‘Why didn’t you tell me the truth about your mother, Duncan?’
She kept her eyes on the road. She didn’t want to see the look on his face.
‘What do you mean?’
Maggie didn’t speak. She was waiting for him. Finally he banged the flat of his hand on the dashboard and Maggie jumped.
‘Okay, so I was brought up in care. Are you happy now? Do you think I want people to know that? I’m ashamed of the fact that I didn’t have one decent parent to my name. Can you blame me for making up a story?’
For a minute she felt his pain. But this was the tip of the iceberg, so she steeled herself to him.
‘Yes. I blame you for lying to me. Tell me what happened.’
Duncan turned his head to look out of the side window. His voice was slightly muffled, and Maggie knew he didn’t want her to see his vulnerability.
‘I never knew my father. He was probably a one-night stand – my mother never told me. We lived in Chorley, just north of here. By the time I was five, my mother had given up any idea of being a parent. She preferred to get pissed every night and go out on the pull. Oh, she wasn’t a prostitute. She didn’t even get paid for it. She was a slut and a drunk. I got taken into care. My foster mother applied to adopt me, but I didn’t want that. I hoped right up until I was eighteen that some member of my family would come for me. My mother died when I was eight, having refused to see me since I was five years old. Obviously it was the booze that killed her. So I made it all up. I made up a story that I was happy with.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ she whispered, finally understanding his abhorrence of alcohol – and so much more. She felt so sorry for the child that Duncan had been, but had no pity left for the man he had become.
He turned towards her.
‘Because it’s not a nice story,’ he answered. Maggie risked a glance at him, but his face showed nothing. ‘I preferred the version I invented. Don’t ask me anything else. Just drive the car.’
The tone of his voice told her that she was in trouble. The last pretence of Duncan Taylor, family man, had been stripped away.
69
The tyres made a drumming sound on the cobbles of the narrow lane as the car passed under the deserted tramline and headed towards what appeared to be a dead end with a metal gate, beyond which was a barren wasteland. There was nobody else around – no apartments overlooking the lane, no nightclubs or late bars. Maggie didn’t like it.
During the drive she had made a decision. Duncan had to believe that she was still in love with him – still trusted him. It was the only chance she had. But now they were here, she wasn’t sure if she could go through with it.
‘Get out,’ Duncan said.
‘Why are we here?’ she asked, her voice trembling on the last word.
‘You’ll see. Get out.’
She hesitated for a few seconds then took a deep breath and got out of the car, staring ahead at the abandoned site. Nothing moved. The only sounds came from behind her, where Manchester still buzzed even in the dead of night. He pushed her through the open pedestrian gate.
They had been walking for about ten minutes through rough undergrowth before Duncan stopped.
‘This is it. This is where the first one was left.’
‘You weren’t even here, Duncan.’
Even in the dark night she saw his eyes narrow and his mouth set in a hard line.
‘I know. But I followed every detail.’
I’m making this worse. I mustn’t challenge him.
Maggie looked around her. The path had crossed a canal, which now curved along behind them. She could smell the musty odour of the mud that lined the banks and see a wider stretch of water ahead, the lights along the far side of the bank reflecting off a surface ruffled by the wind, creating jagged shards of white on the ink-black water.
‘I’m not going to prison, Maggie. I’m not suffering the humiliation, the disgrace - the failure. To have my children think of me as something less than I am. So it ends tonight.’
Maggie’s legs were weak. All the strength seemed to have ebbed from her limbs. What did he mean?
It didn’t matter, though, because he was right. It did have to end tonight. Could she continue with this, or should she just run?
She knew it was over for them, but however she felt now she couldn’t forget how much she had loved this man from the day they had met. The day he had told her how he had nursed his dying mother, and with that lie she had melted into his arms. A wave of shame at her gullibility washed over her.
They walked on, and she could see they were heading towards the wide expanse of water – a river lined with railings. She knew now exactly how this was going to end. She swallowed her rising panic and forced herself to keep calm.
‘We’ve been happy, haven’t we,’ she said, reaching for Duncan’s hand.
‘I always thought so,’ he said.
‘It’s true, Duncan. And we’ve got two wonderful children.’
Duncan squeezed her hand. She led him towards the railings. They were about waist high with a small ledge the other side.
She looked at the water. There was one question she had to ask before it ended. One question that would make all the difference in the world.
‘Why did you fantasise about drowning Tamsin? Why that death?’ She spoke to him gently as if she understood. As if he was still the love of her life.
Duncan lifted one leg and rested it on the bottom bar of the fence.
‘When I was four, my mother took me to the seaside. She sat on the beach and let me go into the sea. But I couldn’t swim. She was drunk and fell asleep. A wave knocked me off my feet and dragged me out to sea. I nearly drowned. A man saved me, but I remember what it felt like. I remember the feeling of hopelessness, and how when I tried to take a breath the water flooded my lungs. The terror, the desperation – they were feelings so acute that they’ve never left me.’
She didn’t need to ask any more. He had told her everything she needed to know.
‘Enough questions. Climb over the fence, Maggie.’
Duncan climbed over and held out his hand to help her. She dropped her bag on the ground and clambered over to join him. They stood together, looking down into the black water.
He turned towards her and put his hands on her shoulders. She looked at her husband: at the face she had loved; the features she knew so well; the man she barely knew at all.
‘I’m sorry, Mags,’ he said. ‘There’s no other way.’
Tom had been upstairs talking to Philippa Stanley when the call came in. He could hear the wind in the background and the sound of running. A voice, out of breath and terrified, was shouting down the line.
‘Mr Douglas, it’s Maggie Taylor. You’ve got to help me. He’s going to kill me.’ There was a sob. ‘Please, help me. It’s Duncan. He’s gone mad.’
Tom kept his voice level. ‘Where are you, Maggie?’
‘I don’t know,’ she cried. ‘He’s seen me. Oh God, he’s coming for me. He said it’s where the first girl was killed. There’s a river and a canal but nothing else, just wasteland. Please, Mr Douglas.’ There was a scream and the phone went dead.
Tom didn’t say a word to Philippa. He pressed the speed dial button for Becky.
‘Becky, he’s got Maggie. Sounds like they’re at Pomona. Meet me there, but wait until I arrive. Are you listening? Wait for me.’
He disconnected and called over his shoulder to Philippa as he ran from the room, ‘We’re going to need backup! I’m leaving that with you, Philippa.’
He knew she would make things happen – and happen quickly.
Tom raced down the stairs, not waiting for the lift, and ran to the car park. The roads were empty at this time of the night, and he made it to his destination in record time, but clearly not as quickly as Becky. As he pulled his car into the side of the road at the entrance to Pomona Strand, he could see Becky’s car. It was empty.
‘Bloody hell, Becky. What part of �
�Wait until I arrive” didn’t you understand?’ he mumbled as he locked his car and started to jog along the road. He could see nothing. Ahead of him was darkness, the distant lights of central Manchester failing to illuminate the night skies of the wasteland.
He had heard on his radio that police cars were approaching the island from the other entrances, and hopefully they would all converge on Michael Alexander. Philippa had ordered a chopper too. In this unlit wilderness it was possible that Alexander would find a way past the police on the ground, and there was no way he was escaping this time.
Tom could just make out the dark shape of somebody running towards the river. Becky. It had to be. He looked to see where she was headed and spotted a black figure at the edge of the quay, arms raised, screaming. The figure was bending backwards and forwards, struggling against an assailant that Tom couldn’t make out. There was one last scream, a splash and the quayside was deserted, the only sound that of thrashing arms and legs in the water.
Maggie kicked out with her legs, splashing furiously. Her head rose out of the water, spitting out musty-tasting liquid as she cleared the surface. Then just as quickly she was back under, arms thrashing from side to side
‘Help!’ she screamed as she broke the surface again. Her sodden clothes added weight and she slipped back under. Rising again, she turned on her back and drove her legs out as hard as she could. One last push, a splash, a final shout for help, and the water became calm.
Turning onto her front, she swam as fast as she could for the bank, raising her head out of the water to cough, heading for the metal ladder she had seen attached to the quayside. She reached the ladder and hung there for a moment, gasping for breath and checking over her shoulder.
Suddenly from above her she heard the clatter of feet running on the damaged tarmac. They came to a sudden halt, and Maggie lifted her head to look into the wide-eyed gaze of Becky Robinson.
‘Are you okay?’ the detective asked.
Maggie nodded, gasping and crying.
‘Where is he? Where’s your husband?’
Maggie waved a hand. ‘Out there somewhere. He can’t swim. He was trying to kill me.’
To her horror, the young detective ripped off her coat, kicked off her shoes and dived into the river.
Tom couldn’t believe what he was seeing. After the shadowy shapes disappeared from the side of the quay he had heard frantic splashing and realised somebody was in the water, and then Becky appeared to launch herself in to the black, restless river.
What the fuck was she doing?
He didn’t think he could run any faster, and he was still quite a distance away. From behind he heard the controlled breathing of a seasoned runner and before he had the chance to glance over his shoulder a man a few inches taller than him streaked past, yanking off his coat as he ran. The man put one hand on the railing and vaulted over then executed a perfect dive into the water.
Tom arrived seconds later as a sodden Maggie pulled herself over the edge of the quay.
‘Who’s in the water?’ he demanded.
‘Your inspector dived in to save Duncan. He can’t swim,’ Maggie said, breathing heavily between sobs. ‘Somebody else went in just now.’
The distant lights from the far side of the river painted wavering pale grey patterns on the inky surface of the water, and Tom could just make out where the water was disturbed. He heard a cry from Becky, then the water settled. The only noise was the rhythmic splashes of the swimmer, but Tom could see nothing. He pulled off his jacket, preparing to follow them into the water, but he knew it was pointless. He was too far away, and the person in the water seemed a strong swimmer. Then there was silence. The swimmer must have dived.
He heard the sound of more running feet and turned. All he could see was the wavering light of torches heading towards him through the dark.
‘Over here,’ he yelled, waving his arms above his head.
There was another frantic splash and Tom spun back round. A pale face broke the surface. Tom heard an anguished yell from the water: ‘Becky!’ He recognised the voice. It was Mark, Becky’s boyfriend. What the hell was he doing here?
Tom could just see his head above the water, but only his. Mark dived again.
‘Torches!’ Tom yelled, and three uniformed officers shone their torches across the water, searching for the turbulence.
Mark surfaced again, but only for air, and then dived again.
He had seen where Becky had gone down and Tom knew he had to trust him. There was nothing he could do to help. More bodies in the river would confuse things.
Christ, where is she? Tom grabbed a torch out of someone’s hand and looked for bubbles, but the wind was ruffling the surface and they were too far away. She must have been underwater for two minutes now. Then he heard the steady thrumming of the chopper and powerful searchlights suddenly illuminated the river.
Nobody spoke. They wouldn’t have been heard.
The surface of the water broke again, and Mark’s head appeared.
Only Mark’s.
Maggie sat on the cold, hard ground, wrapped in a jacket that a young PC had given her. Nobody was paying much attention to her. All eyes were searching frantically for Becky Robinson.
What if she died? It would all be Maggie’s fault.
Duncan had been convinced his plan would work. As they had stood on the side of the quay he had told her his idea.
‘Let’s make this real. In a moment you’re going to escape from me. You’re going to run off, calling your policeman as you go. You’ll be out of breath. You need to say I’m going to kill you – I’m going to drown you. You don’t know where you are, but it’s a deserted wilderness just outside Manchester. There’s a wide river. He’ll know where it is. He’ll come, Maggie. He’ll come to rescue you.’
Maggie hadn’t been expecting this, and for a moment she wavered. Duncan saw it in her eyes.
‘Don’t let me down, Maggie. Please.’
She had looked down, unable to meet his eyes.
‘This is where I need you to be very clever. After you’ve made the call, I’m going to leave you. I’m going to get out through a narrow gap that I found yesterday and disappear into the back streets of Manchester. You need to go back to the water’s edge and wait. When you see car headlights, it will be the police. You start to shout, scream, throw your arms around as if you’re fighting somebody. They’ll be too far away to see properly, and there are no lights on this side of the water. They’ll just see a shadow. Then you throw yourself into the river. You can swim, Maggie. But I can’t. By the time they get here, they’ll believe I’m gone. Drowned. You say I was trying to kill you and you dragged me in with you.’
It was a good plan. She had seen how it could work.
But if that pretty young detective with all her life ahead of her drowned tonight, Maggie knew she would have to tell the truth. Becky Robinson couldn’t die for nothing.
Tom’s eyes were still fixed on the centre of the river. They couldn’t give up now. If Mark was tired, Tom would go in, or one of the others. But then there was a muffled cheer as Mark dragged up a head. A head that wasn’t moving, wasn’t making a sound.
A young policeman dived into the river to help Mark bring Becky to shore as quickly as possible. To one side of him, Tom was conscious that an officer had wrapped Maggie in his coat, but his eyes were glued to Becky’s lifeless face.
He fell to his hands and knees by the edge of the quay and helped pull her out, turning her on her side, placing his fingers in her mouth to drain any water. The helicopter remained overhead, still lighting the scene. There was nowhere safe for it to land. Tom rolled Becky onto her back and felt for the correct position on her chest. He started compressions, but nothing happened. He lifted her chin and gave her two breaths, then started the compressions again.
‘Come on, Becky,’ Tom whispered.
Mark was out of the water and kneeling by her head, stroking her hair. ‘Come on, babe.’
An
ambulance was on its way, but Tom didn’t believe it would get to them in time. The paramedics would have to navigate the whole of bloody Pomona Island before they could reach Becky.
Two more breaths, and Tom checked her pulse. Nothing. He was sure she had gone. Mark clearly thought the same, his chest rising and falling in juddering sobs.
But Tom wasn’t giving up. Two more breaths.
From inside Becky’s body came a rumble, and she started to vomit. There was a sigh of relief all round, and Tom turned her on her side until the fluid drained away.
‘It’s not over yet,’ he said, before giving her more mouth-to-mouth to get oxygen into her body. She vomited again.
‘Shh,’ Tom said sharply, his ear close to her nose. He grabbed her wrist. ‘She’s breathing,’ he said. ‘She’s got a pulse.’ Tom felt his eyes sting and he bit his top lip between his teeth. He took a deep breath, reached out and touched Mark on the shoulder. ‘Thank God you were here.’
‘She phoned to tell me where she was going. I told her to wait for you, but I knew she wouldn’t.’
‘Well, maybe next time she’ll listen.’ Tom said, feeling the ball of tension in his chest begin to unravel.
Mark lifted his eyes to Tom’s and they both knew that was unlikely.
70
It wasn’t until mid-morning that Tom was able to get away from headquarters and make his way to the hospital. He now had two people to visit in ICU, but thankfully both were doing well and were due to be moved onto a ward that afternoon.
He walked past Leo’s cubicle, and saw she had a visitor. It was Julian Richmond and Tom smiled. He hoped it worked out for her.
Tom carried on along the corridor in search of Becky. She was alone, and a nurse told him that Mark had finally gone home to get changed. He had been dripping river water everywhere but had refused to leave Becky’s side until he knew she was all right, so they had lent him some scrubs until they could persuade him that she was out of danger.
Tom Douglas Box Set 2 Page 65
