Little Fingers! (35 page)

“
I don't
understand.”

“
It's OK.
Relax.” She stroked my face. “Rape me!”

I must have
swallowed loud enough to wake up the whole village. The phlegm got
in the way of my voice, and falsettoed it. “What?”

“
Get on with
it. But don't expect it to be easy. I am going to give you two
black eyes while you do it, and I'll never tell anyone
why.”

“
This is
crazy.”

“
That's me.
Get on with it. It's your only chance, ever.”

She turned to
walk away. “Stop.”

“
That's
better,” she smiled triumphantly, and slapped me as hard as she
could across my face.

I grabbed her.
She pushed me away, although I could tell that it was not with her
full strength. She punched me in the eye. That did it. That really
angered me, and I went for her. Somehow her clothes became
successively ripped. She punched me in the other eye, and I knocked
her to the ground, wrestled with her for minutes, then finally
shoved myself into her and rode her. It was just like riding a
cantering horse that is much more powerful than you, and yet is
tolerating you. After I foamed inside her, which did not take me
long, we lay quietly together.

“
How do I
explain my eyes?” I said. I could barely see through them, and they
were watery and aching.

“
You'll think
of something. You can lie on top of me for a bit, John, while you
figure it out.”

That is when
we had you. I am sure that Lucy was planning to have you. I doubt
she really wanted a baby as a human being. I think she wanted you
more as an act of revolt. When she discovered that her rebellion
resulted in a mundane routine of child care, I think it destroyed
her. It dragged her down. I don't mean you. She absolutely adored
you, but having you finished her life. She could no longer convince
herself that she could be brilliant. She was just a sad, lonely
single mother with a baby.

She didn't
have to be. I offered to marry her. I loved her. She was not
remotely interested. She barely talked to me after that. And she
broke Tom Willows' heart too. That was deliberate. She wanted to
hurt men in general, and Tom in particular. I am not sure why,
beyond that fact that he really did love her.

I suppose you
thought he was your father, did you? That must have hurt. You
didn't like Tom much, did you? What were you doing, going round
there and seducing him, the man you thought was your father? It
must have been your mother inside you. How could you let him
undress you, and take you, and play along with him, planning all
the time, I assume, to murder him? Was it sheer anger at Mary, Mary
Maloney, that you wanted to hurt your father that much? When did
you realise that he wasn't your dad, or did you always believe he
was? That was a sick mind you had that day, my son. Sick, warped,
crazy, dangerous. And I do not even get the impression that it
touched you. His death was simply something you had to lie about to
survive, which you did consummately, scattering clues around all
the while, like an extended, high stakes session of “Call my
bluff.” Did she, didn't she, how could she? Repeat.
Repeat.

And no doubt
you dropped in the fact that Sally Willows was around that day to
implicate her, yet the strange thing is that she really was. That
totally threw me. I suppose that you thought I had picked up the
bait, yet it was in fact the live fish. Why she disappeared again,
I have never been able to work out. I have sometimes wondered
whether there was something happening between them, and she could
not afford to have the whole thing surface. Anyway, she was on the
trail of the murderer like a possessed creature, yet she never
believed it was you. Why? Everyone thought it was you, except I who
should have arrested you, and Sally who should have killed you. We
were the only two who were 100% convinced of your innocence.
Perhaps we were both totally hooked on its being a man's crime.
Sally did say to me “I can be incredibly violent sometimes, but I
would never have had the physical strength to have done that. And
Henry Spence thinks he has done such a brilliant job disguising it
all. Ridiculous man! Complete wanker!” And she laughed in that
Sally way of hers.

* *
*

We tracked
down Dr. Georg Eckardt in Grenoble, thanks to the book that Julia
wrote for me, and we got an interview logged into his busy
schedule, at eight o'clock at night.

“
Good
evening, Doctor. My name is Inspector John Frampton of the Greater
Manchester Police in the United Kingdom…….”

“
Good
evening, Inspector.”

“
It is very
generous of you to find the time to talk to me.”

“
That is no
problem.”

“
I am phoning
to talk about the late Mr. Julian Benson, whom you treated several
years ago, whom you helped to become Miss Julia
Blackburn.”

“
I remember
him well, of course, although I am afraid that I cannot discuss his
case with you.”

“
I
understand, Doctor. I am afraid Mr. Benson/Miss Blackburn is now
dead.”

There was a
pause at the other end of the phone. “I am very, very sorry to hear
that.”

“
He or she
committed suicide.”

“
That very
much surprises me, Inspector. Anyone who went through the
operations, and the pain and suffering, and indeed the trauma that
we experienced together during all those weeks must have had an
enormous appetite for life, a giant's refusal to give in. It would
have been far, far easier to have died.”

“
Am I allowed
to ask you about your impressions of his character during that
period?”

“
No, I am
sorry, Inspector, I really cannot comment. After a formal
application through the proper authorities, and with their
approval, I am allowed to confirm that I treated Mr. Benson, and to
provide you with the full details of the procedures we followed. I
am not allowed to, and would not wish to, add any personal
commentary or private impressions.”

“
Would it
help if I were to tell you that I was also his father?”

“
My every
sympathy for you, Inspector. No, I regret not.”

“
I will ask
you one question anyway. You can choose to answer it, or not. Did
Mr. Benson strike you as being mentally stable during that
period?”

“
Extraordinarily. One of the sanest and most courageous people
I have ever met. A clear-thinking visionary, brave almost beyond
belief.”

“
Are you
sure?”

“
Inspector, I
regret that a patient has just arrived to see me. I must end this
conversation. If you require to know more from me, please follow
the formal procedures and I will co-operate as best I
can.”

“
Thank you,
Doctor.”

* *
*

I read Julia's
account yet again, and at the end realised that I had better
contact the owners of the mill she was staying in to inform them
that she would not be returning.

I found it
immediately on the Internet (“Cacin Mill”), and picked out their
contact details.

“
Hello.”

“
Is that Mr.
David Erhardt?” (remarkable coincidence).

“
It
is.”

“
I am phoning
about Miss Julia Benson.”

“
I am afraid
Julia is in England at the moment. Would you like me to get Mary to
phone you?”

“
Mary?”

“
Yes, Mary. I
do not remember her surname I am afraid.”

“
Is she
blonde, around forty, pretty, and homely looking?”

“
Yes, that
would be about right. If she phones you, you can make sure. Or I
can give you her direct number and you can call her
now.”

“
Yes, I would
like the number please. I will not contact her immediately, but you
can say that I called, if you don't mind. Inspector John
Frampton.”

“
OK. I'll
pass on your message. I will be seeing her later, if that is soon
enough.”

“
That is
perfect.”

I immediately
got hold of Joey. “Could you check your facts with the French
police? I have reason to believe that Mary Maloney is still alive
and living near Granada.”

“
Really?
Wow!”

Joey came back
half-an-hour later. “I got straight through. They again denied any
knowledge of the existence of Mrs. Mary Maloney. Then suddenly he
said 'We did talk to a Mrs. Malanny, though.”"

“
You're
joking.”

“
Nope. They
knew Mrs. Malanny. She disappeared at the same time as Julia
Benson. That is why they were so keen to get hold of Julia. They
thought she had killed her, and the other girl ……..” Joey refers to
his notes “….. Alice Picard. I must say, he sounded rather
embarrassed. Well, aggressive, actually.”

“
Figures.”

* *
*

Which meant
that I had to read that damn book again. I began to hate it. I
began to feel that it was personally torturing me, that Julia was
deliberately holding back the key information.

Then suddenly
a sentence grabbed me. It is funny how you can skate over something
numerous times and then, in a new context, you gain a completely
different understanding of what is being said.

I knew exactly
who the killer was, and it would not take me more than half-an-hour
to get myself the evidence I needed. Even though it was 11:30 at
night, Sally Willows answered her phone.

I phoned the
station. I needed four officers at 6:00 that morning. Could it be
arranged?

“
They are
going to love you for that. It had better be worth it.”

“
It is to
arrest Henry Spence for the three murders in Hanburgh.”

“
Oh, yes,
that is definitely worth it. You are not going to wait for a
warrant?”

“
No, I will
sort all that out later.”

“
Okie-dokie,
John. Consider it done.”

Henry was not
at all amused to be called to the door at 6:30 in the
morning.

“
Are you
Henry Adam Spence?” I demanded.

“
You know
damn well I am, John.” He eyed the accompanying
officers.

“
In that
case, Mr. Henry Adam Spence, as the officer in charge I arrest you
for the wilful murder of Mr. Tom Willows, of Mr. George Knightly,
and of Mr. Tom Becker. You do not have to say anything now, but I
must warn you that anything you do choose to say may be taken down
and used in evidence at your trial.”

“
This is
absolutely ridiculous, John. Wait until Hilary hears about
this!”

“
You may, of
course, tell Mrs. Spence where you are going, to Hanburgh police
station initially, and that you are being taken in for questioning.
I regret that the conversation will have to be kept brief, Sir, and
that an officer will have to be present at all times.”

“
My wife is
in bed. I am not having one of your officers in our
bedroom.”

“
Then please
call Mrs. Spence, and ask her to get dressed and come
downstairs.”

“
That will
not take only five minutes, John. Hilary always takes a long time
to get dressed.”

“
It takes
what it takes, Sir. It is the conversation which must be kept
brief.”

* *
*

“
Hello,
Inspector.”

Julia was
looking calm, pre-occupied, and pleased to see me.

“
I have been
reading your book, Julia. Although it is not exactly what I was
expecting, it has given me some excellent insights into all that
has been happening here. It must have taken you a great deal of
time and effort, not to mention pain to complete.”

“
I am glad
that you have found it useful, John. Has it helped you solve the
case?”

“
I still get
the impression that you are holding a lot back. I doubt that you
were being entirely honest.”

“
I did hold
back the last section. I wanted that to remain private between Mary
and me.”

“
So it wasn't
included in what you gave me?”

“
No.”

“
What was in
that section?”

“
That is what
will remain private, John. Mary has a print-out. It is her choice
too as to whether, and when, we release it.”

I sat down on
the end of the bed, next to Julia. “Off the record, Julia, why did
you kill Tom Willows? Did you think he was your father when you
decided to sleep with him? Were you, in some perverted way, taking
revenge on him and the way you believed he had raped and abandoned
your mother? How could you do that?”

“
I did think
it was a possibility that he was my father, but only the slightest
of ones. I slept with him because I was getting my own back on Mary
for her betrayal, showing her that I could replace our warm,
loving, apparently homosexual relationship with a cold, clinical,
heterosexual quickie. I was challenging her to take a stance for
her own values, not just to accept the dumb customs of the village
which almost celebrated Tom's behaviour and morality. And, John, I
did not kill Tom. Either Tom.”