The Bloodline Will

by A B Morgan

  ‘Who?’

  Ella was thinking on her feet and Abigail would know she was deliberately lying. A contest of double bluff had begun.

  ‘Lorna. My old friend from school – Lorna Yates,’ Ella said, trying her hardest to sound supremely confident. ‘I thought she’d get here well before me. Never mind. I expect she’s on her way. We could start without her if it’s going to cause a problem. She won’t mind. I’ll just dry my hands.’

  The eyes were the giveaway. Abigail’s grey bottomless, unfeeling eyes suddenly lit up and Ella was satisfied that she had bought herself a little time. Taking care to add information for Mal’s benefit, Ella mentioned the décor of the reception area and complimented Abigail on her efforts. There was still no sign of Clare.

  ‘Shall we make a start?’ Ella offered. ‘We don’t need to wait for Lorna.’

  ‘We do,’ Abigail replied. ‘We most certainly do.’

  ‘A quick look around while we wait for her then? Or I could phone her if you like… see where she’s got to.’

  Abigail’s reply was cut short by an incessant banging noise coming from one direction and a voice calling from the other. ‘Abigail! Abigail, what the hell have you done?’ A male voice, croaky and pained, interrupted negotiations. Ella was convinced the voice must be that of Guy Nithercott, no employee would be so informal, but why did he sound curiously weak?

  Scrubbing her cheeks upwards with the palms of her hands, marching angrily towards the reception desk, Abigail disappeared from sight through a door behind it.

  ‘Mal, I can hear a man, he’s upset. She’s gone to deal with him. She’s got blood on her, Mal. Lots of bloo—’ She was about to ask Mal to call the police, when the hammering started again. The banging sounded frantic, as if someone had a dire need of help.

  ‘That’s the second time I’ve heard loud banging. Something’s not right here,’ she said, praying Mal could hear every nuance in her tremulous words. ‘I shouldn’t have come. It was such a bad idea.’

  Raised voices were oozing from beyond the reception area, an argument between Abigail and the man. His tone was low and urgent. Abigail was doing the shouting. She sounded deranged.

  ‘You are no more a Nithercott than I am. Get your hands off me!’

  Aiming her chin towards her chest Ella alerted Mal to the rapidly changing events.

  ‘She’s with Guy. Keep listening. I’m leaving the pen on the counter-top so you can pick up on what they are saying. I’ve got my phone and I’m going to see where the knocking is coming from while Abigail is busy. It may be Clare. I can’t see her anywhere.’ Ella took her chance. She raced towards the sound of the incessant banging.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  To the rescue

  Ella pushed firmly against the door marked “Gendarmerie” and stepped warily into the darkness beyond. The banging was cacophonous now, coming from somewhere ahead. She pulled out her phone and used the torch application to help weave her way through what looked like a wartime street, towards the door where the noise was being generated.

  ‘I hear you!’ she shouted. ‘Is that you, Clare?’

  The reply came as a sweet voice filled with anxiety and suspicion. ‘My name is Zoe. Who is that?’

  ‘My name is Ella. Don’t worry; I’ll try to get you out. People know we are here. Tell me what’s happened.’

  Before trying to unlock the door, she stopped to listen out for Abigail who she was sure would start looking for her soon, there were CCTV cameras in almost every corner of the ceiling. She wanted to switch off the light on her phone, preferring to hide in the darkness and use it to talk directly to Mal, but she needed to seek an override button or something of that nature to release the door. As things panned out there was a simple turn of a knob required and soon Zoe fell into her arms, gasping.

  ‘Any water?’

  ‘No, sorry. We’ll get you some as soon as we can. The police will be on their way, but for now we hide, or get out,’ said Ella worried by the girl’s shaky appearance. Ella wasn’t very tall, but this woman was even shorter and, being slender to boot, was diminutive compared to Ella’s more curved figure.

  ‘There are people in the cellar,’ Zoe blurted out, throwing a thumb over her shoulder.

  ‘People? How many? Do you know?’

  Ella’s phone vibrated in her hand. It was Mal. ‘Get out right now, Ella. No heroics or I’m coming in to get you. I’m in the cellar… Barney is on his way, Lorna and Konrad too and the police aren’t far behind.’

  There was a crashing sound and screams which brought Ella and Zoe up short. The look which passed between them confirmed what they both suspected; they could probably escape the way Ella had come in, but it would lead them directly to where Abigail was and, by the sounds of things, she was in no mood to be negotiated with. She was wailing like a banshee.

  Ella and Zoe hadn’t moved. They were both straining to hear Abigail, trying to work out who else was with her. ‘Her parents are here somewhere and so is Clare,’ Ella panted.

  ‘So is my friend Kat,’ Zoe added. ‘I haven’t seen anyone else. I thought it was just me and Kat until I heard …’ Her voice trailed off as she looked down in response to another set of thumping and clattering sounds reaching them from below the floor. They sought each other’s eyes and then scanned around urgently for a way out.

  ‘Fire escape,’ Zoe croaked, pointing to a dimly lit box high on a wall not ten feet away from where they were standing.

  ‘Brilliant, thank goodness for fire regulations,’ Ella panted. She’d been holding her breath in fear for their lives, but with a means of escape so nearby she took Zoe’s hand and they both ran towards the door to their left and shoved the metal bar hard, causing it to fly open.

  The bright afternoon sunlight temporarily blinded them, making them squint, hampering their progress. Once their eyes adjusted, Ella soon got her bearings on seeing the green Citroen parked near a concrete ramp. She dragged Zoe in that direction.

  They ran as fast as their wobbling legs would allow, until Zoe screamed in alarm and dug her heels in to the dry compact dirt. ‘Who’s that?’ she cried out, staring in horror at a man running towards them.

  Ella heaved a sigh. ‘Oh, thank God.’ It was Mal. He wore a haunted look and his phone was wedged to his sweaty ear as he shouted into it. ‘Two dead, one seriously injured, and I don’t think they can be moved.’ He paused to look at Ella and Zoe, taking in their panic-stricken faces.

  ‘One other casualty has just emerged from the building; I can see her now. She looks okay,’ he added as some of the strain ebbed away from his features at the sight of Ella.

  He jogged up the slope towards the girls, perspiration streaming down his temples, chest heaving hard. ‘The cavalry are on their way,’ he said, grabbing at Ella’s upper arm and tenderly pulling her to one side. ‘Take this young lady to the container. Look after her there. I’ll wait for the ambulance and—’

  ‘Clare’s still in there somewhere,’ Ella gasped, looking back over her shoulder.

  Suddenly, a VW Golf, containing Konrad and Lorna, careered into the yard. ‘And here comes the man himself to the rescue…’ Mal said at the sight of immediate back up. There was no chance to greet the Neales, because without much warning, a dented and mud-caked Land Rover rattled violently towards where Mal, Ella and Zoe were standing.

  ‘Barney!’ yelled an animated Mal. His mouth opened as if he was about to shout a series of crucial orders, but at that very second deafening alarm bells rang out.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Two years later

  The coroner’s court was packed, with every seat in the public section taken and standing room only at the back. Ella was to appear as a witness, and she was the first to give evidence. There was no sign of Dr Niall Jameson yet, but she was pleased that Zoe and Gianni managed to find a babysitter. They had become firm friends since the day of the rescue at Top Field Farm and, in recognition of her heroics, Ella was asked to accept the honour of
becoming Godmother to baby Gisella. Spying their friendly faces in the courtroom buoyed her up as much as Mal’s constant reassuring smiles. He sat with Lorna and Konrad, nervous for her, she could tell.

  Logan wasn’t there. He wasn’t needed on this occasion and, according to Zoe, he was glad not to hear all the grim details again. She’d phoned Ella the evening before to wish her luck and apprise her of the latest news.

  ‘Pep’s in the States,’ Zoe told Ella breezily. ‘A relaxed meeting with his new boss. Not posh and la-di-dah, like you would expect. They’ve gone to a baseball game together and Pep has taken the boys with him. Isn’t that lovely? Hank Fulmar, multimillionaire, what a nice man he’s turned out to be. He has all that money and he spends it on tickets for a game of rounders because he knows what makes Logan tick.’

  ❖

  The coroner’s hearing was very different from the court case that took place after the arrests and after the fire. Guy Nithercott’s trial had been complex, causing months of disruption to everyday life. Amidst the furore, the appearances as a witness, and the constant badgering from the press for her story, Ella managed to contend with the Sword of Damocles hanging over her head.

  Before the court hearing was even underway, Ella’s conditional discharge from secure mental health services became public knowledge. With that little nugget available to them, the defence lawyers for Guy Nithercott immediately sought to discredit her as she took to the stand. The man in wig and gown lurched to his feet, holding his lapels as barristers do.

  ‘Your Honour, the jury should be reminded that the witness has a history of delusions and manic psychosis,’ the barrister pronounced in a pompous barrage of negative and discriminatory assumptions about Ella’s mental state.

  The judge, Justice Fenella Armstrong, was impressive and responded rather wittily. ‘Miss Fitzwilliam’s mental state has been thoroughly assessed and accounted for, unlike your own, Mr Wildermaster. I suggest you make an apology and stick to the facts of the case.’

  Ella really liked the judge.

  The timeline of events on the day of the fire at Top Field Farm was laid out for the benefit of the jury and those present in court.

  The fire never reached the cellar; it rose upwards through the building as Ella and Konrad tried valiantly to assist Betty Renfrew and unravel her from the suffocating layers of knitted blankets.

  Lorna had taken over from Ella and helped Zoe get to a safe distance, making her comfortable and giving her the water she so desperately craved. She stayed with her until the ambulance crew checked the girl over. Gianni’s cousin Franco turned up to add to the havoc, gunning his ancient Lancia into the farmyard, narrowly avoiding a collision with Barney’s Land Rover.

  Meanwhile, Guy Nithercott escaped through the front doors and into the secure arms of Barney and Mal who took it upon themselves to make a citizen’s arrest in their own emphatic style. When they eventually arrived, the police had very good reason to question the dubious tactics used for restraint. The man they found locked in a shipping container, trussed up like a chicken with baler twine, had a huge gash on the back of his head and was still bleeding profusely.

  Lying in a hospital bed, some hours after his gasping flight from a burning building, Guy Nithercott was arrested on suspicion of murder.

  As the evidence was presented to the court, it became apparent that the local police station had received a series of calls from Malik Khan that day and reacted poorly. In addition, there was a call from Lorna Neale, wife of television presenter Konrad Neale, reporting a catalogue of issues relating to the Nithercotts and requesting that Logan Peplow be intercepted at London Oxford Airport for his own safety.

  The desk sergeant, unaware of the police investigation into the stalking of said sporting celebrity, reluctantly agreed to send a car to investigate. When it reached Top Field Farm the officers were soon calling for reinforcements.

  The fire service and ambulances had been dispatched without hesitation at Mal’s emergency request but having to come from Hollberry their journey was considerably longer.

  Abigail Nithercott perished in the fire, burnt to a blackened crisp along with the CCTV recordings, Clare Gray, and the wartime memorabilia of Espionage Escapades. The forensic team furnished the jury with expert opinion regarding Abigail’s death by asphyxiation. ‘Not from smoke inhalation as would be expected, but by strangulation. Post-mortem examinations confirmed she was dead before she could inhale high levels of noxious fumes.’

  As the Crown Court hearing progressed, the prosecution provided a mounting pile of damning facts suggesting how and why Guy had murdered his wife. The main motive was his need to silence her, they said. Because he was determined to keep the truth about her unstable mind from being revealed.

  Nobody made reference to incest.

  ‘Having killed his wife, rather than rescue the surviving victims, Guy Nithercott selfishly sought to eradicate all evidence. Not content with the wilful murder of his wife, his parents-in-law, and Clare Gray, we must not forget Mrs Zoe Sapienti who was trapped in the building. He disregarded the safety of any other person in an effort to cover up his wife’s indiscretions, acts of violence and her mental illness. He was the one who set the fire.’

  Guy’s DNA was at the scene in the cellar, his blood, his fingerprints were there, as easy to find as Abigail’s had been. The charred remains of his phone were found in the office upstairs where Abigail’s smouldering body was discovered alongside that of Clare Gray’s. No one could say who had killed Clare; only that she sustained a blunt force trauma to her right temple and was unconscious and breathing as the fumes from the fire took hold.

  A great deal of store was placed in the timing of Guy’s arrival at the farm. Mal’s evidence regarding the heat from the Jaguar’s engine helpful in approximating when Guy had joined Abigail. If the prosecution were to be believed, Guy carried out a murderous plan to dispose of anyone who knew the hideous truth about Abigail’s obsession and stalking of a celebrity.

  That was the story the prosecution stuck to and it seemed, in part, to stand up to scrutiny.

  When he took to the floor, the defence barrister – Mr Wildermaster – argued against this by asserting that it had been Abigail who assaulted Guy, intending to kill him too. Therefore, the defence case was simple. Guy was a victim and thus not guilty of the charges against him.

  ‘My Ladyship, ladies and gentlemen of the jury,’ Mr Wildermaster bellowed. ‘We have heard from our expert psychiatrist that Abigail Nithercott was experiencing something referred to as Erotomania; a form of delusional belief. Convinced in her own mind that Mr Logan Peplow was deeply in love with her, and through her deliberate design, he was on his way to meet with her. There is no way to predict how this would have played out if matters had not taken the turn they did.’

  Wildermaster stirred the jury up with his next words. ‘She had no greater motive for killing her husband. To be rid of him. To be free to indulge in her delusional love affair. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, she was not of sound mind.’

  Having laid down the unstable nature of Abigail’s actions, he went on to insist that Guy arrived at the farm, knowing of her irrational beliefs, convinced that she’d killed Lewis MacDonald, fearing what she may have done next.

  ‘When he found two victims in the cellar, he tried to assist them, only to be assaulted by Abigail with murderous intent.’ Mr Wildermaster set out the scene with unquestionable confidence in his voice and manner, willing the jury to accept this as fact rather than conjecture.

  ‘However, Abigail failed to complete the job. The defendant, Guy Nithercott, wasn’t dead. Unconscious for some time – yes. Injured? Of that there is no doubt, but not dead. He then, once again, tried to help a dying Oliver and Betty Renfrew, his in-laws, people he viewed as family. People he supported and trusted. Thus, it is entirely possible to account for the blood and the fibres from Guy Nithercott found at the scene on their bodies.

  ‘So, we can safely say that when he realised
the urgency of the situation, the defendant, once able to, made his way out of the cellar to intervene. To stop Abigail and not, as the prosecution would have you believe, to join her in her murderous frenzy.’

  The fire at Top Field Farm destroyed much of the evidence, except the trail of Guy’s blood from cellar to office. The actual sequence of events could only be guessed at because Guy did not take the stand. His evidence was presented by his legal team and it was found wanting. There were holes in the timeline. Where was Guy when Katrina was being hunted and killed? On his way from the airport, like he said? Where was the evidence for this? Why didn’t he release Zoe? Why didn’t he call the police?

  ‘My client insists he lost consciousness again, as would be expected with a significant head injury,’ Mr Wildermaster maintained, making certain to catch the eye of the jury members as he paraded in front of them in his summing up. But they were not for turning. Guy was guilty as charged, apart from the murder of Katrina Chandler where they decided he could not be the perpetrator. Time and forensics did not allow.

  No matter how Mr Wildermaster tried to sway their deliberations, the jury preferred the prosecution’s version of events. Guy was as guilty as Abigail in their eyes.

  A “Folie a Deux”.

  After all, that was the argument suggested by the expert witness. A professor, a highly respected psychiatrist with too many letters after his name, said it was entirely possible for two or more people to be wrapped up in one set of delusional beliefs. Being that well qualified, he must be right.

  Ella didn’t think so, but she had little faith left in psychiatric diagnoses being accurate. As far as she could work out, Abigail held the delusion, and Guy had mopped up the destruction his wife was wreaking because of it – fraught in his attempts to keep their dirty incestuous secret hidden amongst the chaos.

  ❖

  The coroner’s inquiry was less convoluted. That day was designed to unearth the facts surrounding Abigail Nithercott’s death and give a verdict on the last of the Top Field Farm deaths to be heard.