His whisper carried on the still air. ‘A life for a life. He stole my wife. Now it is his turn.’
‘No!’ Lucy cried out, aghast. Her mother’s life could not end like this, in a stinking hut on the mountain, chained by a madman. ‘Not my mother. She has done nothing to deserve this. Let her go. She’s a good person.’
‘So was I, once,’ he answered quietly.
Somehow Lucy did not believe him, but this was not the time to voice her doubts. With no idea what to do, she played for time. Staring levelly at Baptiste, she did her best to engage him in conversation while her mind whirled, trying to think of a means to escape. It seemed hopeless.
‘What has my mother ever done to you? She never met you before this week. We didn’t even know you and Veronique existed.’
At the mention of Veronique’s name, Baptiste trembled. ‘One of you did,’ he said. His words sounded cold, undeniable. ‘George knew her. He knew her well.’
‘But he went away.’ Lucy struggled to retain her composure. ‘He went away and married my mother in England. He’s got nothing to do with you any more. Leave us alone!’ Despite her efforts to control herself, her voice rose in a hysterical shriek.
‘Yes, he went away,’ Baptiste agreed. ‘And we would have forgotten about him. I could have forgiven her, even after—’
‘Why didn’t you?’
‘Because after he went away, that was when the letters started. She hid them from me. She thought I didn’t know. But I read them, every one. So one day I brought her up here on the mountain and burned them all, right in front of her eyes.’ His shrill laughter sounded like a scream of pain. ‘She cried when I burned them! And after that . . .’ He paused, lost in memories. ‘She had to die.’
Lucy did not need to ask how she had died, or at whose hand.
‘It was a long time ago,’ she pleaded.
‘Oh yes,’ he agreed. ‘We were living here together in peace for a long time. Until the letters started again. He wrote to her at the post office. Did he think I had stopped watching for him? That I had forgotten? Did he think time would dull my desire for revenge? He wrote that he was coming back and I knew it was time for vengeance.’ He stared at Lucy. ‘This is all his doing. George.’ He spat the name, his lined features twisted in loathing. ‘He did not have to come back. Even now, we did not intend to kill you, his daughter.’ He waved his gun at Lucy. ‘You were not even born when Veronique . . . We tried to warn you.’
‘Warn me?’
‘In the water, and on land, we tried to frighten you away. We shot a girl like you, to show you we were serious. How were we to know you would not see the signs?’
‘It was you in the sea, pulling me under. And you threw that rock at me on the beach.’ Lucy frowned, understanding. ‘You killed Judy, just to warn me off?’ She could hardly believe what she was hearing. She struggled to concentrate on the immediate danger. ‘Baptiste, you’ve got this all wrong. My parents are happily married. He didn’t want Veronique—’
The old man interrupted her. ‘He wanted my dark angel,’ he shouted. ‘They all did. He should never have come back. He stole my wife. Now it is his turn to suffer.’
He turned to the skull he was holding. ‘Now you see George as he really is, a coward who sends his daughter to face danger in his place. Such a man does not deserve the love of the dark angel.’
He turned and pointed his gun at Angela. Frantically, Lucy looked around. There must be something she could use as a weapon. As she scanned the ground, she noticed a faint gleam. Something metallic was lying by her feet, almost hidden in petals. It could be a knife. Wincing at the prospect of plunging a blade into the old man’s flesh, she bent her knees and reached down to feel the circular rim of a metal bowl. She picked it up. Grains of dried up rice were sticking to the sides. Seeing what Lucy was clutching, her mother attempted to keep Baptiste’s attention on herself.
‘Come closer,’ she said. ‘I want to see Veronique. She has looked after me and given me water when you weren’t here. Let me speak to her and thank her for her many kindnesses to me.’
‘See how beautiful she is,’ he replied, holding up the skull.
As he took a step forward, Lucy leapt at him, bringing the rim of the bowl down on the back of his head with all her might. Metal hit bone with a loud retort, shattering the momentary silence. Lucy was faintly surprised when Baptiste collapsed without protest. For a second his arm twitched as he reached for the skull that had slipped from his grasp. Then he lay motionless. A few petals, disturbed by the movement, came to rest on his face.
For a moment nothing happened, as though time had stopped in that dark place.
‘Oh my God, have I killed him?’ Lucy asked, horrified yet curiously calm at the same time, her voice an intrusion in the silence of the hut.
‘I hope so!’ her mother replied. ‘Hurry up. He must keep the keys on him. I’ve heard them jangling when he moves.’
Lucy hesitated, but she had to find the key if she wanted to rescue her mother. Cringing, she knelt beside his body, terrified that he would suddenly leap up and attack her.
‘What if he’s alive?’ she asked.
Her mother closed her eyes and did not answer. Shaking, Lucy patted the old man’s trousers. She had to force herself to slip her hand inside his pocket, but she found his keys. One of them looked as though it was small enough to fit the handcuffs. Her mother let out an involuntary sob as Lucy released her.
‘I can’t believe it,’ she said, ‘I can’t believe it.’
‘Come on,’ Lucy answered gently, ‘let’s get out of here.’
Trembling so much that she could barely stand, Lucy was only dimly aware of her mother holding onto her arm, as they staggered out of the hut. Outside it was almost dark. In fading sunlight Lucy was shocked to see Baptiste’s blood on her hand. Her arm shook as she held it up for her mother to see.
‘It’s only a smear,’ her mother said, looking away. ‘Wipe it off on the grass. And then let’s get as far away from here as we can.’
‘Rest here for a few seconds,’ Lucy said, ‘and breathe deeply.’
Snatching a handful of leaves from the nearest bush, she scrubbed her soiled skin. The stain did not disappear completely. Meanwhile, the fresh air seemed to revive her mother a little. Hanging on to each other, they tottered away from the foul den where Lucy had just killed a man.
38
‘WHERE THE HELL HAVE you been?’ Her father’s voice seemed to reach her from a long way off. ‘Oh my God! What happened to you?’ he added, catching sight of her.’
‘I’ve got Mum,’ Lucy blurted out and burst into tears.
‘What?’
‘She’s in the car.’
Without another word, her father turned and dashed to the lift. Lucy ran after him as fast as she could.
In the artificial light of the car, Lucy’s mother looked dreadful. Her eyes seemed to have sunk into shadowy depressions, her cheeks were hollow, her hair looked like dead straw.
‘Angela, what happened?’ Lucy’s father asked gently, his eyes filling with tears.
‘Lucy saved my life on the mountain,’ her mother answered feebly, as he climbed into the car beside her. ‘But you mustn’t tell anyone what happened. It stays between us.’
‘Don’t worry about that for now. You can tell me all about it later. But first we’re taking you to the hospital.’
Lucy’s mother moaned softly as the car began to move. On the way, Lucy told him a little of what had happened, how she had followed Baptiste and discovered her mother in the hut on the mountain, chained to the wall.
‘We need to take the police up there as soon as possible,’ her father said, ‘show them the hut exactly as it is, with the chain fixed to the wall, before that maniac can destroy the evidence. The marks on your mother’s wrists will match the shackles in there, and—’
‘No,’ Lucy’s mother interrupted him urgently. ‘We must never tell anyone about that place, never speak of it again.’
‘Why? What happened up there, Lucy?’
As Lucy hesitated, her mother answered for her. ‘Lucy saved my life. She saved all of our lives. He was going to kill us all.’
‘So you said. And Baptiste?’
‘He won’t be bothering us any more.’
‘He’s—?’ Her father broke off, his question hanging unspoken in the air.
Lucy’s teeth were chattering. Her hands shaking. Her breath came in short rapid gasps.
‘His sweeping days are over,’ her mother said. ‘If you take anyone there, it’s going to stir up a lot of trouble for all of us, especially Lucy.’ She broke off, gasping for breath and continued weakly, ‘She had no choice. She had to kill him. It was us or him. She was acting in self-defence. He had a gun and was going to shoot us. But who knows what the police will make of it?
‘I understand,’ Lucy’s father interrupted her. He glanced at Lucy in the rear mirror. ‘Anyone would have done the same thing in the circumstances. I don’t want either of you to worry about it. Everything’s going to be all right from now on.’
‘I had to do it,’ Lucy burst out. ‘I didn’t mean to. I never meant to do it. I never meant to hurt anyone. But he was going to shoot Mum. I had to stop him. I had to. I didn’t think about it. I just did it. Oh God, what have I done?’ She began to cry hysterically.
‘You did what you had to do,’ her father said firmly. ‘No one’s ever going to go up there again. No one knows that place exists, and that means no one will ever find out what happened. Only the three of us know and we’ll never tell anyone else.’
‘You had no choice, Lucy,’ her mother chimed in. ‘It was him or us.’
‘All of us,’ her father agreed. ‘He was armed. He would have shot us all, and he would have got away with it too, because he would have left our bodies up there on the mountain.’
‘Like we’re doing to him,’ Lucy muttered uneasily.
‘Do you think we ought to go back and bury him?’ her father asked.
‘He is buried, in the hut,’ her mother replied.
‘What I don’t understand is what made us his target,’ Lucy’s father said, as they turned into the entrance to the hospital. ‘I know he was mad, but why us?’
‘He was married to Veronique,’ her mother replied quietly.
George started at the mention of the name. ‘Angela,’ he stammered, ‘I wanted to tell you – I can explain – it’s not what you think – but first let’s get you to a doctor. You’re in a bad way, injured and probably dehydrated, and God knows what you might have picked up out there.’
Lucy thought about Baptiste in his remote hut on the mountain where his cadaver would become bone, like the precious skull he had guarded for so long. He had nearly killed her mother. Lucy had rescued her alive, but only just. During the journey to the hospital she had deteriorated, drifting in and out of consciousness. The excitement of her rescue seemed to have sapped the last remnants of her energy.
‘We’re here now,’ her father said. ‘Wake up, Angela. We’re going get you some help. Look at me.’
Her mother groaned softly, and would not open her eyes.
‘She’ll be OK, Dad, once we get her to a doctor.’ She hoped she was right.
Her father nodded without speaking. Gazing anxiously at her semi-comatose mother, her head lolling on her car seat, Lucy was almost pleased she had killed the animal who had reduced her mother to this breathing skeleton.
Lucy’s father carried Angela, unconscious, into the hospital where she was rushed to an examination room in a wheelchair. Lucy and her father went with her and watched helplessly as a young doctor conducted her examination. Angela regained consciousness but could not even stand unaided, and was admitted at once for emergency treatment.
‘What’s happening?’ Lucy’s father asked in a trembling voice. ‘Please, tell me what’s wrong with her.’
‘Your wife is seriously dehydrated. All her systems have shut down.’
The young doctor reeled off a series of medical details in jargon Lucy would not have understood even if the doctor had not been speaking very fast with a strong French accent.
‘What does all that mean? Oh God, will she be all right?’ her father asked. He looked close to tears.
‘Oh yes, Mr Hall. We’re putting your wife on a drip. She should begin to rally within twenty-four hours and then we can start feeding her. She’s very weak but she should be fine in a day or two. We’ll need to check all her vital organs, to check there’s been no permanent damage, but there’s every indication she’s going to make a full recovery.’
The young doctor smiled at them. Crying with relief, Lucy hoped her mother would recover from the psychological trauma as easily as from her physical problems. With the crisis in Angela’s physical state undergoing treatment, an older doctor wanted to question them. Pulling herself together, Lucy accompanied her father.
‘What exactly happened to your wife, Mr Hall?’
‘My wife was lost.’
‘For how long?’
‘Nearly a week.’
The doctor looked at him in surprise. ‘It took you a week to find her?’
‘Yes.’
Seeing her father looking exhausted, barely able to summon the energy to speak, Lucy forced herself to remain composed. It was hard to feel that anything else mattered now that her mother was safe, but she was aware that her father was somehow under scrutiny.
‘Your wife has some strange marks on her wrists, Mr Hall. Can you account for them?’
Lucy took a deep breath. ‘We reported my mother missing to the police nearly a week ago and they’ve been looking for her – but we found her – my father and I – we found her. She’d been—’
‘She’d been lost for days,’ Lucy’s father cut in urgently. ‘We found her on the beach, but we think she’d been wandering all around the island. The police have been searching for her ever since she disappeared.’
His interruption came just in time to prevent Lucy from blurting out that her mother had been taken up the mountain. She met her father’s eye and nodded, recalling the conversation in the car on the way to the hospital. Under no circumstances could her mother’s reappearance be linked to the body in the hut. No one must even know it was there. By the time anyone discovered it, if they ever did, Lucy and her parents would be long gone.
The doctor shrugged and stepped back. ‘Oh well, if the police are investigating . . .’
He opened the door and ushered them out into the corridor. The nightmare was over.
39
LUCY SAW HER FATHER stagger as he was led away by a grey-haired man in a white coat. She hoped the doctor was going to check he was all right. He looked dreadfully drawn and shaken. Meanwhile, she was left alone in the corridor. Sitting on a plastic chair she waited anxiously, telling herself that her mother was receiving the attention she needed and her father was in good hands. The trauma of the evening was over. It was uncomfortably warm and she wondered if there was anywhere she could get a drink of water. She walked along the corridor but the only nurse behind the desk was jabbering on the phone, and she could not see anyone else to ask. Hearing her name, she turned to see Adrian standing in the corridor looking pale and bewildered.
‘I came as soon as I heard,’ he said. ‘How is she?’
Lucy shrugged. ‘OK, I think. How did you know?’
He gave a tense smile. ‘They told us at the hotel. Word travels fast here.’
As briefly as she could, Lucy gave a vague account of what had happened. She did not mention Baptiste.
‘What luck that you found her,’ Adrian said after she had explained how she had found her mother quite by chance, wandering on a deserted beach. Lucy’s father reappeared. He went over to the desk, where the nurse was still on the phone. In a loud voice he demanded to know where his wife had been taken. With a nod, the nurse finished her call and ushered them into a noisy ward. Lucy’s mother was lying on a bed with her eyes closed. Attached to a dr
ip and very pale, she had been washed, and no longer stank of excrement. Her father sat on the only chair and Lucy stood beside him watching a young doctor supervise adjustments to her mother’s drip. The patient’s heart rate and blood pressure were monitored but Lucy did not like to ask how she was and her father looked too tired to speak, so they watched in silence as the medical staff bustled around. The doctor left and a couple of nurses remained fiddling with equipment until Adrian put his head round the door. They joined him in the corridor.
‘How is she?’
‘They’ve put her on a drip. She’ll be OK, won’t she, Dad?’
‘Yes, the doctor said she should rally within twenty-four hours. She’s going to be fine. The main problem is dehydration.’
‘Thank goodness I – we – found her in time,’ Lucy said with a shudder.
Her father nodded his head wearily. ‘Another twenty-four hours and the doctor said she might not have made it. But there’s no need to worry any more. It sounds like she’ll be better very soon, and well enough to fly home.’
‘I told Adrian how we found her on a beach,’ Lucy said quickly.
Her father nodded at her then turned to Adrian. ‘We think she was attacked by a drunken maniac, but we don’t want to start a whole police investigation into what happened. You understand, don’t you, we just want to enjoy the rest of our stay quietly from now on.’
Adrian told them not to worry. The police would be only too pleased to close the case on Angela’s disappearance. ‘By the time the police look into it, you’ll be back in England.’
‘I’m going to stay all night,’ George said. ‘I’m not leaving her on her own in here.’
The ward sister was initially reluctant to allow George to remain with his wife overnight, but he insisted he would not part from her.
Journey to Death Page 21
