Eloise was staring at Aiden as if seeing him for the first time. ‘Yes. I did.’ I noticed she was no longer holding his hand.
‘He knew that Cecily had worked out at least some of the truth and that he was no longer safe. So when she went for a walk, he went after her. He knew what route she was taking and it would have been easy enough to wait for her on the other side of the woods at Martlesham. I don’t know how he killed her and I don’t know how he had time to get rid of the body, but I think that to start with he put her in the trunk of his car. That’s why he went to the charity shop in Framlingham with a completely random collection of her clothes, including a dress she’d just bought and which she’d never worn. He just needed to be sure that there would be a reason for her DNA to be in the back of the car if the police ever looked.’
Locke took a step towards Aiden. ‘I think you had better come with me,’ he said.
Aiden looked around him and at that moment there was something about him that reminded me of a trapped lion. Andreas stood up and put an arm around my shoulders. I was glad to have him near.
‘Mr MacNeil . . .’ Locke continued. He reached out as if to take hold of him.
And that was when it happened. Aiden’s face didn’t change but something that I can only describe as nightmarish glimmered in his eyes and I knew that Frank Parris must have seen exactly the same thing in his last moments in the room at the hotel and that Cecily Treherne, too, would have recognised it in the wood near Martlesham: the look of someone about to kill you.
Aiden lashed out with his fist and at first I thought he had punched the detective under the chin. Locke was much bigger than him and powerfully built, but he seemed completely stunned by the blow, as if he didn’t know how to react. For a moment everything was still, but then, to my horror, I saw blood cascading down the side of his neck, soaking into his shirt, and realised that as he stood up, Aiden must have grabbed hold of the antique brooch. He had driven the point deep into the detective’s throat.
Locke let out something between a sob and a cry of pain. He fell to his knees, one hand gripping the wound. More blood gushed between his fingers. Nobody moved. Aiden stood there, blank-faced, still holding the brooch with the pin jutting out. I was terrified that Andreas would try something. But even he was stunned. The dog had got to its feet and was barking furiously. Locke was still on his knees, groaning. I saw Pauline turning away in shock. Aiden ran towards me and I flinched, expecting the worst. But then he had passed me and I heard a great crash of breaking glass and splintering wood and realised that he had kicked in the French window at the back of the lounge. I caught just one last glimpse of him disappearing into the garden.
Eloise had run over to Locke and was kneeling down, cradling him. Lawrence was caring for Pauline. Lisa had taken out her phone and was dialling for an ambulance.
Andreas took me in his arms. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
I was stunned. I was swaying on my feet. I could hear Lisa being connected to the emergency services. ‘Just get me out of here,’ I whispered.
We left the room together. Neither of us looked back.
Last Words
We weren’t allowed to go back to Crete for a few days. Although I’d had nothing to do with the death of Frank Parris or the disappearance of Cecily Treherne, I still had to give a full statement, more or less repeating what I had said in the lounge of Branlow Hall. I got the feeling that I was being held personally responsible for what had happened to Detective Chief Superintendent Locke. He was lucky to be alive. The tip of the needle had punctured his carotid artery, which explained the massive blood flow, and but for the fast arrival of the paramedics he wouldn’t have made it. The policemen who questioned me were unfriendly to say the least.
I couldn’t possibly stay at Branlow Hall. The truth was, I didn’t want to see any of them again: not the Trehernes, not Eloise, not Derek, not even Bear the dog. Nor would I have felt comfortable moving in with Katie. In the end, Andreas and I took a room at the Crown Hotel in Framlingham, which was where I had stayed at the time of Alan’s funeral. I liked it there. It was a comfortable distance from Woodbridge.
We knew very little of what was going on. We deliberately kept away from the newspapers and the police didn’t tell us anything. But on the third day of our enforced stay, I received an envelope at the breakfast table. I knew where it had come from even before I opened it. The silhouette of an owl was printed on the envelope.
There were two letters inside. The first was from Lawrence Treherne. I was glad, finally, to see a cheque for the money he owed me.
Dear Susan,
I feel uncomfortable writing this letter to you, but first of all I am enclosing a cheque as agreed and apologise for the long delay. I hope you will not mind me saying that, in a way, you have done more damage to our lives than even Alan Conway managed, although at the same time I suppose I must thank you. We asked you to do a job and you did it very effectively, although none of us could possibly have known how devastating the consequences would be.
I want to bring you up to speed on other developments which I am sure will be of interest to you.
The first is that Aiden MacNeil is dead. After that dreadful business at the hotel, he drove himself to Manningtree station, where he threw himself under a train. I’m surprised the police weren’t able to stop him, but I’m afraid DS Locke had come to the hotel on his own – a grave error – and everything happened too quickly after that. Pauline and I both feel the same about his death. We bitterly regret that our poor, dear daughter ever met him and we are glad that we will never see him again. She was too kind-hearted and trusting. You were absolutely right.
Before he killed himself, Aiden wrote a letter addressed to me and the police have allowed me to retain a copy. I, in turn, have made a copy for you and I am enclosing it as it shows you what sort of man he was and what you were up against. It also answers a few more questions which I think will interest you, even though some of what he has to say is manifestly untrue. The cold-blooded manner in which he planned Cecily’s death is almost beyond belief. I should warn you that it is very hard to read.
There is one last thing that I wanted you to know. Pauline and I feel very bad about the way that we treated Stefan Codrescu, even though, of course, we weren’t in possession of the facts. We understand that the police have already begun proceedings to allow him to be released from jail and to rebuild his life and he should be free in a matter of weeks. I have written to him to offer all the support that he might need. He is welcome to return to Branlow Hall and it goes without saying Pauline and I recognise him as the true father of our only granddaughter and will do our best to make amends for what has passed.
I hope that you and Andreas will be able to return to Crete soon, and once again, thank you for what you have done.
Sincerely,
Lawrence Treherne
That was the first letter. The second was written on three pages torn out of a cheap exercise book that Aiden must have bought on the way to Manningtree. His handwriting was surprisingly childish with big loops and i’s topped with circles rather than dots. I didn’t read it until much later that day, when Andreas and I were together in our room, armed with large whiskies. We needed them.
Dear Lawrence,
It feels strange to be writing to you, knowing that in about twenty minutes I’m going to be dead. I bet you won’t be sorry to hear that! But prison isn’t really an option for someone like me. I wouldn’t last five minutes surrounded by all those pervs so I’m waiting for the next London train. One that doesn’t stop.
Why am I writing this? I don’t know, really. I never liked you or Pauline very much, to be honest. The two of you always patronised me as if I had to be grateful to you all the time when I was actually working my guts out at the hotel. But I feel close to you right now because I killed your daughter. I’m sure you’d agree something like that does bring people together.
This isn’t a confession. You’ve heard it
all already. But there are one or two things I want you to know. Get it off my chest, if you like. All the time I’ve been with you at the hotel and the cottage and on holidays in France, I’ve always had to pretend. But now I want you to understand the real me.
I always knew I was different. I’m not going to tell you about my life. I haven’t got time and why would you care? But you have no idea what it was like growing up in Haghill, which is one of the shittiest parts of Glasgow, living on a shitty estate, going to a shitty school, knowing that I was special but that I was never going to have a proper life.
I wanted to be rich. I wanted to be someone. You look at footballers and celebrities on TV and you think they’ve been given so much. They’ve only got one small talent and the whole world falls at their feet. Well, I had a talent. I could make people like me. I had good looks. I was charming. But all of that was useless in a place like Haghill, so as soon as I could, when I was seventeen, I left home and went to London. I thought that was where I’d make it big.
Of course it didn’t happen that way. In London, everything is against you. Three quid an hour washing cars. Five quid an hour waiting tables. Sharing a room with someone who’ll steal your socks before they have time to get dry, paying through the nose for the privilege. And all around you more money than you can possibly imagine. Shops dripping with nice things. Smart restaurants and penthouses. I wanted it so badly and there was only one way I was going to get it.
I became Leo.
You have no idea what it’s like selling yourself. Having rich fat old men pawing at you and doing what they want to you just because they can afford it. In case you’re wondering, Lawrence, I was never a homosexual and I want you to know that. I did what I had to because there was no other way and I hated it. It made me sick.
But I made money. I’d managed to get a job with an estate agent. You see? It was that charm again. But it was Leo who made the real money. Three hundred quid a night. Five hundred quid a night. Sometimes a thousand quid a night. They were all cowards. A lot of my clients were married. Bloody hypocrites. I smiled at them and did what they asked me, even though I wanted to smash their faces in. But I knew that one day I’d escape. That was the thought that kept me going. I’d make enough money to leave Leo behind and have the life that I wanted for myself.
And then I met Cecily, showing her a flat.
I think I knew almost at once that she was the one. She was so thick and so bloody susceptible. The moment I told her it was my birthday, she was all over me. Oh – you’re a Leo, I’m a Sagittarius. We’re made for each other. Oh, oh, oh. We went out for a drink that night and she told me all about you and the hotel and her horrible sister who she hated and all the rest of it and I knew right then that I could get everything I wanted out of her. Because I was her little Leo.
So we started seeing each other and I came to Suffolk and I met you and Pauline and everyone else and of course you all liked me because that was my one talent, and then Cecily and I got engaged. I chose a day when her Universal Day number was the same as her Life Path number because I knew that would be lucky for her and she said yes. Of course she did.
That was it. No more fucking Haghill and no more being fucked in London. I thought I’d got it all. I’d work in the hotel and I’d look after the guests because that was what I was good at. And if it’s any consolation, I always knew that I’d have to kill Cecily eventually. And probably Lisa too. I wanted it all, you see. The hotel, the land, the money. It was the future I’d always dreamed of for myself and there was never going to be room for her.
When Frank Parris turned up two days before the wedding, I couldn’t believe it! It’s just like Susan said. The miserable bastard recognised me. And just for the sheer fun of it, he blackmailed me and forced me to come to his room on my wedding night so that he could do what he wanted with me. It makes me sick to the stomach even to think of it. I knew I was going to kill him. I couldn’t stop myself. I went to his room like he asked, but instead of giving him what he wanted, I smashed his head in and I enjoyed every minute of it.
I’m running out of time. Let me tell you how it ended.
I knew Alan Conway the same way I knew Frank Parris. Another middle-aged pervert who preyed off boys like me. I’d have liked to have killed him too but he knew who I was and there was nothing I could do. I was terrified he was going to give me away but of course he couldn’t do that without landing himself in it. Even so, I was relieved when he left the hotel and even more relieved a few years later when I heard he was dead.
I didn’t know he’d written that fucking book. I didn’t know Cecily had read it and I still don’t know how she got her hands on it. Eight years later! Stefan in jail. And everything between Cecily and me as sweet as apple pie. Well, not everything. Of course I knew that Roxana wasn’t mine. I think it’s fair to say that I didn’t find your daughter attractive, Lawrence. No offence. I knew she was seeing Stefan. She couldn’t keep that secret from me. That was why I set him up and I can’t tell you how much it amused me to see him jailed for life.
Cecily did suspect that I’d killed Frank Parris, certainly in the days after it happened and before Stefan made his confession. I’d always tried to keep up the pretence when I was with her but she’d seen through me a couple of times. She was stupid but not completely stupid and she’d realised I wasn’t quite the Mr Perfect she’d dreamed about. Still, I managed to persuade her that Frank and I had never met and why would I have wished a complete stranger any harm? That was my defence and she believed it.
But then she read that book and everything changed. Frank and Leo. I was always waiting for something to go wrong and I realised I was in trouble even before Eloise told me about the telephone call she’d overheard. That was on a Tuesday and I knew at once that it was all over and that Cecily had to go.
I went out and dug her grave that night. Before I killed her. The thing was, you see, I knew I wouldn’t have much time on the Wednesday. Killing her was one thing but burying her was quite another and I’d have to account for every minute of that day. So on Tuesday evening I drove into Rendlesham Forest and dug a hole. If you want to find her, it’s on the other side of Bromeswell. Follow the track marked Number 12 and it’s behind the seventh tree on the left. I carved an arrow into the bark and it’ll point you the right way. Sagittarius. She’d have liked that.
I tried to pretend everything was normal on the Wednesday but I wonder if she knew? I’ve been faking it all my life. I’m good at it. But I could tell she wasn’t herself. She took Bear for a walk around three o’clock and I followed her. I saw her park at Woodbridge station and I knew exactly where she was going so I drove round to Martlesham, parked the car and then came into the wood from the other side. There was no one around. There hardly ever is.
She knew exactly what I was going to do when she saw me and she didn’t even try to put up a fight. ‘I always knew.’ That’s all she said and when I put a stocking round her neck (it was one of her stockings) she just looked at me sadly and let me do it.
I’d brought some of her clothes and also a clean shirt for me. I dumped her in the back of the car and then drove hell for leather over to Rendlesham Forest to bury her. That was the riskiest part because I had to look out for dog walkers, but she was only above ground for about thirty seconds. It took me about twenty minutes to fill in the grave, whereas digging it had taken me bloody ages. Then I put on a clean shirt and drove over to Framlingham. I arrived at the charity shop a bit after four o’clock and it was like nothing had happened. I gave the woman there her clothes as well as some of my stuff and I included the shirt I’d been wearing when I’d been digging so that got rid of that.
And that was the end of it.
I really thought I’d got away with it and you know what makes me sad? It was the perfect murder. I didn’t actually make any mistakes. Two perfect murders. I had you all fooled from day one and I only got caught because of things I couldn’t control. It’s Frank’s fault that this has all h
appened. And Cecily’s. And yours for bringing in that bloody woman from Crete.
Anyway, that’s it. I’ve got to go. I’ve got a train to catch.
Aiden
Zeus’s Cave
The night we finally arrived back at the Polydorus, Andreas and I threw a party for all our friends, partly to celebrate our return, partly to put the whole thing behind us. Panos, assisted by his eighty-six-year-old mother, cooked what looked like an entire sheep. We drank a crate of Argyros wine from the island of Santorini. Vangelis played his guitar and his bouzouki and we danced under an ink-black sky with the slenderest of crescent moons. A couple of the guests came down to complain but decided instead to join in. It was a wonderful night.
I slowly got back into the routine of life in Agios Nikolaos and two things happened that helped me on my way.
First of all, my sister Katie came out for a week, the first time she had visited the hotel. She needed a break. She had begun the grisly process of divorce proceedings while Gordon had just moved in with his young love in some atrocious bedsit in London. We didn’t talk too much about him. We didn’t talk about Branlow Hall either. We walked together and visited some of the main tourist sites and enjoyed each other’s company. The fact that she fell hopelessly in love with Crete only reminded me of what I’d been thinking of giving up.
Also – and this came right out of the blue – I was offered the job of associate editor at Penguin Random House. This was nothing to do with Michael Bealey, who had been less than helpful. It turned out that Craig Andrews had mentioned he’d met me to someone at the launch of Time to Die, the fourth book in his Christopher Shaw series. I must have told him I was looking for work because the next thing I knew, an email came from Penguin Random House and I was hired, admittedly on a freelance basis but with a four-hundred-page manuscript as my first assignment.
Moonflower Murders Page 49
