Too Close

by Hilary Norman

  ‘I won’t change my mind,’ Nina said.

  Holly looked up at her. ‘You know, you’re braver than I thought you would be. I mean, I thought that given your history, your alcoholism, you might be a weak sort of a woman. Most drunks are weak, aren’t they? But you seem quite strong.’

  ‘I have my moments,’ Nina said.

  Holly rocked a little, back and forth. The chair made a soft, creaking sound.

  ‘For instance’ – she returned to the subject of her plans for defending Nick – ‘I haven’t quite decided yet if the killing of Miss Vasquez is going to be enough’ – she paused – ‘or if perhaps it might be better for Nick in the long run if you die, too.’

  Nina blinked.

  ‘Just how would that be better for Nick?’ she asked.

  ‘Because if he had killed you as well as the nanny, I, as his lawyer, would have a far better chance of winning an insanity plea.’

  ‘I see,’ Nina said, numbly.

  She wondered if Nick had called home yet, if he’d heard her message, if he was on the way back, how far away he still was.

  Too far.

  Or not far enough.

  Depending on the extent of Holly’s madness.

  She was having difficulty judging just how insane Holly Bourne was. Some of the time, there was no doubt whatsoever that the other woman was dwelling in a separate, fantasy world of her own making, and she was certainly quite mad enough to have manufactured that world regardless of the cost to anyone else. Poor Teresa, for one. And Phoebe, whose ‘accident’ had, of course, been intended for herself – and surely that had been evil, not just madness? Yet it was also apparent to Nina that some areas of Holly’s brain were functioning with more than a degree of precision. She was intending to try to use the law to extract Nick from his world and to place him inside her own, at her mercy – and that, of course, was an insane aim in itself, except that Nina was aware that this woman was well-versed in jurisprudence.

  Which meant that she had to be fought with the greatest caution and as much respect as Nina could muster.

  ‘Nina, I asked you to sit down,’ she heard Holly say.

  ‘I’m fine where I am, thank you.’

  ‘Near the door,’ Holly said.

  Nina said nothing. Her eyes flicked back and forth from Holly’s face to Zoë’s peaceful, sleeping form in the crib.

  ‘You know, you really don’t have to worry about Nick at all,’ Holly told her. ‘I’ll always be there for him. Whatever happens – whichever way the case goes – I’ll visit him every day. I’ll go on doing my best for him.’

  Best. Nina suppressed the urge to snap back ironically. She had to try to get the crazy lady on side. She and Zoë were hostages now. That was the game hostages had to play, wasn’t it?

  ‘Nick knows that.’ She knew she was floundering, knew that Holly would see through any limp attempts at siege-mentality psychology. ‘He knows that that’s all you’ve wanted – to go on being his friend.’

  ‘Bullcrap,’ Holly said, and stroked the knife in her lap.

  Nina thought about sitting down after all, but that would mean going further into the room, away from the door, so she remained where she was.

  Try another tack.

  ‘He’s hurt you badly, hasn’t he?’ she said, softly.

  Holly smiled. ‘Oh, yes.’

  ‘I can see that,’ Nina said. ‘He’s hurt me, too.’

  ‘More bullcrap,’ Holly said.

  ‘No, it isn’t. He’s hurt me because he’s never been able to forget you.’ Nina waited a beat. ‘He hurt me so badly I even started drinking again.’

  Holly nodded slowly, and the small motion started the rocker creaking again. ‘Was that when he left you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Nina said. ‘Nick’s a selfish man. Most men are, don’t you think?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ Holly replied. ‘I’ve only ever cared about one.’

  ‘Nick,’ Nina said.

  ‘Nick,’ Holly confirmed.

  In the crib, Zoë made a small snuffling sound, but went on sleeping.

  ‘He always let you down, didn’t he?’ Nina said. ‘Even years ago.’

  ‘Yes, he did.’

  ‘And yet you were still there for him.’

  ‘Always.’

  Not good enough, Nina. Not nearly good enough to get you and Zoë out of here.

  ‘It’s not working, is it?’ Holly said, reading her mind.

  ‘What isn’t?’ Nina’s heart gave another thump.

  ‘This Stockholm syndrome shit.’ Holly smiled again. ‘You’re a lousy actress, Nina. Your hate is much too visible. It shines out of you.’

  ‘I don’t hate you, Holly.’

  ‘Of course you do.’ Holly nodded towards the crib. ‘You want to be her mother.’

  ‘I am her mother,’ Nina said, as gently as possible.

  ‘I can understand your concerns,’ Holly said. ‘But this little girl can only have one mother.’

  ‘I am her mother,’ Nina said again, less gently.

  Oh, God, Nick, where are you?

  ‘Not any more,’ Holly said.

  Nina’s legs were giving way again, the way they had when Holly had shown her the body in the freezer. She longed to sit down, but she knew she couldn’t do that, knew she had to stay on her feet.

  Try again.

  ‘You know you could still visit Zoë, don’t you?’ she said. ‘You’re her father’s oldest friend, Holly – you could be Zoë’s friend, too.’

  ‘I won’t be visiting,’ Holly said, peaceably. ‘I won’t need to visit my own child. The only visiting I’m likely to be doing will be after I get Nick into a secure unit, some place he’ll be well cared for. And by that time, of course, no one else will want to know him any more.’

  ‘No one except you,’ Nina said, and the sickness was back.

  ‘Exactly.’ A small smile crossed Holly’s face. ‘I told you before. I’ll always stand by Nick.’

  She picked up the knife and stood up. Freed from her weight, the chair rocked back and forth.

  In the crib, Zoë stirred.

  Don’t wake, my love. Not now.

  The rocking ceased.

  Holly looked down at the sleeping baby.

  ‘I’ll look after our daughter, too,’ she said, softly. ‘Until he gets out. If he gets out.’

  Nina felt a sudden great heat, and recognized it as her rage starting to spiral up and out of control. The nursery was cool enough, but this heat was something strange and different, radiating in waves from somewhere deep inside her.

  Holly was bending over the crib now. Leaning over Zoë with the bloody knife in her right hand.

  ‘Hello, my darling,’ she was saying.

  The heat inside Nina swelled like a living thing, filling up all her internal cavities, a giant puffball ready to explode.

  ‘Get away from her.’ She hadn’t meant to say that, it had just leapt from her mouth like saved up spit.

  Nick, where are you? She wants our baby!

  Holly was holding the knife in her right hand, and now she was stroking Zoë’s red-gold hair with her left.

  ‘Leave her alone,’ Nina said, hoarsely, and took a step forward. ‘Can’t you see she’s sleeping?’

  ‘Oh, she’s slept enough,’ Holly said, still stroking the baby’s hair, then tickling her left cheek with her index finger. ‘I think I should know when it’s time for my baby to wake up, don’t you?’

  Nina’s need, her urge to get to Zoë, to shove Holly away, was almost overpowering, but awareness of the knife kept her still.

  Get her away from the crib, Nina. Nothing else matters.

  ‘Zoë isn’t your baby, Holly,’ she said, suddenly, harshly.

  ‘Oh, yes, she is.’ Holly, unperturbed, went on tickling.

  Zoë stirred again. Her tiny fists clenched and released.

  Zoë’s my baby, Holly.’ Nina made her voice louder. ‘My baby.’

  Holly looked up, away from the crib.


  Yes, that’s good. Go on.

  ‘You don’t have a baby, Holly.’

  Holly straightened up. Her eyes were no longer calm.

  That’s right, Nina, get her angry. Away from Zoë.

  ‘Zoë’s our baby. Mine and Nick’s.’

  ‘Shut up,’ Holly said, and took a step towards Nina.

  Nina took two steps back, closer to the door, and Holly followed her. That’s right – get her as far from the crib as you can.

  ‘I gave birth to her, Holly. Nick made love to me, and I conceived. Zoë came out of my womb, not yours.’

  ‘I told you to shut up,’ Holly said.

  She raised the knife in her hand.

  Nina steeled herself to dodge left or right.

  And saw Holly turn back to the crib.

  And raise the knife over the baby.

  ‘No!’ Nina screamed, and flung herself at Holly.

  ‘My baby,’ Holly said, very clearly, just as the weight of Nina’s body hit her, triggering the pain in her breast. ‘From my womb.’

  And she swung the hand that held the knife.

  Straight into Nina’s abdomen.

  Chapter Ninety-nine

  Antonia Street looked normal. Much as it always looked at around eleven-thirty on a Saturday morning.

  No patrol cars. No obvious sign of the cops.

  Nick took a long look around.

  A couple unloading their weekend grocery provisions from the trunk of their Volvo. Nick didn’t know them, but they looked familiar enough for him to be pretty confident they were just civilians. Wait a minute. There was another guy, middle-aged, wearing a dark tracksuit, walking his schnauzer, and Nick knew for sure he’d never seen him before, except that he and the dog were heading towards Lafayette Park, so surely he couldn’t be a cop either?

  Nick checked the dashboard clock. He’d made it from the Golden Gate in less than fifteen minutes, and there was surely no way that Norman Capelli could have mounted a major police operation in that kind of time. Which was good, because it meant no one was going to stop him going in to help Nina and Zoë. And even if he was scared – way beyond scared – of doing the wrong thing, all he knew for sure was that he couldn’t – he could not – leave Nina to face Holly on her own for a second longer than he had to.

  He took a slow drive past 1317 and their own house.

  They, too, both looked normal. Edwardian serenity on a San Francisco hill. Nina’s Lexus parked outside their locked garage. The exterior wood on their house, painted pale primrose and white, and in much better shape than its neighbour’s. Holly’s house. He’d hardly ever bothered looking at it properly since they’d bought 1315. It had looked back then, he could remember Nina saying, as if it needed work, but it hadn’t been a falling-down dump, it wasn’t going to be a threat to their own place or the value of the street.

  Holly’s house.

  He continued up the hill, parking the Cruiser far enough away to be sure he was out of the eyeline of any of the windows in either house. Glancing in his side mirror, he saw a woman, pushing a stroller, coming his way. He waited until she was right beside the Toyota, then got out, pulled up the collar of his jacket, ducked his chin and walked – close enough for it to seem from a distance as if he was with them – back down towards 1315. Not too fast, not too slow, just a guy out with his wife and kid.

  Until he got to his house, where he ducked around the side. And entered through the back door.

  He raced through quickly and silently, knowing no one was there, but needing to confirm that the situation was as Nina had indicated on the answering machine.

  Nothing. No one.

  Everything looked as it had when he’d left early that morning, except for a mess of broken china and what looked like flour on the kitchen floor. Nick stared at it for a moment, wondering if there’d been a struggle in here, but everything else was in place; and it looked as if Nina had maybe been baking, and Nick knew that was what she did sometimes when she was on edge and needed to calm down, or wanted a drink badly and was trying to take her mind off it.

  The phone rang.

  Nick ran to the living room as the machine picked up.

  ‘Mr Miller, this is Inspector Joseph Naguchi of the San Francisco Police Department. If you’re there, please pick up the phone.’

  Nick stood very still.

  ‘Mr Miller, it’s urgent that I speak with you now. Please pick up the phone.’

  Nick made a move towards the phone, then froze again.

  If you talk to them, they’ll find a way to stop you going in.

  ‘Okay, Mr Miller’ – Naguchi’s voice was steady – ‘if you’re there, or if you pick up this message, Inspector Capelli wants you to know that we’ve listened to the tape, and we’re dealing with the situation. I repeat, we are dealing with this situation.’

  Nick was staying absolutely still, his eyes trained on the machine, as if Naguchi might see or hear him if he moved a muscle.

  ‘Mr Miller, you must not – I repeat – you must not – take any action by yourself.’ The inspector paused. ‘Mr Miller, if you are there, please pick up the phone and talk to me. It’s in the best interests of your wife and daughter, believe me.’

  Another longer pause.

  ‘Okay, Mr Miller, then I’m going to assume you’re listening to me. Sir, you have to leave this to us. We know exactly what we’re doing – we have experts assessing the situation as we speak—’

  Assessing.

  Nick stopped listening, started moving, got out of the living room and went back upstairs. In their bedroom (while Naguchi’s voice continued its admonitions downstairs via the machine) he moved cautiously to the side window that overlooked Holly’s house. There was nothing to see from that angle; the facing windows on all floors were obscured by drapes. He forced himself to stand there for another moment, checking over the general shape of the house, running a mental comparison with 1315. It seemed largely of the same construction. Which meant that the entrances were likely to be in all the same places. Front and back door and garage.

  In his and Nina’s house, the garage, accessed from the street by a downward-sloping driveway, had another entrance at the side of the building and a third door leading by steps up to the utility room next to the kitchen. If 1317 was built the same way, and if he could get around to the side of that house without being seen, he could maybe break into the garage and make his way up into the house without alerting Holly.

  Darkness might have helped, but there were far too many hours of light left to this stinking day. He was fully cognizant that he was probably half out of his mind not waiting for the cops, but Christ only knew what Naguchi’s phrase about ‘assessing the situation’ meant – and Christ also only knew what was happening – what might already have happened – to Nina and Zoë, and maybe Teresa, too, if they were inside 1317 with Holly.

  What if you’re wrong?

  Phoebe and William sprang into his mind, but he pushed them out.

  No time for that.

  He could not waste one more minute.

  It was down to him.

  All down to him.

  He was going in now.

  No need to change clothes; he was already wearing jeans, grey sweatshirt and sneakers. Perfect daylight burglarizing outfit courtesy of Levi Strauss, Calvin Klein and Nike. All he needed now was a crowbar from his own garage and the ancient baseball bat that lived in the hall closet.

  And the first pure good fortune he’d had in a long while.

  Chapter One Hundred

  The side door to Holly’s garage was where he had expected it to be, on the far side of her house. The passageway between 1317 and Holly’s other next-door-neighbour was very narrow, no more than two feet wide, and having gotten into position by the door, Nick figured he had a fair chance of not being noticed by anyone who wasn’t actually looking for him.

  He put the bat down on the stone path and set to work with the crowbar, praying that his first ever attempt
at breaking and entering would be quiet enough to at least get him past first base, and praying too that neither Holly nor the previous occupants of the house had installed an alarm system.

  Apart from cutting the palm of his left hand while levering the door off its hinges, getting in was surprisingly easy. No bells rang, and though the sound of splintering and cracking wood seemed deafening to his own ears and jangling nerves, no one came running.

  Nor did anyone see him picking up his baseball bat and slipping through the open doorway.

  Into Holly’s garage.

  Lit dimly by daylight sliding in through a small rectangular window above the up-and-over door, it all looked perfectly ordinary. A workbench and a few tools. A bag of something that might have been cement. Not like his and Nina’s garage, which had steadily become jammed (too jammed now for the Lexus) with stuff left over from picture framing and DIY and summer barbecuing.

  Nick’s hand was bleeding quite fast, but he hardly noticed.

  The first and only thing he really did notice as he climbed slowly and tentatively up the steps towards what he guessed was Holly’s utility room, was that up there in the main part of the house, Frank Sinatra was singing ‘All the Way’.

  Holly’s old obsessional favourite.

  Nick had learned to hate that song over the years, but this time, in spite of the fresh warning prickles it was sending up and down his spine, he was grateful for it too. Because, as he neared the top of the steps, he realized that Holly had turned the volume of her hi-fi system (wherever in the house it was) up high – crazily high – and so maybe she wouldn’t hear him coming. Though on the other hand, Nick had a feeling that she was probably just biding her time.

  The acid queen, waiting for him to come.

  The door at the top of the steps was unlocked. Take it slow. His heart pumping, he opened it with great care, ready to strike out with the bat if he had to.

  No one. Just some cupboards, a walk-in larder and a bunch of things you’d expect to find in a utility room. A washing machine and a drier and a big chest freezer and an upright vacuum cleaner and a few cardboard boxes from local shops. Just a regular utility room.

  Until he passed the open freezer.