by Amy Cross
“Phillip?” she called out. “Phillip, I think you should come away from the edge right now!”
Turning to her with tear-filled eyes, he seemed shocked by the intrusion.
“Why don't we go back inside?” she asked, inching closer while reaching out to him with her right hand. She was trying to not make any sudden moves, to keep from startling him. “I don't really like heights that much, Phillip, and it's cold up here. That's not much fun. You're in absolutely no trouble at all, but do you mind if we go and talk inside?”
“I'm not like that,” he hissed through gritted teeth.
“Phillip, first let's -”
“Don't come any closer.”
“Phillip -”
“Don't come any closer!” he screamed.
Stopping, Jo saw that blood was dripping from the fingers of his right hand.
“I was a good person,” he stammered, shivering as the cold ruffled his jacket and blew his hair back, exposing the scars on his head a little more clearly. “I think I was. No, I know I was! I don't remember, but I think I was a good person.”
“You're a good person now as well,” she told him, reaching her hand out yet again. “Phillip, seriously, there's no need to be up here. Can you come away from the edge? Please?”
“I didn't want to hurt anyone!”
“I'm sure you didn't hurt anyone at all, Phillip.”
“I liked Debbie!”
“I know you did. You went to visit her, didn't you? You went quite often. Sometimes at night.”
“She told me to stop doing that.”
“I know, but -”
“But I forgot. I forget a lot of things.”
“I know, and -”
Suddenly letting out another anguished cry, he pressed his forearms against the side of his head, as if some kind of pressure was squeezing his brain.
“Phillip!” Jo called out, seeing that he was shaking as if he might fall back over the edge at any moment.
“Stay back!” he yelled as she stepped toward him. “Don't touch me! I don't want to hurt you too!”
“Phillip, I don't believe you've hurt anyone,” she replied, trying to stay calm. “Can you come away from the edge and then we can talk properly?”
“I put it in her tummy!” he whimpered, with fresh tears streaming down his face. “I didn't mean to! I wanted to show Debbie that I could be strong, that I could look after her and defend her!”
“Phillip, just -”
Hesitating for a moment, Jo watched as he continued to sob.
“What did you put in her tummy, Phillip?” she asked cautiously. “What did you do to Debbie?”
“I thought she'd want the knife!” he wailed. “I thought she could use it to protect herself! But then when she opened the door, she came out and ran straight into me! She was scared, and she didn't look, and she ran straight into me and then she was dead! I did something really bad!”
“You stabbed Deborah?”
“I didn't mean to!” he screamed.
“Calm down!” Shocked, she saw that he was a little closer to the edge now. If he took even one step further back, he'd trip over the ankle-high railing and fall. “Phillip, we can talk about this downstairs, but first -”
“I didn't mean to hurt her!”
“I believe you, but -”
“I didn't mean to hurt Suzie, either!”
Jo opened her mouth to reply, before watching as he reached up and held his hands on the sides of his head. As he did so, he wiped patches of glistening blood against his cheek.
“I just wanted to talk to her!” he sobbed. “I wasn't even supposed to be out late, not after dark, but Dad was drinking that stuff that always makes him sleepy, and Susannah had been here to see me but I'd been too upset to talk to her. After I calmed down, I wanted to go and tell her that I... I...”
His voice trailed off for a moment.
“I wanted to tell her that I remembered her,” he whimpered finally, his bottom lip trembling as he broke into a series of heavy, convulsive sobs that shook his shoulders.
“You went to see Susannah that night?” Jo asked. “Outside the hotel?”
“I don't even know why I took the knife that time,” he continued, the words barely able to be heard as tears flowed freely down his face. “I didn't mean to hurt her! I didn't mean to hurt anyone, but she was mean to me! She told me she was tired and she wanted to go to bed, and she said there was no point talking to me! I wanted to tell her, but I couldn't get the words out!”
“What did you want to tell her, Phillip?” Jo asked, her mind racing as she inched closer and tried to figure out when she could safely hurry forward and grab his arm. “That you remembered your time with her? The old days?”
“I wanted to tell her that I loved her,” he continued. “I remember loving her. I remember I used to go places with her. I don't remember much, but I remember Suzie!”
“She knew, Phillip.”
He shook his head.
“Deep down, she knew you remembered her. Phillip, I don't understand why -”
“I got angry when she walked away!” he sobbed, holding out his right hand and forming a bloodied fist, and then twisting the hand as if he was holding a knife. “I don't know why I did it, but I did! I was -”
Suddenly hearing distant sirens, he turned and looked toward the horizon, where flashing blue lights were now racing toward the house. An ambulance was just about visible in the distance, along with two police patrol cars.
“Don't worry about them,” Jo said firmly. “Focus on me. Focus on coming away from the edge. Why don't you take my hand?”
She reached out toward him.
“Just take my hand, Phillip!”
“I'm not a bad person!” he screamed, turning to her just as she was about to try taking hold of his arm. “Stay back! I might hurt you too! I'm not a bad person, I don't want to hurt anyone but I hurt Debbie and I hurt Suzie and now I can't trust myself!”
“Phillip -”
“Why did I kill them?” he whimpered. “I liked Debbie so much, she was my girlfriend. She sent me pretty photos of herself. I didn't understand them, but they were always so pretty. And Suzie... I loved Suzie. I didn't always remember her, but when I did, I loved her.”
“We can figure this all out,” Jo told him as the sirens sped closer, “but first I need you to step away from the edge and come down into the house with me. Can you do that, Phillip?” She kept her hand held out toward him, waiting for him to go with her. “I promise, I'll make sure that no-one will be mean to you. We'll just figure out exactly what happened, and then we'll get help for you.”
“I don't deserve help,” he stammered. “I'm a bad person.”
“I don't think you are.”
“I've done awful things!”
“I still don't quite get why you killed them,” she continued, “but we can talk about it. I'll be there the whole time, Phillip. I'll help you, however I can.”
“I don't think you should be my girlfriend.”
“I'm not going to be your girlfriend. Just your friend. Now please, come away from the edge.”
Phillip hesitated, turning briefly to look down at the yard, before glancing back at Jo. As he did so, his right foot bumped against the low railing and he stumbled slightly.
Jo stepped toward him.
“No!” he yelled, somehow steadying himself. “Don't touch me!”
“Phillip...”
She was just a couple of feet away now, close enough to maybe make a lunge if she could time it right.
“Will you help me put it right?” he asked. “Is there any way to bring them back?”
“We can't bring them back, Phillip, but we can talk about other things. Please, just come with me.”
He hesitated, before finally looking at her outstretched hand.
“Come on,” she continued, watching as he began to raise his bloodied hand toward her. “Don't be scared. Just stay calm and -”
“Get back!”
Lord Chesleford screamed suddenly, stumbling across the roof behind Jo. “He'll throw you off the edge!”
“No!” Phillip stammered, taking a step away, bumping once more against the railing.
“Phillip, come with me!” Jo said firmly.
“Don't touch me!”
She stepped toward him, but a hand grabbed her from behind and pulled her back. She tried to get free, but Lord Chesleford was gripping both her shoulders now.
“He's insane!” the old man hissed. “He stabbed me in the arm, he slashed me, and before that he confessed to murdering those two poor women!”
“Don't say those words!” Phillip yelled, once again putting his hands on the side of his head as tears flowed down his cheeks.
“He killed poor dear Deborah,” Lord Chesleford continued, “and then to top it off he also killed that wretched Susannah Marriot woman. In cold blood! Two women he claimed to like, and he murdered them both in cold blood!”
“Go back inside!” Jo said firmly, pulling free and stepping away from him. “Let me handle this!”
“He's a disgrace to the family name!” Lord Chesleford sneered. “Look at him! I've always known, ever since the accident, that he was a pathetic shell. I didn't realize until today that he was also a cowardly, sniveling murderer! I should have put a pillow over his head a long time ago!”
“No!” Phillip shouted. “Don't say that!”
“He stabbed Deborah and Susannah to death!” Lord Chesleford yelled. “Why did you have to do that, boy? You're not safe! You can't be trusted around anyone! You're a killer!”
“Stop!” Phillip shouted, putting his hands over his ears.
“You ought to be locked up forever! Or better still, someone should tie a rope around your neck and -”
“I'm sorry!” Phillip screamed, turning and stepping over the edge. “I didn't mean to hurt them!”
“No!” Jo shouted, lunging toward him and trying to grab his arm. Before she had a chance, however, Phillip toppled over the edge of the roof and let out a brief cry as he fell from view. Stumbling forward, Jo dropped to her knees and grabbed the railing, looking down over the side of the house just in time to see Phillip slam into the driveway. Even before his body had fallen still from the impact, a large patch of blood had already splattered from one side of his cracked head.
The ambulance and police cars had just pulled up, and a paramedic immediately rushed over to Phillip, stopping to check for any signs of life. Immediately, from the man's body language alone, Jo could tell that nothing could be done, and that Phillip was gone. Trembling with shock as she continued to hold the railing, she watched as the second paramedic headed over to the body to take a look, and then she saw several police officers hurrying up the steps and into the manor house.
Sam was down there, too. He went over to check the body, before looking up and seeing Jo.
“Will you think I'm an awful person,” Lord Chesleford said calmly, standing right behind Jo and clutching his bloodied arm, “if I say that all things considered, it's probably for the best that he jumped?”
She turned and looked up at him, and now there were tears in her eyes.
“I'm only saying what I truly believe,” he continued, peering down at Phillip's body for a moment longer before taking a step back. “He was no use to anyone, and evidently he was a danger. I'm not going to stand here and lie to you, Miss Mason. Although I recognize the tragedy of his life, I am rather glad that he's gone. And that, I suppose, is another tragedy to add to the pile. I only wish he'd died in the accident all those years ago. At least that way, poor Deborah would still be alive.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Today
“An accident? Her death, this whole mess... It was all just an accident?”
Crouching in front of the gravestone, in the little cemetery of the Chelmsbury town church, Lucas Evans set a bunch of flowers on the grass. His hands were trembling, and he took a moment to rearrange the flowers.
“It was nothing to do with her past?” he continued. “She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time?”
“Before he died,” Jo explained, standing a little way back, “Phillip Chesleford confessed to both murders. He didn't get a chance to tell the full story, but from what he said it seems that he didn't really know what he was doing. Deborah, or Alice, was clearly panicked that night. It seems she ran out of the cottage and straight into Phillip, and he was holding the knife out and she just...”
Her voice trailed off.
“Because she was scared of me,” Lucas whispered.
“You can't blame yourself.”
“I wanted her back,” he continued, looking at the name Deborah Dean carved into the tombstone. “After everything, I still held out hope that one day I'd get her back, and that I'd make her understand that she could just work on her book. You probably think I'm a complete idiot, but even after everything, I wanted to take her back.”
“Her laptop was found in Phillip's bedroom,” Jo replied.
He nodded. “The police have already released it to me. I'm going to get someone to see about recovering the files, and if the book's there, I suppose I'll try to have it published. Even if I have to do it myself online. You can do that now, can't you? Put books out there yourself.”
“I read the first three chapters,” Jo told him. “Susannah Marriot had a copy. It seems to have been autobiographical. A very long confession, I guess.”
“Was it good?”
“I'm not much of a critic,” she replied, “but I'd definitely read the rest, if I could.”
“I should change this,” he muttered, reaching out and running his fingers against the carved letters that spelled out Deborah Dean's name. “Or should I? Which name do you think she'd have wanted on the stone?” He paused, before getting to his feet and taking a step back. There were tears in his eyes, and he seemed utterly ruined by the sight of the grave. “She wasn't a bad person. I know I keep saying that, but it's true. She just fixated so much on writing her bloody books, she was willing to do anything to give herself more time. She was convinced that success was just around the corner.” He paused for a moment. “After she left me, I found a crumpled list she'd made. She'd been planning an around-the-world holiday, for me and her. She wasn't a selfish person. She just let her goodness and kindness come out the wrong way. She was always dreaming.”
“I should leave you alone for a while,” Jo replied. “There's nothing more for me to do here.”
“I'm going to take that holiday,” he continued, his voice trembling slightly. “God knows whether it's a good idea, but I'm going to book some time off work and go around the world. I'm going to follow the itinerary Alice planned. It'll be almost like... I know this'll probably sound stupid, but it'll be almost like having her with me. And then maybe when I get back, things'll seem easier somehow.”
As she walked away, Jo couldn't shake the feeling that she should have found something else to say, something to ease Lucas's sorrow. Reaching the cemetery gate, she glanced over her shoulder and saw that he was on his knees again, and that his shoulders were shaking as if he was sobbing. She almost went back over to him, before realizing that perhaps he needed to be alone.
***
“This time,” Harry Morgan said as he shoved another suitcase into the back of his car and them slammed the boot shut, “I don't think anyone can object if I get out of town for a while. My cousin's coming to look after the pigs, and he might be interested in taking over full-time. I need a fresh start.”
“I'm sorry you had to spend a night in a cell,” Jo told him. “Jack Byron -”
“You should have seen his face when he had to let me go,” Harry replied. “He looked gutted. I think he actually wanted me to be the murderer. I reckon some people are more bothered about being right, than about getting the right man.”
“I still don't...”
Her voice trailed off as she remembered the moment when Phillip had disappeared over the edge of the roof. She'd
been replaying that image over and over again, and running through their final conversation, and she still couldn't quite get the facts to settle in her mind. Perhaps, she realized now, it was the coldness of Lord Chesleford that had really struck her, and the realization that the old man was actually pleased to be rid of his son.
“So Debbie had a husband?” Harry asked after a moment. “I mean, you told me all about her, but I still can't believe...”
He paused.
“I loved her, you know,” he added finally. “I accepted a while back that she didn't love me. Still, it's weird to think that she'd lived that whole other life before she ever set foot in Chelmsbury. I always knew she was hiding something, and I figured it must be something pretty big. I remember right before Debbie died, Susannah said she'd learned something about Debbie's old life, but then she refused to tell me what it was. She said she didn't want to speak ill of the dead, but that Debbie wasn't the good person she pretended to be. I went to ask her again just a few nights ago, but she wasn't home. That was the night I was spotted loitering outside the hotel. The night Susannah died.”
“Keep an eye out for Deborah's book,” Jo replied. “Or Alice's, rather. Her husband's planning to get it tidied up and published.”
“I know sometimes people do bad things,” Harry continued, “and obviously Debbie did things that were worse than most. But that doesn't mean everyone else has to enjoy pointing out her faults. It'll be the good times I had with her that I remember, not all the stuff that's coming out now.” He paused for a moment. “I know what it's like to do something that fills you with shame. Something that makes you question deep down whether or not you're a good person.”
“Your ex-wife -”
“Vivian and I had been arguing once,” he explained, “and after she left the room, I was furious and I threw a mug. Just a stupid little mug. But she happened to storm back in, and the mug hit the side of her face and... My God, she bled so much. She told the police I'd done it on purpose. At first I protested my innocence. I told them it had been an accident, but eventually I realized that none of that mattered. It was still my fault, and it still happened because of my temper. Ever since then, I've worked hard to keep myself under control.”
