Jules was stretching his legs too, and then suddenly he got to his feet, the wind picking at his trousers. ‘But that’s not the end of the story.’
‘No?’
‘Oh, no.’ He took a step forward and faced the sea. The wind was gaining in strength and tugged intermittently at his ponytail as he inhaled the salt-tanged air. ‘I sometimes wonder about timing in life, synchronicity, all of that. I don’t know what possessed lona to tell me this. Maybe it was that she…well, she said as much…she had discovered in me her greatest artistic ‘find’, as it were. And…and I think she may have had other plans for me. Sexually, I mean. Her sexual radar didn’t pick up on anything other than heterosexuality. lona was very blind about all that unless it was absolutely obvious. Another example of her one-dimensional nature. And she was drunk when she told me, showing off a bit, I think. Trying to shock, test my boundaries. That’s what made her tell me.’
‘Tell you what?’
He turned around, moved slowly back to the bench and sat down. His face was troubled. ‘lona had made up the whole rape claim. She’d been attracted to Ally’s friend for ages and had been jealous. That day, as Ally trotted back up to the house in search of wine, she tried to seduce the boy. But he rebuffed her. And so she tore her clothes, roughed herself up, and ran to tell her lies. It was pure envious spite.’
Despite the beauty of the view before her, Kirstin was beginning to feel hemmed in. The sea now sounded unnaturally loud, and the wind seemed deafening as it whistled past her ears. Had she heard right? ‘lona made it up? All these years she’d been carrying that with her? The boy’s death? No!’
Jules shrugged. ‘I know. People’s lives. But…the reason I told you this…and why I feel guilty, responsible even, is…well, I told Ally. When we got together, when I knew we were serious, and he was telling me this awful story…I had to tell him.’
‘And how did he take it?’
‘He went very quiet. For days. No big confrontation with lona, no histrionics. Nothing. The…pain, the betrayal ran so deep I don’t think he could take it in at first. And then, again, the worm turned.’
Kirstin nodded for him to go on.
‘Yes. He’d obviously spent those unnervingly quiet few days hatching his revenge and…to be truthful…I thought it a bit mad. Almost childish. But then, that was what was going on. He had reverted to adolescence in a way. Hell-bent on getting his revenge on his little sister, in a suitably puerile way.’ He stopped for a moment, lost in memory.
Kirstin prompted him. ‘What was he going to do?’
‘He was going to produce me at the river party as his lover, the love of his life. One she couldn’t destroy. We’d been together for a while by this time and had managed to keep it a secret. From everybody. We both believed that this was the big one and wanted to keep it to ourselves until we were sure. Anyway, we had big plans. We were going to go away together. I know it sounds dramatic, and it was. Ally was going to liquidate the business, and we were going to setde somewhere. A place where I could paint and where he could change his life. Do something completely different, maybe run a bar or a restaurant, somewhere hot. But I wanted him to be straight with lona. Tell her, so she could make plans. I was working as her paid assistant at the gallery, and she was planning a big show for me. We couldn’t just leave her in the lurch like that. But no. He had other ideas. He was going to present me, present us, as a fait accompli at the river party. Announce our intentions to lona in front of everyone.’
Kirstin shook her head, wondering at the nastiness of it all. ‘And her reaction?’
He laughed. ‘There would have been hell to pay.’ Suddenly, his eyes flickered, as if he were in pain. ‘And, by God, there was. But not in the way I expected. No one could have predicted the hell of that day.’
He flicked the second roll-up away, watching it arc its way towards the waves. Then, head bowed, he turned his attention back to the tobacco tin, clicking and unclicking the lid. ‘Look, I know I’m being slow in coming to the point, but it’s complicated. It’s not been easy working out what to do for the best. Ally and I were to meet up at a prearranged rendez vous that Sunday. It was going to be late afternoon. Ally was in charge of the arrangements, the plan. I was just going along with it. So I was waiting at the meeting-point, opposite the hotel that’s up from Bell’s Mills. You know it?’
Kirstin nodded. ‘Yes, I know where you’re talking about.’
‘The thing is, Ally was late. When he did turn up, he seemed drunk, which I’d have expected given what sort of day it was, but he was also overexcited and agitated. I thought he might be having second thoughts about confronting lona. But no, we just kept walking up towards the Cauldron area. And then his mobile went. It was Eraser. All Ally said after that was, ‘Something’s happened. Go home. I’ll call you later.’ He was very, very firm about it. Shouted at me. I think I told him to fuck off. It was only later that night, when he called, that I found out about lona and Craig.’
She was straining to hear his low voice above the crashing of the waves. ‘But you never went to the police? They asked everyone, and they meant everyone, who had been in the vicinity that day, to come forward.’
Jules shrugged. ‘It was Ally who asked me not to. Said it would be lots of hassle, and there was nothing I could do to help. He said it might be bad for my career if I was seen to be involved in a murder investigation. So, I just left it like that. Until now.’
‘And what’s made you change your mind?’
He looked back up the hill towards the church. ‘Bonnie, mainly. And Ally, how he’s been behaving lately. You know, I didn’t see him for days after lona died. We just talked on the phone. He said he didn’t want to see anyone. I accepted that. Bereavement and shock take people in different ways. But when we did start seeing each other again, slowly he became very strange. I mean…grief you would expect, anger too. Though he became increasingly aggressive and furious. Furious with the world and, it has to be said, with himself. He would often say he was the world’s biggest fool.’
‘What did he mean by that?’
Jules shook his head hopelessly. ‘I don’t actually know. All he would say was, ‘I should have seen all this coming.’
And then, after a while, he just disappeared inside himself. I begged, pleaded with him to get help. See a therapist or something. But he refused. Eventually there was nothing left to have a relationship with. Well…nothing I wanted. He took my leaving very badly. Hounding me, hassling, ringing me at all hours.’ He turned to look at her. ‘I don’t know what happened that Sunday…and I may be wrong…but I think it’s possible that he had some part in it.’
Kirstin turned to face him full on. ‘Really? I mean, granted, what she did to him and his adolescent love was unforgivable. But it’s a long, long way to travel from that to what happened to lona. No one’s ever said Ally was violent or aggressive before the killings. In fact, I saw him break down and cry recendy. He seems to me to be a man more consumed with grief and anger at his loss than anything else. He’s obviously troubled.’
Jules drew a long, almost weary, breath. ‘Listen. I think Ally was, is, deeply conflicted. He loved his sister. He hated his sister. It was Craig’s bad luck to be caught in the middle. Be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe there was a row between Ally and lona that got out of hand. Maybe he decided to confront her about the rape story and forget about the pantomime of using me. I don’t know.’
‘But he’s been telling anyone who’ll listen that it was Morag.’ Kirstin shook her head in puzzlement. ‘I mean, he even came blundering round to hers to accuse her of killing Bonnie. If he’s pretending, it’s quite an act. In any event, he certainly seems to have it in for Morag.’
He sighed. ‘Yes, and that’s almost the worst part of it. If I’m right, he’s done a really wicked thing in bringing suspicion on her. But he always disliked Morag. It’s easy to see why.’
Kirstin couldn’t agree. ‘Really? I think she’s a bit tricky.
<
br /> A complicated person, but not disagreeable. What did Ally have against her?’
‘Going by what I’ve heard about her from Bonnie, I agree with you. She wasn’t that bad. But it’s not that straightforward. I know for a fact that Ally fancied Craig like mad before he met me. He knew he didn’t stand an earthly with the very heterosexual Craig, but he thought Morag wasn’t right for the guy. Yes, it was naughty of Ally and yes, it was none of his business. But there you go. And, remember, before I told him about lona’s rape claim, he was always on her side. Sure, when lona got her hands on Craig, he felt a bit jealous. But he also made it plain that Craig would be better off by far having a fling with lona than some dreary terminal relationship with Morag. Though what he didn’t tell Craig was that he was no big deal to lona. He’d do, for the time being. She saw other men. She always had a few on the go. As I say, it was naughty and interfering of Ally to meddle with Craig and Morag. Let’s just say…he could be like that at times. Not the greatest quality. I thought I could wean him off it.’
‘And what about spiking Morag’s drinks. Did he know or take part in it?’
Jules lifted a hand. ‘Oh, that was so out of order. Really nasty. Ally didn’t do it. lona and Craig did, but Ally found out about it eventually. lona told him to keep quiet and so, of course, he did. I noticed what was going on one night at a gallery do and challenged Ally. He was sheepish but said lona was a law unto herself. lona went down in my estimation that day. And it wasn’t long after that that she told me the rape story. And actually, thinking about it now, she knew she’d blown it with me when she told me that story. How she could ever have thought I’d find it amusing. She was way out of touch with what I’m about. Still, she did well by me and no one should have to die that way. But…she was an easy victim, although not the easiest.’
Kirstin shook her head, puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’ He nodded his head towards the churchyard. ‘Perhaps Ally’s easiest victim is lying up there.’
They stopped by the wall of the car park, and took a last look at the sea. Jules smiled at her.
‘I don’t know what I’m going to do about all this, if anything. I’ve no proof. Just feelings. Maybe I’m the one who’s losing it and I’m just being paranoid. In the meantime, though, tell your friend Morag that I’m sorry for all her trouble. I’m sure it’s been hell. And tell her to keep away from Ally. Just in case I’m right. Whatever he might, or might not, have done, I know one thing. Ally is teetering on the edge. Who knows what he’s capable of? So, tell Morag to steer clear of him.’
Kirstin smiled back at him. ‘Believe me, she’s been trying to avoid him. But…do you really think he could be a danger to her?’
‘One way or another, Ally is against her. Either he genuinely thinks she killed his sister and now Bonnie, and will do anything to have her punished for it. Or, he has carefully implicated her to hide his own guilt. Either way isn’t pretty. I feel sorry for her.’ He opened the driver’s door for Kirstin. ‘Thanks for the talk. You’re a good listener.’ She slid past him, settling herself before starting the engine. He was about to close the door on her when something on the back seat caught his eye.
‘Who’s that?’ He had his head cocked and was squinting over her shoulder.
Kirstin cut the engine and turned to see what he was looking at. ‘What’s what? Oh, those are photos of Jamie. Why?’
He raised one eyebrow. ‘Right. It’s just that I saw him that day. After I left Ally. I was cutting up one of the side paths and I saw him rush by on the main one, completely oblivious to my presence.’
‘mat?’
‘Yeah, he was running past me. In a hurry. He must have been off to get help.’
Sunday, 13 August 2006
Jamie lowered his binoculars. It was hopeless now. His hands were shaking too much to hold any image in focus. The female screams were echoing across the Cauldron, male shouts and curses intermingling with the women’s hysteria.
He had to leave here. Immediately. He picked his way across the splash of vomit now almost washed away by the river’s flow. He’d been unable to stop his stomach turning. But, forget that, he had to get to the path quickly.
On arrival he’d been cock-a-hoop. He could never have wished for a better vantage point. Over by the old sluice gate on the far side of the weir. But he hadn’t banked on the pain in his hip coming back. He winced. The anaesthetic effects of the pills were wearing off. Could he last out until he got back to the car? He was perfectly mobile when the pain was dulled, but now was another matter.
Please, please, please, let me get away from this, from them.
Blocking the sounds that pursued him down the path, he secured the backpack on his shoulders and began to gain pace, thrusting his hiking stick into the ground with heavy stabs. The car was near the hotel. The crossing to the other side wasn’t far. He hobbled on, thankful that the light was fading. There wasn’t a soul about. Suddenly, he pulled up. He felt the acid tug of nausea again and niched over the wall, down to where the current was running fast. He touched a shaking hand to his mouth, looking round and back again. Still no one.
The final push to the car just about killed him. The keys fell to the ground twice. And then he was in. With trembling fingers, he unscrewed the flask top, hurling it to the car floor and draining the whisky-infused tea in one welcome gulp. He half thought his stomach would reject it, sending the liquid straight back up again. But, instead, it burnt down his throat and chest, leaving a comforting warmth in his empty belly.
He fumbled with the ignition key, revved the engine three times, and then switched it off again. Tentatively, he reached for the backpack on the passenger seat, slowly unzipping the main pocket. The camera felt cold to the touch. He pushed the ‘on’ button. And then pushed it off again. Not here. He had to get away. Drive normally. Even too slowly. You’re an old codger. People will expect it.
As he swung round into his drive, he knew he’d been lucky. No police car had flagged him down. The only other worry was if he’d been caught by a speed camera. Unlikely. He’d come by the back roads. Christ, let me get inside. I need a drink, need something.
‘Damn!’
He stabbed the key into the front-door lock. Once. Twice. Got it! He was in and heading straight for the kitchen, tearing off his uniform jacket and cap, suddenly feeling overheated. The whisky, the whisky! Where had he put it after filling the flask? Over there! He dragged the bottle noisily across the worktop, sloshing the first nip into the tumbler. Then another. He found the nearest chair and slumped down, lowering his head into his hands. He needed his heart to slow down, his breathing to ease. He’d forgotten the pain in his hip. In fact, it seemed to have disappeared. Or was it the explosive effect of the drink as it hit his brain, eclipsing what should now have been agony? He welcomed the fuzzy sensation in his head, the burning heat coursing through his innards.
He snapped his head up. What was that? Something at the window? He peeredintently. But only his reflection gazed back. It was dark now. He must have been sitting here, trance-like, for ages. Easing himself to his feet, he wandered over to the back door and stared out through the glass towards the river, now in darkness. He turned his head to the left, imagining he had the long-range, X-ray vision of a superman. All hell would have broken loose a mile downstream an hour or two ago. He could imagine what the scene had looked like.
The emergency services converging on that most inaccessible of areas. The shattered group of friends huddled nearby, the men with their arms round the women. The bloodied mass at their feet…no more! He closed his eyes, hoping against hope to regain composure.
He’d be fine here now. Where he’d been all evening. In his own home. Minding his own business. With his sore hip. Indisposed. No patrols.
Verdicts
Thirty-Four
Sitting at Jamie’s desk, Kirstin rested her head in her hands, the possibilities swimming around her mind from the morning’s encounter with Jules. He’d had no idea of the bombshell he�
��d dropped about Jamie, let alone his suspicions about Ally. Jules had seemed to think an old man rushing by after a brutal murder had every right to be there, particularly if he worked on the river. He’d not thought to mention it to Ally at the time, or to anyone else. Jules had been adamant; he just wanted to forget about the whole wretched day. Somehow, Kirstin had succeeded in hiding her shock and surprise from Jules at his news, but it was devastating. The simple fact was that Jamie had denied being anywhere near the river on the Sunday. Yes, Glen had shown her evidence from Jamie’s notebook that he had planned to go there that day. But his transcripts confirmed that he didn’t make it. She had been relieved to read that. No patrols. But Jules’s story told another tale. Jamie had lied. Why? What did it mean? Should she tell Ross? Speak to Glen? Donald? So much was conflicting now. Ross and his friend Harry had Morag as the guilty party. Jules had Ally—not very convincingly in her view—filling that role, though she gave his theory considerably more credence than Ross and Harry’s. And what of Jamie? Playing devil’s advocate, if Jules was right, and it was a big ‘if, then could Jamie have seen Ally? Over there, in the wooded area? But he would have told the police. Or did he see something, but didn’t know what he was seeing…until later, much later perhaps? Was that why he was so convinced of Morag’s innocence? Because he saw who was there? But still, he’d have gone to the police. And what if someone else knew Jamie was there? Knew what he saw…and six months later, he was gone. Jamie, Jamie. Whatwere you doing there? What did you see? Why did you die?
The light had long gone and it was only now that she was aware of the silence. Even through the open window, she could pick up only the faintest of murmurs from the river. She’d shut herself off in this room, ignoring messages from Ross, Glen and Morag, who’d left the inpatient unit and was now resting at home. The past few hours had been strangely therapeutic for Kirstin as she skim-read and sifted through ream after ream of river-related material: internet printouts, flyers, ideas for new walks, proposals for the volunteer programme. The clear-out was almost complete, but had left her pitifully short of answers.
2007 - The Dead Pool Page 19
