The Chemistry of Death dh-1

by Simon Beckett

  Then I remembered the ambulance and paramedics Mackenzie had on standby for the raid on the old windmill. There was a chance they were still there. I reached for my phone, ready to call for help as soon as there was a signal. It wasn't in my pocket. Frantically, I searched the others. It wasn't there either. I fought down panic as I realized it must have fallen out during the struggle in the cellar. My mind stalled with indecision. Go back or go on? Come on, decide! Abruptly, I jammed my foot on the accelerator. Going back to look for it would have wasted too much time.

  Time Jenny didn't have.

  I reached the end of the track and shot the Land Rover out into the road. There was insulin at the surgery. Back there I could at least start treating her while an ambulance was still on its way. I put my foot down, peering through the windscreen into the night as the wipers struggled to clear it of the water sheeting down. Even with the headlamps on full beam it was raining so heavily I could only see a few yards ahead. I risked a glance at Jenny, saw enough to make me grip the wheel and go even faster.

  It seemed to take an age to make it back to Manham. Then the village was on me in a rush, suddenly leaping out of the rain. The roads were deserted in the storm, the press that had clogged the streets earlier nowhere in sight. I considered stopping at the police trailer that was still parked by the green, but immediately dismissed it. There was no time for explanations, and right now the priority was getting insulin for Jenny.

  The house was in darkness as I roared down the drive. I had enough presence of mind to park at one side, leaving room for the ambulance to get right up to the door, then jumped out and ran around to the passenger side. Jenny's breathing was rapid and shallow, but she began to stir as I lifted her out and carried her through the rain.

  'David…?' Her voice was still a whisper.

  'It's all right, we're at the surgery. Just hang on.'

  But she didn't seem to hear me. She began to struggle feebly, her eyes unfocused and frightened. 'No! No!'

  'It's me, Jenny, you're all right.'

  'Don't let him get me!'

  'He won't get you, I promise.'

  But she was already slipping away again. I hammered on the door, unable to hold her and unlock it at the same time. After an eternity a light came on in the hallway. I barged inside as soon as Henry started to open the door.

  'Get an ambulance!'

  He hurriedly wheeled himself out of the way, his face startled. 'David, what…?'

  I was already rushing down the hallway. 'She's going into diabetic coma, we need an ambulance now! Tell them the police might still have one on standby!'

  I kicked open the door to Henry's office as he made the call from the hallway. Jenny didn't stir when I lay her on the couch. Under the mask of blood her face was white. The pulse in her throat fluttered weakly. Please. Please hold on. This was a desperation measure at best. She might have already suffered kidney and liver damage, and her heart could fail at any time if she wasn't treated soon. As well as insulin she needed salts and intravenous fluids to flush out the toxins that were poisoning her. I couldn't do any of that here. All I could do was hope the insulin kept her alive long enough for the ambulance to get her to hospital.

  I tore open the fridge, fumbling in my haste as Henry pushed himself in.

  'I'll get it. You find a syringe,' he instructed.

  The framed photographs on top of the steel drugs cabinet rattled as I flung open the doors and rooted on the shelves for the syringes.

  'What about the ambulance?'

  'On its way. Here, you're in no state for this. Let me,' Henry said, peremptorily, holding out his hand for the syringe. I didn't argue. 'What in God's name is going on?' he asked, stabbing the needle through the seal.

  'It was Tom Mason. He was keeping her out at an old air-raid shelter near the house.' I felt my heart twist at the sight of Jenny's unmoving form. 'He killed Sally Palmer and Lyn Metcalf.'

  'George Mason's grandson?' Henry said incredulously. 'You're not serious!'

  'He tried to kill me as well.'

  'Christ! Where is he now?'

  'Jenny stabbed him.'

  'You mean he's dead?'

  'Perhaps. I don't know.'

  Right then I didn't care. I watched in an agony of impatience as Henry frowned over the syringe.

  'Blast! The needle's blocked; it's not filling. Get me another, quick.'

  I wanted to shout at him as I turned back to the drugs cabinet. The doors had swung to, and I wrenched them open so hard that one of the photographs standing on top fell over. I barely gave it a glance, but as I snatched up the syringes something belatedly registered.

  I looked again, not at the picture that had fallen but the one next to it. It was the wedding photograph of Henry and his wife. I'd seen it any number of times, been moved by the captured moment of happiness. But that wasn't why I stared now.

  Henry's wife was wearing a dress exactly like the one I'd seen in Mason's cellar.

  I told myself I was imagining it. But the design, with its ornate panel of lace fleurs-de-lis on the front, was too distinctive to mistake. They were identical. No, not identical, I realized.

  It was the same dress.

  'Henry-' I began, then gasped at a sudden pain in my leg. I looked down to see Henry pushing himself away from me, an empty syringe in his hand.

  'I'm sorry, David. I truly am,' he said, regarding me with a curious mix of sadness and resignation.

  'What…' I started to say, but the words wouldn't form. Everything was starting to recede, the room around me growing indistinct. I sank down onto the floor, feeling suddenly weightless. As I lost my grip on the world, my last sight was an impossible one, of Henry standing up from the wheelchair and walking towards me.

  Then he and everything else disappeared into blackness.

  30

  The slow ticking of the clock filled the room with a sound like dust falling through sunlight. Each leisurely stroke seemed to hang for an age before being followed by the next. I couldn't see it, but I could visualize the clock, old and heavy, its polished wood smelling of beeswax and age. I felt I knew it intimately, could anticipate the brass curve of its key when I came to wind it.

  I could have listened to its stately cadence for ever.

  A log fire burned in the grate, giving off a sweet pungency of pine. Tall bookshelves filled one wall, and lamps lit the corners of the room with a soft glow. A white bowl of oranges sat in the centre of the cherrywood table. There was a warm familiarity to the room, just as there was to the entire house, even though I knew I had never set foot here in my waking life. This was the place Kara and Alice inhabited in my dreams. This was home.

  I was filled with a joy so overwhelming I felt I couldn't contain it. Kara sat opposite me on the sofa, Alice curled like a kitten on her lap. Their faces as they looked at me were sad. I wanted to reassure them there was no reason to be. Everything was all right now. I was back with them again.

  For ever.

  Kara eased Alice down from her knee. 'Go and play outside, there's a good girl.'

  'Can't I stay with Daddy?'

  'Not now. Daddy and I have to talk.'

  Alice gave a moue of disappointment. She came over and hugged me. I could feel the heat and reality of her small frame as I squeezed her.

  'Go on, it's all right.' I kissed the top of her head. Her fine hair felt like silk. 'I'll be here when you get back.'

  She regarded me solemnly. 'Bye-bye, Daddy.'

  I watched her walk from the room. At the door she turned and gave a little wave, then she was gone. My heart was so full I couldn't speak for a moment. Kara was still looking at me from across the table.

  'What's wrong?' I asked. Aren't you happy?

  'This isn't right, David.'

  I laughed. I couldn't help myself. 'Yes it is. Can't you feel it?'

  Even through my joy I couldn't mistake Kara's sadness. 'It's the drug, David. That's what's making you feel like this. But it's false. You have to fight it.
'

  I couldn't understand her concern. 'We're together again. Isn't that what you want?'

  'Not like this.'

  'Why not? I'm here with you. That's all that matters.'

  'This isn't just about us. Or you. Not any more.'

  The first breath of a chill wind cooled my euphoria. 'What do you mean?'

  'She needs you.'

  'Who? Alice? Of course she does.'

  But I knew it wasn't our daughter she was talking about. The happiness I'd felt was being buffeted now. Determined to hold on to it, I went over to the table and took an orange from the bowl.

  'Do you want one?'

  Kara just shook her head, watching me in silence. I held the fruit in my hand. I could feel its weight, see the dimpled texture of its skin. I could picture the spurt of juice that would come when I started to peel it, could almost smell the sharp orange zest. It would be sweet, I knew, just as I knew that eating it, tasting it, would somehow be an act of acceptance. And one from which there would be no going back.

  Reluctantly, I put the orange back in the bowl. There was a heaviness in my chest as I went back to sit down. Kara's eyes were brimming as she smiled.

  'Is this what you meant before? When you told me to be careful?' I asked.

  She didn't answer.

  'Isn't it too late?' I wanted to know.

  A shadow crossed her face. 'Perhaps. It's going to be close.'

  My throat felt constricted. 'What about you and Alice?'

  Her smile was full of warmth. 'We're fine. You don't need to worry about us.'

  'I'm not going to see you again, am I?'

  She was crying silently, still smiling. 'You don't need to. Not any more.'

  Tears were rolling down my own face. 'I love you,' I told her.

  'I know.'

  She came over and hugged me. I buried my face in her hair for the last time, breathing in the scent of her, not wanting to let go and knowing I had to.

  'Take care, David,' she said. And as I tasted the salt tang of tears on my lips, I realized I could no longer hear the clock…

  … and found myself in darkness, paralysed and suffocating.

  I tried to breathe and failed. My chest felt wrapped with bands of iron. Panicking, I struggled to claw in a breath, managed one wheezing gasp, then another. I felt as though I was packed in cotton wool, muffled from the external world. It would have been so easy to give up and sink into it once more…

  Fight it. Kara's words jolted me back again. The euphoria I'd felt earlier had turned to ashes. My diaphragm fluttered, protesting against each breath. But my breathing was becoming less laboured with every meagre inhalation.

  I opened my eyes.

  The world was canted over at a crazy angle. I struggled to focus as everything swam around me. I became aware of Henry's voice, drifting above my head.

  '… didn't mean for this to happen, David, please believe that. But once he'd taken her it was out of my hands. What could I do?'

  Now I saw that I was moving. A wall was sliding by next to me. I realized I was in Henry's wheelchair, being pushed down the hallway. I tried to sit upright, succeeded only in flopping limply in the chair. The room spun around even more, but now everything was starting to come back.

  Henry. The needle.

  Jenny.

  I tried to shout her name, but it came out as a moan.

  'Shush, David.'

  I twisted to look up at Henry, bringing on another violent bout of vertigo. He was leaning heavily on the chair as he laboriously pushed me down the hall.

  Walking.

  None of this made any sense. I tried to lever myself up but there was no strength in my arms. I collapsed back again.

  'Jenny… the ambulance…' My voice was a slurred mumble.

  'There's no ambulance, David.'

  'I don't… don't unnerstand…'

  But I did. Or at least I was starting to. I remembered how Jenny had roused when I'd brought her to the house, how frightened she'd been. Don't let him get me! I'd thought she was delirious, that she'd meant Mason.

  She hadn't.

  I tried to get up again. My limbs felt sluggish, as though I were suspended in aspic.

  'Come on, David, stop it.' Henry sounded waspish.

  I sagged back, but as we passed the staircase I made a lunge for the railings. The chair slewed around and almost spilled me out. Henry staggered, clutching for balance.

  'God damn it, David!'

  The chair had turned sideways on in the hallway. I held on to the railing, closing my eyes as everything began to spin again. Henry's voice, breathless and irate, floated down to me.

  'Let go, David. This isn't doing any good, you know.'

  When I opened my eyes again Henry was leaning for support against the wall in front of me, dishevelled and sweating.

  'Please, David.' He sounded genuinely pained. 'You're only making this harder for both of us.'

  I hung on determinedly. With a sigh he reached into his pocket and brought out a syringe. He held it up so I could see it was full.

  'There's enough diamorphine here to drop a horse. I really don't want to have to give you any more. You know as well as I do what'll happen then. But I will if you force me.'

  My mind sluggishly processed the information. Diamorphine was a painkiller, a heroin derivative that could cause hallucinations and coma. It had been Harold Shipman's drug of choice, used to send hundreds of his patients into a sleep from which they'd never woken.

  And Henry had pumped me full of it.

  Pieces of the puzzle were falling into place with terrible clarity. 'You and him… It was… you and Mason…'

  Even now part of me expected him to deny it, to somehow offer a reasonable explanation. Instead he considered me for a long moment, then lowered the syringe.

  'I'm sorry, David. I never thought it would come to this.'

  It was too much to take in. ' Why, Henry…?'

  He gave a crooked smile. 'I'm afraid you don't know me very well at all. You should stick to dead bodies. They're far less complicated than people.'

  'What… what're you talking about…?'

  The lines of Henry's face deepened into a scowl of contempt. 'You think I've enjoyed being a cripple? Being stuck in this hole of a place? Patronized by these… these cattle? Thirty years of playing the noble doctor, and for what? Gratitude? They don't know the meaning of the word!'

  A spasm of pain crossed his features. Supporting himself on the wall, he made his way stiffly to the old cane chair by the telephone table. He saw me staring as he sank into it with relief.

  'You didn't really think I'd give up trying, did you? Always told you I'd prove the specialists wrong.' Out of breath from his exertions, he mopped the sweat from his brow. 'Trust me, it's no fun being helpless. Having your impotence publicly on display. Have you any idea how demeaning that is? How soul-destroying? Can you imagine being like you are now, all the time? And then to suddenly find yourself presented with an opportunity to literally, quite literally have the power of life or death! To play God!'

  He gave me a complicit grin.

  'Come on, David, admit it. You're a doctor, you must have felt it sometimes. That little whisper of temptation?'

  'You… you killed them…!'

  He looked slightly put out. 'I never laid a finger on them. That was Mason, not me. I just let him off his leash.'

  I wanted to close my eyes and shut all this out. Only the thought of Jenny, of what he might have done to her, prevented me. But as desperate as I was to find out, I was in no state to help either her or myself at the moment. The longer he talked, the more chance I had of the drug wearing off.

  'How… how long…?'

  'How long have I known about him, you mean?' Henry gave a shrug. 'His grandfather brought him to see me when he was a boy. He liked hurting things, making up little rituals around killing them. Only animals back then, of course. No concept that what he was doing was wrong, none at all. Quite fascinating, really. I
offered to keep it quiet and supply tranquillizers to take the edge off his… proclivities, on the condition that I carried on monitoring him. My unofficial project, if you like.'

  He raised his hands in mock submission.

  'I know, I know, not very ethical. But I told you I'd always wanted to be a psychologist. I would have been a bloody good one, too, but coming here put an end to that. At least Mason was more interesting than arthritis and footrot. And I don't think I did too bad a job, actually. If not for me he'd have gone off the rails years ago.'

  Fear for Jenny was tugging at me, but even a slight shift in the chair made the world spin and brought on a queasy wash of nausea. I began tensing the muscles in my arms and legs, trying to will some use back into them.

  'Did he kill… kill his grandfather as well…?'

  Henry seemed genuinely shocked. 'Good God no! He worshipped the old man! No, that was natural causes. Heart, I expect. But with George dead there was no-one to make sure Mason took his medication. I'd stopped seeing him in a professional sense years ago. Believe it or not, endless accounts of animal mutilations begin to pall after a while. I made sure old George had a supply of tranquillizers, but other than that I'm afraid I rather lost interest. Until he turned up on my doorstep one night and announced he'd got Sally Palmer locked in his father's old workshop.'

  He actually chuckled.

  'Turned out he'd had a thing about her ever since she hired him and his grandfather a year or two ago. Which wasn't a problem until the tranquillizers wore off and he started feeling his oats again. So he began stalking her. Probably didn't even know what he'd got in mind himself, but then one night her dog saw him and kicked up a fuss. So Mason cut its throat, belted her one to shut her up, and then carted her off.'

  He shook his head, almost in admiration. I couldn't believe this was the same man I'd known for years, the man I'd believed was my friend. The gap between who I'd thought he'd been and this twisted thing in front of me was unbridgeable.

  'For God's sake, Henry…!'

  'Oh, don't look at me like that. It served the stuck-up cow right! Manham's "celebrity", slumming it with the yokels when she wasn't swanning off to London or somewhere. Condescending bitch! Christ, I couldn't look at her without being reminded of Diana!'