by Cathy Ace
Nathaniel sighed. Christine noticed the deep, dark hollows beneath his eyes, the sagging skin and dry lips. The sleek, well-paid and respected artist she’d seen on TV had shrunk and aged to this thing in front of her. The shock of ginger hair was now a fuzz of graying stubble, Nathaniel’s trademark vivid, patterned clothing replaced by the shapeless garb the prison service saw as appropriate for a man who was going nowhere any time soon.
‘How can I help you?’ The man’s voice rasped helplessly. ‘I thought you were here to help me. That’s what Mam said – she’d found someone who was coming here to help me. Now you want me to help you? How can I do that?’
Christine replied calmly, ‘You and I both know how the jury viewed the evidence and the testimony against you. At your trial you said you couldn’t imagine why the witness to your actions the morning your sister disappeared was lying. Your barrister told me that didn’t endear you to the people in the court. Now you’ve had time to think, and assuming the woman didn’t lie, can you come up with any ideas as to why she said what she did? Why did Mrs Wynne Thomas say she’d seen you loading something that looked like a body into your hatchback? Any ideas at all?’
‘No. It wasn’t me. It couldn’t have been me. I really was asleep until I woke up.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘You know what I mean.’
Christine dug deep. ‘So you maintain you were not the red-headed man she saw stuff something into your car, and drive off with it?’
‘Correct.’
‘If, as you claim, your sister just walked out of your cottage of her own volition, where did she go? Why hasn’t she come forward to say she’s just grand after all, knowing you’ve been convicted of her killing? And where on earth did all that blood come from?’ Christine tried to keep her voice as calm as possible, but she knew her frustration was showing itself in the bits of Irish peeping through.
‘I don’t know, I don’t know and I don’t know,’ squealed Nathaniel, dropping his head into his hands.
Looking at the man’s juddering back, Christine could quite understand how Nathaniel had managed to come across as such an unlikeable character in court. She felt sympathy for him, but no warmth. His manner was just a bit … off. It was like interacting with a boy who’d never grown out of the truculence of his teen years.
Finally Nathaniel raised his head; his eyes were red.
‘Nothing? You have no ideas at all?’
He shook his head, tears dropping onto the tabletop. Christine checked with the guard that she was allowed to hand Nathaniel a paper tissue. He wiped his eyes and nose.
‘The blood,’ he said sobbing. ‘I can’t stand the sight of blood. I threw up when I saw it all and I think I passed out too. I couldn’t have done anything to a person that would have made all that blood fly about the place. I’d have been unconscious on the floor in five seconds flat,’ he croaked plaintively. ‘There’s that. I told my solicitor, and my barrister, that. And Mam knows that too. I’ve always been like that with blood.’
Christine had seen those notes. ‘It’s not much to go on.’
‘Sorry. It’s all I’ve got.’
‘What do you think happened at your cottage that morning, Nathaniel?’
‘I. Don’t. Know. She must be dead, mustn’t she? All that blood. Never getting in touch with anyone ever again. Who would do that to her? I know we didn’t always get on, but who would do that? She was alright, really. Why would anyone kill Lizzie?’
Christine pushed on. ‘What was she really like, Nathaniel? You were her brother. Explain your relationship with her to me, as best you can.’
Nathaniel heaved a sigh. ‘She was my sister. Have you got a brother?’ Christine nodded. ‘Well, then – you know. Brothers and sisters can be a bit … off with each other sometimes. But they’re still brother and sister.’
‘My brother was quite cruel to me when I was small. Were you and Lizzie cruel to each other?’
Nathaniel’s face softened. ‘I thought she was a pain, but she was the cruel one if you can call it that. She was my big sister, see? Everything I did, I did it because I wanted to be like her. Mam thought she was wonderful, that everything Lizzie did was fantastic, so I copied her – so Mam would be proud of me too. I even used to dress up in high heels and necklaces like she did, ’till Mam told me I couldn’t do that anymore.’ He looked wistful. ‘Made fun of my hair, did Lizzie. She had lovely brown hair, chestnut highlights, always shiny – like yours. I had red hair, like my granddad. And freckles, as you can see. She thought they were hilarious. Drew all over me with a felt-tipped pen joining up the freckles once when we were little, she did. Mam had to scrub and scrub to get it all off. But I didn’t mind, ’cos Lizzie said it was fun doing it, so I let her. I wanted her to like me, see? I wanted to be like her.’
This was a dynamic Christine hadn’t expected. It wasn’t something that had come out at the trial at all. She wondered if the jury’s lack of sympathy for Nathaniel might have been dented if only he’d shown this part of his character on the stand.
‘So you loved your sister?’
‘Of course.’
‘Did she love you?’
‘Maybe once, when we were little, and even for quite a long time when we were grown up. But maybe not toward the end.’
‘Could you be more specific?’
Nathaniel chewed the corner of his lip. ‘She changed. Over the years, I mean, not all at once. When she came back from France and we shared the cottage in Gower, things were great.’ For the first time during their interview Christine noticed a spark of life in the young man’s eyes. ‘You’ve no idea how empowering it can be to be creating in the same space as someone who had as much passion for art as Lizzie. I learned so much from her. Her technique was magnificent, and, although I thought she wanted her art to do too much, socially speaking, she also made me think of the way the man in the street interacts with art on a daily basis. If it hadn’t been for her, I’d never have found the courage to enter the first competition I won for a piece to be put on display in a square in Liverpool. That was what got me going. After that, I was in great demand when it came to imposing pieces for public spaces. It … it seems horrible to say it, but I believe she became jealous of my success. She seemed to think I was doing well just to spite her, which was stupid, because she was the one with more talent than me, and I always told her that. But she didn’t want to listen. That last couple of years, before she disappeared, she just got more and more angry, and less and less communicative. She shut everyone out. Eventually, I don’t think she loved anyone or anything except herself and her art.’
‘Didn’t she have any friends, or people in her life she loved or cared about at all?’ Christine knew the only people testifying about Lizzie at the trial had been business acquaintances and people who knew her from the art world.
‘No, she didn’t have anyone. And she was always going on about Mam. She took to phoning me at all hours. Said horrible things about Mam, she did. I didn’t get it. Mam had always been lovely to both of us. Without Mam we’d never have been able to go to art school or anything. Worked her fingers to the bone so we could do what we did, did Mam. Dad died when we were little, so she did it all herself, see? And, eventually, Lizzie didn’t have a good word to say about her. I felt so sorry for Mam. She’d always done all she could for Lizzie, and me, of course.’
Christine didn’t know what to say. She drew upon her basic understanding of psychology and offered: ‘Did Lizzie feel she wasn’t loved? Wasn’t appreciated?’
Nathaniel peered across the table at Christine, then he screwed up his eyes in anger – like a small child. ‘Not appreciated? That’s what she always said. Always whining on about no one understanding her artistic journey, she was. Like I said to her on more than one occasion, if you’re going to paint things so small that no one can see them, how on earth do you expect anyone to understand what you’re trying to say? But she wouldn’t listen. Let it get to her, she did. Hit rock bottom a few times.’
&n
bsp; ‘Did she ever try to harm herself?’
‘What, did she do that “cry for help” thing? Yeah, she did that alright. Stuffed herself full of pills, then phoned Mam. Twice she did that. Terrified poor Mam she did. Not fair. Totally selfish.’
Christine made notes. This was the first time anyone had mentioned Lizzie being suicidal, and she wondered if it might have a bearing on the case.
‘Did she ever make an attempt on her own life but not call for help?’
Nathaniel shook his head. ‘Not her style.’
Christine decided it was time for a couple of Big Questions. ‘So, Nathaniel, you’re telling me you didn’t kill your sister?’
He lifted his chin. ‘I didn’t.’
‘And you didn’t find her dead, by her own hand, and take her body away somewhere to hide it?’
Nathaniel looked shocked, then puzzled. ‘Why would I do that? Even if I’d thought something that stupid was a good idea at the time – which I wouldn’t have done, because I’m not an idiot – I certainly wouldn’t have let it come to this. I’d have told them where I’d put her body. If there was a body, there’d be some way to prove I didn’t do it.’
Christine tried a different approach. ‘At your trial, you said you couldn’t think of anyone who would want to harm your sister. Have you changed your mind about that since then?’
Nathaniel’s eyes grew round. ‘I wish I could think of someone, but there wasn’t anyone.’
‘No boyfriends? No artistic enemies?’
‘She had a boyfriend for a while when she went back to live in London. The tattoo artist guy. I told the police about him.’ Christine couldn’t recall any mention of a tattoo artist in any of the case notes she’d seen, and Nathaniel’s barrister certainly hadn’t mentioned one.
‘Tell me about him,’ she pressed.
Nathaniel looked surprised. ‘He was some bloke she was living with for about two minutes in London, about a year before she … disappeared. She called him Baz. That’s all. Got a shop in Soho. That’s all I ever knew.’
‘Nothing more?’
Nathaniel shrugged. ‘He did her tattoos, that’s all I know.’
‘So Lizzie had tattoos?’
‘Yeah. On her arms, her back – all over the place. Nowhere you could see them unless she chose to show them off, though. But this isn’t news. I told everyone about them. Tattoos of her own work. Weird thing to do, that.’
Christine made some notes.
Nathaniel began to look impatient. ‘Look, where’s all this going, exactly? Do you believe I didn’t kill her, or what? Why have you even bothered to come? Are you just ripping off my poor old Mam? I bet that’s what this is.’
‘First of all, we’re not charging your mother for this work, so there’s that. The reason I’m here at all is because your mother believes you didn’t kill your sister and I’ve promised your mother I’ll do what I can to give her, and you, hope. So help me out, will you? Ollie – Oliver – your barrister, warned me you weren’t a person who was over-anxious to endear yourself to people, not even when you took the stand in your own defense. Since I’m here on behalf of your mother I feel able to tell you your attitude isn’t helping me at all. Have you even considered I’m on your side?’
Nathaniel’s face reddened, his fists clenched and he whispered, ‘Don’t you tell me I’m not helping myself. I’m doing everything I can to hold onto my sanity. I woke up one day to find my sister gone, my cottage covered in blood, and everyone thinking I’d killed her. I know I didn’t. But I cannot explain what happened. It’s like a nightmare. And I’m not waking up.’ Tears rolled down his face again.
Christine stood, moved to the guard on duty, showed him what was in the folder she’d brought with her and retook her seat.
‘I know this must be difficult, but I’d like you to look at some photocopies of some drawings. I’m trying to establish if they were created by your sister. It would help me to know if you’ve ever seen them before.’
Nathaniel wiped his face with the back of his hand. ‘Go on then. I’ll look.’ He stared at the enlarged versions, then the smaller ones. ‘Yes, they’re by Lizzie.’
‘How can you tell?’
Nathaniel laughed. The sound echoed in the bare room. ‘Ha! You ask me to critique the work of the woman I’ve been found guilty of killing, then question me about my artistic opinions? That’s rich, that is. Look, here, and here – see where she just hints at shapes she thinks aren’t important to the composition instead of finishing them off properly? Always did that. Really annoying. It was as though she couldn’t grasp the meaning of her subjects, just their form.’
Christine was taken aback, and realized her surprise must have shown on her face.
‘I’m not going to lie,’ said Nathaniel. ‘Call me a perfectionist – many people have. Indeed, a lot of people have called me a lot worse than that. What I say is, if you’re going to try to be realistic, you should be totally realistic. See that one of the Great Hall at Swansea University’s Bay Campus? Now that’s good. All the angles right, the detail of the building is perfect. She could do it when she tried – when she put her mind to it and followed through – she just didn’t always bother. I don’t like lazy artists.’
‘Thanks,’ said Christine, pushing the copies back into their folder. ‘I’ll tell Jeremy Edgerton you agree these are your sister’s work.’
‘Edgerton?’ Christine nodded. ‘Creep.’
‘Your mother agrees with you on that matter too,’ said Christine, offering a smile.
‘Poor Mam,’ said Nathaniel, with feeling. ‘Sorry I snapped, but it’s hard in here. Have I helped at all?’
‘I’ve got a tattoo artist in Soho to track down for a start,’ said Christine. ‘Anything else from you?’
Nathaniel shook his head.
TWENTY-FIVE
Mavis MacDonald was livid. Staring at Ian Cottesloe, the dowager’s factotum, and Lindsey Newbury, the dowager’s aide, in the entry hall of the Dower House she felt herself boil inside.
‘You have colluded with the dowager to pull the wool over my eyes,’ she began, using the soft, determined tone that had been known to terrify junior nurses. ‘How could you? I realize she pays your wages, but you have allowed her to put herself, quite possibly, in harm’s way, and that is unforgiveable. Loyalty is one thing, poor decision-making quite a different matter.’
Lindsey spoke first, her lip trembling. ‘I’m so sorry, Mavis, she made us promise. On our honor, she said. It’s not that she pays us, it’s that we love her. It’s more than working for her, you see? She had a plan and we helped her. I spoke to her last night and she was just fine. She’s not far away, and there’s no way she could get into any trouble.’
Mavis could think of a thousand ways Althea could manage to get herself into trouble. ‘What time did you drop her off, Ian?’ she almost whispered.
‘Around two, yesterday afternoon.’ The young man, strapping though he was, looked like a small boy who’d been caught scrumping apples.
‘So Cook outright lied to me when she told me the dowager was having supper in her room last night? She’s in on it as well?’ Two heads nodded. ‘Ach, it’s unbelievable. She’s no business going off on her own like this. How did you come to speak to her, Lindsey?’
The young woman shook her head. ‘As her ladies’ aide, I would prefer not to say. But, out of respect for you, I can tell you she phoned me from her mobile phone.’
‘But she hasnae got a mobile phone,’ snapped Mavis.
‘She has now,’ replied Lindsey.
‘Tell me the number.’ Lindsey and Ian exchanged a worried look. ‘Stop that. You both know I’m right. She has no business going undercover at that old folks’ home with no one to watch over her.’
Lindsey’s eyes rolled at Ian, and he frowned, shaking his head.
‘Out with it,’ snapped Mavis.
Althea’s handyman sighed. ‘I’ll tell you,’ said Ian. Lindsey poked him in the ribs with her elbow,
but he continued, ‘Her Grace said if you found out, and told us we had to tell you what was going on, that we weren’t to, but that we should tell you to speak to Carol.’
Mavis was puzzled. ‘Carol? You mean Carol Hill?’ They nodded. ‘Why? What does Carol know that I don’t?’ They shrugged. ‘Very well. You may go about your business.’ They turned on their heels, looking relieved. ‘This is not over,’ called Mavis at their retreating figures.
She speed-dialed Carol’s mobile phone.
‘Hello, Mavis, what’s up?’
‘It’s Althea – she’s up to something, and I think you know what.’
‘You mean doing her bit for the agency up at Mountain Ash House?’
‘Aye.’
‘She’s doing really well. Her feed’s been coming through just fine at this end. I’m running through her input a few hours behind time, but it turns out she’s a real pro. Good job with the briefing, Mavis.’
‘Briefing about what?’
‘Pardon?’
‘I know nothing of this, Carol. She’s taken herself off all alone, with no one’s knowledge.’
‘Now, hang on a minute, Mavis. She told me you two had come up with this plan together. She said you’d agreed she could go to the old folks’ home for a couple of days so long as she filmed everything. I sat down with her for hours yesterday going through how she was to use her new phone and all the apps I loaded onto it. She told me that was what you said you wanted. Are you telling me she’s … what, made the whole thing up?’
Mavis’s tummy unclenched. ‘Aye, the wee … you know what … has lied to us all. Now, tell me again, you know she’s alright?’
‘Like I said, I’m a bit behind with watching her filmed feed, but … hang on, let me check the time-code. There – as of 9.26 a.m. she was lovely. Having breakfast with a very nice woman named Maisie, who’s already roped Althea in to giving some sort of performance at the concert party tomorrow night.’
Mavis was at a loss what to say or do next. Her initial misgivings had been alleviated, but she was still cross with Althea.
