Knife Edge

by Fergus McNeill

  ‘Kim Nichols …’ Josh’s voice repeated it slowly, with the faint clatter of the keyboard as he typed in the name. ‘Is this for the Redland case?’

  ‘No, no.’ Harland assumed a disinterested tone. ‘Just something that’s been niggling me, something I want to clear up.’

  ‘How’s Redland going?’

  ‘Early days, Josh. How’s everyone back there?’

  ‘OK, thanks, usual stuff …’ He paused. ‘Ah, Kim Nichols. Here you go.’

  He read out the number. Harland held the phone up with his shoulder as he scribbled the digits in his notebook, then thanked Josh and hung up. Straightening, he took the cigarette from his mouth and stubbed it out.

  It was probably nothing. Kim hadn’t even been sure if her boyfriend had done anything at Severn Beach, and there was nothing to link that case with Redland. But it wouldn’t do any harm to check.

  He weighed the phone in his hand for a moment, then dialled and lifted it to his ear.

  One ring … two … three … click.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi,’ Harland greeted her. ‘Is that Kim Nichols?’

  ‘Yes.’ Her tone was slightly guarded. ‘Who’s this?’

  ‘It’s DI Graham Harland from Avon and Somerset Police. We spoke when you came to Portishead?’

  There was a long pause before she answered. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Are you able to talk for a moment?’ he asked her.

  ‘Um …’ She was hesitant. ‘Can you hold on?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Harland listened to a succession of muffled sounds. Was she covering the mouthpiece? Moving to somewhere with more privacy before she spoke to him? He wondered where she was …

  ‘What is it?’ Her voice came back suddenly, but she was speaking in an urgent whisper now. ‘Why are you calling me?’

  ‘I’m sorry to trouble you.’ He suddenly felt bad for spooking her. ‘I just wanted to ask you something—’

  ‘I told you before,’ she hissed. ‘That was all a mistake. Please, I really don’t want Rob to know that I spoke to you.’

  ‘Kim, it’s all right.’ He tried to sound calm. ‘I’m not contacting him, I’m contacting you.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘I just have a question, something I wanted to check, OK?’

  There was another long pause.

  ‘I don’t see what good it will do.’ She still sounded suspicious, but the initial shock of his call was wearing off. ‘What’s the question?’

  ‘I appreciate your help,’ he told her. ‘I was just wondering if you knew where Rob was on the twenty-first of July? That was a Monday, the week before last.’

  ‘Monday before last?’ She seemed almost relieved, as though she had feared a more troubling question. ‘I think he was working from home … yes, he was at home all day that Monday.’

  There was no hesitation in her voice now.

  ‘You’re sure?’ Harland pressed her.

  ‘Yes, I remember because it was the day I had my car serviced.’

  Not defensive, just matter-of-fact. Harland rubbed his eyes and sighed in frustration. It had only been a feeling, and yet …

  ‘Why?’ Kim was becoming wary again now. ‘What’s this about?’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ he told her. ‘Just something I wanted to check, but you’ve cleared it up for me.’

  ‘You’re not going to tell Rob about me, are you?’ She sounded anxious, like she had done on that afternoon back in Portishead.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he reassured her. ‘That’s all I wanted to ask. I’m sorry to have bothered you.’

  ‘That’s it?’

  ‘That’s it. Thanks for your help.’

  ‘Oh.’ There was relief in her voice. ‘OK. Well, goodbye then.’

  ‘Bye.’

  Harland ended the call and stared at his phone for a moment before putting it back into his pocket. It looked as though Pearce had been right.

  33

  Kim stood motionless, a lonely figure on the rickety metal fire escape that jutted out from the top floor of the old white building. Behind her, the gabled Salisbury rooftops huddled together like gloomy slate peaks, obscuring the narrow streets and the bustle of the city centre below.

  She stared down at the phone in her hand, the back of it still warm from Harland’s jarring call. Perhaps this was good. Perhaps this meant it was finally over. Ever since her stupid visit to Portishead she’d been on edge, worried that the police would make some clumsy move and betray her to Rob. But Harland had sounded as though he was satisfied. Maybe she could forget all about it, try to move on.

  A breeze gusted up through the gap between the buildings, stirring old cigarette butts on a section of flat roof just below her. She’d come outside with just her thin blouse, but she folded her arms against the cold air, not ready to go back inside just yet, needing a moment more to compose herself. Part of her yearned to call Rob, to hear his voice and make-believe that everything was all right, but she couldn’t tell him what had upset her. She couldn’t tell anyone.

  Sighing, she began picking absently at the flaky black paint on the fire-escape handrail, watching the pieces twirl down into a mossy gutter below.

  Rob …

  Her thoughts went to him, and she turned her face to gaze up at the sky. He was working from home again today, like he had been that Monday. She wondered why Harland had asked her about that, but quickly decided to put it out of her mind. Whatever it was, Rob wasn’t involved. He’d been at home all day, thank goodness. There was nothing to worry about.

  She turned, her heels clicking noisily on the metal fire escape, then stooped to move the brick she’d used to wedge open the door before stepping back inside. Pulling the door shut behind her, she started down the corridor, her mind still on that Monday.

  She’d taken his car to work because hers was at the garage. They hadn’t spoken during the day as far as she could remember – but of course, he’d left his phone in the boot of the car.

  Walking slowly back into the office, she went across to her desk and sat down. Placing her hand on the mouse, she moved it to wake the computer, but her gaze drifted down to stare at the tiny snapshot of Rob she kept in a little heart-shaped frame beside her computer.

  What had happened on the twenty-first?

  She looked up at the screen, tempted by the Internet icon and the thought of searching for things that had happened on that day …

  No.

  Everything was fine. He was at home all day, she knew that. He must have been.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  Rob was studying her, genuine concern on his face.

  ‘I’m fine.’ Kim gave him a brief smile and let her eyes drop back to the mug of hot chocolate she was holding. ‘Just thinking about something that happened at work today.’

  ‘Want to talk about it?’ he asked, reaching forward to touch her hair.

  She shook her head.

  ‘Fair enough.’ He leaned back into the sofa and yawned.

  She had felt uncomfortable around him all evening, withdrawing from him, avoiding conversation. It was like that first day at the cottage, after he’d told her. But there were no tears this time, no release, just that gnawing sense of dread.

  He yawned again, and got slowly to his feet, stretching.

  ‘I’ve got an early start – Nottingham tomorrow,’ he told her. ‘You coming up?’

  Kim glanced at the paperback on the coffee table, then gazed up at him.

  ‘I think I’ll sit and read down here for a while,’ she said softly. ‘I’ll try not to wake you when I come to bed.’

  ‘OK.’ He leaned over her, kissing the top of her head, then wrapping his arms around her. ‘Goodnight.’

  She closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of his embrace. But there was no comfort in it any more.

  ‘Night.’

  She sat alone, huddled into the corner of the sofa, knees drawn up to her chest, pressing her toes into the cushions. Above
her, she heard the vague rush of the bathroom cistern filling, and the muffled footsteps as he came through to the bedroom. Her eyes watched the ceiling, following his movements, listening for the faint creaking as he got into bed and settled for the night.

  Now, the house was silent. Her book lay untouched on the table. All the other distractions were gone and she was alone with her fears.

  She unfolded herself slowly, sitting forward and lowering her feet to the floor. Getting up, she moved quietly, padding through to the kitchen to retrieve her work bag, then hurrying back to the relative warmth of the living room. Glancing up at the ceiling again, she paused to listen for any sounds, then unzipped the bag and drew out her laptop.

  It was silly. She already knew where he’d been that Monday. What good would this do?

  But the doubts and the curiosity were overwhelming. Harland had called her for a reason, and she had to know.

  Opening her laptop, she stared at the screen for a moment, then opened a browser window. Setting the search for ‘News’, she hesitated, then entered 21 July and pressed the ‘Enter’ key.

  Part of her had already guessed what the top story might be, but she hadn’t been sure of it until the words came up on the screen in front of her. The Redland murder had been on the news all that week – and it had happened on the Monday. Her stomach knotted and she lurched forward, one hand across her mouth, the other gripping her side as she hugged herself.

  No!

  He wouldn’t have done something like that. He couldn’t have. And there was no way he could have made it to Bristol and back – not from the village, not without a car.

  She clicked frantically to close the browser window, then pulled the screen forward until her laptop snapped shut. Taking a breath, she got uncertainly to her feet, trying to reign in her imagination.

  Stop it! He was here all day.

  She hesitated, then walked slowly out into the hallway, pausing at the foot of the stairs.

  He couldn’t have done it.

  Her hand reached out to touch the banister rail as she stared up into the darkness.

  Could he?

  part 3

  SWITCH

  34

  Thursday, 7 August

  Dessert, when it arrived, was faultless. Naysmith had decided to try one of the specials – a beautiful tarte au citron, delicately seasoned with ginger and lime, while Kim had asked for her usual dark chocolate brownie with mint. Both were presented exquisitely, like everything else they’d enjoyed, and the waiter set the gleaming white plates before them with a deferential nod.

  ‘I’d like an espresso please,’ Naysmith told him, then turned to Kim. ‘Do you want anything?’

  She was wearing a simple blue-grey dress, with her dark hair down and tumbling across her pale shoulders, waking an impatient arousal in him.

  ‘Just a cappuccino, please,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Of course.’ The waiter turned and walked away.

  Naysmith gazed at her for a moment longer, then took up his fork and sliced off a thin piece of the tart, tasting it thoughtfully.

  ‘Oh, you should have ordered this,’ he sighed as his face melted into a grin. ‘I’ve tried some serious desserts here, but … wow!’

  She looked at him and, for a brief instant, there was a flicker of something troubled in her expression, but she seemed to brighten a little, reaching over to his plate with her own fork.

  ‘Hey!’ he protested. ‘Just a taste.’

  ‘You can have some of mine.’ She deftly cut a corner off the tart.

  ‘You know I don’t care for mint.’

  ‘Sorry,’ she shrugged, popping the stolen piece into her mouth. ‘Oh, you’re right. That’s good.’

  ‘I told you,’ he gently scolded her. ‘You should listen to me.’

  Another strange look flickered across her face, but then it was gone again.

  ‘I do listen to you,’ she said softly.

  Naysmith held the door open for Kim and followed her out into the quiet stillness of the village evening. The sounds of the restaurant faded behind them as they walked under the darkening sky.

  ‘I wish I wasn’t going tomorrow,’ he sighed, gazing up at the shadowy clouds that had crept in from the horizon. ‘A couple of days off, a relaxing meal with you, and suddenly the idea of Montreal isn’t appealing at all.’

  Kim was staring across the road to the tree-lined village green.

  ‘Look,’ she whispered.

  Three wild ponies were grazing quietly on the cricket pitch opposite them, dim brown shapes against the dusky gloom of the woods. Naysmith smiled. They were inside the bounds of the New Forest here, where the roads had no fences and animals were able to roam at will.

  ‘They look so beautiful,’ she murmured. ‘So free.’

  ‘Beautiful,’ Naysmith agreed, running his hand down the back of her dress and caressing her bottom. ‘Come on, let’s get you home.’

  He turned and walked across the gravel to the broad grassy verge where they’d parked. Kim stared at the ponies for a moment, then followed him to the car.

  It was dark when they got home. Naysmith was feeling eager now, and he toyed with the idea of taking her straight upstairs to bed, but Kim disappeared into the kitchen and emerged with a tall glass of Bombay Sapphire and tonic.

  What the hell. It would give their food time to go down.

  They settled down in the living room to watch an episode from the French crime series box set he’d bought.

  ‘A good chance for you to brush up on your français before you go,’ she told him.

  ‘Je veux te baiser,’ he said innocently.

  ‘What’s that?’ she asked.

  ‘It means, “Where is the post office?”’ he lied. She was wedged into the far corner of the sofa, and he reached across, pulling her close and putting his arm around her. ‘Come here. I won’t be able to do this tomorrow night.’

  ‘No,’ she agreed, leaning her head against his shoulder. ‘You won’t.’

  He enjoyed the show, settling back and stroking Kim’s hair as the warmth of the gin soothed him, but towards the end of the programme, Kim groaned and sat up.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked her.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she replied, shifting position as though trying to get comfortable. ‘I’m not feeling that great.’

  ‘What did you have tonight?’

  ‘The scallops … but they tasted fine.’

  Naysmith frowned, patting her gently on the back. A few moments later, Kim shook her head.

  ‘I’m sorry, Rob, I’m feeling rotten,’ she said quietly.

  He reached over, touching her forehead.

  ‘You don’t have a temperature,’ he said. ‘Is it your stomach? Do you feel as if you’re going to throw up?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she replied. ‘I just feel awful and my head is starting to hurt. I think I should go and lie down.’

  ‘Do you want me to come upstairs with you?’ he asked, rising to steady her as she got to her feet.

  ‘No, no.’ She smiled at him weakly and pushed him back onto the sofa. ‘You finish your drink and watch another episode. I just want to lie quietly and let this pass.’

  She moved unsteadily from the room. Naysmith watched her go, then turned to scowl at the TV. After a moment, he reached for the remote control and rewound the DVD a couple of scenes, then slumped back in his seat and stared at the screen.

  Upstairs, he heard the rush of water as the toilet flushed. A moment later, his eyes turned to the ceiling, tracing the muffled footsteps above him. She was getting into bed.

  When the episode ended, he got to his feet and wandered through to the kitchen. The blue bottle of gin was on the table and he poured himself another, topping it up with tonic and a handful of ice from the freezer. At the foot of the stairs, he hesitated.

  There was no point in disturbing her too soon. Maybe let her rest a while and hope she felt better.

  He turned around and trudged b
ack to the living room. Sinking down onto the sofa, he took a long sip of his drink, then pressed ‘Play’ on the remote and settled in for a lonely evening.

  It was late when he finally switched off the lights and went upstairs. The house was silent apart from the soft creak of his feet on the steps and he made his way along the landing to the bathroom. Tired now, he leaned against the wall as he used the toilet, then flushed and went over to the sink. The face that stared back at him from the mirror looked dejected. This wasn’t the evening he’d had in mind.

  The bedroom was in darkness, and he used the light from his phone to find his way across the carpet before switching on his reading lamp. Kim was lying motionless, long hair tumbling over her bare shoulders, her face turned away from him. He undressed quietly, dropping his clothes in the laundry basket as he went, then pulled back the duvet to get into bed.

  Easing himself down, he reached out a hand to stroke her back. Oddly, she was still wearing her bra and, as his hand worked lower, her underwear too. She really must have been feeling poorly.

  He caressed her for a moment, running his hands over her smooth skin, down the length of her back to reveal the beautiful curve of her bottom, but she showed no sign of stirring. Finally, he gave it up, and gently pulled the duvet back to cover her again.

  Definitely not the evening he’d had in mind.

  With a sigh he let his head fall back into the pillows, stared up at the ceiling, and waited for sleep to come.

  35

  Friday, 8 August

  She got up early, sliding silently out of bed so as not to wake him. Listening to his steady breathing, she crept around the bed and clicked the switch on the clock radio, turning the alarm off. He looked so different when he was sleeping – still strong and attractive, but without the edge of menace she felt when he looked at her. She stood there for a minute, gazing down on him thoughtfully before the memory of the previous evening came back to her.

  Just a couple more hours to get through.

  Yawning, she went down to the kitchen and made herself a coffee. Sitting at the table, she sipped her drink cautiously, inhaling the steam as she closed her eyes and listened for any sound from upstairs. But there was nothing.