He set out the events of Wednesday night in as much detail as he could afford to. He made no mention of the tape, of course, fervently hoping Ann did not know about that. The other facts spoke for themselves anyway. There was no doubt what Hayley had done and very little doubt why. As he made clear by adding as much as he knew of her true life story.
Ann did not interrupt. Her only reaction was to look ever more pensive as he proceeded. When he had finished, she allowed herself a sigh that might have signalled nothing more than fatigue. “Would you like a drink?” she enquired. “I believe I would. There’s whisky and brandy in the cabinet. Brandy for me, I think.”
The cabinet was in the corner. Harding poured generous measures for both of them. Cognac for her, Glenfiddich for himself.
“Thank you,” she said as he handed her the glass. “Oh, could you put some more wood on the fire, please? I’m feeling a little chilly.”
He shot her an eyebrow-arched glance as he tonged a couple of logs out of the well-stocked basket, letting her know that playing for time was futile. But the goose pimples visible on her wrist and forearm as she sipped her brandy suggested she really did feel cold. Or afraid.
Flames licked up instantly round the added logs. Harding sat down and gazed across at her, expectantly and insistently. “Anything else?”
“No, thank you.” She took another sip of brandy.
“Well?”
A long, calming sigh escaped her. She closed her eyes for a second or two, then looked directly at him. “I’m not about to apologize to you, Mr. Harding, if that’s what you think. You’re right, of course. My brother Nathan hasn’t spent the years since Kerry’s accident in obsessive pursuit of women who resemble her. Nor did he haunt her hospital bedside. In point of fact, he’s always seemed indifferent to her fate. Perhaps that’s why I considered him fair game in the fiction Hayley and I devised between us to mislead you. Because I’ve never been indifferent to what happened to Kerry. I believe she was murdered by Barney Tozer. He may protest his innocence as much as he wishes. This show of charitable reluctance to report Hayley to the police only confirms his guilt in my mind. It was I who traced Hayley after the inquest and told her all that had happened. You could say I set her on the course that led to her attack on Carol Tozer. She didn’t tell me what she proposed to do. But you’re correct in supposing I knew she’d soon do something. Again, I make no apology. I became very fond of those girls as they grew up. Too fond, my stepmother used to say, in her spiteful, insinuating way. I couldn’t bear to see Kerry die a lingering death and Hayley languish in lonely obscurity after witnessing the wonderful, blossoming promise of their childhood. To stand by and allow all that to be snuffed out and forgotten? I couldn’t do it. I won’t do it. Someone’s responsible. Someone is answerable. As far as I’m concerned, that someone is Barney Tozer.”
“But not Carol,” put in Harding.
“No.” Ann bowed her head. “No, indeed.” She swallowed some more brandy. “Perhaps that consideration is what stayed Hayley’s hand. I pray so. I’ll be honest with you, Mr. Harding. I’m dismayed by what you’ve told me.” Her tune-and her demeanour-had suddenly if fractionally altered.
“You could’ve fooled me.”
“Well, as you know, I can fool people. I’m actually quite proficient at it. And I was well aware that Hayley intended to wreak some kind of vengeance on Barney Tozer. But I never for a moment envisaged that it would take such an extreme form. I can’t imagine why Hayley should wish to harm Carol, let alone think of actually killing her.”
“How about because she wanted Barney to experience some of what she felt when you told her Kerry was dead?”
“I suppose… that’s possible.”
“Which is what you wanted too, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but-” She broke off and drew herself up defiantly. “He deserves to be punished for what he did. But not punished in kind. I couldn’t condone that.”
“It hardly matters what you could or couldn’t condone. You aided and abetted it. As I’ll make sure the police appreciate, if and when they’re called in. But it’s when unless you help me find Hayley. Before she does anything else like this.”
“I’m sure that won’t happen. She’s obviously realized violence isn’t-”
“Where is she?”
Ann started at the barked question, but instantly regained her composure. “I don’t know. I haven’t heard from her since Tuesday. She said she was going away. She didn’t say where or for how long.”
“And you didn’t ask?”
“I’ve never pressed her to tell me more than she wishes to.”
“How very considerate of you.”
“Her trust is hard to win, Mr. Harding. And her soul is troubled. Ask more of her than she’s able or willing to give and you lose her. I’ve tried to bear that in mind. It’s a pity her parents never understood her well enough to do the same.”
“It also gives you a useful excuse for whatever she does, of course. You weren’t to know.”
“That’s not how it is.”
“Well, I’ll have to take your word for that.”
“Misleading you was a regrettable necessity. Hayley said she needed time. I helped her buy some and I told you as much of the truth as I dared. I invented nothing where my ancestor Francis Gashry’s concerned, as Herbert Shelkin must have confirmed to you. It’s merely that it has… no direct bearing on what happened to Kerry.”
“For which you and Hayley both blame Barney?”
“Yes. I’ve no doubt in the matter. Nor has Hayley.”
“She might have now, for all you know.”
“I don’t think so,” said Ann severely, as if the notion was absurd.
“When do you expect to hear from her again?”
“I couldn’t say. I imagine, after coming so close… to doing such a dreadful thing… she’ll need time to think. Time to reflect.”
“Spent where?”
“I don’t know. I truly don’t.”
“I’m not sure you quite understand the position you’re in, Ann. Barney’s prepared to stay his hand for as long as it takes me to find Hayley and resolve this situation. But if I don’t find her…”
“I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”
“No. But you could promise to alert me as soon as she contacts you.”
“If she contacts me.”
“I’ll settle for that.”
Ann set down her brandy glass with exaggerated care. Several wordless moments passed as the clock on the mantelpiece ticked sonorously and the fire crackled. Then she said, “Very well. I daresay it’s… in everybody’s best interests. Perhaps I… shouldn’t have encouraged her.”
“Perhaps not.”
“She said you seemed… an honest man.”
“I am.”
“You have my word, then. If I hear from her, you’ll hear from me.”
Harding stretched across to the Canterbury that stood a few feet from his chair and pulled out a newspaper: the Daily Telegraph, folded to display the crosswords on the back page. Ann had completed the quick as well as the cryptic, without a single crossing-out. He jotted his mobile number at the foot of the page and handed it to her. “I’ll be waiting.”
“Thank you,” she said, laying the paper down on the table.
“I need some information to be going on with.”
“I’ve told you all I can.”
“What do you know about Shep?”
“Who?” She looked genuinely puzzled.
“Shep. Short for Shepherd. Kerry’s journalistic mentor.”
“I’m afraid I’ve never heard of him.”
“According to Carol, they were often in touch.”
“I’m afraid I’ve still never heard of him.”
“Do you think Nathan might have?”
“It’s possible. I… couldn’t say.”
“I’ll ask him myself, then. If you don’t mind giving me his address and phone number.”
�
�Must we involve him? I doubt he’ll be able to help you.”
“Only one way to find out.”
A tremor of unease, mixed with distaste, crossed Ann’s face. She cleared her throat nervously. “I wouldn’t want Nathan… to learn how I’ve… misrepresented him.”
“I’ll do my best to steer round the subject.”
“Your best?”
Harding shrugged. “It’s all I can offer. And frankly…” He paused, forcing her to meet his gaze before he continued. “It’s more than you deserve.”
TWENTY-FIVE
Saturday morning dawned grey and cold, the high-rise Thameside apartment block where Nathan Gashry lived adding a vortical gale to the prevailing bleakness. Harding felt bizarrely elated as he approached the pushbutton entryphone panel, however. He felt, for once, that he was ahead in whatever game was being played, that the decoys were done with, that the trail he was following would lead him to whoever his quarry really was.
“Yeah?” came the gruff, belated response to Harding’s triple prod at the button for flat 228.
“Nathan Gashry?”
“That’s me.”
“Can I come in? We need to talk. My name’s Harding. Tim Harding.”
“Who?”
“Harding. We’ve never met. I’m a friend… of Barney Tozer.”
“Tozer?”
“That’s right.”
“Did he… send you here?”
Harding debated how to answer for a split-second, then opted for “Yes.”
“What the hell for?”
“It’d be easier to explain if you let me in.”
“Shit. This isn’t…” A pause for thought. “Oh, all right, then. Come up. Fifth floor.”
The door release buzzed. Harding was in.
The man who opened the door of flat 228 had the same probing, dark-eyed gaze as Ann Gashry, but was otherwise unrecognizable as her brother. Lean, chestnut-haired and unshaven, he was wearing espadrilles and a short, orientally styled bathrobe. He looked as if he was many years younger than Ann and inhabited a very different world from hers. The flat was all pared-down furniture and pale, empty space, with high-windowed views along the river towards Westminster.
“What’s this about, mate?” he demanded, letting Harding in no further than the hallway.
“I’m trying to locate Hayley Foxton.”
“Hayley?”
“Barney reckoned you might be able to help.”
“Well, he reckoned wrong. I haven’t a clue where she is.”
“Pity. Only, she was in Monte Carlo a few days ago. She broke into the Tozers’ apartment and threatened Carol with a knife.”
“You’re having me on.”
The light reaching them from the lounge altered fractionally. Harding turned to see a young woman standing in a doorway on the far side of the room, frowning at him. She was short and slim, with straight dark hair falling to her shoulders and slender, shapely legs visible from the thighs down beneath the hem of what looked like one of Nathan’s T-shirts.
“Who’s this, Nathan?” she asked uneasily.
“I’ll tell you later,” Nathan replied. “It’s nothing for you to worry about. He won’t be here long.”
“OK.” She did not sound entirely convinced. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“Right. I’ll have breakfast waiting for you.”
The young woman slipped out of sight. A door closed somewhere behind her. “Is that Veronica?” Harding asked casually. But the response he got was far from casual.
“How d’you know her name?”
It was a good question. An even better one was how Hayley had known. “I need to find Hayley Nathan. Can you help me?”
“No. I haven’t seen her in years. But-”
“That’s not how she tells it.”
“We have to track Hayley down before she does anything like this again. For her sake as well as everyone else’s. You do see that, don’t you?”
“You what?”
“There’s nothing I can tell you.”
“I think there is.”
“Well, you’re wrong. OK, mate? Wrong.”
“You may have some valuable information without even knowing it.”
“That’s it. You’re leaving.” Nathan moved past Harding to the front door of the flat and pulled it open. But Harding kicked it instantly shut, leaving Nathan to stare at him with a mixture of fear and indignation.
“What the fuck d’you think you’re-”
“Listen to me, mate.” Harding spoke quietly but intently, staring deliberately into Nathan’s eyes. “This is the story Hayley fed me and a few others besides. You’ve been trying to turn her into a re-creation of her dead sister. Taking up with one twin where you left off with the other. Messing with her head as well as her body. And encouraging her to believe Barney murdered Kerry.”
Nathan’s mouth sagged open. His brow furrowed. He seemed incapable of articulating a reaction. Which prompted Harding to press home his advantage.
“Crazy, right? But then she is, isn’t she? As you know. Which is why I haven’t mentioned it to Barney. Luckily for you. If he got the idea into his head that you were responsible for what Hayley’s done… Well, I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes, that’s for sure.”
“I don’t know where she is,” Nathan murmured.
“Tell me as much as you can. That’s all I ask. Starting with exactly what kind of deal you struck with Barney.”
“Deal?”
“Hayley said you and he had some kind of… understanding. In relation to Kerry, I assume.”
Nathan’s face was a picture of bafflement. “Hayley… knows about that?”
“Evidently.”
“Hold on.” Nathan’s powers of reasoning were slowly reasserting themselves. “If you’re a friend of Barney’s, why don’t you… ask him?”
“Because I’m not sure he’ll want to tell me.”
“Well, maybe I don’t want to tell you either.”
“Maybe not. But you should bear in mind it’s not only Barney who’ll cut up rough if he hears what Hayley says you did to her. I guess Veronica might take it badly as well. There’s something of the Foxtons’ looks in her, isn’t there? I suppose that’s what attracted you to her. Another substitute for Kerry.”
“It’s not like that.”
“I’m sure it isn’t. But it’s a question of how it looks, isn’t it?”
“Fucking hell.”
“What was the deal?”
“I should never have…” Nathan chewed his lip for a pensive moment, then quietly closed the door leading to the lounge and pointed towards the kitchen. “We can talk in there.”
The kitchen was narrow and windowless, fitted out with an excess of marble and brushed steel. The pristine condition of most of the culinary gizmos on show suggested cookery was not one of Nathan’s pastimes.
“Who are you?” he asked, squinting at Harding in the harsh overhead light.
“Someone you can get off your back with the answers to a few simple questions.”
“There’s never been anything between me and Hayley I swear it.”
“I believe you.”
“But it isn’t… years… since I last saw her.”
“No?”
“Did she give you Veronica’s name?”
“She might have.”
“Shit.” Nathan soft-landed a punch on the door of the Smeg fridge. “I must have… let it slip.”
“Hayley came to see you?”
“Yeah. This was… a few months ago. Veronica and me had just…” He rubbed his forehead. “Never mind. You don’t need to know about that.”
“What do I need to know about?”
Nathan sighed heavily. “OK. You may as well hear it. Not much point keeping it secret now. Hayley had done some digging. She’d found out I’d paid Kerry’s bills at the Horstelmann Clinic in Munich.”
“You?”
“I told her parents I wanted to do everything I cou
ld to help Kerry recover. The Horstelmann was supposed to be the biz in coma cases, but a bed there didn’t come cheap. Fortunately I could cover her costs because I’d landed one of those fat City bonuses you read about in the papers.” Nathan shrugged. “I wish.”
“You’re saying… you didn’t pay?”
“No. ’Course not. Why would I-even if I could afford to? Kerry had ditched me months before her accident. We were finished, as she’d made crystal clear. I was just the front man.”
That was the deal, of course. It was obvious now. “For Barney?”
“Yup.”
“Why didn’t he want the Foxtons to know he was paying?”
“He made it worth my while not to ask. But if I were to guess, I’d say it was because he was afraid people might suspect he had a guilty conscience.”
“D’you think they’d have been right to?”
“Dunno. What do you think?”
“Maybe he was worried the Foxtons wouldn’t accept the money if they knew it came from him.”
Nathan allowed himself half a smile. “Yeah. Right.”
“But you let Hayley go away believing it confirmed Barney’s guilt, didn’t you?”
“Don’t try to lay what she’s done on me, mate.” Nathan braced his shoulders pugnaciously. “I gave her the facts. What she made of them… was up to her.”
“You knew from Kerry she’d had psychiatric problems.”
“So?”
“That makes your… openness with her… a tad irresponsible, don’t you reckon?”
“She’d already guessed who I was covering for. There was no point denying it.”
“You must have wondered why she wanted to know so badly.”
“I assumed she was keen to make sure she wasn’t in my debt. She didn’t like me, you see. Never had. The one time I met her-with Kerry-she didn’t leave me in any doubt what she thought of me.” Nathan chuckled mirthlessly. “Which was pretty much what Kerry ended up thinking of me, as it happens. That’s twins for you, I suppose.”
“Do you know what story Kerry was working on in Cornwall?”
“No. Like I told you, we’d split by then.”
“She might have been working on it before you split.”
“Might have. Might not. She wasn’t big on sharing stuff. Y’know? Never had been. And I never pressured her to, anyway.”
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