by Val McDermid
I was sure I heard a response, a low moan rising from my partner. My spirits rose like the sudden jagged peak on a hospital bedside monitor. She was conscious. We could get out of this. We were going to be all right. I called out again. And again.
Nothing.
Desperate, I shouted one more time, but there was no response except for the sound of the wind. It dawned on me that what I had heard was the weather, not Kathy. The realisation was like a blow. It looked as if Plan A was a non-starter. All I could think was that she must have hit her head in the fall. These days, I wouldn't dream of climbing without a helmet, but back then, like most of the young climbers I knew, I was convinced I was immortal. Neither of us had worn a helmet that day. Just one of many things I would go back and change if I could.
Plan B was dependent on there being an anchor point for the Prusik loop. If I was going to escape the terrible pressure of the rope, there had to be something else sturdy enough to take the strain. I knew the basalt and gabbro were strong enough. All I needed was a sturdy knob of rock or a little pinnacle that I could get a sling around. I lifted my head and studied the area around me.
Nothing.
I looked again. But there wasn't anything that remotely resembled the kind of promontory I needed. We'd passed plenty of suitable bits of rock on the way up, but it was our bad luck that this part of the climb consisted of the kind of planes and angles that didn't provide anything suitable to tie off the rope.
There was one last possibility. Climbing technology has provided us with an amazing range of gadgets and gizmos. Given the smallest crack or crevice, we can create an anchor using one of the nuts or hexes or cams that we all routinely carry. But all I had in easy reach were my ice axes. I didn't trust their grip with Kathy's weight. Somehow I was going to have to get at my backpack.
That wasn't as easy as it sounds. My first attempt nearly ended in disaster. Even so slight a shift in my weight was enough to destabilise my position. I felt my balance alter and for one terrible moment I thought I was going to plummet down the mountain, taking Kathy with me. I realised I was going to have to do this infinitely slowly.
That would have been fine if we'd been climbing on a warm summer day with hours of daylight ahead of us. But we were in a blizzard on a February day in the Cuillin, and now that I wasn't moving, my body was starting to seize up. My fingers were chilled, and the cold was slowing my brain and my reactions. But I had to keep going. Time and light were slipping away now we were past noon and heading for darkness.
As I eased my backpack off my shoulders with agonising slowness, I remembered there might be another hope of rescue. There was a mobile phone in my backpack. Not any old mobile, which would of course have had no signal back in those days in the remote heart of Skye.Thanks to Kathy's love of gadgetry, we both had satellite phones. I had grumbled about the extra weight in my pack, but she had insisted. Now, if the gods smiled on me and I could get a signal, I could simply call the mountain rescue to come and pluck us off this hateful chunk of rock.
Trying to free the backpack meant I was crushed against the rock, taking Kathy's full weight with my upper body strength. I was starting to feel drained as well as frozen. And still the snow fell, coating my eyelashes and making ledges on my eyebrows, catching in every breath I dragged into my chest. At last I got one arm out of the pack and lifted my shoulder so it would slide towards my other arm, then into my waiting hand.
I'd reckoned without the paralysing cold. I curled my hand round to reach for the strap as my pack slid down my arm. But somehow, my fingers didn't close on the strap and it carried on sliding, its weight adding momentum. I heard my own voice echo inside my head screaming, 'No,' as my pack hurtled into the void, tumbling through the snow and out of sight.
I sobbed for the first time then. Hope was vanishing with the light. Yes, we'd left a climb plan with the hotel reception, but they wouldn't sound the alert until we didn't show up for dinner. By then, I would have been lying on the spine of the In Pinn for six hours in a blizzard, supporting the weight of my climbing partner. I didn't fancy my chances. But I didn't feel I had any choice.
The wind, already strong, began to pick up. It felt like a gale up there on the icy rock. And then a bad situation got worse.The wind shifted its quarter from due north to north east. Kathy's body, which had been sheltered by the mass of Sgurr Dearg, was now in the path of the wind. It began to swing, but not predictably like a pendulum. That I could have predicted and made adjustments for. This movement was unpredictable and jerky. I braced myself, trying to dig my crampons further into the ice. It was useless. After I'd been wrenched sideways a couple of times, it became very clear to me that we were both going to die. I couldn't hold position on the rock, not against the erratic tugging on the rope that the wind was creating. If I came off, there was nothing between us and the valley floor. Our bodies would smash to pulp on the rock below.
The wind whistled round us again and this time the effort of staying put twisted my leg under me. I could feel a tearing, then a searing pain in my left knee. My foot sprang free from the ice. I rammed it back again, almost passing out with the pain. I knew enough about my body to realise I'd torn the ligaments in my knee. I knew then I couldn't hold my position for long. I was done for.
Then I remembered I had a mini multi-tool in the inside pocket of my jacket.Tiny pliers, a nail file, a screwdriver and a two-inch penknife blade. Even as I thought the unthinkable, my heart recoiled in horror. Cutting the rope would condemn Kathy to death. But not cutting it would condemn both of us to death. No other climbers would be coming up here now, not this late in the day.There was no salvation. No rescue. Not any time soon.
I pulled my glove off with my teeth and pushed my frozen hand inside my jacket. My fingers tingled and burned as the residual heat from my body warmed them a little. I closed my hand round the knife and pulled it out. Holding it between my gloved hand and the rock, I managed to get the blade open. But still I dithered. I couldn't bring myself to do it.
Then another gust yanked me hard against the rock, smashing my face and chest against the icy gabbro. I had no choice. Any more of this and I would be over the edge too.
I cut the rope.
Right on cue, the phone rang. Jay reached for it automatically. It was halfway to her ear before she realised she was crying.
10
Charlie could feel her heart beat, a fast steady thud beneath her ribs. Excitement vibrated through her like a low-level electrical charge. She remembered nothing of the drive from North Oxford across town to Iffley village. She'd always loved coming here as an undergraduate, walking up the tow-path from Folly Bridge to the lock. The river was never empty; there were always boats: college eights putting their back into it; intrepid punters prepared to brave the big river; motor cruisers and day boats pottering back and forth. By contrast, the path was often quiet, leading to the incongruity of Iffley itself, a village within a city. Prosperous, quiet and self-contained, it seemed to have resisted the infection of university life. Although the houses were different in style, it reminded Charlie of the Lincolnshire village where her grandparents had lived. So whenever she'd needed an anchor during those sometimes tempestuous Oxford years, this was where she'd walked to.
Lisa's house stood in a quiet lane of substantial cottages a couple of streets away from the river. Charlie imagined it would be chilly and damp on one of Oxford's many foggy winter days, but as this afternoon petered out, some late shafts of sunlight had escaped the clouds and made everything charming. She drove slowly, checking the numbers till she found the right house. She recognised Lisa's sleek silver Audi sports car, but not the Toyota estate squeezed next to it in the tight driveway. It was another fifty yards before Charlie found somewhere to leave her own car without obstructing anyone else's access. She checked her watch. Twenty-five past three. She sat behind the wheel for another three minutes then walked back to the cottage, wondering what she would find there.
As she approached, she coul
dn't help admiring the house. She must have passed it a dozen times when she was an exploring undergraduate, but she had no recollection of it. There was nothing fancy about it - weathered red brick, tiled roof, white-painted woodwork - but its symmetry and proportions were pleasing to the eye. Above the neat pillared porch was a circular window, the rich colours of its stained glass apparent even in the sunshine. The cars were parked on a driveway of herringbone brick, and the small area in front of the house featured a miniature knot garden of clipped box. Everything was picture perfect. Charlie felt she was making the place look untidy simply by walking up to the front door.
She took a deep breath, trying to calm her agitation. She was as excited as a teenager at the prospect of seeing Lisa on her home turf. Charlie rang the bell and took a half-step back. Almost immediately, she heard footsteps approach and the door opened wide. Lisa grinned, Charlie's heart bounded and she stepped into open arms. 'It's great to see you,' she said.
Lisa's lips grazed her cheek and her warm breath tickled her ear as she said, 'Perfect timing. There's still a couple of people here but they're about to leave.' Then she let Charlie go and stepped back, inviting her in.
Even in this emotional state, Charlie's professional training took over. She couldn't help noting surroundings, letting them inform her judgement. The hallway was simply decorated. White walls and ceiling, parquet floor with the patina of age, four small abstract seascapes in heavy oils. Light from the stained-glass window splashed random colour, giving warmth. And at the heart of it, Lisa herself. Slim hips, wide shoulders, sleeveless top chosen to show the warm gold of her skin and the beautiful curves of clearly defined muscles, and a sassy gait that reminded Charlie of the catwalk. Lisa walked the walk that would attract people's gaze and talked the talk that would hold that attention on her.
Charlie followed her into a sitting room furnished with a trio of sofas in cream chintz, a scatter of low tables and an elaborate Art Nouveau fireplace. A William Morris fire screen sat in front of it. French windows gave on to a long grassy expanse that ended in a wall of shrubbery. A man and a woman occupied two of the sofas, papers spread around them. Their eyes were already fixed on the door, waiting for Lisa.
'Charlie, these are two of my colleagues. Tom and Linda. This is my friend Charlie,' Lisa said briskly. Everyone exchanged smiles and nods. 'So, that's it for today. When you've had a chance to let the new material sink in, email me with your comments. Otherwise, I'll see you in Swindon on Tuesday.'
Tom and Linda gathered their papers together quickly and stood to leave. It was clear Lisa ran a tight operation. She waved Charlie to the vacant sofa as they were packing their things away. 'Coffee, tea? Juice? Water?' she said.
If she truly only had an hour of Lisa's time, Charlie wasn't going to waste a minute of it on the boiling of kettles. 'I'm fine, thanks.'
'I'll be right back.' Lisa was gently but firmly moving Tom and Linda out of the room, even though he was still trying to zip up his laptop bag.
When she returned almost immediately, Lisa settled on the sofa at right angles to Charlie, tucking her legs under her and leaning on its arm so she appeared to be completely absorbed by her visitor. To Charlie, so accustomed to reading the body language of others, it was a welcome moment. 'So,' Lisa said, turning it into three distinct syllables. 'An interesting day.' There was the trace of a tease in her voice, the undercurrent of something that went beyond social pleasantries.
Charlie smiled. She wanted to point out it was getting better all the time, but she was wary of sounding cheesy. Or predatory. 'Interesting company, too.'
'So tell me all about it.' Lisa propped her chin on her arm and gave Charlie the full headlight stare. 'I love listening to you.'
Charlie took Lisa through her encounter with the Newsams, keeping her narrative tight and to the point. She finished with a brief account of her meeting with Dr Winter, then leaned back. 'It all turned out to be much more dramatic than I expected,' she said.
'No kidding. What an extraordinary tale,' Lisa said, her voice a low drawl. 'Your old tutor thinks Jay Macallan Stewart is a multiple murderer? I don't think I've heard anything that bizarre since Edwina Currie confessed to her affair with John Major.'
'I thought so too, at first. But then it turned out Jay was in Schollie's on the day of the murder. And Helena Winter confirmed what Corinna had told her about the morning Jess Edwards died. And it started to sound . . . I don't know. Almost plausible.'
Lisa laughed. 'That's a very big almost. What does Maria think about it?'
The mention of Maria was a jarring moment. Charlie had managed to put her partner to the back of her mind ever since she'd arranged to meet Lisa. It was uncomfortable to hear her name from Lisa. 'I haven't had a chance to talk to her yet.'
Lisa looked gratified. 'I'm flattered that you told me about it first,' she said. 'So what will you do now? Gently ease yourself out of the picture? I know you're an expert at working out what goes on in people's heads, but it sounds as if what Corinna Newsam needs is a proper detective.'
'I know. But I thought I might take a look at it, actually,' Charlie said, a little tentatively. 'It's kind of interesting. And if there is something there and I can pin it down . . .'
'I understand that it's tempting, Charlie. But even if you do uncover a miscarriage of justice, it's not going to redeem you in the eyes of the GMC,' Lisa said gently, her expression concerned. 'Or the readership of the Daily Mail.' It was a shrewd comment, demonstrating how clearly she understood Charlie's motives.
'Maybe not. But it might make me feel better about myself.'
'You're sure it's not just an excuse to revisit your own history? To time-warp back to a place and time when you were happy? When you had untainted possibilities in front of you?'
Charlie pondered the idea for a moment. 'I don't think so,' she said. 'I don't dwell on the past. Besides, I still feel like I have possibilities of happiness. Sitting here with you, for example. That's a pretty good place and time for me.'
Lisa ran the tip of her tongue along the inside of her top lip. 'For me too. Even though we haven't known each other long, I do feel a connection between us.'
Charlie's heart leapt. There was no other way to describe that lurch in the chest. How could a few words provoke such a strong physical reaction? 'Some things you just can't ignore,' she said, clearing her throat when she heard how husky her voice had become. 'I really want to explore what's happening between us.'
'But there's no rush, Charlie. We're going to be friends for a long, long time. I'm convinced of it. I think our vulnerabilities and our strengths mesh so well.'
Charlie's mouth was dry. She wished she'd asked for a drink after all. 'You're right. Sometimes you just know. Right from the start.' She shifted so she was leaning on the arm of her sofa, her face closer to Lisa.
'But if you're busy chasing shadows for Corinna Newsam, you're not going to have much time for anything else,' Lisa drawled, her voice filled with regret.
Charlie wasn't dismayed. 'I'll make time.'
Lisa gave her a long, considering look. 'I think you'll be wasting your time.'
After the flirting, it felt like a slap on the face. Charlie's head jerked back. 'What?'
'Trying to prove Jay Stewart is a killer, I mean.' Lisa laughed. 'What did you think I meant, Charlie?'
Charlie didn't know what to say. Her emotions were ramping up then spiralling downwards. 'Why do you say I'll be wasting my time?'
Lisa shrugged. 'It just doesn't seem very likely.'
'Do you know her?' Charlie's professional wariness, hogtied thus far by her hormones, suddenly fought its way to the surface. Was it possible Lisa had another agenda here?
'Not really,' Lisa said. 'We were up at the same time. But of course I was at Univ, so we didn't really cross paths very often. I knew her in that vague way where you bump into people at the same parties from time to time. She was a bit notorious - the dyke who'd made it to JCR President - so she attracted more attention.'
'People knew she was a dyke? I thought she was closeted back then?'
Lisa chuckled. 'She might have thought nobody knew. But you know how it is, Charlie. The rumour mill in Oxford grinds very small. Nothing gets past it. I was still only going out with men back then, but I knew Jay Stewart was a lesbian.'
Charlie's heart bounded in her chest. Never mind what Lisa had said about Jay Stewart, 'I was still only going out with men back then,' she'd said. There was only one way to read that, and it refreshed Charlie's fantasies like spring water after a drought. The blood was beating in her temples, her mouth dry again. 'Sounds like your gaydar was well developed for someone who was only going out with men.'
Lisa leaned back on the sofa and stretched her arms above her head, fingers locked. Charlie was very conscious of how beautiful her arms and her breasts were. Lisa gave a mischievous smile. 'I guess I didn't realise it at the time, but even then I was good at spotting vulnerability.'
11
Monday
Her morning shower had left Charlie still dazed with lack of proper sleep. Maybe the breakfast coffee would help. She'd had two nights of restless shifting about under the covers, trying not to disturb Maria. There was too much turmoil in heart and head and the hardest part, ironically, was not being able to share it with Maria. Charlie had grown so accustomed to seven years of Maria taking the weight of her dilemmas and decisions, it was strange to be keeping something from her.
