That shook McMurrough, and for a moment, his shoulders slumped and his mouth gaped open, while his eyes registered, first horror, then hopelessness.
‘I suppose it was inevitable, with the way things are now forensically. If I wanted to be a master criminal, I should have lived in the times the Sherlock Holmes stories were set. I suppose I’d have been a music hall star with my eye on the new medium of moving pictures, back then in the early days of the twentieth century.’ This analogy raised a faint smile from him.
‘You’re quite right. I was responsible for all three deaths.’ Got the little sod! ‘Bailey’s was something that never seriously crossed my mind until the actual day it happened, and it felt absolutely crazy, once I’d done it. From then on, it was just one continuous nightmare.
‘I thought Bailey could get me back into Cockneys and, at first, our age difference didn’t seem to matter. Remember, before The Glass House, I was having a relationship with an electrician, and when I met Bailey on the set of Cockneys, he seemed to know so many people, and represented a glamorous world I’d only previously dreamed of.
‘I thought if he could get me back into Cockneys, on top of my own chat show, that would cement my success for the future. But I credited him with more clout that he really had, and he couldn’t actually do anything for me. It was something that took a little time to dawn on me, and that made him of no use at all to me.
‘That was when I noticed what an old fogey he really was, with his wig and his fishing. I’m young. I should’ve been out with young people, having the time of my life, instead of living in an obscure little village with a man old enough to be my father.
‘I began to resent him, and I sort of casually put that priest thingy into my man-bag before we went out that night. When he left to go home early, and I went out after him, I swear killing him was a completely spur of the moment thing.’
‘But you, nevertheless, took it with you when you went out together for a drink.’
‘That was no different from a married woman having a bank account in her name only, in addition to the joint one she shares with her husband. It gives her a feeling that she’s free to break out, if ever she wants to. That was how I felt with the presence of the priest in my bag, only I took it one step further, and actually used it.’
‘And all those “attempts on your life”? That was you, too, so there must have been an element of premeditation.’
‘It started out as a bit of a publicity thing, then I saw how it could work to my advantage, but not until the night of the actual murder, and the mistaken identity thing was just to further muddy the waters. I mean, all those random attempts could have been aimed as much at Bailey as at me. It could just have been coincidence that I was the one who got hurt and, I assure you, I really did get hurt.’
‘I don’t doubt that for one minute, but let’s go back to the night that you attacked Bailey Radcliffe, Mr McMurrough.’
‘He didn’t suspect a thing when I came up behind him and said something. He didn’t even turn round, which was another reason why I did it. His head was almost asking to be clubbed.
‘Then, I’m ashamed to say, that I pushed him into the stream with my foot. He was still alive at that point, but it was easy enough to hold his head down under the water, using my foot again, as he was barely conscious, and not strong enough to struggle.’
‘What was going on back home, when we came round later and found Robin Eastwood with you?’
‘I’d given him a ring as I knew he’d have some fags, as I told you at the time. I’d only met him briefly at our party, but I could tell immediately that he was ‘one of us’, and I just thought it was a kind thought which may have had something to do with my fame – it must count for something, after all. And he actually started to flirt with me. He’d already given me the eye at the party.
‘Well, I’m not one to pass up a free lunch, so I twinkled back at him and thought, if this is the direction my life’s going to take for a while, it’ll at least give me breathing space to get settled into my new part on Allerton Farm.
‘Then you two arrived, and I answered your questions as best as I could, thinking on my feet as quickly as I could, and I don’t think I did too bad a job of it, even if I say so myself. I am, basically, an actor, you know.’
‘Anyway, that’s getting off the subject a bit. When you left, he came out with his real reason for coming round. He must’ve guessed you’d need to pay me a visit, and timed everything for when you’d been and gone for the day.
‘Without any preamble, he just whipped out his phone and showed me the evidence he had – “in living and not-so-living colour”, as he put it. Then he put on the thumbscrews. I was to be his swain, and line his pockets at the same time. He wanted an entrée to the clubs and any showbiz parties I was invited to – huh! That’ll be the day – and I was his ticket to showbiz and the beautiful people.
Still, being an actor, I repressed my repulsion, and told him that, apart from lunch on Saturday, to which he was invited, that I didn’t have any free time until Sunday morning.
I’d probably have to spend quite a lot of time talking to you in the meantime but, if he wanted me to, I’d call round first thing that morning, and I still kept up my act of flirting with him, saying that a relationship with him would be wonderful, and that, of course, I’d be willing to share the good fortune of my earnings with him.
‘What a plonker! He only went and gave me a key and the code for the burglar alarm. It was like taking candy from a baby, and I knew that Bailey had at least one ferocious knife that he used when he went fishing. He unwittingly provided the weapon for both the first two murders.’
‘And Mr Worsley? What did for him?’
‘I saw him staggering around the night I … killed Bailey. I was fairly sure he wouldn’t remember a thing about it if he’d actually seen anything, but I realised I just couldn’t risk it. A drunk’s memory is a strange thing, and sometimes scenes just come back to them out of a clear blue sky.
‘It was my belief that, if he did suffer from recall, he’d be onto me like a leech, to fund his booze habit and God knows what else. There was no way I could risk that, and I didn’t think he’d be much of a loss to anybody.’
‘Except his mother. She found his body, you know? How do you think your mother would have felt, if that had been your body?’ Falconer had kept his silence for quite a while, but he felt he had to say something at this juncture, even if just to give the young man a bit of perspective on what he’d done.
‘And I’m sure Bailey had family and friends who will miss him, as will Eastwood. Did you give any of those people a thought when you carried out these heinous crimes?’
‘No. I only thought about me. I usually did, as everything seemed to be all about me. I was the one who was on the television. I was the one who was famous. Why shouldn’t everything revolve around me?’ McMurrough had recovered some of his customary arrogance when mixing with ordinary members of the public for whom he held no admiration or had no respect.
‘Except the world doesn’t work that way, Mr McMurrough. In the real world, our actions have real consequences, and I’m very much afraid that, after what you’ve done, one of the consequences is that you will be prosecuted and locked away in prison for a very long time.
‘Should you live to be released, and pursue your interrupted acting career on the back of selling your story to the gutter press, I suggest that you will have to audition for much more mature, if not to say elderly, parts.’
McMurrough suddenly burst into tears of self-pity, and resumed his hunched position, sobbing loudly, at his tragic situation.
‘May I suggest you give your solicitor a call? I’m surprised you didn’t do that as soon as we arrested you?’
‘It hardly seemed worth it. I didn’t think you’d have considered bringing me in, if you didn’t have sufficient evidence to take me to court.’
You have no idea, buddy, how recent some of the evidence is, thought
Falconer, catching
ael’s eye and exchanging a knowing look in memory of their late find on Eastwood’s camera. ‘I’ll get you to a telephone before you’re returned to your cell, sir,’ he said, unable to feel any empathy towards the young man.
‘What about those silent phone calls you phoned me in such a panic about?’
‘I told you I was an actor, Inspector. I was acting. I’m really pretty good, don’t you think?’
There was silence in the room – a dumbfounded silence.
McMurrough had had it all, and he still wanted more. Not content with winning The Glass House, he wanted a partner who was connected with television. Not content with Bailey as his partner, he had wanted him to manipulate him, somehow, back into Cockneys.
Not content with his older partner, he wanted someone younger. Not content with his chat show, he wanted a part on Allerton Farm. Not content to share his money with a blackmailer, and not being able to go to the police, as said blackmailer had evidence that showed he was a murderer, he had killed him, too.
And not content that there was someone else out there who might be able to blow the gaff, and who was a blabber-mouthed alcoholic, he had killed a third time, to secure his own security in his personal, celebrity-fuelled little world.
And now that world had come tumbling down around his ears. Well, ‘as ye reap, so shall ye sow’ thought Falconer, who had attended Sunday school as a child, and church, first as a boarding school pupil, then as a member of the armed forces.
He was a great believer in taking responsibility for all of your actions, because they all came with consequences, all of which couldn’t just be ignored and swept under the carpet.
Young people, in general, today, were great at just sweeping everything under a carpet, if it didn’t fit in with their idea of themselves. It was all right to get blind drunk and vomit, urinate, or get into a fist fight in the street. It was all right to take drugs and do the same sort of thing. It was all right to take no birth control precautions and sleep around.
All of this sort of behaviour was all right, as long as it didn’t ruin their lives in any way. Well, it wasn’t all right in Falconer’s book, and he felt that
ael would probably be of the same mind as him. Self-respect, and the ability to say no and mean it, had been lost by today’s generation of young people and, in his opinion, society in general was the worse for it.
And the language! And the drunks were causing a problem even in the small town of Market Darley on a regular basis at the weekends in the small hours. The fights were a constant problem, as were unconscious bodies, unspeakable acts in the streets and shop doorways, and serious abusive harangues – and that was just the girls.
God only knew what condition their livers would be in when they actually grew up, if they lived that long. And to think that he used to think that the squaddies were foul-mouthed. Life still had a lot to teach him, although he’d been unaware of this at the time.
Falconer was interrupted in this composition of a moralistic sermon by the voice of their detainee. ‘Do you think I could phone my agent as well?’
This was just as well, this bringing him back to earth, as he was in danger of slipping into a very pompous mood, and he could be very superior when this happened. And this interruption to his musings meant that he didn’t burst into a lecture on young people, leaving
ael to burst his bubble (which he undoubtedly would have done instantly), and, thus, he retained his dignity.
He knew he had high standards – although he considered this only normal – and he did his best to stick to them. He was thoroughly fed up, both with the state of the world and the sheer gall of the recently apprehended killer.
And all that slogging away, interviewing the obnoxious villagers – and yet they only had the crucial evidence on their man because
ael had wanted a bit of ice in his drink …
When they got back to the office, Falconer’s only comment, spoken in sour tones, was, ‘You mark my words,
ael, that young man’s going to be splashed all over the tabloids for some time to come. If nothing else, he’s going to ensure he builds up a nice little nest egg for when they eventually let him out of prison; but if it was me, I’d throw away the key.’
‘If it was me, I’d probably lose it,’ replied
ael, now thoroughly disillusioned about his former media and television hero. ‘I hope someone looks after that little dog of his.’
After a light meal of steamed salmon, salad, and new potatoes, Harry Falconer was relaxing with a glass of white wine surrounded by his cats, who had come in from the excitement of the outside world because the weather had turned from fair and warm to stormy.
He had the lights already on, as the sky had turned black with heavy clouds, and the first fat drops of rain were starting to fall on an evening made chilly by the drop in temperature from this cloud cover. The lid was back on the landscape, and mere man was at the mercy of the elements.
An unexpected ring on the doorbell forced him to put down the book he was reading, and he went to answer it in quizzical mood, for he wasn’t expecting any visitors. Checking through the little window beside the door, he recognised
ael’s huge frame, and immediately put his hand to the doorknob to let him in.
As he greeted him, the sergeant’s body was convulsed with an enormous sob, and he tottered into the hall with tears running down his face. ‘Whatever’s the matter with you? Have you had bad news, or are you just upset about your favourite chat show host?’
This wasn’t really an appropriate question, more a flippant one, but the inspector had no way of dealing with what was evidently very strong emotion.
‘Come on in and sit down, and I’ll get you something to drink.’
ael staggered blindly into the living room, his huge lumbering form and the noises of distress coming from it spooking the cats, which immediately took flight en masse for the cat flap. Better the elements and relatively harmless drops of rain that whatever monster had just invaded their home.
The huge, shambling frame of the man collapsed on to the sofa, and his drowned face looked up at Falconer. ‘Oh, sir,’ he whimpered.
‘Whatever’s the matter with you? You know you can tell me anything. I’m the soul of discretion.’
‘Oh, sir,’
ael repeated again and his body was wracked with a further storm of tears.
‘Come on, tell me, then you’ll feel a bit better, and we can work out what to do together.’ Falconer was getting really worried, now. He’d never seen his colleague like this before. Something must have really got to him for him to end up in this sorry state.
‘I-I’m not c-c-crying because I’m s-sad,’
ael managed to stutter. ‘I-m c-crying b-b-because I’m h-happy.’
‘You’re in this state because you’re happy?’ Falconer was dumbfounded. ‘Whatever has happened to make you this happy – this ecstatic? Have you won the lottery?’
‘B-better than that, s-sir.’
ael was slowly pulling himself together. ‘Kerry’s expecting again, and the doctor thinks it might be twins. I wanted to come over and tell you face to face. You will be their godfather, won’t you?’
It was now Falconer’s turn to sit down heavily. Whatever next?
THE END
P.S. Dipsy Daxie was taken in by Daphne, one of the crew on Chadwick’s Chatterers, and he soon became accustomed to a fine life of dainty morsels, soft cushions, and regular opportunities to romance canines of the opposite sex …
The Falconer Files – Short Stories
Andrea Frazer
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Glass House (The Falconer Files Book 11) Page 20
