by Susan Lewis
‘What! Oh my God, what the hell’s she been telling them?’
‘I can’t answer that, but what I can tell you is that they found the formula for mixing the dry-ice in Kirsten’s house. And they’ve got a witness here who says he saw Kirsten tampering with the canisters on both occasions.’
‘He?’ Laurence repeated. ‘Who is it?’
‘I don’t know his name. I haven’t seen him either. Hang on, just a second.’
Laurence could hear Hellerman’s muted voice at the other end as he spoke to someone, then he came back on the line. ‘I’m sorry, Laurence,’ he said. ‘They’ve just charged her. First degree murder on both counts.’
It was just after seven o’clock when Hellerman called again to say that Kirsten was to appear in front of the magistrate at ten-thirty the next morning. ‘We’ll apply for bail,’ he said. ‘I don’t know if we’ll get it, but I should warn you, the seriousness of the charges make it doubtful.’
‘They’ve got the wrong person,’ Laurence said, his voice strangled with emotion. ‘I’m telling you, it was Ruby.’
‘Can you prove it?’
‘No.’
Hellerman sighed. ‘You do realize that even if you’re right, Laurence, it won’t change the situation as far as Tom’s concerned? Even if we could get the charges dropped against Kirsten we wouldn’t be able to do it in time for the hearing now.’
‘I know,’ Laurence said, unable to keep the defeat from his voice. ‘How’s she bearing up?’ he asked.
‘Quite well,’ Hellerman answered, knowing that it would serve no purpose to tell Laurence the truth. Kirsten was sick, even the police were agreed on that which was why a doctor had been called in just after the charges had been read out.
‘If you get the chance, James, tell her I love her.’
‘Of course,’ Hellerman answered.
When Laurence rang off he took himself upstairs and lay down on the bed with Tom. His feelings were so near the surface that only with superhuman effort did he manage to stop himself crushing Tom in his arms, as if by doing so he could join their two bodies in such a way that no one could ever tear them apart. Instead, he simply lay there beside him, gazing at his heartrendingly handsome little face and wondering how in the hell he was going to cope with losing him.
After a while Thea came into the darkened room and sat with them. ‘We’ve given Jane the night off,’ she said softly. ‘Apparently her father called her today and wanted to know what was going on. I thought it was best she go see them so Dad’s just driven her home.’
‘Thanks,’ Laurence whispered. ‘I should have done it myself.’
‘Are you going to speak to Ruby?’ Thea asked after a while.
‘Yeah. I’ll go see her in the morning before I see Pippa.’
‘Pippa’s here, darling. She arrived about ten minutes ago.’
It was only then, when Laurence turned to look at her, that Thea saw the tears on his cheeks and reached out for his hand.
‘I’m going to tell her to take him,’ Laurence said, his voice catching in his throat as he turned back to Tom.
‘Yes, I guessed as much,’ Thea said.
‘I can’t put him through it when I know already that I’m going to lose. You understand that, don’t you?’
‘Yes, darling, I understand. So does your father.’
‘The question is though, will Tom?’ Laurence said, closing his eyes at the desperate sense of loss that swept through him.
35
She sat alone at an upstairs window staring out into the dawn. Her face was ashen. Her heart was lead. Beside her the baby lay silently in its cradle. It didn’t cry anymore. It hadn’t cried for some time. Its skin, once so warm and soft, was now cold and cracked. The downy lashes were brittle and matted.
She had no idea what she was going to do now. She couldn’t think, her mind was as motionless as the photographs she held in her lap. She didn’t look at them. Her neck was rigid, her head wouldn’t move.
Somewhere, not too far from here, fates were being sealed and hearts were breaking. A chasm of devastation cleaved open inside her. It was as though it was squeezing away her soul, emptying her body and making her a void. Soon she wouldn’t exist any more. Even the shell of her skin would disappear.
Her head fell forward as burning sobs tore at her throat. The calmness in her mind was so brutal, more brutal even than the torment. It forced her to see the eroded edges of her sanity, the danger of her desperation.
She lifted a hand to the window, as though to reach out to the rising sun. Her fingers stabbed against the transparent wall between her and life. Her wide eyes stared out at the distant trees. The bare branches stood like arteries against the bloody sky. They were like the veins of her mind, brittle and jagged, forlorn and devoid of everything beautiful. She felt their urgency for nature’s loving hand – for them it would come, but for her there was nothing now, nothing at all . . .
The next morning, just after nine thirty, Kirsten was ushered out of a back door of Scotland Yard, bundled into a waiting car and driven to the magistrates court. James Hellerman and Ernie Shore, the criminal barrister, were waiting for her. An hour later, after bail had been set for a less staggering sum than expected, Hellerman drove her home.
When they arrived he went in with her. She looked pale and tired almost to the point of exhaustion, but on the whole she seemed better than she had the night before. It was the surprising turn in events that had come just after nine o’clock that morning that had given her this temporary revival in spirits and an unthought for freedom. The voice on the tape had been identified – it belonged to the very man who was giving evidence against her. In light of that it had taken Ernie Shore very little time to convince the magistrate that Kirsten could be precisely what she was claiming to be – the victim of an unscrupulous conspiracy. In fact, as they’d left the court, Shore had been laughing, so confident was he that they would soon get all charges against Kirsten dismissed.
How much Kirsten had taken in of what was being said was hard to tell, but a little colour had returned to her cheeks and unless Hellerman was greatly mistaken there was the tiniest flicker of hope in her eyes. As yet, none of them knew who the man giving evidence was, but Kowski himself had gone along with the other officers to escort him back to Scotland Yard immediately the results of the voice test were known.
Now, as Kirsten went through the mechanical process of lighting a fire, Hellerman offered to fix her something to eat. She smiled, told him she wasn’t hungry and continued with the fire until the flames were roaring spiritedly up the chimney.
At last she sat down. Hellerman waited for her to speak, but when it was apparent she wasn’t going to, he said, ‘I think we can safely assume that whoever the man is he’s the one who’s been giving Dyllis Fisher her information. Whether or not he committed the murders though is another matter. We’ll probably know more later today. But to have bungled over something like that tape suggests an ineptitude that is not in keeping with the brilliant execution of the killings. Nevertheless, it is a carelessness for which he is going to pay dearly.’
‘Do you think,’ Kirsten said hoarsely, ‘is there any chance that I might be cleared before the custody hearing tomorrow?’
Hellerman’s sun-weathered face showed the compassion and admiration he felt for this woman whose prime concern, despite all she was facing herself, was for the man she loved. ‘It’s doubtful,’ he said. ‘But even if by some miracle you were, there’s an added complication I’m afraid.’
Kirsten turned to look at him.
‘Laurence thinks, is convinced, that Ruby is in some way involved in what’s been going on. He hasn’t spoken to the police yet, but as soon as he does she will be questioned and as Laurence’s mother . . . Well, I’m sure you don’t need me to spell it out . . .
As he was speaking he was watching what little colour there was in Kirsten’s face drain away. Suddenly her hand went to her mouth and excusing herself she ran to the
bathroom.
She was gone for some time during which Hellerman wondered if he should go to check on her. But as a father he knew there was really nothing anyone could do for a woman in the early stages of pregnancy. His heart went out to her, having to cope with all that was going on while her body was responding so treacherously to its hormonal change, it was no wonder she had virtually passed out when the police had charged her. He couldn’t even begin to imagine the fear she must have felt for herself and her child at that moment. Hellerman was convinced that Laurence didn’t know about the pregnancy, if he did he would have certainly mentioned it by now. Hellerman himself wouldn’t have known unless the police had told him after the doctor had examined her. For now he would keep the knowledge to himself, it wasn’t his place to interfere in matters of that nature.
When finally Kirsten came back looking haggard and drawn and smelling of toothpaste Hellerman smiled at her kindly.
‘How’s Laurence?’ she asked.
‘I haven’t spoken to him yet today,’ Hellerman answered, ‘but he was pretty shaken up last night. He’s worried about the custody hearing tomorrow, naturally, though his main concern right now is that you’re all right.’
‘Tell him I am, won’t you? Tell him not to worry about me at all. I’ll be fine.’
Not long after that Hellerman left and Kirsten huddled into a blanket trying to stop herself shivering. If only she could speak to Laurence, just to hear his voice might calm her a little, but the lawyer had told her she shouldn’t. It helped to know that the police were now starting to believe that she had had nothing to do with the murders, that they were, perhaps, getting close now to who had actually done it. She wondered if Laurence was right about Ruby, but her mind shied away from what it would mean if he was . . . So much had happened within the past twenty-four hours that emotionally it was hard to feel anything now. But what a relief it had been to receive Laurence’s message last night, when he’d asked Hellerman to tell her he loved her. She had been terrified that he was blaming her for what this would do to his custody case for Tom.
But she had to face the fact, just as Laurence would have to, that Pippa was going to take Tom away. Were Tom her own child Kirsten couldn’t have loved him more and the thought of losing him was tearing her apart. But God only knew what it was doing to Laurence. Nothing could ever make up for the gap he would leave in Laurence’s life, not even the baby she was carrying.
As Laurence drove through the streets of South London his mind was concentrated rigidly on the task ahead. He wouldn’t allow himself to think about the meeting with Pippa last night, that was something he’d have to deal with later. For now he had to sort out in his mind exactly what he was going to say to Ruby and how, if he was right about her, he was going to hold himself back from smashing her whole goddamned life to pieces the way she was doing with his.
The car phone rang. It was Hellerman telling him that Kirsten was home. Straight away Laurence dialled Kirsten’s number. ‘I was just starting to panic,’ he said when her voice finally came on the line.
‘I was in the shower,’ she said. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m doing just fine. How about you?’
‘Better now. How’s Tom?’
As a lump rose in Laurence’s throat he found himself unable to answer.
‘Laurence? Are you still there?’
‘Sure. Tom’s OK.’
‘Where are you now?’
‘On my way to Ruby’s.
‘Hellerman told me what you told him. Laurence, are you sure about this? I mean . . .’
‘No, I’m not sure,’ he interrupted. ‘That’s why I want to speak to her before I speak to the cops. Did they tell you exactly how it was done?’
‘Not really. I imagine you already know that it was to do with the dry-ice, but as Kowski put it, “what we have here is tantamount to the perfect murder”, so I don’t expect they’ll ever tell us exactly how it was done. What they did tell me though was what it does to you.’
‘Which is?’
‘Apparently, when you inhale it it hits the muscle that controls the larynx first, so you can’t shout. It happens in seconds. The next muscles to go are the leg muscles so you can’t move, and within less than a minute you’re dead. It can only happen in a confined space and as soon as you let more oxygen into the room it ceases to be lethal. Kowski says it would take a physicist to work out something like that.’
‘Or an effects guy, a props guy, a scene hand, anyone who works with the stuff. Or a writer who makes it her business to research what she does to the point of actually carrying it out. Anyway, I guess we’re going to find out soon enough and all that matters to me is that you’re where you are. You sure you’re OK?’
‘Sure. Still a bit numb, I suppose, but better now I’ve spoken to you.’
‘Go see if you can get some sleep,’ he said, wondering if he should tell her what was in his mind. In the end he decided he had to. ‘Sweetheart, I want you to lock all the doors. I don’t want to scare you and I’m pretty sure there’s nothing to be scared of, but don’t let’s take any chances.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean that I think Jake’s death was an accident. That there was every chance that particular canister of dry-ice had been made up for someone else . . .’
‘Laurence, you’re frightening me. Are you saying that someone might come here to try to . . .? Maybe I shouldn’t be here. Maybe I should go out.’
‘Yeah, maybe you should. Go over to my parents. Call yourself a cab right now and get yourself over there. My father’s right here with me, but Thea’s there with Tom.’
‘But . . .’
‘Please, Kirstie, do as I say. We’re almost at Ruby’s now so I’m going to ring off. I’ll call you again later.’
‘OK. I miss you.’
‘I miss you, too.’
As Laurence pulled the car to a halt outside the mansion block he gazed up at the dirty windows of Ruby’s apartment. His father was silent beside him, neither one of them was relishing what they had to do. If they were wrong there was no calculating the hurt they were going to cause her, but if they were right . . .
‘I guess we should start by finding out if she’s still at home,’ Don said.
Laurence turned to look at him.
‘It’s been over half an hour since you called to tell her you were coming,’ Don explained. ‘Kirsten’s release has been on the news since then.’
Helena was at the wheel of her rusty 2CV. Her progress through the dense traffic of central London was slow, but her mood was cheerful. In fact she was humming along to the radio. Since Dermott had gone off to Scotland Yard for further questioning and Dyllis, according to the news, had been pulled in again too, Helena had checked out of the Bloomsbury Hotel where she and Campbell had been staying and returned to her apartment. It was just as she was pouring herself a coffee that the news had come on announcing that Kirsten had been granted bail. Immediately Helena had gathered up a few things, taken them down to the car and headed off towards Kirsten’s.
So, Kirsten was free, she was thinking to herself, and she, Helena, was off the hook. At least she assumed she was, if she wasn’t then surely the police would have called her in again too.
She checked her mirror, half expecting to see a cop car behind. Maybe there was, but who could tell in this kind of traffic? In fact, now she came to think about it this snarl-up was beginning to get on her nerves. She could always come out of it by heading down to the Embankment, not that the traffic would be any lighter there, she guessed, but by then she might have a better idea as to whether or not she was being followed and then she could come to a decision as to whether or not she should continue on to Kirsten’s or take a circuitous route back home. She imagined going home might be the best idea because it wasn’t very likely Kirsten was going to let her in, but still she’d see . . . Maybe she would give it a shot – after all, with the way things stood right now, what did she have to lose?
Laurence glanced at his father. Don was staring at the woman to whom he had been so briefly married, who had borne him a son whom he loved and who had, over the years, changed beyond recognition so that for the moment it was as though he had forgotten the purpose of their visit as he gazed in sadness at this stranger. How beautiful she had once been, how proud and defiant – and how she had broken his heart when she had chosen her career over him and Laurence. There was barely a vestige of her beauty now and there was no pride in the crumpled, stained silk suit she wore, nor in the faded furnishings that seemed to reflect the dearth of love in her life. There was however a hint of defiance in the way she tilted her glass of gin and emptied it between her painted lips. It almost made him smile.
‘Laurence, my son,’ she sighed, ‘if you’d come here before, if you’d spoken to me when I called I could have told you who was doing this to you. But no one wants to listen to me, I am as ignored as the child within you.’
‘Ruby,’ Laurence said tightly. ‘Let’s just quit talking in riddles, shall we? If you know who killed Anna and Jake then for God’s sake tell us.’
‘I’m telling you,’ she said. ‘It’s just like the coconut kid said, it’s the child within us all. The one who goes unnoticed, the one we all take for granted, the one you have allowed to mother and smother your son . . .’
Laurence’s face was starting to freeze. His father started to speak, but Laurence put out a hand to stop him. What Ruby was saying was insane, crazy, it was so goddamned ludicrous . . . but shock and disbelief gave way to fear as he remembered a telephone call he had taken just the day before when he’d returned from Scotland Yard. ‘Jesus Christ Almighty!’ he murmured, then pushing his way past Ruby he snatched up the phone and started to dial.
