The Bridge

by Stuart Prebble

  “Oh my God.” Her words were punctuated by short pauses as each of her next thoughts tumbled into her mind. “All my secrecy about Joanna. What I told you about my mum and dad. The unexplained calls and texts. Your grandmother’s reaction when she first met me. You must have wondered…it’s not surprising”—but then she paused again, interrupting her own flow—“but surely not planting the hoodie in the apartment? Surely you didn’t think that I was capable of doing something like that?” She raised both hands to clutch the sides of her head. “After what we’ve been to each other?”

  “I’m sorry,” said Michael. “I’m so, so sorry. Of course it now seems madness, but you have to understand that my head was all over the place. So much was happening, and for a while back there I lost my mind. Lost it entirely. All I can do is to ask you to forgive me.”

  Alison made no further response, but after another minute she slowly resumed walking, and Michael fell in alongside her. Out of the corner of his eye he could see that she was gently shaking her head, still grappling with her own reactions. After a few hundred yards more he thought that perhaps the tension in her shoulders was dissolving, and finally she edged alongside him once again and took his hand.

  “Look,” she said, “all of us have got a lot to deal with, but even with everything that’s happened in the last few days, that’s a lot for me to take in. It’s going to take a while to get my head around what you’ve just told me.” She paused again, still working out her feelings as they came to her. “Right now, though, all I can say is that you’ve been through some kind of living hell in the last few days, and no one could blame you for whatever you felt. That’s stuff we have to work through in the future. Right now we’ve got more urgent things to worry about.”

  A surge of relief flowed through Michael, and he released his grip from Alison’s hand and put his arm around her shoulders. For the first time since they had become lovers, the doubts and secrecy which had formed a constant but invisible barrier between them were put aside, and he had a chance to be with her in a way which had never previously been possible. They exchanged a further look which was far more eloquent than any words, and again they lengthened their stride, anxious to return as quickly as possible to her apartment. Once inside, neither of them spoke as they left a trail of clothes between the front door and the bedroom.

  Even so, they were tentative at first, as they had been on their first time together. Their kisses were gentle and hesitant, but gradually the need to lose themselves began to take over. They moved together slowly and tenderly, with more and more urgency, until their inhibitions fell away entirely. Michael and Alison made love that night with the passion of two people with a deep and profound commitment but who had come to believe that they would never make love again. Their embrace was without consciousness, each of them subsumed in the other as they put aside all their dreadful cares and concerns, on a journey which led them away from the traumas of their shared history and into oblivion.

  Afterwards they lay beside each other on the bed, still entwined, and looked at the shadows dancing on the ceiling. By now it was completely dark outside, and the streetlamps threw cold light against the curtains.

  TWENTY-THREE

  And you are the only person called Stephen working at Hand-Cutz, are you?” asked Detective Constable Collins. “Michael Beaumont couldn’t have another friend here with the same name?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” said Stephen.

  “And you definitely didn’t telephone Michael yesterday afternoon, after his grandmother’s funeral?”

  “No, I didn’t. Should I have done? Maybe I should have phoned to express our sympathy, but to be honest it didn’t really occur to me…”

  “No, it doesn’t matter. You’ve been very helpful. Please don’t tell Michael that we’ve had this conversation. We don’t suspect him of anything, but it would just be better if he didn’t know.”

  Stephen nodded agreement, and Collins walked out into the street and phoned Superintendent Bailey.

  * * *

  As night turned into day, Michael and Alison held each other tightly and spoke little about what the hours ahead would bring. Both had their own apprehensions about what might unfold, but both also felt for the first time in their lives that their deepest and most secret emotions could safely be shared with another person. It was no longer necessary to disguise what they were feeling or to erect a barrier against intimacy. Each had emerged from a stark isolation which they had not identified because it had been their normality, and they were glad.

  They made breakfast and sat up in bed, waiting for the morning to pass, both immersed in their own thoughts.

  “Penny for them,” she said at one point, “as if I couldn’t guess.” He gently shook his head and said his thoughts had not been exactly as she might have expected.

  By now it was getting close to the appointed time for the meeting, and they renewed their focus on what lay ahead of them. Michael dressed in his usual clothes but put on a baseball cap and a pair of dark glasses to disguise his appearance.

  “Let’s not go to the pier until just before twelve,” he said. “We don’t want to take any more risk than we have to of being recognized.”

  “What do you want me to do?” asked Alison. “He said he wanted to see you on your own. If I’m with you, it’s likely to freak him out.”

  “I want you to be right next to me as we hear whatever he’s got to say,” said Michael. He could see that she was hesitant, and he knew that it was hardly surprising that she should be reluctant to come face-to-face with a mass murderer. However, he doubted if he could get through the next few hours if she was not with him. “We’re going to have to decide together what we do next, and so it’s important that you hear his story at the same time as me. Neither of us has much chance of being objective, but you’re more likely than I am to get a sensible take on it all.”

  “I’m not sure that I can see the logic of that,” said Alison, but Michael was continuing.

  “I also think you’re right that he’ll be freaked out, so you should hang back while I go and talk to him first. I will tell him that you are close by and that I’m only going to speak to him if you are part of the conversation. After that I’ll give you a wave, and you can come and join us.”

  They agreed that this would be the plan and then took a circuitous route towards the pier. Even now they could not be sure that they were not under surveillance by the police or the press, and they wanted to take as few chances as possible.

  Eventually the clock on the esplanade said 11:55, and Michael and Alison went through the turnstiles onto the pier and began to progress along the wooden boardwalk. They agreed that she would approach the far end of the pier from the left-hand side, and Michael would walk along the right. They would keep watching each other, and whichever of them saw Martin first would signal.

  The cacophony of music and voices, the bright lights from the amusement arcades, the thrill rides and the evocative smells of fried food and cotton candy all combined to produce the unique experience that was Brighton. The sound and sight of the sea below, visible through the gaps between the wooden slats, added a hint of danger, which made the place all the more magical for generations of tourists and their children.

  Michael and Alison both scanned faces among the crowds. Most were mums and dads with their kids, and Michael noted once again that—in this location in particular—small hands were being gripped with more vigilance than would be usual. They progressed slowly along opposite sides of the boardwalk, taking the opportunities of the spaces between buildings to keep sight of each other. Michael tried to make sense of the mix of emotions he was feeling. Most intense was his apprehension about meeting a man who stood accused of committing the murder of tiny children, thrown to their deaths in front of their horrified parents who would relive that dreadful moment for the remainder of their lives. How could such a person even be countenanced? Suddenly he felt a wave of revulsion and contemplated retracing
his steps and immediately dialing 999. But then Michael thought about the photograph which Elsie had found in the envelope. The two small boys, their younger sister, and the babysitter from next door: ordinary people going about their everyday business, who would soon be caught up in a single dreadful incident which would infect the rest of their own lives. Who could ever know at such distance where the real responsibility lay, but all three of the survivors were destined to exist in the shadow of what happened on that single afternoon. If there was any kind of explanation to be heard, Michael needed to hear it.

  He saw the top of a red baseball cap and a glimpse of the side of the face below it, moving quickly through the crowds, and something about it seemed familiar. He looked across to where he expected to find Alison, but instead he saw that suddenly the other side of the walkway was crowded by a party of schoolchildren who had become mixed up with a large group of Chinese tourists heading in the other direction. He scanned the sea of black hair, trying to locate her, and suddenly felt a sharp bump which momentarily winded him. His cap was knocked from his head and fell to the ground behind him, making Michael feel exposed and even more vulnerable than before. He turned his head and saw that he had collided with an overweight man whose bare upper torso and arms were covered with multicolored tattoos.

  “Watch where you’re bloody going!” said the man, and Michael muttered apologies, turning quickly to pick up his cap. He replaced it on his head and looked again for Alison, who had by now put herself in his eyeline and was anxious to reconnect. Michael nodded towards the man he had spotted and lengthened his step to follow in the direction of the walking figure. Once or twice the crowd thinned out, and he could see the back of a pair of blue jeans and a darker-blue T-shirt, but still he was unable to be sure. The man seemed to be of the right height and build and was now striding towards the far end of the pier. A vendor selling helium-filled balloons on a string obscured his view for a moment, and Michael quickened his pace still more as his target reached the farthest edge of the platform. He turned suddenly to face his pursuer, and Michael and Martin found themselves looking directly into what might have been an only very slightly distorted mirror.

  Even despite the buildup and the anticipation, Michael felt unprepared for the experience. In just those few seconds he was able to take in a face which was so much like his own, and yet in small and subtle ways was not. Were Martin’s features slightly larger than his? Were his eyes just slightly more turned up at the corners? Perhaps it was Michael’s imagination playing tricks, or a function of the extreme circumstances, but was there some trace of cruelty around his brother’s mouth?

  Thirty yards farther back, Alison had been able to watch the two men converging in the distance and slowed down in good time to conceal herself behind the corner of the ticket office for the helter-skelter ride. She looked on as the two men stood squarely facing each other, seemingly a perfect match in size and shape and in the way they carried themselves. For a few seconds neither appeared to be speaking, but then she saw that Martin was extending his arm for a handshake. Michael hesitated before taking it, but then they shook hands only briefly before the younger of the two brothers took a step back and an animated conversation began.

  Alison did not take her eyes from the pair of them, and after a few seconds she saw Michael turn towards her, beckoning for her to approach. She began to move forwards, but then instantly it was clear from his movements that Martin had not agreed, and she saw him take a step back. Now, however, she was within earshot of the brothers, and Martin was speaking.

  “Obviously I know you can’t remember anything about it. You were too young to know what was going on, and anyway you’ve had a normal life growing up and every chance to forget. But I was too young as well. I had no idea what I was doing either. Yet it was me who was labeled the monster, and it was me who had to spend my whole life locked up, being watched and checked up on every minute, like I was a freak of some kind. Probably they just wanted to see if I would drown the fucking cat if I got the chance.”

  “But whatever the rights and wrongs of what happened back then,” Michael’s tone carried an urgency to hear the answers he so badly needed, “why the hell would you wait all this time for freedom, and then start killing more children and trying to frame me?” The volume of his words was rising, and he was beginning to attract the attention of people walking close by. “You’ve murdered a whole load of totally innocent kids, wrecked dozens of lives, and caused bloody mayhem all around you. I’ve been through hell on earth, and you’ve killed our grandmother in the process!”

  “You want to know why?” said Martin, his volume was also rising, but he spoke in a hoarse whisper. “I’ll tell you why, because for all those years locked away, the only thing I could think about was you and Elizabeth. The two of you. Every bit as responsible for Amy’s death as I was, but it was only me who got the blame.”

  “What are you talking about?” said Michael. “Apart from anything else, Elizabeth lost her family and was locked away in an institution for years and years.”

  “Yes, and I took some comfort from that. Some consolation that at least she had suffered a small part of what I had suffered. And when I first got out of the nick I was prepared to forgive and forget. That was the reason why they let me out, and it was a condition of my release that I didn’t try to find you or her. But you are my brother, and so I couldn’t stop myself. I had to know what you were up to.” Martin paused and seemed to intensify his gaze at his younger sibling. “You’d had your name changed and took a lot of finding, but eventually I did track you down. I thought I’d watch you for a bit while I decided what to do. Probably I wouldn’t even have spoken to you or let you know who I was, but then when I finally located you, you’ll never guess what I saw.”

  “What did you see? When was that?” asked Michael.

  “Surely you remember the day? It was that day. I saw you and Elizabeth. Together. Walking on the South Bank. Laughing together. Laughing at me. The two of you were walking arm in arm. Hand in hand. Not a care in the world.”

  “And that was…?” Michael had a sudden moment of clarity. “Oh, for God’s sake, no,” he said, “and that was the first day? The day of the first murders?”

  “At that moment it was obvious to me that while I’d been labeled a monster and locked away, you two were just like every other happy couple. I was surrounded by all of you, taunting me about your good fortune. And then suddenly it all became clear to me. If I couldn’t have a normal happy family life, why should anyone else? If I could have my family taken away from me for no good reason, why shouldn’t that happen to other people? And why should you two, every bit as guilty as I was, have found each other and live in blissful ignorance of what I’ve had to go through?”

  Michael could not speak and turned towards Alison, to find her expression reflecting the same horror as was his own. There was a moment of paralysis, as the full implications of Martin’s words swept over both of them like a giant wave, rooting them to the spot, neither of them able in their minds or in their bodies to move forwards or back.

  “So that was it,” Martin was continuing. “Something exploded in my head and I went straight up onto Waterloo Bridge and set about doing to young families what had been done to mine. Wrecking them in an instant. And I haven’t stopped since. It’s been so easy. I even enjoyed it. Just a flick of the arms, and they’re gone. Those kids weren’t being properly looked after, just as little Amy wasn’t being looked after properly all those years ago.”

  Only now was Alison able to clear her head sufficiently to speak for the first time. “And you then set about framing your own brother for the crimes? And making sure he was with me whenever you did them?”

  “Exactly,” said Martin, and finally it seemed that he had said what he came to say, and his face formed into an expression of complete satisfaction. “Finally you understand.”

  For a few moments no one spoke any further, then suddenly Alison saw that Martin was pointin
g with one arm towards the area behind her, and he began to shout.

  “You fucking bastard, Michael. You’ve brought the police! You’ve sold me out and brought the fucking police.” His last few words were drowned out by a voice from behind her, amplified through a bullhorn.

  “Martin Bannerman. Armed police. Remain where you are. You are surrounded and cannot escape. I say again. Armed police. Do not move.”

  Alison turned and saw that a row of six uniformed policemen, all wearing peaked caps and bulletproof vests, was walking forward slowly, each of them carrying a large pistol in outstretched hands. The guns were pointed in the direction of Martin and Michael. All around them parents and young children began to scream and were turning to run towards the shore. A movement above her head caught her attention, and Alison looked skywards to see a bundle of twenty or more multicolored balloons rocketing towards the heavens. She screamed and ran forward to put herself in the line of fire between the marksmen and the two brothers, and the force of her momentum made her crash into the pair of them. In a single movement Martin stepped forward and wrapped his arm around her neck, dragging her backwards against the railing. Now he was shouting again.

  “If you come any closer, we’re both going into the water.”

  Michael took a step backwards, holding up his hands to try to calm the situation. “Martin. I didn’t bring them. They must have followed us. I wouldn’t. We wouldn’t have.”

  “Well, they’re here now, and so that’s an end to it. I’m not sorry for anything I did, and if I’m going down, it’s only right that Elizabeth should be going down with me, because I would never have been in all this in the first place if she and you hadn’t been a part of it.”

  “Let her go now, Martin, there’s a good lad.” Michael turned and saw that the voice was that of Detective Chief Superintendent Norman Bailey, who was edging forward slowly, flanked on all sides by the marksmen.