Dying to Know (A Detective Inspector Berenice Killick Mystery) (51 page)

The
sun was shining when Berenice’s car pulled out of the lab car park. It was still shining when she drove up the track to Virginia’s cottage and parked.

The
slam of the car door. The twitch of the curtains.

She
knocked on the door.

Virginia
opened it.

‘What
now?’ She blinked at the brightness beyond. ‘I’d heard you weren’t even on the case anymore.’

‘It’s
complicated.’

‘I
don’t have to ask you in.’

‘No,’
Berenice agreed. ‘You don’t.’

The
two women stood there on the doorstep.

‘However,’
Berenice went on, ‘I wanted to ask you a question.’

‘Another
one? Do I have to answer it?’

Berenice
hesitated. Then she said, ‘Who would have wanted your husband dead?’

‘He’s
been arrested – charged - ’

Berenice
shook her head. ‘Not Clem. I’m not talking about him.’

Virginia
gave a small shrug. She moved as if to shut the door.

‘More
to the point,’ Berenice said, her foot against the edge of the door, ‘Who would have wanted Iain dead?’

Virginia’s
gaze hardened. She stood, unmoving.

‘You
blamed him,’ Berenice went on.

‘Why
shouldn’t I?’ Her eyes flashed with sudden rage. ‘It was all his fault. Everything. It all came down to him.’

‘Not
Murdo’s fault, then?’ Berenice said. ‘The affair with Elizabeth. The child who wasn’t yours? They lied to you, didn’t they – Elizabeth and Murdo – ’

‘How
dare you?’ Her eyes were black with anger. ‘How dare you… He was blameless. Blameless, I tell you. Hoodwinked by that man…. That man…’ She gulped, as if more speech might choke her.

‘So
Iain…’

‘Murdo
was the only man I ever loved. A worthy, brave, stalwart man.’

‘And
Iain killed him,’ Berenice said.

‘Yes,’
she said. ‘Iain killed him.’ Berenice heard her vengefulness, wondered at her rage. This tiny woman, wringing her apron between her bony hands, and that bluff, towering scientist… it seemed impossible.

Berenice
faced her. ‘And who killed Iain?’

Virginia
was motionless.

‘You
were angry,’ Berenice said. ‘With Elizabeth – ’

‘No.’
The word was a shout. ‘I don’t even think about her, I don’t care about her, as far as I’m concerned she’s nothing, nothing…’

‘And
you were angry with Iain. Very angry.’

Virginia
swayed, put one hand against the door frame.

Berenice
waited.

Virginia
was breathing, fast, her eyes darting. Suddenly, she spoke. ‘He didn’t believe I’d kill him. I knew he’d be there, up at the Tower, he was there every night after Murdo… after he left us… Guilt, maybe… re-visiting things… And so, one night, I was there too. Offered him a drink. He was surprised. Let bygones be bygones, he said, he thought that’s what I was doing, sitting there with my bottle of brandy, my two glasses.’

‘The
sedative…’

‘Exactly.’
She gave a small smile.

‘And
then, when he was stumbling anyway…’

‘I
lured him to the edge. I wanted him to know, I wanted him to understand… It was only a slight push after that…’

‘What
did you say to him?’

Virginia
looked at her. Her eyes were wide now, a new vulnerability… ‘Don’t you understand? I raised that child as if he were my own, because of Murdo, because I loved him. I didn’t care about her, I didn’t care how that child came to be. It was my husband’s child and that was enough for me. And then to find out he was – ’ She clapped her hand across her mouth.

‘…it
was Iain’s?’ Berenice finished for her.

She
waved her other hand frantically across her face. ‘No,’ she mumbled, behind her fingers. ‘No, no…’

‘When
did you find out?’ Berenice asked.

She
was shaking her head now, her hands clasped to the side of her face, still murmuring refusal.

‘It
was then, wasn’t it?’ Berenice prompted. ‘On the tower.’

‘He
wouldn’t tell me.’ She stared downwards. ‘He wouldn’t say. Whose was he, I was asking, tell me, and he said nothing, sipping on his glass, but in the end he looked me in the eyes and said, you know, Virginia. You’ve always known. And I said, did he know? Did Murdo know that it was your son? And he was looking straight at me, and he said, you know Murdo couldn’t have children, you know that Virginia… And by then his speech was slurring, and he said he felt unwell, he got up, and I said, come and look at the sea, like we used to, in the old days, and we went under the barrier and stood on the old bricks and we watched the sea crash against the rocks beneath us, and he turned to me and said, I had to do it, Ginny, believe me, I loved her so…’ She sat there, breathing, silenced.

‘Murdo
knew the baby wasn’t his. He must have known. I mean, long before…’

Virginia
looked up at her. Her voice was flat. ‘A miracle child. That’s how I thought of it. Why shouldn’t I believe in miracles? Why shouldn’t it be true that you can have light in the darkness?’

Berenice
was silent.

‘It
wasn’t difficult, after that,’ Virginia said.

‘Did
Iain know what you’d done?’

‘Oh
yes.’ Virginia gave a nod. ‘He was unsteady, complaining of dizziness. His last words were, ‘Have you done this? And as I put my hand on his arm, I said, Yes, I said. Yes, I have done this.’

Now,
she looked at her. A direct, clear gaze.

Berenice
gazed back. ‘And then what?’ she asked.

Virginia
blinked, chewing at her lip. She shook her head. ‘After that… it only took a little push.’ Her gaze faltered again. ‘I heard him fall. It was very loud… I don’t know… I didn’t know a man falling can make that kind of noise.’ She fell silent, staring at her hands.

They
listened to the sea, the distant crashing of the stormy waves. After a while Virginia said, ‘Will they charge me with murder?’

She
held out her hands, as if waiting for handcuffs.

Berenice
leaned forward and grasped the two cold hands in her own. The movement took them both by surprise.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Three days. Helen sat by the window of the lounge and looked out to sea.

Three
days. One text, two days ago, saying, ‘I am still here’. Then nothing, his phone switched off.

She’d
told the police, of course. Berenice herself had tried to help, but she was so busy with the case, such an extraordinary outcome, it was all over the press, photographs of Virginia, photographs of the lab, Liam, even…

She
wondered what Chad made of it. She wondered if he knew. Presumably he’d heard somewhere, seen a television or a newspaper, wherever he was…

Her
heart clenched at the thought.

And
Virginia, capable of that. Berenice had said to Helen, over a cup of tea, that she’d seemed almost relieved when she’d challenged her, as if something had come to an end, something burdensome and terrible, and now over.

Poor
woman, Helen. Thought. Poor poor woman.

Murdo
was the love of her life, she’d said.

Perhaps
it drives you mad. Perhaps I’ll be the same, as the years pass, sitting here by the window waiting for my husband, becoming more and more shrivelled with rage until one day, I too…

Except,
the difference is, the only person I’m angry with – is myself.

Funny how things change, Berenice thought, as she walked through reception and along the sunlit corridor. Two days ago I had to creep through the car park entrance, in the hope of not seeing anyone, in the hope of avoiding the Chief Super with his snide comments. And today –

‘
- Morning Ma’am,’ said a passing sergeant, a boy she hardly knew.

‘Morning,’
she replied.

His
hand briefly touched his forehead.

A
salute, she thought. They’ll be doffing hats next.

She
rounded the corridor into the foyer area.

‘Ah
– Berenice – ’

‘Morning,
Sir,’ she said.

He
faced her. ‘Well…’ He stood there, pink-faced against the orange lino. ‘Well… carry on, eh? Good work.’

‘Thank
you, Sir,’ she said.

‘You should have called him Stuart,’ Mary said, later, as they sat in her office.

‘I
thought of it. Then I thought, I don’t care.’ She pulled the papers on her desk towards her. ‘So – wassup?’

‘These
are the new files. Clem to be charged with the murder of Alan Moffatt. And the other stuff still stands, of course. Iain Hendrickson, deceased, is named as the person responsible for the murder of Murdo Maguire, by assault and drowning. And Virginia’s been remanded in custody, charged with the murder of Iain Hendrickson.’

Berenice
scanned the paperwork. ‘Tobias,’ she said. ‘He’s on his own in that cottage.’

‘I’ve
talked to social services. They said he’s technically an adult. I said he still needs looking after. They said last time they’d called he wasn’t there.’

‘Great.
And Lisa?’

Mary
inspected her nails. ‘She’s gone again.’

‘Gone?’

‘The hospital were supposed to keep her until children’s services could find a place for her. But in the meantime, she discharged herself.’

‘Fuck.’
Berenice reached to her computer. ‘I’m not having that kid going missing. Can’t we find her?’

‘We’ve
tried everyone. Finn Brady. Tobias. The caravan.’

‘And
Tazer?’

‘The
dog? No sign either.’

‘Keep
a shout out, OK?’

‘Will
do. One other thing.’ Mary checked her notebook. ‘There was a sighting of a man at Hank’s Tower. Sleeping rough.’

Helen clicked off her phone. ‘Could be anyone,’ Berenice had said. ‘Be careful.’

Helen,
still curled on her sofa, watched the distant waves, blue like the sky. She felt cold. She stretched her legs out, shifted her shoulders. It was time to take action.

She
went out to the hall, found boots, coat, keys. Five minutes later she was driving along the track towards the coastal road.

It
was a high tide, a spring tide. A sharp wind buffeted the waves. Foam crashed onto the stones beneath, as Helen parked the car.

The
sky had clouded over. The tower, Hank’s tower, rose darkly in front of her. She thought of the men spiralling to their deaths. She shuddered.

The
stone staircase was narrow and worn with age. She leaned on the curved brickwork as she climbed. She found herself out on a platform, half sheltered from the wind by a wooden roof.

She
screwed up her eyes, adjusted to the flat grey light. She saw the cold stone of the floor. In one corner, a pile of blankets. A figure, seated, his back to her. He turned.

The
sea quietened as they looked at each other.

She
took a step towards him. He got to his feet, stumbled towards her. He took her hands and stared at her.

‘You
look awful,’ she said, her fingers touching his cheek, which was rough with three days’ beard.

He
was still holding her gaze, blank-eyed, vacant.

‘I’m
so sorry,’ she said, and burst into tears.

Later they would stand, arm in arm, looking out to sea. Later he would turn to her, nuzzle at her hair, murmur her name. Later still, much later, they will make love, and she will find, in his rough familiarity, the glimpse of a future, the promise of forgiveness.

But
that is yet to come. For now, he faces her, his skin wind-blown, his eyes steel-bright with sleeplessness. She is still crying, and he reaches out a chilled hand and touches the tears.

‘I
was very angry,’ he says. ‘Very very angry.’