by Evans, Ilsa
He nodded. ‘I don’t think she knew what she saw till the next day. Apparently she’d let the dog out for the toilet, just caught a glimpse of me climbing my fence. So she came around to see me, said she hated Dustin Craig like you wouldn’t believe. It seems Beth’d bought guinea pigs from her, for the girls, and he’d killed them. So she said for ten thousand she wouldn’t say anything. Good riddance and all that.’
‘Why did you kill her then?’
‘Because when I saw her outside the police station that day, I knew she’d changed her mind. So I had no choice.’
For a moment I saw Berry’s face, the shutters whipped into place. It hadn’t been the scowly young man at all, but Leon Chaucer. If I hadn’t come out of the police station, would she have gone in?
‘It was horrible,’ continued Leon. He stood up, walked over to the other side of the room among the shadows. ‘I had to do it from the back, so I couldn’t see her face.’
‘That’s why he’s not going to kill us.’ Fiona twisted so that she was facing me. Her face was pale, streaked with dirt, and her lips were chapped. ‘Because it’s all just so hard for him. The poor, sensitive man.’
‘It’s starting to seem easier,’ said Leon, from the shadows.
My vision had now all but cleared. I gazed around the room, finishing at our manacles. They were fixed through U-shaped bolts that had once helped support a series of shelves of which the bench had formed the base. Now it was all that remained. Thick stone surrounding a wooden insert for the seat. I tucked the information away and concentrated on Leon again. ‘But why Fiona?’
‘Because I’m a fool,’ said Fiona bitterly before he could answer. ‘Because I heard him having a shower at four o’clock that morning. Because I thought if I told him that, he’d know how loyal I was. Because I hadn’t told anyone, see.’
‘You went to his house after you rang me on Sunday.’
She shook her head. ‘No, I rang him and he came over. We sat in his car and talked.’
‘And she said that a wife couldn’t be forced to testify against her husband,’ added Leon. He was looking at me. ‘But you have to see how impossible that was. I need to be with Beth, otherwise it’s all been for nothing.’
‘She doesn’t want you,’ said Fiona, with a flash of spirit. ‘So it has all been for nothing.’
‘You’re wrong,’ he said complacently. ‘She just needs time.’
I coughed. ‘I hate to be selfish here, but what do I have to do with all this?’
‘Oh, Nell, I so didn’t want this to happen.’ Leon came across the room once more and gazed down at me. ‘You left me no choice. Asking questions everywhere. Your whiteboard of alibis and motives. Going around to Beth’s today was the last straw. Telling her you thought she was wrong about it being Fiona.’
‘But I never thought it was you!’
‘Yes, but you would have. Besides, as soon as I knew you’d been there, seen those trophies, I knew you had to go.’
I stared at him, trying to work out what the trophies had to do with anything.
‘I should never have told you about my father. Of course if I’d known, I wouldn’t have.’
I frowned, and then it hit me. Dustin Craig had been here as a child. Dustin Craig had played football. Dustin Craig’s family had moved away, quite abruptly. Dustin Craig was Leon’s father. I spoke slowly, still not quite believing it. ‘You killed your father.’
‘And he slept with his mother,’ added Fiona. ‘It’s all very Oedipal, isn’t it?’
‘Stepmother,’ said Leon quickly. ‘Which doesn’t count.’
I was still staring at him. ‘Did you know?’
‘Of course not!’ He sat back down, ran a hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end. ‘I’d never been to her house until after he died. But as soon as I saw those trophies I knew. I couldn’t believe it.’
‘Good lord.’ I took a deep breath, let it out. ‘You killed your father.’
‘Technically no. I thought I had, but it turns out he was still alive at that point.’
‘I think dragging him into a garage and setting it alight indicates some culpability.’ I shook my head as I considered the ramifications. ‘The funny thing is that if you’d not interfered, then he would have set fire to my mother’s house and most probably been jailed, leaving the stage clear for you.’
‘Yes. Very funny. But I can’t change the past, I can only insure the future.’
‘In that case, could I mention that I’m actually not a very good investigator? The odds are I would never have put two and two together.’
‘I don’t believe that,’ said Leon kindly. ‘I’ve always said you’re much more than you think you are. And you deserved much more than you’ve had.’
‘Why, thank you, Leon. Are you including me being injected with a foreign substance and chained in a wine cellar?’
‘Don’t be sarcastic. It doesn’t suit you.’
I shook my head, because this whole conversation was surreal. ‘Even if I had figured out Dustin was your father, that has nothing to do with the murder.’
‘Yes, but don’t you see how embarrassing it would be? For people to know that thug was my father?’
‘Don’t try to reason with him,’ said Fiona, turning away. ‘It’s a waste of breath.’
‘So what now?’
He looked regretful. ‘Now I leave you.’
‘Here?’
‘Yes.’ He rose, smoothed down his pants. ‘The Wine and Cheese Society meetings have finished for the year so there’ll be nobody back until late January.’
‘But what happens then? I mean, I know we’ll be dead –’ I said the words without believing them ‘– but how will you explain two bodies? We might put everyone off their wine. Or cheese.’
‘With this.’ He held up a sheet of paper, and then placed it by the door. Now I could see my shoulder bag over there, plus Fiona’s. ‘This is a suicide confession from Fiona, duly signed, where she admits to both murders and explains why she took you with her.’
‘Do tell.’
He flushed. ‘Because of us. You and me. If she couldn’t have me, nobody could.’
‘Wouldn’t she have been more likely to kill Beth? All I did is have dinner with you.’
Fiona twisted around again. ‘You do get that I’m not really doing this, don’t you?’
‘It seems we had more than dinner, and so Fiona was convinced you’d replaced Beth in my affections. You even boasted to her.’ He pointed to the paper. ‘It’s all detailed here.’
I stared at the pile of belongings, so far from reach. I was beginning to realise this was all carefully considered, and that despite his chatty reasonableness, Leon was about to leave us to die. ‘So waiting around to explain, that was like confession? To make you feel better?’
‘No, it was for you, not me. I thought you deserved at least that.’
‘What about my children? I have five daughters, and they need me.’
He flinched. ‘I know, and I’m sorry. If it makes you feel better, I’ll keep an eye on them.’
‘Oh, that makes me feel much better! A killer is going to look out for them. Excellent.’
‘I hate sarcasm,’ Leon said, with a flare of annoyance. ‘It is the lowest form of wit.’
‘I do apologise. I never got to the “being murdered” part of the etiquette book.’
He sighed, as if pained by my inability to accept his good intentions, and then strode over to the door, putting one hand on the light switch as he looked back at us. ‘Goodbye.’
A surge of panic washed through me and I pushed myself forward as far as the chain would let me. ‘You can’t do this!’
‘It won’t do you any good,’ said Fiona from beside me, in a low voice.
‘That’s true.’ Leon flicked off the light and the room plunged into a darkness more intense than anything I had ever experienced before. Panic mushroomed again but this time I swallowed it, determined to make the most of these last few s
econds. ‘Leon, I just want to say something before you go.’
‘Yes?’ came his voice. A ribbon of light appeared as he opened the door.
‘For the next few days, as I slowly die of thirst, I shall be cursing you with my every breath. I shall curse your business, and I shall curse your relationship with Beth, and I shall curse you. Over and over. I shall die cursing you. And I shall –’
The door slammed, cutting me off mid-curse. The darkness was even worse this time, because I knew it was permanent. I would never see light again, or colour, or my family. I held my un-manacled hand up to my face and could not even see that.
I could hear Fiona sobbing quietly beside me. It suddenly occurred to me that as bad as this was for me, it was infinitely worse for her. She had already been down here for almost forty-eight hours, and she had been placed here by the person she loved. I knew that I should say something, be comforting somehow, but for now I just didn’t have the energy to spare. The enormity of what had happened, and what was about to, was so mammoth that there was no room for anything else. And there was also the thought – almost a certainty – that if I opened my mouth, even just a little, then I would begin screaming and screaming and never be able to stop.
Chapter Twenty
You’re right, but I would take it even further and say middle age should be all about reflection. We need to take time out and reassess EVERYTHING – career, marriage, friends, relatives, over-dependent grown-up children – and then readjust (or shake off) a few of the manacles so that we can run and jump and dance.
I woke again straight into the awareness of where I was, and why. Even so, the unremitting darkness came as a shock and I blinked several times, struggling to accept that it made no difference. Claimed by the Wine and Cheese Society almost fifty years ago, the wine cellar was two floors beneath the community centre, reached via a staircase that was set to one side of a basement that was itself rarely used. I knew, from the time Darcy served as president, that there were about five solid wine racks and that none were anywhere near the bench to which we were tethered. I also knew that the bench was a perfect place for a romantic picnic, but my mind veered swiftly from that. More relevant was my knowledge that the bluestone walls were below ground level and that even our loudest screams would not make a ripple in the noise levels outside.
‘Fiona?’ I whispered, stretching my legs and trying to raise my bottom off the cold floor. ‘Fiona? Are you there?’
‘That’s a particularly daft question,’ replied Fiona evenly.
‘Something which did occur to me while I was saying it. Are you okay?’
‘Another daft question.’
I knelt, feeling as far as I could along the stone bench, hoping to reach her. I wanted to make physical contact, perhaps even squeeze her shoulder, but the chain was too short. I squatted against the wall and wrapped my arms around myself. I would have done anything to return to that moment where I decided against bringing my cardigan. Or, for that matter, leaving the house at all. ‘What happened, Fiona? How did you get here?’
She sighed, a weary sound that seemed to echo in the blackness. ‘It was my own stupid fault. After I spoke to you on Sunday I went home and thought about what you said, about putting myself first. Did you get my message?’
‘Yes.’
‘I thought we could have lunch on Monday and I was going to tell you just enough that you would act as my insurance. I was trying to be clever.’ She made a noise that was half-laugh, half-sob. ‘And then I kept thinking about everything and I thought I need to go after what I want. So I rang Leon and, well, he told you.’ She fell silent for a moment. ‘I never really thought I was in any danger from him, especially not sitting in a car. How stupid was I?’
‘Not stupid at all. Did he inject you?’
‘Yes. And I woke up here, just like you.’
I pushed a finger between my wrist and the manacle, just to ease the pressure. ‘Do you know what he used? Will it have any lasting damage?’
‘Does it matter? Anyway, apparently it was just that stuff vets use to sedate animals.’
‘Oh.’
‘Hey, I suppose at least it’s cooler here than outside, with the heatwave.’
‘I hate to tell you this but a change came through. Rain, thunder, the whole works.’
After a while, Fiona spoke in a low voice. ‘What day is it?’
‘It was Tuesday, just before six. But I don’t know how long it’s been since then.’
‘Tuesday.’ She breathed in, let it out. ‘I know people die of thirst long before starvation but, um, how long do you think I have? Be honest. I’ve had one drink of water, back when he brought you down.’
I sank onto the floor and hugged my knees. ‘A couple of days?’
‘That’s what I thought. I can already feel it.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ I stared into the blackness, suddenly realising that even with her one drink, Fiona was going to go first and then I would be left in the dark with a dead woman. I did some calculations; probably it would be Thursday for Fiona, and Friday for me. Pity, as I’d had a busy day planned for Friday. Plus my daughter was arriving from London.
‘My blood is beating.’
‘If that’s making you warmer, it might be a good thing. It’s freezing down here.’
Fiona’s clothes rustled as she readjusted herself. ‘What’re you wearing?’
‘Why, Fiona! Are you flirting with me?’
‘Nell, you make me laugh. You really do.’
But she didn’t. My stomach rumbled and I thought of the garlic potato wedges I had been making, and the pork butterfly steaks. I thought of my fridge, filled with food, and the pantry. Biscuits and pasta and bread. Oh, the French bread stick defrosting on the counter! I’d been going to toast it in the oven, and put it in a wicker basket with curls of butter.
‘I don’t suppose you know how my parents are coping?’
‘I believe the council arranged some sort of respite care. Everyone’s worried, you know. There’s a real sense of disbelief.’
‘That’ll soon change,’ she said bitterly. ‘There’ll be a real sense of hatred when they read the note. I can’t believe he’d do that to me.’
I rolled my eyes in the darkness. Did she have no trouble believing he would kill her, but drew the line at the note? ‘Fiona, no-one’s going to buy it. I mean, seriously, if you were going to kill yourself through guilt, would you really chain yourself up with me?’
‘Maybe as extra punishment.’
‘Thanks.’
‘No, I mean the note makes it sound plausible. It says about how things got out of control so quickly, and my hatred of you, and how I was going to chain us together so that I could watch you die. How I was going to throw the key over to our bags so I couldn’t change my mind.’
I thought this through, realising that the drink he had given her on my arrival had no doubt been to delay her death, bring it more in line with mine. Otherwise the note would make no sense. ‘But it’ll just be a typed note, Fiona, which will still look odd.’
‘Except it’s not. It’s all handwritten, and signed.’ She let out another of her strangled sounds. ‘It’s amazing what you’ll do after two days without water, when someone offers you a drink.’
I closed my eyes, digested the information. There was a macabre irony to the fact he needed her to write the note and drink the water, and had managed to achieve one with the aid of the other. I rubbed my arms, trying to build circulation. ‘You know that fleur-de-lis lapel pin from the Richard III Society?’
It took a moment for Fiona to digest this. ‘Huh?’
‘The lapel pin from Grace June Rae. I was just wondering – did you give yours to Leon?’
‘What? Why?’
‘Just curious.’
‘I didn’t actually give it to him, I left it at his house on a jacket and he just started wearing it. He loves little arty things like that. Loretta said she’d order me another through Grace June Rae because she
’d lost hers too. Why? Did she say something? Am I in trouble?’
The artlessness of this last question floored me for a moment. ‘No, it’s fine. Everything’s just fine.’
Silence fell again and I realised that it would continue like this until the end. Bursts of conversation interspersed with long periods of nothing. Time suspended in every way except inside our bodies, where organs would begin shutting down. I already felt thirsty.
‘D’you think there really is a bright light? At the end?’
‘If there is, it’ll be a pleasant change from all this darkness.’
Fiona shifted noisily, her chain scraping across the bluestone. ‘Leon doesn’t believe in the afterlife; he believes in reincarnation.’
‘Excellent – dibs I come back as a rabid elephant. So that I can trample him to death.’ I took a deep breath, rotated my neck. ‘I know, let’s play a game.’
‘Are you kidding?’
‘Come on.’ I tried to inject enthusiasm into my voice. ‘It’ll help pass the time.’
‘Okay, how about I Spy? I spy, with my little eye, something beginning with B.’
‘Black. I win. So now I get to pick the game. How about …’ I cast my mind over the possibilities. ‘The alphabet game. We go through the alphabet letter by letter naming all the animals we can think of. So each letter has a different winner. I’ll start. Alligator.’
‘Alsatian.’
‘Aardvark.’
‘Leon likes aardvarks. He thinks they’re unique.’
‘In that case I’ll come back as an aardvark so I can sneak past his guard. And then trample him to death.’
‘He likes albatrosses as well. Albatross.’
We played for what seemed like hours, with at least every third animal relating to Leon in some way. But it was nevertheless an inspired idea on a number of levels, not least because Fiona became so irritating that I suspected, after a few days of this, death would look pretty good. At Q we let the game slither into silence and I fell asleep, eventually waking with a stiff neck and cold buttocks. I needed to go to the toilet, badly. I unzipped my cargo shorts and slid them off with my knickers, flinching as my skin touched the frigid floor. Then I manoeuvred out as far as I could go and relieved myself, listening to the trickle hit the cobblestones. It sounded like a piano. Concerto in full pee.
