by Emma Jameson
“After the McNabb inquiry was closed, Sir Raleigh decided it was time for another wife. He married my mum, Helen, and she gave birth to me seven months after she said ‘I do.’ Duncan was at Eton. Eldon was at Oxford. Apart from brief, obligatory phone calls, Sir Raleigh pretended they didn’t exist. A state of affairs that suited them, I shouldn’t wonder. They stayed at their dorms year-round. They weren’t allowed to come home, even for Christmas.
“But when I was three and my baby sister, Pansy, was about six months old, Sir Raleigh had a heart attack. It happened on the twenty-fourth of December. Duncan and Eldon were permitted to come home so everyone could pray for a Christmas miracle—that Sir Raleigh would die, of course. He didn’t, but he was too weak to order his sons out. Eldon went back to Oxford after a week, but Duncan stuck around.
“I have so many snaps of me and Duncan from that winter. Him carrying me on his shoulders. Playing Barbies with me. Helping me bake a cake. I don’t know why he took to me. He was fifteen, I was three. And there was no whiff of interference, of ugliness. Perhaps I was his pet dog all over again. It was a happy time for me, but not Mama, because Pansy died. People called it a cot death. It wasn’t, of course, and Mama suspected Duncan.
“She made a plan to leave Sir Raleigh. She had to be careful. If she told him straight out that she wanted a divorce, she might turn up dead, like Opal. So she secretly got her affairs in order. She hired a private detective to dig into the Godingtons in hopes of finding something to hold over Sir Raleigh’s head. The PI turned out to be indispensable, not only to her, but to me. In her case, he discovered a juicy piece of leverage, one that sent Sir Raleigh’s solicitors scurrying. He agreed to the divorce.
“For the next ten years, I saw Duncan not at all, and forgot him, truth be told. Mostly I forgot Sir Raleigh, too. Life was orderly and safe. Rather dull, really, until Duncan came back into my life. By then, I was thirteen years old and he was twenty-four.
“He’d just returned from Borneo. Fresh off his first expedition into the jungles and the handsomest man I’d ever seen. Hair bright from the sun. Tanned like an American. Charming and witty and an astonishing conversationalist. He knew everything and I knew nothing. Except I wanted more.
“Of course, Mama didn’t arrange the visit. He turned up on her doorstep one evening and she was too quintessentially English to shut the door in his face. Can you imagine telling a family member to bugger off? It can’t be done. Even if he might be a murderer. I mean, what’s the mere possibility of being murdered in your home compared to the undying memory of your own rudeness?
“I enjoyed every second of the visit. But the moment Duncan left, Mama closed the door, shot the bolt, and said never again. I went to pieces. I think it shocked her to the bone. Not that I was a thirteen-year-old brat, but how quickly and completely I’d fallen under his spell. So she sat me down at the kitchen table, gave me a mug of Horlicks, and told me Duncan was sick in the head. Said his homicidal tendencies weren’t just rumors. That as far as she was concerned, he’d killed Pansy.
“I pretended to listen. But in those days, I thought myself a sterling judge of character. There was nothing wrong with Duncan. There couldn’t be. An exceptional man like him would never murder anyone, much less a helpless baby. I decided Mama hated Sir Raleigh so much, she irrationally hated his son, too.
“Duncan knew he wasn’t welcome at Mama’s, so he never came back. But one day, he walked past my school when my class was at recess. Now I know his ‘accidental’ appearance was by design. At the time, I thought it was fate.
“I was one of those nauseating children who believed in love that crosses oceans. In two hearts that beat as one. In lovers who must never be separated, never mind the disapproval of the unfeeling world. I’ll never forget that day, talking to him through the chain-link fence, him in a gray wool jumper and me in my school uniform with my backpack sitting at my feet. I felt transformed by his attention, certain every girl in my class would have given anything to be me.
“After school, he took me out for ice cream. He said he wanted us to become friends, but it would have to be a secret. I told him right away I’d never tell. Nothing made me happier than to swear loyalty. I would’ve cut my wrists to mix my blood with his if he’d asked.
“That spring was the spring of Duncan. He picked me up twice a week after school, taking me here and there. Little fun outings. On my fourteenth birthday, he gave me a present: a flat within walking distance of my school, exclusively for us. So we could meet.
“Mama never knew. My school friends were only too happy to help me keep her in the dark, because they didn’t know Duncan was my half-brother. I considered that beside the point. So what if we had the same father? The heart wants what it wants. People today would say he was grooming me.
“I settled into the apartment. Duncan and I became intimate in every way. If that shocks or disgusts you, it’s not my intent. I don’t apologize for my choices. Especially the ones I made when I was a little girl who thought she was all grown up.
“So. Though I won’t apologize, I will explain. Because as I grew older, as I went to Uni and was exposed to new ideas, my relationship with Duncan did begin to trouble me. Not because of consanguinity, but the other blood. The blood he spilled.”
Chapter Twelve
Lady Isabel paused before continuing. She spoke softly but clearly, without self-consciousness, as if none of the young people lounging in the courtyard could overhear, or that it would matter if they did. Apart from the moral concerns, which were certain to alienate jurors and would be harped on any competent defense counsel, she’d make the ideal witness, Paul thought. If she could be persuaded to testify, her calm, matter-of-fact manner of speaking would make her impossible for jurors to dismiss. Ex-lovers with axes to grind made the best snouts, it was true, but shaky witnesses. Blood relatives with deep insight were a prosecutor’s dream.
After taking a moment to collect herself, Lady Isabel resumed her story.
“Now I need to tell you about the murders. I wish I could say I never knew. But Duncan concealed nothing from me. I didn’t participate, but I was beside him every step of the way. I’ve never considered him evil. But he does evil things.
“At some point in your life, I’m sure you’ve heard a religious person debate an atheist. Quite often the religious person will argue, even if there is no God, people must believe there is a God, because only fear of God holds society together. In other words, human beings would rape, steal, and murder all the time, but for the fear that God will strike them down or consign them to hell.
“The atheist will say, I don’t believe in God, but I reject rape, theft, and murder. Not because of fear of supernatural punishment. Because of empathy. To atheists, this is the only life we’ll ever get. Every minute of every life becomes all the more precious if there are no cosmic reparations after death.
“But Duncan is the religious person’s rhetorical argument come to life. He doesn’t respect laws. He doesn’t fear God. And that’s why he kills.
“Pansy was his second murder. Marcy McNabb was killed in anger. Pansy died because Duncan decided to test himself. Find out once and for all if he was as sick as his therapists assured him he was. So he slipped into baby Pansy’s room and stood over her in her cot. I don’t remember her, of course, but I can imagine it quite clearly. Pansy at six months old with rosy cheeks and bright eyes. A bit of downy dark hair. Maybe she laughed when she saw Duncan looking down at her. Made those squeaky little sounds of pleasure, kicking her legs and arms. What did she feel when Duncan pinched her nose and mouth shut? No one can say. But when it was done, Duncan didn’t feel a thing.
“I was seventeen when Duncan admitted this to me. He’d already told me about Marcy McNabb, and I’d absolved him, because it’s easy to demonize an adult. But a baby?
“For one lucid moment, Detective, I foresaw this moment. Not sitting in the V&A courtyard dressed as a nun, of course, but disillusioned and confessing every sordid d
etail to a police officer. Maybe Duncan’s actions weren’t his fault. Maybe he really wasn’t human, in the sense we understand the word. But I am. I have a responsibility, don’t I?
“But the lucid moment fluttered away. The impulse to do the right thing is small. Weak. Like a little baby in a cot, lying there in her fleece onesie, looking up at you with big bright eyes. If you don’t swoop in and pull it to you, if you don’t seize the moment, the impulse dies. And the next time it comes to you, it’s even smaller, even weaker, and easier to ignore.
“So I made excuses for Duncan. I told myself it was just a mistake, a terrible mistake, made when he was only a boy. I promised Duncan it didn’t matter, and I would never leave him.
“But we needed fig leaves, as it were, to keep from being shunned by polite society. That brings me to my marriage. Blink and you missed it. I married Mike Bartlow on a whim. I did it to hurt Duncan, because we’d had a terrific row over his insistence on disappearing into jungles for months at a time. What seemed adventurous and romantic when I was a schoolgirl had turned into a bloody inconvenience, now that I was grown up and expected a plus-one at fêtes. Duncan couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t just go with him. But the life of environmental missionary? Dodgy water, dodgy electric, and no creature comforts, just the pleasure of my own zealotry. I wouldn’t do it, even for him.
“Looking back, this was my greatest sin. If there is a God, and he threw me into Duncan’s path to redeem him, then refusing to accompany Duncan into the jungle is where I failed. I let him go off alone, to dwell among beings he did value—orangutans—and watch poachers slaughter them, sometimes for food, sometimes for fun. If he’d developed even a flicker of empathy for human beings, it died in Borneo. I don’t know how many poachers he killed while he was there, but it freed something in him. Like the lion who gets a taste for man.
“Sorry—I forgot to finish my thought about Mike. It says something, doesn’t it? Even when I specifically bring up my ex-husband, I end up nattering about Duncan. That was the marriage in a nutshell. So Mike walked out on me, I went back to Duncan, and all was right with the world. No spilt blood. But the next time we had a row and went off one another, Duncan went on another murder spree. Not overseas. Here at home.
“He was angry with me, so he planned it alone, with help from the Cult of Duncan. After he was arrested for killing Sir Raleigh, Eldon, and the family butler, Jergens, I kept my distance. Not because I disapproved. They were terrible people. No one denies that, not even the Crown prosecutors. And after you forgive a man for suffocating a baby girl, forgiving his other murders is just maths. No, I kept my distance because of the Cult of Duncan. Specifically, Tessa Chilcott.
“I loathed Tessa with every fiber of my being. We were of a similar type, physically, and Duncan seduced her very young, just like me. The mere sight of her made me green with envy. She shook my worldview.
“At fourteen, I chose to believe I was a special girl. My half-brother was dashing and dangerous and I had every right to break the rules, because I was the one girl in all the universe who could tame him. Who could transform the beast into the prince. But when he started sleeping with Tessa, it hit me. Maybe any slim brunette who was young and dumb was all he needed? Maybe there was nothing special about me at all.
“You know what happened next. Duncan was acquitted, Tessa lost her mind, and he returned to me. The killings stopped. Not only was I special again, I was more special than I’d fully realized. Unlike Tessa, I could walk through the fire without getting burned. I was his better angel, his emotional touchstone. How many women can say that their illicit romance is for the greater good? That it quite literally keeps other people alive?
“But last October, I noticed a change. You remember the double murder in Mayfair. Duncan was a person of interest, naturally, so Tony and Kate turned up at our yearly Halloween party, pretending the visit was purely social. I thought their RSVP would make Duncan laugh. Instead, it made him angry. He ended up confronting Kate and Tony, and nearly came to blows. It was so out of character. When I said so, Duncan blamed it on migraines.
“Then came the Michael Martin Hughes investigation. Duncan was a person of interest again. I genuinely believed he was innocent. After all, Hughes was poisoned, and Duncan is nothing if not hands-on. After your lot made the big arrest, I told Duncan that after two strikes, Scotland Yard would think hard about harassing him again. That’s when he admitted he’d done it. He had a new Cult of Duncan, younger kids with computer skills, who’d helped him beat the CCTV cameras and provide an alibi.
“I was shocked. He was ignoring me and spending untold hours with the young people. He was stalking you with the dog, Kaiser, and spying on Kate from afar. But the strangest thing was how he killed Hughes. I asked, why poison? He said it was just easier. Then he went to bed with another migraine and stayed there for a week.
“I wanted a look at Duncan’s medical charts, but he’d always been secretive about that sort of thing. Remember the private detective my mum found? The one who’d dug up dirt on Sir Raleigh? I knew he’d do anything if the price was right, so I engaged him again. He brought me Duncan’s childhood brain scans.
“When Duncan was ten, one of his doctors enrolled him in a pediatric neurology study. The hope was to prove that many troubled children have no biologic abnormalities. But in Duncan’s case, the CT scan revealed a small mass in his frontal lobe.
“It was ruled inoperable. It also seemed to be inert. The doctors observed it, and for years it didn’t grow. But it’s growing now.
“I’d never been through cancer with someone I loved. But I’ve seen the soppy movies. I’ve read the tearjerker books. And heaven knows we have money. I was ready to be Duncan’s rock, to advocate for him every step of the way. I came clean to Duncan. Said I knew about his brain tumor and I knew it was malignant. I showed him a list of spas and clinics we could try. You know the type. Available only to the richest and best-connected people in the world, the court of last resort for celebrities. But Duncan wouldn’t have it.
“He said when he was a boy, the world had done its best to convince him he was damaged. They’d shown him a shape on a bit of x-ray film and said, see, you’ll never be human. Since then, someone had given him a new perspective. Another inductee into the Cult of Duncan. Lord Brompton’s son, Mark Keene.
“I met Mark, once or twice, when I was trying to make Duncan see sense. He was strange. Subnormal, I think. Can I say that? Sorry. I’m subnormal, too. At any rate, Mark always wanted to talk about sacred geometry and the number 144 and mystical equations that hold the universe together. I thought he was barking, but Duncan loved hearing Mark talk. They understood each other. Suddenly a man who used to laugh at religion was saying, ‘As above, so below.’ He and Mark could happily swap inanities like that all day.
“Mark was the strangest of the No-Hopers, but the others weren’t much better. Duncan met them through one of his other girls. I turn a blind eye—as I said, our relationship isn’t based on physical fidelity. Two or three of them are skinny brunettes with doe eyes. Mark’s sister was, too. She’s dead now, but I’m getting ahead of myself.
“Duncan and Mark came up with a new way to look at the tumor. They decided it was actually part of a transformation process. That he was not less than human, with a gap in his mind or heart. That he was more than human. Superior.
“Therefore, the tumor wasn’t a malignant lesion. It was a second brain, a superior brain, enabling Duncan to think more clearly than ever before.
“Nothing I said could convince him to go back to his doctors. He didn’t need me anymore. He had Mark, and his other girls, and the No-Hopers. They’re the most radical Cult of Duncan yet. I feel certain they killed Ford Fabian, simply because Duncan went on a rant about him. I don’t have proof, but surely if you know where to look, you can find what you need. There’s an office building in Westminster that Duncan owns. It’s between Cardinal and Victoria. That’s where the No-Hopers used to go. They moved aft
er Mariah Keene died, but you should be able to pick up the trail.
“I know it’s counterintuitive about Ford Fabian. The Fabians love to announce that their blood runs green. They might seem like Duncan’s allies rather than enemies. But Duncan’s a very practical conservationist. He’s of the opinion that if you insist ordinary people give up cheese, steak, cars, hot showers, and so on and so forth, they’ll throw up their hands and do nothing. As far as he’s concerned, people like the Fabians set the Green movement back by making it easy for people to dismiss. So he hates politicians like Ford Fabian, and I know in my heart the No-Hopers killed him. Mark had an idea about hacking cars. If he’s still with them, maybe he did it.
“I don’t know if Duncan killed Mariah Keene. First, I thought she was one of his girls. Then I thought she was cozying up to him just to get Mark out. Then one day I picked up my phone and there it was—she was dead. I can’t explain why he would have pushed her off the top of a building, but nothing Duncan does makes sense anymore. He hears the music of the spheres, or sees a spider web in the shape of a rhombus, thinks it’s a sign, and boom, he’s off again.
“I haven’t seen him in a couple of weeks. Have you? One look at him will tell you everything I’ve said is true. He’s leaner. Sharper. But less defined, like a knife that’s had too much grinding. He can’t have much longer left. I hoped he would go back to Borneo and die there. That’s always been his plan. To die in the jungle, in a deep green space with no human voices and no human faces. But the last time we spoke, he told me he’d stay in London until he dealt with our father.
“I asked what he meant. I thought perhaps he intended to desecrate Sir Raleigh’s headstone. It’s not like he could dig up the corpse and violate it—he only left bits and pieces the first time around. He said he was walking Kaiser in Mayfair and saw Sir Raleigh, who threatened to kill him. At first I was mystified. Then I knew. And what came to me next was another tiny impulse to do the right thing. This time, I didn’t let it die.