddled next to it as the warmth took hold, a mug of tea in her hands. The shaking had almost stopped, although the occasional shudder still ran through her.
‘Where’s Raymond?’ Kirby asked her.
‘With Detective Anderson. Looking for biscuits.’
‘Are you okay?’
She nodded. ‘I cut my leg and my shoulder hurts, but I’ll live.’
Palmer had slumped into a chair at the table at the far end of the room, his head in his hands.
‘Lloyd, the man in the lake room,’ said Kirby, lowering his voice. ‘Did he—’
‘No,’ she cut in. ‘Calder, he – he stopped it happening. I’d seen him before, the man who attacked me, at the Welcome Inn. He threatened me then too, but I left before it got out of hand.’
‘Were there any witnesses?’ asked Kirby. It would help when it came to charging him.
‘He was with a mate, big bloke. I don’t know his name.’
‘We’ll find him.’
‘I just can’t get my head around Calder,’ said Connie, staring into her mug of tea. ‘I mean, he killed Ed – was going to kill me – and yet he stopped that animal attacking me.’
‘Try not to think about it too much. You’re safe now and that’s what matters.’ He left her staring into the fire and went to the kitchen, where he found Raymond pulling on some nitrile gloves. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Mr Sweet is hungry,’ said Anderson, rolling his eyes. ‘Said I’d help him find some biscuits, only I don’t want his prints everywhere.’
‘What about the ambulance?’ Kirby asked.
‘On its way.’
Raymond was now frantically opening cupboard doors and then closing them.
‘Go and sit next door, Mr Sweet. We’ll fix you up with something just as soon as we can. Go and keep Miss Darke company.’
Raymond reluctantly did as he was told, still wearing the gloves.
Anderson let out a long breath. ‘He keeps asking if Calder was this Creeper character. I can’t see why Calder would break into the Old Lodge, or the Four Sails for that matter, can you? Perhaps he and Connie did imagine it after all.’
‘It could be Lloyd, who attacked Connie.’
Anderson shook his head. ‘Raymond is adamant it’s not him. Fuck knows.’
‘Who else could it be? Calder never did anything unless there was something in it for him. Unless, of course, he had a gold-plated set of skeleton keys and a Gucci balaclava and just got a kick out of it.’
‘Nothing would surprise me,’ said Anderson. ‘People get a kick out of the weirdest shit. Look, I’ll wait for the cavalry if you want to get over to Calder’s place. How much do you think his wife knows?’
‘My guess, very little.’ Kirby’s eyes darted to the doorway and he lowered his voice. ‘Calder was sleeping with Palmer, and according to him the marriage was a sham.’
‘Shit. We’d better call the boss,’ said Anderson, pulling out his phone.
‘No, wait,’ said Kirby. ‘I’ll call him on my way to Calder’s place.’
Anderson gave him a questioning look.
‘Can I take your car?’ He wanted to change the subject before Anderson insisted on calling Hamer. ‘Mine’s on Daylesford Road.’
Anderson tossed him the rabbit’s paw keyring. ‘You okay, Lew? Only I saw you just now, in the boathouse.’
The pair locked eyes for a few seconds, Kirby’s brain buzzing like electrical interference, before he managed a smile. ‘Yeah, I’m fine. Need to eat something, that’s all. I’d better get going.’
Anderson seemed happy with the excuse, mumbling something about bircher muesli not being proper food, then he suddenly began grinning. ‘Hey, at least one thing’s pretty certain.’
‘What’s that?’ asked Kirby.
‘I doubt Mrs Calder will be wearing a onesie with a gravity-defying zip. Or fondling a bottle opener.’
‘No,’ said Kirby, with more than a tinge of disappointment. ‘I very much doubt that she will.’
CHAPTER 50
The following morning, Kirby stood in what everyone was now referring to as the bone jar – Raymond’s name having stuck. Kirby was alone, the first there after only a couple of hours’ sleep, and still awestruck by the room’s very existence let
alone its construction. He stood with the lights off for a moment, letting what fragments of natural light there were penetrate the thick film of algae, which coated the glass panels that made up the domed roof. The thick layer of ice and snow covering the lake blocked out most of the light, but there were mottled patches on the glass where the tone altered. He didn’t know if there were fish in the lake – Kirby knew nothing about fish and their habitat – and he wondered whether Leroy Simmons knew. Did carp eat algae? He stuck out his hand and flicked on the lights.
Police floodlights, which had been set up the night before, revealed the domed structure in all its bizarre glory. Sixteen cast-iron ribs – Kirby had counted them only a few hours ago in a caffeine-fuelled moment – fanned out from the central circle at the apex of the dome, arching downward to the ground like a giant spider. Two tunnels ran off the room, on opposite sides, connecting the subterranean bone jar with Marsh House and Blackwater Asylum respectively. In space, no one can hear you scream, the tagline to the first Alien film, hadn’t left Kirby’s mind since he’d first set foot in the place. No one would hear you down here, either.
As he gazed around the bizarre space, he thought back to the previous night and his visit to Patrick Calder’s home. Saskia Calder had taken the news of her husband’s almost-certain death with equanimity. The real shock had come when Kirby explained the circumstances. Apart from his dalliances with men, of which there had been several over the years, it became clear that she knew nothing of what her murderous husband had been up to. She’d been happy to let Kirby look around the room Calder had used as an office when at home, and it was there, in a desk drawer, that Kirby had found the letters and the photograph.
The letters were from Patrick Calder’s mother, Ruthie Abbott, to her mother – Calder’s grandmother, Stella Calder – and they made grim reading. In the same drawer, shoved right to the back, he’d also found the pay-as-you-go mobile that Calder had used to contact Ena, although her phone was still missing. Then, as he’d been about to leave, he’d asked Saskia Calder if the name Lloyd Templeton meant anything. Raymond had told them that Lloyd was Calder’s son, something Kirby found almost impossible to believe, but it turned out to be true: Lloyd Templeton was Patrick Calder’s son, the product of a fling Calder had had early on in his career. That Saskia Calder found Lloyd as distasteful as Kirby did was only too evident.
