Gutted (35 page)

She removed her hands from the table, gripped tightly once again on the chair’s arms. Her knuckles turned white. But still there wasn’t a flicker in those eyes. Her gaze held firm. She was lost in thoughts, reveries, barely with us. I had no words that could comfort her, asked, ‘Is there someone I could call?’

‘No!’ She was harsh, indignant, gripping harder on the chair. ‘There’s no one.’

I could feel my heart freezing over at the sight before me; the woman was in bits. She needed some help, medical attention, sedating probably. I wasn’t fit for the task of comforting her, said, ‘I just think that, you know—’

She cut me off, lunged forwards: ‘Mr Dury, I have to tell you—’

I didn’t know what to say, mumbled, ‘About what?’

‘About Mark.’

‘Look, you can’t hold yourself responsible.’

She dropped back into the chair, started to weep. Deep, pained sobs from a part of her no other person would ever want to witness. As I watched her shoulders shaking, I laid a hand on her arm. ‘Come on now.’

She grabbed her head in her hands. ‘I couldn’t lose another child.’ She stiffened. I withdrew my arm. ‘I knew he was going to kill him,’ she said.

‘Katrina, you don’t need to do this.’

‘I knew when he started to latch on to that gang he wanted to avenge Chrissy.’ She turned to me, seemed suddenly animated, gripped my hands in hers. ‘Mr Dury, I couldn’t lose another child, don’t you understand?’

I understood.

She removed one hand from mine and put it in her coat pocket. From inside she withdrew a long bloodstained knife with a serrated blade. The knife was damaged.

She said, ‘The tip broke off inside him. They’ll be able to match that, won’t they?’

‘Katrina, is this what I think? I mean, are you saying . . .’

‘I killed Fulton . . . I had to, I couldn’t lose another child.’

She placed the knife down on the table. I covered it with a bar towel, wrapped it up.

‘I followed Fulton for weeks. I knew Mark was planning to kill him. I’m his mother, I could see it, there was a change in him . . . as if his whole life was over.’ She spoke so plainly now, so matter-of-fact, as if making this confession to me was the most natural thing in the world. For the first time since she’d walked through the door of the Wall she seemed stilled, calm. She knew exactly what she was doing, perhaps she had all along. She went on, ‘I watched Fulton with those morons, those little shits . . . and Mark. I watched them for weeks. I knew Mark was just biding his time, waiting for the right moment when he’d have Fulton alone and then he’d . . .’ Katrina stopped flat. She started rocking to and
fro
in the chair. ‘I followed Fulton, onto the hill.’ She stopped again.

I prompted, ‘On the night he was killed?’

She didn’t look at me, just kept staring into the distance. ‘Yes. At home I overheard Mark on the phone. He said he was going up there. I panicked because I knew what he’d become capable of . . . The change in him, Mr Dury, he wasn’t himself any more . . . I took the knife and I drove fast. I got there before him . . .’ She suddenly snapped back to reality, faced me. ‘I couldn’t lose another child, you must understand.’

‘Go on.’

‘Fulton had those little white headphones in, he didn’t hear me till I caught up with him on the trail. My heart was pumping and pumping. All I could think of was Mark coming and of Chrissy . . . Fulton killed Chrissy, he killed my lovely daughter. When he turned, the knife went cleanly in his side. It was easier than I ever imagined.’ She spoke briskly now, animating her actions with thrusts of arms. ‘He wasn’t a very big man; I was taller. He had his hands up but the knife kept slicing through his palms. He fell back, I think he must have been dead already, but I dropped on top of him. I couldn’t stop. I was in a frenzy, pure rage . . . I’d never felt such strength in me. I kept going long after he was dead . . . He killed Chrissy, he wasn’t taking Mark.’

I found myself nodding, but I couldn’t form words.

She went on, relaying the full gory account, ‘The knife got stuck, the blade broke in his ribs, I had to heave to get it out his chest . . . The tip will be in there, won’t it?’

‘I should think so.’

She went on some more. I switched off. When she was finished, I spoke. ‘Did Mark witness any of this?’

‘No.’ She seemed relieved to have given her account. ‘No, he wasn’t even there by the time I left . . . I quickly covered the body with branches and went home to clean myself up.’

She seemed so cold now; I asked, ‘And your husband?’

‘No, never . . . but . . .’

‘Yes? What is it?’

Katrina slouched back in her chair, subdued once again. ‘He told me . . . he confided . . . that he thought our son . . .’

‘Your husband suspected Mark?’

A nod. But no more words.

As I stood up Katrina Crawford’s eyes flitted back to reality, just for a moment, but it was long enough. ‘You’ll have to tell them they’ve got it all wrong,’ she said.

I nodded; I was trembling now.

I went through to the bar. The place was in silence. I broke the reverence, said, ‘Go sit with her.’

Debs took one look at me and didn’t question.

‘Gimme the phone, Mac.’

I dialled.

My heart was beating so strong I could hardly speak, managed, ‘Police.’

A pause.

‘I want to speak to Fitzsimmons.’

He answered on the third ring. ‘It’s Dury . . . I’ll keep it short: you have the wrong man. It was Katrina Crawford . . . the mother killed him.’

‘What?’

‘She’s at the Wall. I think you better come for her now.’

I gave the phone to Mac. My hand was shaking too much to put the receiver in the cradle.

As I sat at the bar my Guinness had settled nicely.

I raised the glass; beads of moisture shone like jewels down the side. The first taste felt like my
Ice Cold in Alex
. Had I ever waited longer for a drink? I savoured every drop.

Mac stood silently, knew better than to ask.

I called for another drink. As I did so, Hod walked in. He’d lost the beard, but I didn’t comment on that.

‘It’s yours,’ I said.

‘What is?’

‘This place . . . the bar.’ My eyes were still burning. I could feel them, saw their fire reflected in Hod’s. He said nothing.

Mac put three shot glasses in front of us, poured a Talisker bottle over them. He didn’t make a toast.

Hod was the first to speak, said, ‘Gus, I’ve been thinking . . .’

‘Oh yeah.’

‘If you write this up, you could make some serious cash.’

‘And?’

‘It could be your salvation.’

I felt my heart sink. ‘That’s what you’ve been thinking, is it?’

‘I have, yeah.’

I stood up, shoved in my stool, beckoned the dog. I could see Debs patting Katrina’s back as she sobbed. ‘Know what I’ve been thinking?’

‘What?’

‘I’ve other plans.’

Hod spun as I walked for the snug. ‘You’re not serious . . .’

‘
Deadly
.’

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