The Sleep of the Dead
Page 38
‘You took her into your house?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘Where did you take her?’
‘Well, she ran when I put her down again inside and … you know, I thought she might scream or … after all, Daddy Mitchell was just next door.’
‘Where did she run to?’
‘I found her in the bedroom, Julia.’
‘Was she lying on the bed?’
‘No, she was curled up in a ball in the corner of the room.’
‘Did you feel aroused by her fear?’
‘Aroused? No. I’m not a pervert.’
‘What happened?’
He didn’t answer.
She wanted to distract him, to strike with the branch she still held before he could react. ‘Did she scream, Alan?’
He moved – just a shifting of his weight from one leg to the other.
‘Did she die quietly? Did she yield gently? Did she trust you even in death?’
‘Yes … she … did.’
‘Did she cry?’
‘No … I don’t … I don’t … I don’t recall.’
‘Did she fight?’
‘That’s enough.’
‘What did you see in her eyes, Alan, as the knife went in?’
‘That’s enough.’
‘Did you see terror? Did she know she was going to die? Do you think—’
‘That’s enough.’
‘Did you watch the knife penetrating her flesh? Was her blood red? It was a knife, wasn’t it, Alan? Another kitchen knife, a different one, you put the tip against—’
‘That’s enough.’ He took a step closer. ‘That’s enough. Enough. Enough. Enough. ENOUGH!’ He was breathing heavily. ‘It’s time,’ he said. ‘It’s time.’
‘She didn’t know you weren’t her father, did she?’
He didn’t reply.
‘You knew, because Sarah loved to taunt you with that by the end, but little Alice didn’t know, did she? She loved you like a father still.’
‘I said, that’s enough.’
‘She trusted you.’
‘Julia!’
The call had been as clear as a bell. It was Mac’s voice.
‘Mac!’ she shouted.
Alan lunged at her and she glimpsed the flash of moonlight on metal, as she ducked to one side, trying to strike down with the branch, but missing.
‘Mac!’ she shouted again.
She dared not run. To turn her back was suicide. He lunged again and this time he was standing in the light, so she saw the action clearly and struck down, once again darting away from him as she heard him groan with pain.
She had not dislodged the knife. ‘Training,’ he said.
‘It’s easier with five-year-old girls, isn’t it, Alan?’
He was wheezing, like an asthmatic. He lunged again and once more she struck down with all the angry might of years of frustrated misery, thinking of her father and the bravery she believed he would always have displayed in any situation and the shame of doubting him.
‘Five-year-old girls can’t fight back, can they? You’re a fucking coward, Alan, that’s what you are. The other men, they were brave, but you’re just a coward. Maybe that’s why Sarah …’
He came again, but he was still bathed in moonlight and she deflected the blow and took hold of his arm. She gripped tight, stepped in, turned and slung him over her back, then followed through, stamping on his wrist, so that he squealed in pain and began to roll away, the knife released.
She came down, trying to pin him, but her eye had lost sight of the other fist and it hit her square in the face, knocking her sideways, the pain blinding. She was on her back and she fought to right herself, but he was fast, so fast …
He was on to her.
He had her.
His knees were pinning her …
Julia could see, suddenly, the image of her father’s face, charging out from the cover of the rock and her anger at the lies and the suspicion and guilt exploded into rage as she scrabbled at his face, trying to reach his eyes, to gouge, but he was too strong. She bucked with her waist, kicked with her feet, tried to roll free, but she couldn’t shift him.
Too late, she realized, he had lunged for the knife. He was off her, then on again before she could move, his hand over her face, the knife to her neck.
She had reached his eyes, trying to push her fingers into the corners of the sockets, straining every sinew to punish him. ‘You’ll pay,’ she gasped. ‘I … will … make you pay …’
‘Julia!’ she heard.
Mac was closer.
Her cry was muffled by his palm. He moved the knife from her neck and she took hold of his wrist. He was going to kill her the same way as Alice, a thrust gently into the stomach. Another hand was on her neck, both hers trying to stop the knife …
He was squeezing. She felt the pain and fought to push away the knife, but the tip of it was against her shirt. It entered. She felt it, but was not aware of any pain. It went further. The world was darkening, her strength going. There was a blinding pain in her stomach.
Were her eyes shut, or open? It was so dark. The weight on her disappeared, the hand was gone from her throat. But the pain did not lessen. She had vision. Blurred, dizzy.
‘Julia,’ she heard. ‘Julia. Julia. Julia. Julia. Julia.’
She could not find her voice.
The vision cleared. Mac was kneeling over her.
Her vision blurred again.
‘Julia.’
The pain seemed to be lessening.
‘Julia! Fight, Julia.’
But she couldn’t fight. The pain was fading. She felt almost peaceful. She wondered if this was how her father had died.
She heard a siren in the distance.
‘Fight, Julia,’ Mac said again.
The siren was getting louder quickly.
‘Please, Julia,’ Mac said, and she caught sight of his face. It was no longer blurred. She wondered if this was the last moment of clarity.
He was gripping her hand and she tried to grip back, but there was no response.
‘Please,’ he said.
She tried to say, ‘It’s all right, Mac,’ but no words came out.
Her vision began to blur again.
Darkness fell.
EPILOGUE
THERE WAS A knock on the door. Julia pushed herself stiffly up in bed, putting her fingers beneath her shirt to feel the wound on her stomach once more. ‘Come in,’ she said.
Professor Malcolm had brushed his grey hair and put on a clean shirt. He had a large bouquet of flowers and a bunch of grapes. His movements were hesitant, his manner uncertain.
‘A royal visit,’ she said.
He smiled. ‘I wasn’t certain I’d be welcomed.’
‘Self-doubt doesn’t become you.’
He was clasping his hands in front of him like a schoolboy confronted by an austere aunt.
‘I’m told you and my mother have been thick as thieves.’
‘Well …’
‘She says you’ve been helping her.’
‘No, but …’
‘I told her to watch out.’
They were silent. Julia looked at the morning sun streaming through the windows and spilling on to the pink blanket on the end of her bed.
‘I’ve spoken to the university. They say that if you do not wish to remain in the army, they might be able to find you a post there.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea if you would be interested, but …’
‘The protégé’s lesson complete?’
‘No.’ He cleared his throat, shrugging.
She smiled at him, pushing herself up still more. ‘What have you been up to?’
‘Oh, you know … not much. Loose ends.’
‘Tell me what happened.’
He looked confused. ‘About what?’
‘How did my father die?’
He looked down. ‘Well, perhaps you’d better ask Mac. But … I think you’ll find that the occupan
ts of the machine-gun post they were supposed to be attacking had, in fact, surrendered. I believe the battle was over and dawn rising. Michael Haydoch had come over from his platoon …’ He looked at her. ‘Correct term?’
Julia nodded.
‘They decided to “deal with” the prisoners, but at that point your father came upon them.’
Julia swallowed.
‘There was an argument, he began shouting, there was a shot. I believe it passed through your father and wounded Pascoe.’ He sighed.
‘Alan fired the shot.’
‘Yes. You would have to ask Mac. I think Alan then convinced the others it had been an accident. They were all implicated because of their part in shooting the prisoners of war, especially once the lie had begun. I think, with Rouse, it was probably also the pictures of him and Sarah.’ He sighed again. ‘I doubt, somehow, that there will be prosecutions, though Michael has put his house on the market and is, I believe, leaving East Welham.’
‘What about the Rouses?’
‘I don’t know. I think they may stay. They’ve been through so much in the village. I would think Adrian will be forgiven. That seems to be the prevailing mood.’
Julia stared out of the window at the blue sky beyond. ‘Was …’ She hesitated. ‘Was my father having an affair with Sarah?’
Professor Malcolm shook his head. He had lost his bashfulness now. ‘No. Michael Haydoch was the M of the diary and I think probably Alice’s father, too, though he denies it and it is possible Sarah didn’t even know the answer to that particular riddle.’ He ran his hand through his hair, then put it over hers. ‘Your father didn’t need an escape, Julia. He was happy where he was.’
‘I thought …’
‘Yes?’
She pushed herself up again. ‘I think that … I’ve had so much time to think.’
‘Too much, over the years.’
‘Yes, but I think I worked out that what I feared was that I had lost him before he died, that I’d done something wrong and he had turned away from me and from us during those last months … do you understand what I’m saying? It was the extra burden of having lost him twice – in that last year and then for good. And that let in the suspicion and from there …’
‘And you were wrong.’
‘Yes.’
Professor Malcolm put his hands in his pockets. ‘I rather wish I’d met him, actually.’
‘Yes. I would have liked that.’
Professor Malcolm shook his head. ‘There aren’t many reliable people in the world.’
He stepped back and looked at her. ‘I must go,’ he said.
‘Will you come again?’
He smiled once more. ‘Perhaps.’
He turned and moved to the doorway, before hesitating and turning back to face her. ‘Good luck, Julia.’
‘I’ll see you soon.’
‘Yes.’ He was looking out of the window. ‘Yes, of course.’
He walked out.
The door was jammed half open and Julia leant forward so that she could see down the corridor. She watched him as he shuffled slowly along, his limp evident. He ran his right hand over his head then put it in his pocket and, as he reached the swing doors at the end, she thought he would pause and look back, but he didn’t and they banged shut hard behind him.
She looked at them for a moment.
She wondered if he would come back through, smile once more and wave goodbye.
The doors opened again and a younger, slightly taller figure came through.
His walk was funny, too – somehow ungainly – and he was holding a large bunch of flowers.
As Mac caught sight of her, he smiled. Julia hesitated, then raised her hand, and waved a greeting. She realized she was smiling, too.
About the Author
Tom Bradby has been a correspondent for ITN for almost two decades and is currently ITV News’ Political Editor. He is the author of six thrillers: Shadow Dancer, The Sleep Of The Dead, The Master Of Rain (shortlisted for the Crime Writers’ Association Steel Dagger for Best Thriller of the Year 2002), The White Russian (shortlisted for the Crime Writers’ Association Ellis Peters Award for the Best Historical Crime Novel of 2003), The God Of Chaos and Blood Money.
Also by Tom Bradby
SHADOW DANCER
THE SLEEP OF THE DEAD
THE MASTER OF RAIN
THE WHITE RUSSIAN
THE GOD OF CHAOS
BLOOD MONEY
TRANSWORLD PUBLISHERS
61–63 Uxbridge Road, London W5 5SA
www.transworldbooks.co.uk
Transworld is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com
First published in Great Britain by Bantam Press
an imprint of Transworld Publishers
Copyright © Tom Bradby 2001
Tom Bradby has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Every effort has been made to obtain the necessary permissions with reference to copyright material, both illustrative and quoted. We apologize for any omissions in this respect and will be pleased to make the appropriate acknowledgements in any future edition.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Version 1.0 Epub ISBN 9781446421871
ISBN 9780552145879
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2