by Sam Short
“He begged to be taken to the top of the lighthouse,” said Billy. “He said it was where Betty had enjoyed spending time. He said if I was going to shoot him, he’d rather me do it up there.”
“And you took him up there,” said Sergeant Spencer.
“Oh yes,” said Billy. “I dragged him up those stairs by his wrist, and when we got to the top, I had a wonderful idea. Why shoot him and risk somebody hearing the bang, when I could push him from the top? And as a bonus, maybe people would think Albert had been the victim of a tragic accident, and slipped. I might never have been caught.”
“But I heard him shouting,” said Millie.
“So that’s why you came back,” said Billy. “I had wondered. He did shout a little when he realised I wasn’t going to shoot him. I suppose being pushed off a lighthouse onto jagged rocks is less appealing than a bullet in the head. It wasn’t easy, though. It’s quite the struggle to push a panicking man over a balcony rail — let me tell you! He stopped shouting as he went over the edge, though, but that’s when I heard a woman’s scream.” He looked at Millie. “Her scream.”
“You knew somebody had seen Albert falling,” said Sergeant Spencer.
“Yes,” nodded Billy, “but I couldn’t see her properly. My glasses had dropped off in the struggle, and one of the lenses had cracked. I grabbed them and got off the balcony quickly.”
“And then I rang the doorbell?” said Millie, recalling her actions on the day.
“Not straight away,” said Billy. “I had time to get downstairs. I thought I’d be able to sneak out of the door and escape, but then I heard the bell. I’m not ashamed to say I panicked a little. I got inside the bear again, and waited.”
“The glass I stood on when I let myself in,” said Millie. “That was from your glasses, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Billy. “I dropped them again when you rang the doorbell. The cracked lens smashed completely, so I left it there before jumping inside the bear.”
“And then you left your glasses in the bear,” said Millie. “You might never have been caught if you hadn’t made that mistake. They were found inside the bear, and straight after that, I discovered your sister’s maiden name. I put two and two together after remembering you’d lost your glasses on the night me and Sergeant Spencer took you home, covered in hair and stinking to high heaven.”
Billy frowned. “A fair cop,” he said. “My glasses were of no use to me with only one lens, so I slipped them inside my pocket. Or thought I did. I must have dropped them. I’d assumed I’d dropped them on the way back into town. If I’d have known they were in the bear, I would have tried to retrieve them.”
“When Millie went upstairs, looking for a murderer, you left the building?” said Sergeant Spencer. “That’s why it appeared that nobody else had been in the lighthouse.”
“Yes,” said Billy. “I sneaked down onto the rocks, and followed the coast back into town. I hid my gun at home and went straight to the pub to celebrate. Despite the complications, I thought it was a job well done. I got my revenge on Albert, so I thought I deserved a drink.”
Sergeant Spencer shifted in his seat. He narrowed his eyes as he studied Billy’s face. “Now you’ve told us how you did it,” he said. “Why don’t you tell us why you did it? Just why did you want revenge on Albert Salmon, Billy? What did he do that deserved such a violent death?”
Billy sneered, but as he looked at Sergeant Spencer, his gaze travelled beyond the policeman. His sneer collapsed into an anxious grimace, and his grimace led to a scream, which chilled Millie’s blood.
“I’ll answer that,” said a voice from behind Millie. “I’ll tell you why he killed me, and I’ll tell you why I deserved it.”
Chapter 27
Completely drained of colour, Billy’s face appeared emotionless, and Millie wondered whether her own face had looked so white when she'd first seen Florence.
Terror rushed through her mind as she picked up on Billy’s thoughts, and she took a deep breath to steady herself. The man was scared. Very scared.
Albert Salmon, the panic button on the wall next to the door visible through his torso, stood behind Sergeant Spencer, gazing down at Billy.
"It… it can't be," stuttered Billy, his frightened eyes devoid of anything but terror. "It's impossible."
"Don't be afraid, Billy," said Albert, a gentle softness rounding his words. "I don't want to hurt you — I want to save you from yourself. I want to save you from prison."
"Albert," said Millie, aware that her fear of ghosts had diminished substantially since arriving in the bay. "I'm so sorry about what happened to you."
The smile which Albert gave her banished any pity from Millie’s heart. Genuine, and empty of sorrow, the smile conveyed a deep peacefulness. "Don't be sorry, Millie," he said. "Death was the best thing that ever happened to me. It released me from all the things which made my life a living hell — the pain — both physical and emotional, the regret, the shame, the frustration — it's all gone now. I'm free."
"I don't understand," said Billy. "I don't understand what’s happening. Is it the painkillers they gave me at the hospital? Am I hallucinating?"
"No, Billy," said Albert. "You're not hallucinating. I'm standing here — a ghost, and I've come to fight your corner. I've come to help you."
As Billy stared at Albert, the corner of his right eye began to twitch, and the fingers on his uninjured hand trembled. He sank in his seat, his face that of somebody whose world had been turned upside down.
He opened his mouth to speak, but the pathetic sound that came out was unintelligible — a wavering moan which tapered off into a deep sigh.
"May I?" said Albert, addressing Sergeant Spencer. "May I speak, and tell you why Billy was led down the path of revenge?"
Sergeant Spencer turned in his seat. “Of course you can, Albert,” he said, unfazed by the appearance of a ghost. “But you must understand that this isn’t a court of law — what’s said here today won’t reflect the punishment Billy receives for murdering you.”
“I’m hoping it won’t go that far,” said Albert. “I’m hoping Billy won’t go to court for my murder. He’s done a lot of things that are wrong, which he rightly deserves punishment for. Pointing a gun at innocent people was unforgivable, and he deserves to face the consequences for that, but as the ghost of the man he murdered, I feel I should have the right to ask that he be forgiven for that particular crime.”
“Why didn’t you come forward earlier, Albert?” said Judith. “You could have helped us catch Billy sooner.”
Albert’s ghostly beard seemed to shimmer as he smiled. “It’s not easy to make yourself seen when you’re dead,” he said. “It takes a lot of energy, energy I’m still learning how to harness. I would have made myself visible a lot sooner if I could have, and anyway, I’ve been focusing the energy I do have on other things. Things I’ll explain later.”
Sergeant Spencer leaned across the table and turned the tape recorder off. “This tape is useless now,” he said, with a glint in his eye. “I’m not sure the courts are ready to hear the disembodied voice of a dead man interrupting an interview with his own murderer.” He sat back in his seat and smiled at Albert. “Go on,” he said. “The floor is yours, tell us what you’d like us to hear.”
Albert began pacing, his feet making no sound as he walked. “Sixteen years ago something terrible happened,” he said. “Something which ruined Betty’s life, and my own. I’d always been a drinker. I used alcohol to mask my inadequacies and my fears. It became my friend, but not a good friend — more like a friend who you know doesn’t want the best for you, but is always there when you need him.”
“Tell me about it,” said Billy, his face regaining a little colour. “It’s not been good to me either, but even I knew there were some things you didn’t do with alcohol in your belly.”
Albert’s transparent form flickered for a moment, and his eyes saddened. “If I could turn back the clock, Billy, I would. Tha
t’s impossible, though. What happened, happened, and there is nothing I can do to change that.”
“What did happen, Albert?” said Millie.
Albert stopped walking, and lowered his head. “We lived in Scotland, Betty and I,” he said. “The countryside was beautiful, and Betty loved to get out into the mountains. I suggested we get a motorbike so we could explore with more freedom. I’d had one when I was younger, so I had my license. Betty loved the idea — so much so that she wanted to learn to ride herself. She did her test, and within a few months we both had bikes.”
Billy shook his head, as if ridding it of bad memories. “She loved that bike,” he said.
“She did,” said Albert. “And she was a good rider.”
“A safe rider,” said Billy. “That’s why I knew there was something wrong with the story you told the police. Even before Betty came out of the coma.”
“Coma?” said Sergeant Spencer. “What happened, Albert? Did she crash her bike?”
“Not quite,” said Albert.
Seemingly more at ease with fact that the ghost of his murder victim was in the room, Billy stood up, the handcuff on one wrist preventing him from reaching his full height. “Not quite?” he yelled. “Not at all, more like!”
“Sit down, Billy,” barked Sergeant Spencer. “You getting angry won’t help things. You murdered this man. Whatever you think he did to deserve it won’t take away that fact. You have no moral high ground here whatsoever.”
“Please,” said Albert. “Allow him his anger. Betty was his big sister – Billy looked up to her.”
Billy sat down, his shoulders slumping. “Betty brought me up,” he said. “She was like a mother to me rather than a sister. My mother was older than the average mother when she gave birth to me. There was a twenty-six-year age gap between me and Betty. My mother and father liked to drink – it’s probably where I inherited my taste for alcohol from. They were no use as parents, so Betty stood in as a mother and a sister. She was good to me. Very good.”
“That’s a big age gap for siblings,” said Sergeant Spencer.
“Mum was always late,” said Billy. “Late picking me up from school, late remembering to cook my dinner. I’m not surprised she was late having me.”
“Betty loved you dearly, Billy,” said Albert.
“While she could remember who I was, you mean!” yelled Billy, his face crimson, and veins throbbing in his neck.
“Calm down!” ordered Sergeant Spencer. He looked at Albert. “Tell us what happened. Why is Billy so angry with you?”
Albert vanished momentarily, reappearing a few feet away. “I can’t hold my form for much longer,” he said. “It takes a lot of energy, which I don’t have yet.”
“Be quick then,” said Millie.
“Betty had gone out with work colleagues for a meal,” said Albert. “I’d promised her I’d pick her up when she was ready to come home — in the car. We lived in a small town. There were no taxis at that time of night.”
“You had a drink though, didn’t you, Albert,” said Billy, lowering his gaze to his injured hand. “You couldn’t go one night without a drink — even the night you promised to drive your wife home.”
“I’m ashamed to say I did,” said Albert. “And when it was time to go and collect Betty, I decided I’d use my bike instead of the car. Betty wasn’t happy of course… it was a cold night, and she wasn’t dressed appropriately for a bike ride.”
“Did she know you’d had a drink?” said Millie. “When you collected her?”
“She smelt it on my breath,” said Albert. “But I convinced her I was okay to ride. It was only a few miles anyway, and police were very rare in those rural areas. It was unlikely I’d be caught.”
“But not unlikely that you’d crash?” said Millie.
Albert nodded. “I misjudged a bend in the road. I skidded and hit a tree. Betty was thrown from the bike, hitting her head and damaging her spine. My leg was mangled and had to be amputated.”
“And then the story gets better,” said Billy, malice shining in his eyes. “I got a phone call from the hospital. Betty was in a coma, and my brother in law had lost his leg. All thanks to Betty’s careless riding.”
“Betty’s riding?” said Judith.
Albert flickered. “That’s what I told the police,” he said. “To my shame, that’s what I told the police. They told me that Betty was unlikely to ever wake up, and if she did she’d be unlikely to ever be the same again. I lied to cover my shame at what I’d done.”
“He didn’t want to be prosecuted for riding while drunk and causing the accident,” said Billy. “There were no witnesses. Betty’s work colleagues had all gone home by the time Albert arrived to collect her. Nobody saw Betty getting on the back of the bike. And when the hospital checked her blood, they found it contained alcohol. Not much — just the glass of wine she’d had with her meal, but enough to make it seem like she was a criminal. A criminal who’d caused terrible injuries to herself and her husband.”
“That’s awful,” said Judith. “Really awful.”
“It gets better,” said Billy. “Tell them, Albert. Tell them what you did when Betty came out of her coma with spinal injuries and brain damage which Albert was told would get progressively worse and would eventually kill her. Tell them what a good husband you were to a woman with such life changing injuries.”
“She had no memory of the crash,” said Albert. “I made her believe it was her who’d been riding the bike. I told her she’d had a drink and insisted she rode the bike.”
An uneasy silence fell over the room, broken only by Billy’s angry breathing.
“So how did you learn the truth, Billy?” ventured Millie, beginning to understand why the man had been driven to getting his revenge.
“I was visiting my sister in hospital,” explained Billy, the knuckles on his cuffed hand white as he formed a tight fist. “When she remembered. Only briefly, but she remembered. She remembered who I was, and she remembered exactly who had been riding the bike.
“I confronted Albert, and he admitted it, but by the time I’d been to the police, Betty’s memory had gone again. Albert denied everything.”
“So you threatened to kill me,” said Albert. “And I knew you had the potential to do it.”
“Of course I did,” snapped Billy. “I had post traumatic stress disorder from my time in the army, which made me a angry man.”
“And you had the means,” said Albert. He looked around the room. “I knew he had guns at home, and I was sure he’d use them.”
“So you reported him?” said Sergeant Spencer. “For making death threats?”
“Yes,” said Albert. “They found his guns, and he went to prison.”
“Most of them,” sneered Billy. “And while I was in prison, one-legged Albert decided to go into hiding, taking his poorly wife with him.”
“I had to,” said Albert. “I was scared. You wrote me letters from prison, and I had no doubt that you’d kill me for what I’d done. I deserved nothing less.”
“You came here?” said Millie. “To spellbinder Bay?”
Albert nodded, his shimmering form briefly vanishing again. “The perfect town and the perfect building to hide in. I stopped drinking of course, and tried my best to help Betty, but she was never the same. She remembered me, but she had forgotten everybody else.”
“And I never saw my sister alive again,” said Billy. “Of course I didn’t know she was dead when I finally found out where Albert had taken her. I only found out that little snippet of information when I arrived in Spellbinder Bay, and if I’d had any doubt about killing Albert before, it vanished after I’d visited Betty’s grave.”
“The brain injury killed her,” said Albert. “As the doctors said it would. Her nervous system was affected, you see. Her respiratory system gave out in the end. I was responsible for her injuries, and I hid from the consequences.” He looked down at Billy. “Just how did you find me after all that time?”
“When Betty died,” confirmed Albert. “I decided against it, though.”
“But you didn’t check the photographs the estate agent plastered all over the internet.” said Billy. “I was looking for somewhere new to live. I’d been in and out of prison since what happened to Betty — the anger got to me, and I drank too much. When I drank, I got angry, and when I got angry I started fights. Prison was my second home.
“Then my luck came in. I won on the lottery. Not millions, but enough to buy myself a house. I decided I would change my ways. And to begin that change I decided to move away from Scotland. I’d always liked the idea of living near the sea, so I began looking for a new home, far away from bad memories.”
“And you found me from a photograph?” said Albert.
“Imagine my surprise!” said Billy. “I scoured the internet for homes near the sea, and one day I came across the listing for your lighthouse. It looked very cosy inside, very cosy indeed. I especially liked the paintings on the wall. The same watercolours I knew my sister had painted, back when she could concentrate for long enough to paint.”
“That simple?” said Albert.
“That simple,” confirmed Billy.
“Well I’m glad you found me,” said Albert. “I deserved what I had coming, and I hope Sergeant Spencer will honour my wishes and not prosecute you for my murder.”
Sergeant Spencer frowned. “It’s not that simple, Albert,” he said. “Billy has confessed, and your body washed up on the beach.”
“You said yourself that the tape was no longer admissible as evidence,” said Albert. “His confession means nothing. And anyway — Billy didn’t kill me. I jumped from the balcony because it was the anniversary of my wife’s death. You’ll find my suicide note on the table next to my bed. You’ll also find my confession about what I did to Betty.”
“How?” said Sergeant Spencer. “That’s not possible. We searched the lighthouse. There was no such note.”
