The Temptation

by Vera Morris

  ‘The basic plan is this. If you think of anything more, chip in. OK?’

  David nodded.

  She looked at the bed. There was a space underneath it. ‘If we hear the door being unlocked this is what we must do. You must go to the bathroom. Shut the door and keep him out for as long as you can. OK?’

  David gulped.

  ‘I’ll get under the bed with the stiletto. We’ll pull the covers down so I’m hidden. When he comes into the room it will look empty.’ She hoped to God he would think so. ‘He’ll assume we’re both in the bathroom and he’ll try to get to us.’

  David’s face twisted with fear. ‘Supposing he doesn’t. He might look under the bed straight away.’

  ‘That’s a risk we’ll have to take. Anyway, I’ll have the dagger and I’m fit and strong.’

  ‘You’re not as strong as him. He likes to karate chop people. He told me. He said he killed a woman last week. He chopped her unconscious and hanged her from her own banisters.’

  Clara Harrop. Her stomach tightened with fear. ‘You mustn’t believe everything he says. He’s trying to frighten you. Come on, let me tell you the rest of the plan.’

  ‘All right.’ He didn’t seem convinced. She desperately needed him to work with her. It was their only chance.

  ‘You want to avenge Peter, don’t you? He’s worth fighting for. And all the other children.’

  He sat with his head down. A tear wound its way from eye to mouth. He licked it. His head came up. ‘Yes. They killed Peter. I hate them for that. I hate them for keeping me here. I hate Hager most of all. I wish he was dead. Then we’d be safe.’

  ‘Good.’ She risked reaching out her hand to him. She looked into his dark eyes. ‘We’ll fight him together.’

  He took her hand and she pumped it up and down a few times. ‘We’re a team. David and Laurel. Fighters for justice.’

  ‘The two musketeers?’

  ‘And soon there’ll be four, when Frank and Stuart get here. Repeat the plan to me.’

  David took a deep breath and pushed out his chest. ‘You’ll be under the bed and I’ll be in the bathroom, I’ll push on the door so he can’t get in.’

  ‘Excellent. We’ll look and see if there’s anything we can jam it with. He’ll have his back to me as he tries to break into the bathroom. I’ll creep out from the bed and stick the stiletto into him.’

  David grimaced. ‘Ugh! Where will you stick it?’

  ‘I’ll go for the heart. Left side.’

  ‘Don’t forget to waggle it round once it’s in.’

  She wanted to say ugh too, but she kept a stern face. ‘I’ll give it a good old waggle.’

  David laughed.

  Had she the bottle to do it? She wished she had her giant wooden spoon, the one she’d whacked Nicholson with when he’d attacked her in her cottage. Even then she should have given him another whack. Was she capable of deliberately killing Hager? She’d have to get her dander up. She’d need to be furious but icy calm. She wasn’t sure if that combination was possible.

  Chapter 29

  Tucker closed his brief case. He was ready. Ready to leave this house, this country and to start his new life. Regrets? He wished he was like the chanteuse, Edith Piaf, and have no regrets, but that wasn’t possible. He’d thought this day would never arrive, but he’d been instructed the operation must be wound up immediately. The time was right for the greatest scandal of all times to hit the headlines: Edward Heath’s government was unpopular, unemployment had reached a million, the highest figure since the 1930s, the unofficial miners’ strike had brought unrest, and political violence in Northern Ireland had shocked the nation. The time to bring this expensive and lengthy plot to fruition had arrived.

  The government would fall. There would be a General Election. Communists within the Labour Party and the trade unions would foment unrest, mob rule would be encouraged. Who knew what might happen? These were not his problems. His work was nearly done.

  Regrets? His art collection. He was already missing his beautiful pictures. He’d sold many of the best works. Was life in Moscow going to be to his taste? It would have to be. There would be a lot of rules and regulations; he would have to fit in, make sure he stayed on the right side of the rulers. Life was so much more relaxed here in comparison. If only he’d been recognised by the establishment and given a post he deserved, he’d never had given in to the temptation of revenge. He was apprehensive about the downfall of the government and following chaos. Not for the people, but what would happen to the great museums and art galleries? He hated the people running them, but he loved their contents. Would works of art be destroyed by the proletariat in revenge for dominance of the upper classes? At least he’d saved David. His Moscow bosses didn’t know David was alive, the Russian staff at the school thought he’d been killed; he’d sworn Hager to silence. Those staff would be leaving the school tonight, making their way back to Russia by different routes. He smiled as he thought of the headmaster, Baron, and the stupid PE teacher, Salmon, waking up tomorrow to find they were left holding the baby. What a baby!

  Tucker checked the contents of his briefcase: various passports, all but his UK passport hidden in a secret pocket; the ticket for the boat from Newcastle to Bergen. From Norway he’d make his way to Sweden, and from there he’d take a boat to the Russian port of St Petersburg. He patted his pocket. He’d both keys to David’s room. Even if Hager became suspicious when he didn’t return from Aldeburgh, he wouldn’t be able to get into the room and harm David.

  He smiled again. Involving Laurel was a master stroke. Her colleagues would be looking for her. That way he’d be sure David would be found. If Hager decided to make a run for it, the boy might die before anyone found him. It was also an insurance, in case Hager somehow managed to get in the room. She was a brave, strong woman. She’d proved her courage in tackling the insane headmaster, Philip Nicholson. She had a weapon. He sighed, wishing he could take one of David’s pictures with him, but he mustn’t arouse Hager’s suspicions. He’d become increasingly unstable over the past few weeks. Killing the Harrops and then Luxton seemed to have emboldened him, and Tucker had felt his hold over Hager weakening.

  He checked the briefcase again. The gun was there, safety catch on, on top of the other contents. He needed to have it handy in case Hager turned nasty. Once he was safely away from Hager he’d get rid of it.

  He took a last look round his bedroom: the four-poster bed with its feather mattress and pillows, the luxurious piled carpet, the antique walnut furniture. He sighed. He did like the very best and he’d been able to afford just that.

  He went down the stairs, his hand brushing the mahogany rail. In the hall were a pile of large envelopes. Each containing names of all the men who’d been invited at various times over the years to this house. Men of power and influence: judges, newspaper magnates, MPs, minor royalty, a few dukes and earls, a bishop or two, men of science and medicine, heads of charities, members of the armed forces, famous actors and television presenters, and of course the director of the local nuclear power station and Sam Harrop. It had taken years to build up this dossier. There were photographs of them, photographs that would send them to prison, but even worse, a catalogue of the secrets they had been blackmailed into revealing, and the illegal tasks they had carried out. The envelopes were addressed to the editors of the Mirror, Express, Mail, Guardian, Observer, Telegraph, Times and for good measure, the Glasgow Herald, and to the embassies of every country in Europe and also the USA.

  In his bedroom, Hager was packing for the journey they would make that night. He placed the light-weight bullet-proof vest he’d had imported from the USA in the suitcase. Tucker had told him not to wear it. Why? Better on him than to be found by a Customs’ search. He undressed and strapped it to his body under his shirt. That was better. He was a professional and liked to be fully prepared for any eventuality. It was all he need for his job: his steel-capped shoes, his vest and his hands. He didn’t mind the occasional
use of knives, razors and guns, but he took pride in his work and liked to improvise with whatever was at hand at the site. But the real pleasure, the intense pleasure, came with the perfect movement of his body, the swift blow and the satisfying contact between the edge of his hand and the neck of the victim. One stroke and they were dead. Sometimes he didn’t want to give them a swift death. Sometimes it was personal. He wanted to see their faces as he tortured them, before finishing them off. For the Harrops it had been in and out as quickly as possible. The old guy put up more of a fight than he’d thought possible. Suffocation, No skill in that, only brute force. The woman had been more satisfying, some skill had been needed to make it look like suicide.

  Tucker had told him they would drive to Dover, take the night car ferry to Calais and then drive northwards. They’d abandon the car at the German border and be taken on to Russia. He hadn’t given him more details although he’d asked for them. It seemed vague. Tucker was usually meticulous in his preparation and plans. He supposed it had been taken out of Tucker’s hands and he was following instructions.

  The special reinforced and tightly sealed envelopes were ready. He’d enjoyed preparing them. Some of the photographs were sensational, so sensational the newspapers wouldn’t dare print them. He’d bet money there’d be a rash of suicides in the next few days. That or the special forces might be kept busy arranging them.

  He’d be glad to kick the dirt of this crap country from his feet. He wouldn’t miss a thing. The nation had gone soft. The dock strike last year, making the government call a state of emergency. The country he was going to wouldn’t put up with such behaviour. They’d shoot the bastards. One thing stuck in his craw. That little shite David Pemberton. And now the bitch Bowman. It didn’t seem right leaving the house without wiping them out. But Tucker was determined David should live. If he hadn’t involved Bowman, there was the hope David might die of starvation before they found him. He’d cut down on his food these past few weeks.

  He might get the opportunity to get in the room before they left, perhaps just as they were about to go. He’d pretend he’d forgotten something vital, his passport. It wouldn’t take long. He’d have to forgo playing round with the boy. One swift chop and he’d break his neck. Damn. The woman. He’d have two to deal with. Kill her first. She was the strongest. Then him. No time to play with her either. A pity. She’d be thankful for a swift death. He decided he’d get the spare key to David’s room.

  He listened at Tucker’s bedroom door. He could hear movement. He ran down the stairs. He looked at the hook on the kitchen wall were the spare key to the room was kept. It wasn’t there.

  Chapter 30

  Frank looked at Stuart. ‘Make notes of any important details, please.’

  Stuart whipped out notebook and biro from his jacket and sat down on the armchair nearest to the music centre, his shoulders hunched. Frank took the other armchair, staring at the whirring machine as though it might explode. The reedy voice continued.

  ‘The reason I’m talking into this machine is this is the only way I can hope to tell you, Nancy, what I’ve done. I wanted to tell you face to face. No, wanted isn’t the right word. I needed to tell you. I’ve committed a crime, a terrible crime. If you find this tape when you are going through my effects, you must take it to the police. You must do this, Nancy. Never mind my good name, I shall be dead. I know it will hurt you to tell everyone what I’ve done, but if you don’t more children will suffer and possibly be murdered. I am not exaggerating.’

  Frank’s breath stopped. Would they learn the full story?

  ‘I haven’t much time. Clara won’t let me see you. I’m a prisoner in my own home. She won’t let anyone into the house and she’s hidden the telephones. I haven’t many days to live. I wish I’d been able to speak to you, because after that I’d be able to take my own life and end the agony and degradation. Now I must try to live as long as possible until I am sure someone will stop them. I apologise if my words are jumbled or my thoughts unclear, it’s a combination of pain and the morphine. I’m going to start from the beginning in case the tape is found by someone else. I’ll try and tell my story in the right order.’

  There was a pause and Frank could hear ragged breathing. ‘He seems to be thinking clearly,’ he said. Stuart nodded in agreement.

  There was a dry cough and the voice continued. ‘I am a homosexual. Nancy knows this, but she still loved me when she found out; I loved her more than ever for the generosity of her spirit. I married Clara as a cover; Clara and I got on well together and we both enjoyed the opera and classical music. She knew what she was getting into when she married me, and was prepared to exchange a physical relationship and true love for the kudos of my name, and the comfortable living I could give her. She’s ignored my various affairs. I would have reciprocated, but she is uninterested in sex, and my presence by her side at functions and a generous allowance, is enough for her.

  ‘When I became ill it didn’t take me long to diagnose what was the matter. Cancer of the liver. One of my colleagues confirmed the diagnosis. I decided I wouldn’t have any treatment, even palliative care. My life is over. As the disease progressed and my body became weaker, my conscience grew stronger, and I thought of the terrible things I’d done. I have no excuse. I know it’s only because I’m close to death I want to confess. Would I be saying this if I still had my health? I doubt it.

  ‘When we moved to Aldeburgh after my retirement as a surgeon, I remained licensed as a doctor and helped out as a locum at some of the local practices. I enjoyed the occasional work. I often think of your husband, Nancy, dear James; he was the first man I fell in love with. What a generous soul. He discovered I was homosexual, but he didn’t turn away from me in disgust. You both loved me, and it was James who inspired me to go into medicine.

  ‘It was at a local surgery I first met Tucker …’

  Frank looked at Stuart, his heart seemed to stop. Laurel.

  Stuart’s biro froze above his notepad. ‘Laurel!’ he shouted, echoing Frank’s thoughts. ‘Switch it off!’

  Frank shook his head. ‘No. We need more information.’

  ‘He seemed a charming man, erudite, amusing, and also a lover of opera and classical music. He invited Clara and me to dinner at his house near Snape. We had a lovely evening. There were four other people, two of them a local couple we knew and the other two were his assistant, Kelvin Hager, and a young man from London. He was ravishing, dark soulful eyes, skin the colour of caramel, and a slender adolescent body. He could have been the boy in the Caravaggio painting above Tucker’s mantelpiece. He told me he was nineteen, and I must admit I lusted after him, even at my age.

  ‘I haven’t time to go into all the details, but Tucker acted as go-between and soon I was meeting the man at Tucker’s house and we became lovers. I trusted Tucker: he was sympathetic, understanding, broadminded and with such a warm personality.

  ‘Then one night I got a phone call from Tucker saying he needed my help. It was urgent, would I please come to his house immediately. Of course, I went. I took my medical bag with me. I couldn’t see what other kind of emergency it might be.

  ‘When I got there Tucker was waiting in the parlour, as he liked to call the sitting room; Hager was with him. I could see no signs of an emergency. I hadn’t paid much attention to Hager before, he didn’t say much, and wasn’t interested in music, indeed I never saw him show much interest in art, although he ran the gallery when Tucker was away. That night he was different: he sneered at me, with looks of satisfaction, dislike, and even contempt.

  ‘Tucker showed me photographs. They were explicit. The man I thought was nineteen was only fifteen. A well-developed Italian, Tucker said.

  ‘“How much do you want?” I asked, filled with disgust at myself and Tucker. All my working life I’d been careful to avoid scandal.

  ‘“I’m afraid it isn’t that simple,” Tucker said. “We need your medical skills, not your money.”

  ‘I thought they mus
t want me to carry out an abortion on some young girl one of them had got into trouble, although Tucker had never shown any interest in a sexual relationship, as far as I knew.

  ‘“Unfortunately, a boy has died at a nearby school. We need your name on the death certificate, plus someone you know, a young doctor perhaps who will not question your medical opinion.”

  ‘The school was Chillingworth, a few miles from Tucker’s house. I complied with their orders. This happened again, a few years later. A Down’s syndrome boy …’

  Frank pressed the stop button. ‘Laurel’s gone to Tucker’s house for lunch.’

  ‘I know,’ Stuart said. ‘What should we do?’

  Frank’s chest grew tighter with every second that passed and his guts twisted as he thought of the danger Laurel might be in. ‘Why did he ask her to go to his house? What could he want from her? Surely he was inviting danger for no good reason.’

  ‘The gallery. Laurel said it looked as though it was closing down. Tucker said it was a changeover of paintings,’ Stuart said.

  Frank looked at his watch. ‘We’ll listen to a bit more of the tape. See if it gives us any information about Tucker and Hager. They’re into blackmail. They’re using boys from the school. Who else are they blackmailing? Five minutes, then we’ll act.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we go and get her now?’ Stuart pleaded.

  Frank held up his hand then he pressed the play button.

  ‘I’m not sure how the first boy died, but he was bruised below the right ear. His anus and rectum were torn and he’d lost a lot of blood. I thought there would be internal injuries. I signed the death certificate and got a local doctor to sign without seeing the body. The boy had suffered. I felt as filthy as if I’d bathed in stinking excrement.

  ‘Hager took me aside before I left the school. He pinned me against a wall and hissed in my ear, “If you utter one word about this to anyone I’ll kill you. Not just you, but your wife as well, and for good measure your beloved sister, Nancy. Her death I’ll make especially unpleasant. I’ll strip her, tie her up and rape her with a handy kitchen implement. Don’t fancy doing it myself, she’s a bit too old and scrawny for me. Although you never know, I sometimes get excited before I kill someone.” I was physically sick.