The Bad Things (29 page)

They went into the front room. Edward looked out of the window, hoping against hope there would be someone walking on the beach. But the rain was still sheeting down, and Edward knew none of his neighbours would come to their holiday cottage in the middle of the week.

Edward sat down in one chair, his visitor in another, still holding that stretched smile, gun held a little steadier now, but still pointing right at his guts.

‘Now then, Detective Inspector Grainger…actually, I think I’ll just call you Teddy. Is that all right?’

No, it wasn’t all right. That’s what Jill called him; she was the only one to call him Teddy. He didn’t want this…this person, this terrorist, to call him Teddy. He clenched his fists. ‘I’d rather you didn’t.’

His visitor shrugged. ‘Teddy. You know why I’m here.’

Edward leaned forward on the chair. ‘Actually, I don’t. But perhaps we can work something out. I have a little bit of money, but no real valuables in the house. Why don’t you just take what you came for and leave? Please?’ He hated the pleading note in his voice, and he wanted to wipe his sweaty palms down the sides of his pyjama bottoms.

‘Oh, I will Teddy. How about if I say the name Martin Jessop, hmm?’

Edward rocked back in his chair. That was a name he’d been trying to forget, been told to forget, for fifteen years. He closed his eyes, clenched his fists.

‘I see you know who I’m talking about then, Teddy.’ The voice was amused. ‘And I don’t think you like remembering.’

‘Martin Jessop is dead. He hanged himself. He was a murderer.’

‘Yes, I know that,’ his visitor hissed, voice changing from a tone of quiet amusement to one of menace. ‘Jackie Wood’s dead too.’

‘I know. I read the papers, watch the television,’ said Edward, trying to inject some spirit into his voice. He’d been pleased when he’d learned about her death. Another loose end tied up, after all this time.

‘My, my, clever man. And I expect you’re clever enough to know that Martin Jessop didn’t kill those little children?’

‘He was tried and convicted.’ He tried to appear calm – unclench his fists, breathe normally. The visitor was still wearing the bloody balaclava; that was a good sign. There could be a way out.

His visitor bounced out of the chair, began to walk around the room, gesticulating. ‘This bungalow. Nice. Nice area, too. Can’t have been cheap.’

‘Sold my house on Guernsey.’

‘Even so.’

Edward watched carefully for any sign the gun might waver again. Nothing, it was steady, as though his visitor had gained confidence.

‘So, Teddy, why did you do it?’

‘Do what?’

‘Keep quiet about Jessop’s mistress?’

‘Don’t know what you mean.’ His stomach was knotted; he began to pray.

‘Come on, let’s not tell lies, not at this stage.’ His visitor tore the balaclava off. Edward closed his eyes.

‘Look at me,’ the visitor said.

Edward opened his eyes. ‘I know you,’ he whispered.

His visitor sat down in the chair again. ‘Yes, you do.’

Edward couldn’t say anything. It was a bad, bad sign. No balaclava. There was no saliva left in his mouth. He licked his lips.

‘Dry?’ His visitor leaned forward, face almost eager, smile menacing. ‘Let’s get you a drink.’ The visitor stood, gun still trained on Edward, and picked up the whisky bottle on the table next to him. Not good. The visitor was wearing thin surgical gloves. Poured a glass.

‘Drink up, Teddy.’

‘I don’t—’

‘I said, drink up. Please.’

Edward lifted the glass to his lips, but his hand was shaking so much some of the amber liquid slopped on to the front of his dressing gown.

His visitor tutted. ‘Butterfingers, Teddy. Pour yourself some more. Not too much, though. We don’t want to vomit now, do we?’

Edward poured some more liquid into the glass.

‘Now drink it.’

He downed it in one gulp, grateful for the burning in his throat and the warmth that suffused his body.

‘So, Teddy. You didn’t answer my question. Why did you keep quiet about Jessop’s girlfriend? And why wasn’t Jessop’s alibi looked into more rigorously?’

‘His girlfriend was Jackie Wood, and I didn’t—’

‘Stop it, Teddy. Tell me the truth. You might as well, after all these years.’

His visitor was shouting. Edward downed his whisky before pouring himself more, liquid slopping onto his legs. He didn’t want to think back to that time, how easily he had been persuaded to turn a blind eye to what was going on. Easily persuaded? It had been more than that. Jez Clements had thrown him a lifeline. Said he’d keep quiet about the kickbacks he was getting from some of the scrotes and gave him money to pay off his gambling debt. Don’t know where he got the money. Probably a loan or something; it was worth it for him, gave him leverage. Jill had never known how close they had come to losing it all. So yes, he not only turned a blind eye to any evidence that might throw Jessop’s guilt into doubt, he actually ignored it; ‘found’ the evidence to blow Jessop’s alibi apart and squashed any rumour of a secret mistress. In fact, actually encouraged the thought that Jackie Wood was his other half. All it had needed was a word here, a sentence there. People saw what they wanted to see, believed what they wanted to believe.

‘Was it worth it?’ The visitor’s voice was soft now.

Had it been worth it? Edward drained the glass. His eyes misted over. No. It hadn’t been worth it. Not now; now that Jill was gone. He’d give it all up, confess to anything if he could have his Jill back.

‘Never had children, did you?’

What? Edward jerked his head up. ‘What’s that got to do with it?’ he asked, feeling the familiar twist of hurt when the subject of children came up, even though it was years too late for them.

‘Good job, Teddy. Life’s hard with kids. Especially…well, they wouldn’t have liked you. Liked what you became.’

‘What?’

‘Look at you.’ The visitor gently guided Edward’s hand as he poured the whisky. ‘Sitting there in your pyjamas and dressing gown in the middle of the day. What would Jill think of you?’

He drank, his head beginning to feel pleasantly fuzzy. Perhaps this was a joke or a hallucination? ‘Jill?’ His tongue was thick and the word filled his mouth.

Laughter came from a long way away. Edward raised the glass to his lips again, wanting to feel the alcohol warming him once more.

‘Yes, Jill. She loved you, and you loved her. But then you lied to everybody. You lied to your colleagues, to the court, got rid of evidence about Alex Devlin. Closed down the investigation. You betrayed her, didn’t you?’ The visitor’s voice was insistent.

Edward nodded, gulping back the tears now. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Betrayed. I’m so sorry. So sorry, Jill.’ If he hadn’t been holding his glass he would have put his head in his hands and sobbed.

‘Why did you do it, Teddy?’ The voice was gentle and kind and made Edward sob even more.

‘I had to,’ he said. ‘Had to. I needed the money. Or we would have lost everything. I’d have lost Jill.’ Tears and snot ran freely down his chin. ‘And I couldn’t go to prison. They hate coppers in prison.’

‘Now, see,’ the visitor’s voice was still kind. ‘You’re upset. Here, take these.’

‘What?’ Edward looked up to see two faces. Two noses. Four eyes. Two smiling mouths. Where had they all come from?

‘Pills, Teddy, they’ll help you relax.’

He felt the tears running into his mouth, the snot on his chin. He wanted to cry.

‘Teddy, come on, swallow them down. Have a bit more whisky.’

More whisky. Yes. But – he struggled, tried to clear his foggy, befuddled mind – there was something, something bothering him. Something that didn’t make sense. He shook his head, trying to clear a space in the fog.

‘More whisky, Teddy.’ The voice was impatient.

‘How…how d’you know ’bout Alex Devlin?’

‘What did you say, you old fool?’

‘Devlin. The girl? How…’ The effort was too much. His chin sank onto his chest.

Suddenly his head was wrenched up by fingers pulling on his chin. ‘How did I know?’ Edward flinched as spit flew in his face. His visitor’s eyes were blazing. Edward never understood what that meant until now. Blazing.

‘We found the diary. When we came to your house the other day. Broke in. Searched for it while you were off out buying booze and finally, we found it. Martin Jessop told us all we needed to know. Now do you understand?’

The fingers let go of his chin. Edward nodded, tears flowing freely.

‘Now.’ The voice was tender again. ‘Have some pills. They’ll help.’

Edward nodded and scrabbled the pills from the outstretched hand.

‘That’s it, carefully now.’

He felt the hand guide his own to his mouth. He could smell the latex and powder of the surgical gloves. He parted his lips and swallowed the pills. They made him want to gag. The gloved hand was stroking his throat, helping the pills down.

‘There, that’s better.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he heard himself mumble. ‘Jill, I’m sorry. Sorry. Sorry.’

‘Have some more, Edward. Just a couple more pills.’

‘You know I’m sorry, don’t you?’ he whispered as the pills went in his mouth. Somewhere in his brain he knew he had to make his visitor understand. Somewhere he knew it was important that they should know he was sorry, for all of it. All of it.

‘That’s right, Teddy. Soon you’ll be able to forget. No more painful memories, hmm? That’s what you want, isn’t it?’

Edward opened one eye. Took effort. Tried to open the other. Couldn’t. Saw a large plastic bag. Heard a tearing, snapping noise. A hiss like gas escaping from a balloon. Wanted to say he would put things right. Too much.

The darkness closed around him as he heard a whisper of movement in the air.

29

‘Damn. Fuck. Shit. Bollocks.’ Kate banged the steering wheel with the palms of her hands making them sting.

‘That looked as though it hurt,’ said Glithro, his voice mild. ‘And a nice array of swear words there, Detective Inspector.’

Kate turned to him. ‘There goes our fucking lead.’

‘A lead, Kate. There’ll be more where that came from.’ He smoothed the hair on the top of his head.

They were sitting in the car outside Grainger’s house, letting the forensic team do their work. It was fuggy, and the windscreen had steamed up, blotting out the dismal view of rain and sea and more rain.

‘I don’t know where you get your optimism from.’ She sighed, aware she was sounding especially grumpy. ‘Sometimes, in the winter around here, I fantasize about working in a hot country like Spain or somewhere. Sunshine all day long. Arresting expat crooks.’ She grinned. ‘I reckon I could enjoy that.’

‘No you wouldn’t.’ Glithro unwrapped another piece of chewing gum. ‘You’d be bored witless after a while and very sunburnt. Your skin’s not made for constant sunshine. And besides, those crooks abroad are very stupid. All they want is a big fuck-off villa and some arm candy and to boast about what they’ve done. They’re an easy catch.’

‘Then why haven’t more been caught? Oh, bloody hell.’ She banged the steering wheel again. ‘Why the fuck did he kill himself now, of all times?’

Glithro laughed. ‘It was very inconvenient of him, I must say. He could have waited an hour or two.’

‘It’s no joking matter.’ She groaned. ‘We could only have been minutes too late.’

‘True.’ The muscles of his jaw worked slowly. ‘Haven’t seen an exit bag suicide for years.’

‘How do people know how to use those things?’

‘Come on, Kate, it’s all over the internet. Plenty of advice about how much helium to let flow into the bag to make you drowsy enough not to want to pull the bloody thing off your head. Plenty of places to buy bags with the Velcro to do them up with. Christ, there are forums that can tell you what poisons to cook up to kill yourself successfully. You know that as well as I do.’

‘Depressing.’

‘Some people are that desperate.’ His voice was sharp enough to make Kate look across at him, but his face was immobile. Then he seemed to shake himself. ‘And Edward Grainger was obviously that desperate.’

There was silence in the car, broken only by the sound of the rain on the roof. ‘All a bit pat, though, isn’t it?’ said Kate. ‘Could have done it any time over the last fifteen years.’ She could feel the frustration bubbling up inside.

‘No obvious note.’

Kate leaned back and closed her eyes. ‘No note. Dies at a rather convenient time. Let’s not presume anything.’

‘So, if we’re not definitely coming down on the side of suicide, could he have been murdered?’

‘Precisely.’ Kate opened her eyes.

‘And if he was murdered—’

‘Who did it?’ Kate finished for him.

‘More than that, Kate, why? And why now? Has someone got wind of the fact that we’re looking into Jackie Wood’s murder and are looking back into the past?’ He turned on the seat to face her, his face animated. ‘Someone’s frightened.’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘Or he could have killed himself. Maybe it was just coincidence that we were coming up to see him on the very day he decided to top himself. There was no sign of forced entry. No sign of force at all. He just looked as though he’d gone to sleep.’

‘It’s the helium that does that, isn’t it?’ said Kate, thinking of the bottle of gas with the tube snaking into the plastic bag over Grainger’s head. ‘Makes them docile so they don’t try to claw the bag off. And he’d been drinking.’

‘Clements. That’s who we’ve got to talk to next, isn’t it?’

‘Can’t talk to Grainger.’

‘Obviously.’ Glithro grinned.

‘Are you interested then, Glithro?’

‘Interested?’

‘In something that happened fifteen years ago?’

He shut his eyes as if he were thinking. ‘It’s all happening at once, isn’t it?’

‘Meaning?’

‘First, Wood gets released from prison, then she’s murdered – found, coincidentally, by the murdered children’s aunt – then Grainger’s found dead. I mean, what’s next and why now?’

There was a knock on the side window, and Kate pressed the button to open it while breathing a silent sigh of relief. It was the pathologist smiling her usual sunny smile.

‘Jane,’ she said by way of greeting. ‘How goes it?’