The Postscript Murders

by Griffiths, Elly

  ‘That’s tough,’ says Harbinder. She has noticed before that Miles seems more approachable when he’s talking about Scotland.

  They continue walking towards the end of the bay, slipping a little on the wet pebbles. Miles finds a flat stone and attempts to skim it. Harbinder wonders when he’s going to tell her what’s on his mind.

  ‘You wanted to talk to me?’ she prompts.

  ‘It might not be important,’ says Miles, ‘but I had a rather strange email last night.’

  ‘Strange in what way?’ says Harbinder. She is thinking of the postcards. We are coming for you.

  ‘An unsolicited manuscript,’ he says. ‘A book from someone I don’t know.’

  ‘But that must happen all the time.’

  ‘Seventh Seal only accepts manuscripts via agents,’ says Miles. ‘This one’s from an address that I’ve never heard of.’

  ‘Is that so unusual?’ asks Harbinder. She watches as a seagull swoops low over the waves. The sky is cloudier now and the wind stronger.

  ‘Not necessarily,’ says Miles, ‘but when I looked at the synopsis, it’s an exact copy of a Dex Challoner novel.’

  Harbinder still doesn’t see why this is so surprising. Surely plagiarism, conscious or unconscious, must be part of a fiction editor’s life. She says as much.

  ‘It’s a copy of an unpublished Dex Challoner novel,’ says Miles. ‘In fact, it’s one that Dex hadn’t written yet. Now he never will, of course.’

  Harbinder thinks that she gets it now. ‘The Murder Consultant?’

  ‘Yes. It was a top-secret project. Only Jelli and I knew about it, as far as I know. I suppose Dex might have told Mia and his closest friends, though he wasn’t the sort of writer who talked much about his work in progress.’

  ‘He talked to Peggy,’ says Harbinder, thinking of the note she had seen. Do help me, darling. I’ve got to give Miles the rough draft next week.

  ‘I meant he didn’t have hundreds of beta readers out there.’

  ‘Beta readers?’

  ‘People who read an author’s book before the publisher sees it. Often they’re friends of the author. They pick up mistakes, offer suggestions, that sort of thing. It can be a useful process but Dex didn’t work like that. Apart from Mia, Jelli and I were always the first people to see the manuscript. It was the same with Betty, his previous editor.’

  ‘How similar is this book to the one that Dex was planning?’

  ‘According to the synopsis, it’s almost identical. It’s about an old lady living in sheltered accommodation who solves murders. Based on Peggy, of course.’

  ‘What’s it called?’

  ‘Amanuensis. It’s trying quite hard to be literary and cool but it’s the same plot, all right.’

  ‘And you don’t know who sent it?’

  ‘No. It’s a Gmail address. Someone who calls themselves Booksdofurnish. It’s from an Anthony Powell novel, “Books do furnish a room”.’

  Why do people insist on telling her this sort of stuff?

  ‘Did Peggy know that Dex was planning to write about her?’ says Harbinder.

  ‘Yes,’ says Miles. ‘Dex said that she was chuffed to bits about it.’

  Chapter 30

  Natalka: blue blistering barnacles

  The first thing that Natalka sees when she wakes up is Tintin. His oval face with black dot eyes is right next to hers. She blinks and tries to focus. It’s the wallpaper, an endless parade of cartoon characters. Tintin and his dog. What was its name? Snowy. Those two identical detectives. The Captain. Captain Haddock. He was Natalka’s favourite character, with his pipe and his whisky and his grand house in the country. Perhaps he was an idealised father figure. Certainly he was nothing like her own.

  Natalka is in the top bunk. She had thought it nice of Julie to offer her the prime position but now she feels rather trapped. She can’t get up without waking her room-mate and she can hear Julie snoring gently in the bed below. She had talked in her sleep last night too, though Natalka couldn’t make out the words.

  It feels wrong just to lie here; normally she does yoga in the mornings or goes for a run. Natalka can’t remember the last time that she shared a bedroom. Lovers – and husbands – don’t count. She wonders who decorated this room with the Tintin wallpaper and why. Who slept here? Siblings certainly. Maybe twins. People used to say that she and Dmytro were like twins because there were only eighteen months between them. The only time she remembers sharing a room with Dmytro was on holiday. Her father used to borrow a caravan from a workmate and they’d drive to the coast. Natalka and Dmytro were meant to take turns with the top bunk but somehow it was always Natalka’s turn. She was the oldest and she supposes that she was a bit of a bully. She wishes that she could see Dmytro again, even if only to say sorry. The wallpaper blurs before her eyes. Tintin, Snowy, Thomson and Thompson, Captain Haddock.

  She tries to climb down quietly but Julie hears her.

  ‘Morning.’

  ‘Morning. Sorry. Did I wake you?’

  ‘I was awake anyway.’ Natalka thinks she’s just being polite.

  ‘I was looking at the wallpaper,’ says Natalka. ‘I love Tintin.’

  ‘Could you get the books in Ukrainian?’

  ‘We read them in English. I always thought they were English. I was quite shocked when I found out that Hergé was Belgian. Captain Haddock always seemed like a typical Englishman to me.’

  ‘Billions of bilious blue blistering barnacles,’ says Julie. ‘That what he used to say.’

  ‘I remember,’ says Natalka. She always liked the phrase though she found it hard to say. She whispers it now, looking out of the window. She can just see the sea, glittering away to the left. She remembers those caravan holidays again. Odessa, Koblevo, Skadovsk. Golden sand, theme parks, the smell of pine leaves.

  ‘I wonder what we’ll do today,’ says Julie.

  ‘I think we should go to the beach,’ says Natalka.

  By the time Natalka gets downstairs, Harbinder and Miles have already been out for a walk and Edwin is dozing over a P. G. Wodehouse. Benedict is in the kitchen eating toast and reading a book. Natalka thinks it’s one of Julie’s, she recognises the swimming pool on the cover. What must it be like to see people reading something you’ve written? Nerve-wracking, she imagines. Like watching a teacher read your English essay.

  ‘Morning,’ says Benedict. ‘I’ve made fresh coffee.’

  ‘Great.’ Natalka pours herself a cup. ‘Not as good as yours,’ she says.

  Benedict actually blushes. ‘It’s never as good in a cafetière.’

  ‘That sounds like code for something.’ Julie appears, wearing one of those floaty tops beloved of women who think that they’re overweight.

  ‘Just talking about coffee,’ says Benedict. ‘There’s some freshly made.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Julie gets a mug and notices Benedict’s reading matter. ‘Oh my God. You’re reading my book.’

  ‘Yes,’ says Benedict. ‘I bought it before I went to your panel. It’s really good.’

  ‘Thanks so much.’ Julie sounds genuinely pleased. ‘I can’t watch you read it though. I’ll keep worrying if you’re looking bored. I once sat opposite a woman reading one of my books on the Tube. It was torture.’

  ‘I think we should go for a walk on the beach,’ says Natalka.

  ‘I went earlier,’ says Harbinder from the doorway. ‘It’s very pretty but the wind’s getting stronger.’

  ‘We should get some fresh air,’ says Natalka. She’s already feeling claustrophobic.

  ‘It’s cloudy now,’ says Julie, looking out the window.

  ‘That’s the best time to see the sea,’ says Natalka. ‘In the wind and the rain.’

  ‘I agree,’ says Benedict. ‘I love the sea in all weathers. It’s the best thing about my job.’

&n
bsp; ‘What do you do?’ asks Julie.

  ‘I own a café,’ says Benedict, colouring again. ‘Well, a shack really.’

  ‘Benny makes the best coffee on the south coast,’ says Natalka.

  ‘I think I went there with Peggy once,’ says Miles suddenly. ‘The coffee was really good.’

  ‘Really?’ says Benedict. ‘Actually, I remember. I thought you must be a relative of hers.’

  ‘Did you?’ says Miles. He sounds more offended that the remark warrants, thinks Natalka. Surely anyone would be proud to be related to Peggy?

  In the end, there are just the four of them on the walk. Miles says that he’s had enough exercise for one day and Edwin says that it looks as if it’s about to rain. Sure enough, when they go outside, the clouds are low over the sea. The wind has picked up and the seagulls are calling. The tide is out, exposing rocks shiny with seaweed.

  ‘We shouldn’t go out of sight of the squad car,’ says Harbinder. She’s obviously not off duty, thinks Natalka. She notices how Harbinder scans the road outside before taking the path to the beach. She, herself, is feeling calmer today. They are in a safe house on the Aberdeenshire coast, miles from nowhere, there’s a police car outside. Surely the Ukrainians can’t follow her here?

  They walk across the beach. Julie slips in her smart, ankle boots but Natalka’s trainers have better grip. Benedict goes to the water’s edge and skims a stone. It skips over the waves, once, twice, three times, four, five.

  ‘You’re really good at that.’

  Benedict grins, the wind whipping back his hair. ‘My dad taught me. I was always better than Hugo. It really pissed him off.’

  Natalka thinks it’s the first time she’s heard Benny use anything even close to a swear word.

  Harbinder and Julie are examining the rock pools. Natalka notices that they’re walking close together, but not talking. Occasionally, Julie’s hand just brushes Harbinder’s. Julie turns and waves at Natalka. ‘We might see blue blistering barnacles!’ The wind throws her words into the air.

  ‘More likely just beadlet anemones,’ says Benedict. How does he know these things? ‘You get velvet swimming crabs too,’ he says. ‘They’re very aggressive.’

  Julie is now climbing on the rocks. She teeters on the black seaweed. ‘You can see for miles from here.’

  ‘Careful,’ says Harbinder. Julie turns to look at her, smiling, and then seems to fall forwards, putting out a hand to save herself. Natalka hears the crack from where she’s standing.

  ‘Julie!’ shouts Harbinder. She scrambles over the rocks and helps Julie to her feet. Julie rests her head against Harbinder’s shoulder, just for a second. Benedict and Natalka hurry towards them.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Harbinder is saying.

  ‘I’m fine,’ says Julie, rather breathlessly. But, as Natalka gets closer she sees that Julie’s right wrist is already starting to swell.

  Benedict and Harbinder help Julie back over the rocks. Her face is alarmingly pale.

  ‘You need to go to the hospital,’ says Harbinder.

  ‘It’s probably only a sprain,’ says Julie. ‘I just need an aspirin and a lie down.’ But her lips are blue and her wrist is beginning to discolour alarmingly.

  ‘I think it’s broken,’ says Harbinder.

  Benedict obviously thinks so too. ‘Natalka and I will drive you,’ he says.

  ‘No,’ says Harbinder. ‘You ought not to leave the house. I’ll take her.’

  They walk up the concrete ramp, Harbinder and Benedict supporting Julie. One of the officers has got out of the car. Edwin comes out of the house, looking concerned.

  ‘You need to go to A and E,’ says the policeman, looking at Julie’s wrist. ‘We’ll take you. That way DS Kaur can stay here with the rest of you.’

  ‘I’ll go with you,’ says Edwin.

  ‘There’s no need,’ says Julie, but her lower lip is trembling.

  ‘It’s wretched being in A and E on your own,’ says Edwin. ‘I’ll just get my coat.’ This takes some time but eventually he emerges wearing a coat and tartan scarf and carrying Julie’s jacket. Edwin and Julie get into the back of the car. Natalka, Benedict and Harbinder watch as the police car drives away. Then they turn back to the house.

  ‘Edwin left the front door open,’ says Benedict. ‘He must have been in a state.’

  Natalka feels her heart beating in her chest. ‘Don’t go in!’ she wants to say. But she follows Benedict and Harbinder into the safe house.

  To find a strange man in the sitting room pointing a gun at Miles.

  Chapter 31

  Benedict: murder backwards

  Benedict has always wanted to be a hero. How would it feel, he used to wonder, to emerge from a burning building with a body in your arms? Or to take a bullet for the girl you love? But, when it comes to it, the thing proves surprisingly simple.

  Miles is on the sofa, chalk white, hand shielding his face. The man stands in front of him, gun pointing at the editor’s chest.

  ‘Put the gun down,’ says Harbinder, her voice admirably steady.

  The man says something in a language Benedict doesn’t understand.

  Natalka answers.

  The man swings round and points the gun at her.

  Benedict shouts ‘No!’ and throws himself in front of Natalka.

  The gun goes off.

  Silence. Seagulls calling.

  Is he dead? Is this what dying feels like? If so, it’s not too bad. A rush of blood to the head, a feeling of euphoria and a sense of having done this, not once, but many times before. It’s funny, being shot doesn’t hurt at all. Then he realises that he is still standing, Natalka is holding him from behind, and the foreign man is still pointing the gun at Miles. There’s a hole in the wall where the first bullet has lodged itself.

  ‘You betray us,’ says the gunman, in English. Automatically, even in this terrifying moment, Benedict looks at his shoes. Scuffed white trainers. Not shiny shoe man then.

  ‘I didn’t mean to,’ says Miles. ‘We were students. We didn’t know what we were doing.’

  ‘Give me the gun,’ says Harbinder, ‘then we can talk about this.’

  ‘He betrayed us,’ says White Trainers. ‘We went to prison for years and he just went back to his cosy university.’

  ‘I know,’ says Harbinder. ‘Peggy helped you both, didn’t she? But then the police came after you and Miles got safely back to England.’

  ‘How did you guess?’ says Miles. He is still sitting, looking stricken, on the sofa.

  ‘You studied Russian at university,’ says Harbinder. ‘I suppose you were on a year abroad when you met Peggy. I remember the thank you card that you sent her. And there was something else, something an old lady said.’

  ‘And now I’m going to kill him,’ says the gunman. ‘I’ve waited a long time.’ He levels the gun again.

  ‘Andriy,’ says a new voice. ‘Put the gun down.’

  Andriy turns and Harbinder lunges forward to knock the gun from his hand. Benedict goes to help her and, as he does so, Natalka launches herself into the new man’s arms. Benedict lets go of Andriy but all the fight seems to have gone out of the man. He just sits there on the floor. Miles starts to sob.

  Natalka is still embracing the stranger.

  ‘What’s going on?’ says Harbinder, taking the bullets out of the gun.

  Benedict looks hard at the second man and back to Natalka. And suddenly he understands.

  ‘I think that’s her brother,’ he says.

  ‘This is Dmytro,’ says Natalka. Her eyes are shining and she looks more beautiful than ever. Transfigured.

  ‘Who’s that?’ says Benedict, gesturing towards the man on the floor. Andriy.

  ‘We’re both studying at the university here,’ says Dmytro. ‘They have a special programme for political refugees. I
arrive two weeks ago. I’ve been trying to find Natalka and then she appears in front of me.’

  ‘Were you in the pub that night?’ asks Natalka. ‘I didn’t see you. Why didn’t you speak to me?’

  ‘I wasn’t there,’ says Dmytro. ‘I couldn’t believe it when Andriy showed me the photograph.’

  ‘What photograph?’ says Benedict, thinking of the picture he had taken of the two men drinking Coke. Was one of them the man who had tried to kill Miles?

  ‘I was in the pub with Sergei,’ says Andriy. ‘He was the other one who was in Russia that time. We are having a drink and we see him.’ He points at Miles. ‘I know I must have my . . .’ He clicks his fingers for the word.

  ‘Revenge?’ says Natalka helpfully.

  ‘Yes, my revenge. I take a photograph and she . . .’ he points at Natalka, ‘she is in the background.’

  ‘It wasn’t my fault,’ says Miles, sounding, for the first time, sulky rather than scared.

  ‘No? Why you not in prison?’ returns Andriy. ‘I go to prison for ten years.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ says Miles.

  Harbinder is on her phone. Benedict hears her say, ‘Armed assailant. Back-up needed urgently.’ It sounds almost like a betrayal, now that Andriy has started speaking, has become a person rather than a gunman.

  ‘Did you try to find Peggy?’ says Natalka to Andriy. ‘Did you come to Shoreham?’ She is standing beside Dmytro, holding his hand. Side by side there’s a resemblance that wasn’t as noticeable before. Dmytro is taller and thinner, his cheekbones almost painfully chiselled, but his eyes are Natalka’s, deep, dark blue.

  ‘Yes,’ says Andriy. ‘Sergei and me, we drive to Peggy’s house. We see her but there are people there. We come back the next day but she is dead.’

  ‘I saw you,’ says Natalka. ‘I saw you from my window. You were in a white car.’

  ‘Yes. We saw you at Peggy house. We follow you.’

  ‘You knocked on my door, of the house where I live. You said you were friends of mine.’

  ‘I wanted to talk about Peggy,’ says Andriy. ‘I don’t know . . . you and Dmytro . . . are brother and sister. Then he sees the photo. He tells me.’