Trick of the Dark

by McDermid, Val

  It was amazing how often Catherine's eagerness to please manifested itself in food and drink. 'In spite of your conviction that it's all open and shut, I suspect the jury will be out long enough for you to do a commando coffee raid.'

  Catherine checked the pocket of her jeans for change. 'I'll be back,' she said in a passable Terminator impersonation. Magda couldn't help smiling, and Catherine's eyes lit up with gratification as she headed out the door.

  For the first time since she'd arrived at court that morning, no other eyes were on Magda. The absence of attention was as tangible as the lifting of a physical weight. Being on show was exhausting. She wondered how Jay coped with being the focus of so much attention. Thanks to her appearances on White Knight, she was often recognised in the most unlikely of situations, stripping her of her privacy. 'I was so naive about it,' she'd once said ruefully to Magda. 'I never appreciated how people assume possession of you simply because you appear on their TV screens.'

  Magda wished they were together now; she never minded Jay's admiring scrutiny. But if Jay were here, the attention from the press and the public gallery would be even more oppressive. The attitude of the media would shift dramatically. From being the object of sympathy she'd become the subject of lurid speculation and diary-column gossip. Jay was right. They needed to avoid their relationship becoming public knowledge till the trial had slipped out of people's immediate consciousness. The one time they'd been photographed together, after Philip's memorial service, Jay had managed to put out the potential fire, making sure she was described as an old friend of the family. Having been taught by Corinna had turned out to be useful after all.

  'We need to keep our private life private for now. You don't want them thinking of you as the merry widow,' Jay had said. 'Even though we haven't done anything wrong, there are plenty of people who would be only too ready to insinuate the opposite.'

  She was right. Nothing they had done had been wrong. Quite the opposite. The more evidence Magda had heard in the courtroom, the more she understood how right Jay had been. If they hadn't done what needed to be done, justice would never have been served. But now Paul and Joanna were going to jail, where they deserved to be. And she was proud of the part she'd played in that process.

  Magda clung tightly to that feeling of pride. She didn't have many unmixed feelings about Philip's death. It had been a terrible blow, no denying that. To lose your husband to sudden violent death on your wedding day was never going to be less than shattering. Even if you'd been tamping down your doubts about the marriage for weeks. But if it hadn't happened the way it did, she and Jay might never have found each other again. And that was a notion that filled Magda with horror. She hated herself for the thought, but in her heart she knew that losing Philip to gain Jay was a trade she'd settle for all over again. It shamed and appalled her in equal measure that she could even let such a thought cross her mind. Harbouring ideas like that made her cradle Catholic guilt kick in and left her feeling that her present happiness was not only undeserved but on the brink of being snatched from her.

  Catherine shouldered the door open, a cardboard cup of latte in each hand, saving Magda from the darkness of her thoughts. 'That was quick,' Magda said.

  Catherine grinned. 'I told you tipping the coffee-stall girl on day one would pay dividends. I don't even have to queue any more.' She passed a coffee over and perched on a chair, tucking one leg under her. 'I bet you're relieved it's nearly over.'

  'Yeah.' Magda sighed. 'I'm just hoping that I'll feel some sense of closure.' She shrugged. 'A way to draw a line and move on.'

  'Isn't that what Jay's about?' Catherine said. Magda searched for hostility in her tone and, finding none, decided her sister was only curious.

  'Jay feels like a parallel universe,' Magda said. 'Not connected to my life with Philip at all.'

  'But she is,' Catherine said. 'I mean, that's when you ran into her again. The day of the wedding.'

  Her words sent an electric jolt through Magda's chest. 'No,' she said. 'It was after that. Remember? We met at a dinner party.'

  Catherine looked puzzled. 'But she was there. At St Scholastika's. On your wedding day. I saw her.'

  Magda gave a little laugh that sounded artificial to her. 'Well, she was there, it's true. She was speaking at a conference in college. But she wasn't at the wedding. I never saw her. I never even knew she'd been there till ages afterwards. It didn't come up.'

  Catherine frowned. 'Oh. OK. I knew you didn't get together till later but I guess I just sort of assumed that you'd run into her. When I saw her, she was coming out of Magnusson Hall. Since we were using the loos there, and Mummy's office, I thought you must have seen her or something.' She gave Magda a tentative smile. Her big sister might have been protective of her, but when she thought Catherine needed slapping down, Magda had never held back.

  But Magda had no intention of making an issue out of this particular conversation. 'Bloody social scientists, always leaping to conclusions,' she teased. It was familiar territory, the hard scientists in the family grousing that the others had it easy, coming up with theories without the inconvenience of having to prove them empirically.

  'That's not fair,' Catherine pouted. 'I try to keep an open mind. For example, I could have come up with all sorts of twisted reasons why you didn't tell the exact truth on the witness stand.'

  There it was. Out in the open. What Magda had been afraid of for months. The milky coffee turned cloying and sour in her mouth. It's OK, she told herself. This wasn't some hard-faced cop or journalist. This was Catherine, the person who always wanted to think the best of her. Magda frowned, hoping it didn't look as fake as it felt. 'What are you talking about? Of course I told the truth.'

  Catherine screwed up her face. She'd never been good at hiding her emotions, and Magda could see the progression of reactions on her face. Finally, she found the right form of words. 'I'm not saying you lied as such. Just that you said something that couldn't have been quite the case.'

  Time to go on the attack. 'What on earth are you talking about?' Her forcefulness provoked the response she'd wanted. Catherine was embarrassed and apprehensive. But not so much as to back off completely. 'Well, you said you'd seen Barker and Sanderson leave the main wedding party and disappear round the far side of the Armstrong building.'

  'That's right. I said it because that's what I saw. They slipped away towards the punt landing stage. There was no reason for them to go that way. You can only go to the landing stage or back up to the porter's lodge. And he didn't see them.' Magda stared down at the floor. 'That was when they killed him.'

  'But you said you'd seen them from the window of Mummy's office. When you went up to get changed into your going-away outfit.'

  'That's right. The office overlooks the Magnusson Hall lawn, where the marquee and the dance floor were. You know that.'

  Catherine shook her head. 'But you weren't there, Magda. Not when you said you were.'

  Magda felt cold, in spite of the stuffy warmth of the room. 'What are you talking about, Wheelie?'

  Catherine's mouth twitched uncomfortably. 'I went up after you. I wanted to wish you luck. Give you a hug. Whatever.' One shoulder shrugged. 'Like sisters do. Only you weren't there. The door was unlocked but you weren't there.'

  Magda forced a laugh, trying to sound warm and carefree. 'That must have been when I was in the shower. I took a quick shower, Wheelie. I was all sweaty and sticky from the dancing. I didn't want to put clean clothes on in that state. You must have come in then.' She leaned forward and rubbed Catherine's shoulder. 'Silly. Have you been worrying about this?'

  'Not worrying, no. Just wondering.' Catherine's expression was still troubled. 'But, Magda… I don't think you can have been in the shower. Because, remember, when I couldn't find you I came back down the middle staircase in Magnusson Hall. And when I got to the ground floor, we met halfway down the corridor. Like you'd just come in the front door. And you were already in your going-away outfit. Remember?'
r />   This was what she had dreaded. A witness who could challenge the version of events she and Jay had fixed on. But it was only Catherine, Magda told herself. Catherine, who had a vested interest in believing in the sister who had always been her hero. Magda shook her head indulgently. 'Well, of course. You don't think I was using the student bathrooms, do you? I had the keys for the Senior Common Room bathrooms on the ground floor of Magnusson Hall. Like I said, I'd just been in the shower.'

  Catherine's face cleared in relief. Then it clouded over again. 'So when did you see them? If you were in the ground-floor bathroom, you couldn't have seen them from there.'

  Magda gave an exasperated sigh. 'You missed your way, Wheelie. You should have been a lawyer or something. I saw them when I picked up the change of clothes from Mum's office. I stood at the window, looking down at the wedding. All the people I know and love, enjoying themselves. Thinking about the way my life was going to change.' She gave a bitter little laugh. 'Not that I had any bloody idea how it was really going to change.' She turned away from Catherine's gaze and studied the Spanish holiday poster. 'That's when I saw them.'

  'Oh. OK.' Catherine smiled, uncertainly. 'I guess that clears it up, then.'

  Magda sipped her drink and said nothing. She understood that labouring a lie was the very thing that undermined its credibility. 'Good coffee,' she said. 'Thanks for taking so much care of me over the trial. I appreciate it, Wheelie.'

  Catherine shrugged. 'What else would I do? You're my sister.'

  'I'm my mother's daughter, but she's not been near me.'

  'She's struggling with the Jay thing, Magda. On top of losing Philip… well, it's been like a double whammy for her.'

  'Thanks, Catherine.' Magda's tone was sharp. 'I didn't realise me being happy came in the same category as having your son-in-law murdered.'

  Stung, Catherine stood up for herself. 'You've got to see it from her point of view. Philip was her dream son-in-law. He dies a horrible, violent death on the very day that all her dreams for you come true. And then you apparently turn into a lesbian without any warning. That's a bit hard for a committed Catholic like Mummy to take. You've got to give her time. You've got to talk to her. Make her realise you understand her point of view, even if you can't agree with it.'

  Magda felt her throat constrict with emotion. 'And what about my point of view? When is she ever going to take that into account? How do you think I feel?'

  'Like shit, I imagine,' Catherine said softly.

  Before Magda could say anything more, the door opened and the familiar bald head of the court usher appeared in the gap. 'Jury's coming back,' he said.

  'Already?' Catherine said. She turned to Magda. 'I told you it was open and shut.'

  'As long as it's the right open and shut.' Magda followed Catherine and the usher out the door, praying that what she and Jay had done hadn't been in vain.

  7

  Once upon a time, Charlie had been more than a little in love with Dr Corinna Newsam. There were several very good reasons behind an infatuation that had lasted for most of her first year at St Scholastika's College. Corinna, the college's junior philosophy fellow, was the smartest woman she'd ever met. She was also the least stuffy academic, the most challenging conversationalist and the most demanding teacher Charlie had encountered. She was charmed by Corinna's Canadian accent, in awe of her mind and attracted by her sardonic smile. The husband, four children and adamantine Catholicism were mere details that barely impinged on Charlie's dreamy fantasies. And she never noticed that, like the family, she was entirely under Corinna's thumb.

  The fascination didn't survive Charlie's first real love affair. Flesh and blood trumped dreams every time. Besides, by then Charlie had discovered Oxford was full of bright, stimulating women who carried less complicated baggage than Corinna Newsam. Not that she stopped admiring Corinna. She just stopped imagining those moments when the brush of two hands would suddenly explode into something more. Probably just as well, since by then she was an occasional babysitter for the Newsam children. Feverish unrequited lust was a major impediment when it came to occupying the hands and minds of four independent and intelligent children.

  Of course, Charlie also eventually worked out that Corinna was a control freak and that she was just another cog in the wheel of the machinery that made Newsam family life run smoothly. When she left Oxford, Charlie knew that, in spite of their mutual assurances, she would be out of sight and out of mind to Corinna. They'd exchanged notes with their Christmas cards for a couple of years, then that had tailed off too. The only time they'd met since Charlie's graduation had been her ten-year gaudy. It had been an awkward encounter, neither really knowing how to bridge the gap between past and present.

  And now she was going to have to pluck up the courage to call her. It wouldn't have been such a trial six months before, when Charlie had still been someone with a decent professional reputation, albeit tinged with a degree of notoriety. But now? Charlie stared at the phone and sighed. It was no good trying to pretend that Corinna would know nothing of her disgrace. Oxford colleges were gossip factories, their Senior Common Rooms a buzz of speculation built on slender accumulations of half-truths and rumours. But in this instance, they'd only have had to glance through the neat stacks of daily newspapers on the SCR table to fuel lengthy excursions through the moral maze of Dr Charlie Flint's professional actions.

  'Oh, bugger,' Charlie muttered, reaching for the handset. This time of day, Corinna should still be in college. With luck, not teaching but reading. Or lying on the big green velvet chaise longue, thinking. The porter answered on the third ring. No such thing as a professional switchboard operator; the twenty-first century and still the college operated as if they'd barely made it out of the nineteenth.

  'St Scholastika's College. How may I help you?' The burr of a local accent that sounded as if it had escaped from a BBC costume drama.

  'I'd like to speak to Dr Newsam,' Charlie said, more brusque than she'd intended.

  'May I ask who's calling?'

  'Dr Charlotte Flint.'

  'Dr Flint? How nice to hear you. One moment, I'll see if Dr Newsam's available.'

  Bloody Oxford. Never lets you go. Charlie waited, hollow silence in her ear. Nothing as tacky as canned muzak for her alma mater. She'd almost given up when she heard a sharp click followed by a familiar drawl. 'Charlie? Is that really you?'

  'Corinna,' she said, taken aback by the warmth she suddenly felt. 'But you're not really surprised, are you?'

  'That depends on why you're calling.'

  The joust was on. Charlie felt tired at the thought of it. She moved in a different world these days, and she preferred it. 'I'm calling because you sent me a package of newspaper clippings, ' she said. 'About the trial of the two people who allegedly murdered Magda's husband on their wedding day.'

  'Why would I do that?' Corinna sounded as if this were no more important than a routine tutorial inquiry about some detail of an essay.

  'I think it was a challenge, Corinna. Given what you sent, would I be able to figure out who had sent it? And why? You did it because you're a philosopher. You've grown so accustomed to setting everyone tests and challenges that you've forgotten how to ask a straight question.'

  'And what could my motivation for such a challenge possibly be?' Charlie thought she could hear tension in Corinna's voice now, but she couldn't swear to it.

  'I'm not sure,' she said. 'But I did track down one photograph that gave me pause. I think if I was a mother and my daughter was running around with Jay Macallan Stewart, I'd be shouting for the cavalry. Now, I know I'm not everybody's idea of the cavalry, but I'm probably all you could think of at short notice.'

  There was no humour in Corinna's laugh. 'I thought my memory was still reliable. You always had a gift for investigation and resolution. It's good to see the years have only sharpened it. Well done, Charlie.'

  'What's all this about, Corinna? Apart from me being your self-fulfilling prophecy?' She didn't
care that she sounded impatient.

  'I need your help.'

  Charlie sighed. 'It's seventeen years since I graduated, Corinna. You don't know anything about me.'

  'I know enough, Charlie. I feel pretty certain you've got a burning desire to redeem yourself right now.'

  Charlie closed her eyes and massaged her forehead. 'That's a little presumptuous, don't you think?'

  A moment's silence, then Corinna spoke crisply. 'We know you here, Charlie. And there is a strong feeling among the senior members in college that you have been made a scapegoat. That you have in fact acted with honour and honesty. It may have been uncomfortable, but it was right to stand up for Bill Hopton's innocence when he was actually innocent. It's not your fault he went on his killing spree afterwards.'

  'Some might disagree with you,' Charlie said, her voice weary. 'Some might say it was his very experiences at the hands of those of us involved in law enforcement that sent him over the edge.'

  'Speaking as a philosopher, I find that an untenable proposition, ' Corinna said briskly. 'Now, there's nothing we can do to help you professionally, obviously. Although I'm sure, where influence exists, it's being brought to bear. But what I can do is offer you the chance to be useful. To use your skills for good, if you like.'

  Charlie didn't know why, but she felt like laying her head on the desk and weeping. 'I don't have the faintest idea what you're on about, Corinna. And I'm pretty sure I don't want to.'