The Scribe

by A A Chaudhuri

  ‘And why’s that?’

  ‘Because he believes the killer is your flatmate … Paul King.’

  Maddy stiffened. Looked towards the kitchen. Paul hadn’t yet re-emerged. ‘That’s crazy,’ she laughed.

  ‘My husband doesn’t think so.’

  Maddy tried to remain calm. She spoke in hushed tones. ‘Forgive my bluntness, but quite frankly, the idea is both absurd and slanderous. Your husband’s clutching at straws. Paul is the kindest, most loving, caring man I know. There’s just no way he’s a murderer, let alone a serial killer.’

  ‘To quote you, Ms Kramer, I’m sure that’s what the loved ones of most serial killers have said in the past, and they couldn’t have been more wrong.’

  There was an ear-splitting silence. Part of Maddy was livid, so violently insulted by the idea that her best friend might be a murderer, she was tempted to put the phone down.

  But her curious side had the edge. She needed to hear Elizabeth out.

  ‘Go on, I’m listening.’

  ***

  Friday, 11 December 2009

  ‘Ah, Paul, please come in.’

  It wasn’t the first time Paul King had been in Professor Stirling’s office. Since starting at the academy three months ago, he’d been struggling with some elements of the course, and they’d met for extra study sessions two or three times a week for the last two months. None of the other students knew, not even Paul’s best friend at the academy – Maddy Kramer. Neither she, nor any of the others, knew about Stirling’s long-standing friendship with Paul’s parents.

  Stirling had known Paul since he was a baby. Paul’s father, George, and mother, Evelyn, had been at Oxford with him, and after graduating, Stirling had trained and briefly practised with George at the same law firm. While Stirling had missed academia, and quickly went into teaching, George had gone on to become a top corporate lawyer at one of the most prestigious firms in the City. From the outset, he’d instructed Paul and Stirling not to publicise their friendship at the academy. As a child, Paul, a shy, somewhat reclusive little boy, had frequently been bullied by other less fortunate kids who resented his privileged background. George, dismayed by his son’s sexuality, was desperate for him to thrive and fit in at the academy. The last thing he wanted was him getting aggro from his peers who might, should they learn of the Kings’ and the Stirlings’ special connection, accuse Paul of receiving preferential treatment.

  Still, Stirling had always had a soft spot for Paul, and he didn’t like seeing him struggle. He saw no harm in helping him, so long as he did it discreetly.

  As well as being patient and understanding, Stirling was highly intuitive. He knew about Paul’s sexuality from George, but it couldn’t have been more obvious than on that first day Paul set foot in his lecture hall.

  Sitting along the same row as Sarah Morrell, Paige Summers and Madeline Kramer, Paul hadn’t looked at these stunning women the way other young men in the room had looked at them. Or, indeed, the way Stirling himself had looked at them.

  Stirling knew George was ashamed of his son’s homosexuality, and that he’d pushed Paul –who’d do anything to please his father – into law as a means of making up for what he saw as a deep flaw in his only child’s genetic make-up.

  When George died suddenly of a heart attack, three months into the course, Stirling saw how hard his death had hit Paul; he was a sensitive young man, who, like Stirling himself, had worshipped his father, and resented his shallow mother. A woman who only ever had time for herself, a woman who had palmed her son off to nannies, after-school clubs and holiday camps, rather than give him the time, love and devotion a boy needs from his mother – a mother who, unknowingly, had made her son resentful and distrustful of women.

  Professor Stirling had called Paul to his study that day, two weeks after George’s death, not to go over a piece of work, but to check that he was doing okay; that he wasn’t about to throw himself off a bridge. He wanted to show Paul that he was there for him as a shoulder to lean on; that he didn’t judge him on his character or sexuality; that he understood how affected he’d been by his mother’s cold indifference.

  In so many ways they were similar. But as far as one fundamental aspect was concerned, they were very different.

  Paul walked into Stirling’s study and closed the door behind him. He flopped down onto a chair and buried his head in his hands. ‘I just can’t stop thinking about him … wonder if it was me who made him ill, caused his stress levels to soar.’ He looked up, locked eyes with Stirling. ‘You know, because I’m not how he’d imagined me to be.’

  Stirling pulled his chair closer to Paul. Then put an arm around his shoulder.

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ he said gently. ‘Don’t you dare tell her this, but if anyone sent him to an early grave, it was your mother. I know he was a workaholic, but he loved her, and that should have been enough for her. She shouldn’t have slept with other men. He didn’t deserve that.’ He sighed, at the same time marvelling at his own hypocrisy. ‘Women can be so cold, so vindictive. Sometimes, I think my life would be far less complicated if I was like you. I’m sure you have it much easier, Paul.’ Stirling chuckled lightly to himself, clutching Paul’s hand as a gesture of warmth and reassurance.

  But Paul had taken it to mean so much more. From his early youth, he’d been secretly smitten with Stirling; captivated not only by his good looks, but also his humour and intelligence, and the way he always took an interest in him. A part of Paul had died with his father, but when he was with Stirling – mature, kind, understanding – he almost felt whole again. He looked at Stirling’s hand, locked around his. The sensation was tantalising – both in the way it comforted him and aroused him. He looked up at his idol, holding his gaze, then leaned in and kissed him on the mouth. It was so quick, so unexpected, Stirling hadn’t had time to avoid it, but no sooner had their mouths connected than he backed away in horror, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand in disgust. He scraped back his chair and stood up, distancing himself from his confused, desperate student.

  ‘I … I thought,’ Paul began, getting up from his chair.

  ‘You thought what exactly?’ Stirling edged back further, his face contorted with anger and revulsion.

  Paul remained rooted to the spot. ‘I thought we had a connection. We’re from similar upbringings, and we understand each other. I thought we could be good for each other.’

  ‘We are nothing like each other!’ Stirling’s eyes were gleaming with rage. ‘I am no faggot! I love women, okay? They may irritate me, drive me mad at times, but I love everything about them, and I have never in my life contemplated being with a man. The very thought makes me sick! Your father was right: I should never have called you here. You ever try anything like that again, and I will have you kicked off the course, do you hear me?’

  Paul felt violently sick. But he was also angry. He’d been angry for so many years: angry with God for making him the way he was; angry with his mother for never being there; angry with his father for never accepting him for what he was, and then for dying. And now he was angry with Stirling.

  ‘I hear you. But I also know things about you. I know you’ve been fucking that uptight bitch, Sarah. What do you suppose would happen if word got out?’

  Stirling came closer, squared up to Paul, their noses almost touching.

  ‘That is none of your business. If you so much as utter one word, I’ll make a complaint against you for sexual harassment. And then your father’s good name will be forever tainted by a son who not only lacked a proper set of balls but couldn’t keep them in his trousers when it came to straight-up, heterosexual men.’ He paused. ‘My silence for yours. Do we have a deal?’

  Paul hesitated, then nodded slowly. ‘Fine. We have a deal.’

  ‘Good.’ Stirling walked over to the door and gripped the handle. ‘Now, please leave. From now on, your tutorials will be with Professor Everly.’

  ‘What will you tell him?’

  ‘I�
�ll think of something. Please go.’ Stirling opened the door.

  Paul picked up his rucksack and walked towards the door, pausing to face Stirling. ‘You can’t be allowed to treat people the way you do. One day, you’ll get what’s coming to you.’ Stirling didn’t budge. He gestured with his bespectacled eyes towards the open door.

  Paul left. His heart crushed, his pride wounded, his mind contemplating revenge.

  ***

  The present

  ‘You still there, Ms Kramer?’

  Maddy had lost her voice. Listening to Elizabeth Stirling’s explanation of what had happened between Paul and her husband, it was almost as if she hadn’t heard right. She was Paul’s best friend, and yet he had never intimated, either when they were at the academy together, or since, that he’d had feelings for Stirling, or mentioned any falling-out between them. And she certainly hadn’t known about his father’s friendship with Stirling.

  ‘Yes, I’m still here.’ Maddy got up from the sofa. ‘But how do I know your husband’s telling the truth?’ She knew she was asking out of desperation, but that was the point; she was desperate for it not to be true. How could she cope with the knowledge that she’d been living with a murderer all this time; a serial killer who had viciously murdered one of her best friends; who had deceived her and lied to her face?

  ‘He’s not lying, Ms Kramer. Why would he make up something like that? It’s too outrageous a story for my husband to fabricate. The idea of any gay fling between him and a student getting out would break him. So, the fact that he’s told me all of this makes me certain it’s true.’

  Maddy thought back to her earlier conversation with Paul. The way he’d seemed determined to prove Stirling’s guilt, desperate even. She edged back and, almost in slow motion, sank down on the sofa.

  ‘You need to get this information to the police, Ms Kramer. They’re more likely to take you seriously than me or James. My husband is convinced his system’s been hacked – that that’s how your flatmate wrote those letters and made all those disgusting websites show up on his internet history. Please, Ms Kramer. Help him.’

  Shit. Paul was back, chewing a piece of toast. He locked eyes with Maddy, and her palms were suddenly clammy. She managed a smile. ‘Yes, of course, Gran. I’ll look into that for you.’

  ‘Ah, I see, he’s there,’ Elizabeth said.

  ‘Yes, Gran.’ Maddy smiled another fake smile, her heart pounding. ‘Look, got to go now, but I’ll call you later when I’ve found it. Bye!’

  She put down the phone without giving Elizabeth the chance to respond.

  Paul gave her a circuitous look, and she tried not to shiver. She didn’t know for sure that he was guilty – after all, just because he and Stirling fell out didn’t mean he killed those women – but she was suddenly looking at him with very different eyes. ‘Something up with your gran?’ he asked.

  Think quickly!

  ‘She wants me to find a heated blanket for her on the internet, that’s all.’

  ‘Oh, okay. Let me know if you need any help. You know I’m a whizz on the web.’ He grinned broadly.

  ‘Yes, yes, I know. Thanks.’ The letters, the internet, the CCTV! She headed for the door. ‘I’d better start looking now, in fact. She sounded pretty desperate for it.’

  ‘Sure, go for it. I’m off out in a minute. Meeting Justin for a drink.’

  Maddy inwardly sighed with relief. But at the same time, she wondered if that’s where he was really headed. ‘Okay, great. Have a good time.’

  Her legs felt heavy as she walked towards her bedroom. Once inside, she closed the door. She wanted to lock it, but she never normally did, and it might make Paul suspicious. She opened her laptop and turned it on. As she waited for it to power up, she told herself to calm down and think logically. All she had was the Stirlings’ word. Why should I trust them? Stirling had been charged with murder; he was desperate. People would no doubt go to any lengths to escape life imprisonment – to be free.

  And yes, perhaps Paul did have a crush on Stirling, perhaps he did try it on, go a step too far, only to be flatly rejected. But does that make him hunger for revenge so badly it turns him into a killer? People said things in the heat of the moment all the time. But they mostly never acted on their threats: they cooled down and forgot about it – that was human nature.

  She told herself not to jump to any conclusions before she had the facts.

  She’d wait until she heard Paul leave, and then she’d do what she knew she must if she wanted to find out the truth.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Friday, 25 June 2010

  ‘What are you staring at?’

  Sarah Morrell was plastered. It had been a gruelling sober fortnight of revision and exams. No sleep, no social life. What most students in the room really needed was their beds. But the adrenaline was still hurtling through their veins, egging them on for a night of partying at the end-of-year summer bash.

  Sarah had watched Stirling leer all over Lisa Ryland with a mixture of jealousy and disgust. She’d recently split with Connor Dexter who’d turned out to be dull and gutless following the incident with Elizabeth Stirling, and for once, she found herself short of male attention. With few female friends at the academy to speak of, she had decided to get very drunk before pouncing on some equally smashed red-blooded male.

  She’d barely noticed Paul King standing at the bar next to her, sipping a beer and eyeing her with disgust.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Oh, come on, I saw the look. Don’t tell me you’ve still got it in for me?’

  ‘Got it in for you?’ He wrinkled his brow. ‘And why would I have it in for you?’

  Sarah necked the rest of her vodka, then laughed facetiously. ‘Because I fucked the dishy college professor, and you didn’t get to.’ She held his gaze, a look of triumph in her own.

  Paul felt his face burn with shame.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. Was it meant to be a secret?’ Sarah cooed. ‘You know how people let things slip between the sheets. Pillow talk and all that.’ She leaned in closer, so that he could smell her perfume, her breath. It sickened him. ‘The very day you made a pass at Stirling, he gave me the best fuck of my life. You rattled his manhood, Paul, with your filthy, queer ways, but your undoing was my gain. It was a night I shall never forget. In fact, after that night, the sex never quite lived up to expectations, and I grew bored with him.’ She turned her gaze towards Stirling who’d just disappeared into the crowd, Lisa Ryland a few steps behind. ‘And now it appears he’s got his dick inside another girl.’ Another pause as she turned back to Paul. ‘Why, Paul, you’ve gone quite pale,’ she said with mock concern. ‘Can I get you some water?’

  Paul was consumed with rage. He felt like he was going to explode. Sarah’s words, together with seeing Stirling go off with his latest tart, had brought him to boiling point. But somehow, he managed to rein in his temper. ‘You are a cold, selfish bitch,’ he replied, ‘who cares for nothing and nobody but yourself.’ He edged a little closer. ‘The world would be a better place without vixens like you shitting all over it.’

  He saw the flash of alarm in her eyes, but she quickly brushed it off.

  ‘Sure, whatever, I’m sure that would suit your kind very well, but thankfully you’re in the minority. Now, if you’ll excuse me.’

  He watched her strut off like the prima donna she was. Although he’d done well to control the anger that had been steadily growing in him over the last six months, he didn’t know how much longer he could restrain himself. He needed another outlet, something to take his mind off things. So far, he’d filled it with his writing, but he needed something more – something human to soak up his anger and resentment.

  Maddy Kramer had asked if he wanted to flat-share once the lease at her current place ran out. She was the exception to most women he’d known over the years – kind and considerate, not one to flutter her eyelashes and drop her knickers at the first hint of male attention. Even Paige, who consider
ed him a friend, was a slut, swooning all over Stirling like some pathetic teenager. It made him sick, and he was sure she’d banged him too.

  But Maddy and he were kindred spirits. She was an orphan, while he might as well have been one.

  He’d move in with her, and she would act as a check on his urges.

  ***

  The present

  As soon as she heard the front door close, Maddy emerged from her bedroom, laptop wedged under her right armpit, phone clutched in her left hand. She was alone, but she couldn’t help looking around nervously. Seeing that the coast was clear, she headed towards Paul’s bedroom door across from hers. Her heart briefly sank when it occurred to her that he might have locked it. Thankfully, when she turned the handle, it opened.

  She crept in like a crafty cat, conscious of her own movements, every noise – however small – she made. The room was tidy, as Paul always kept it. His laptop was closed, resting on his desk, his printer on a stand to the left of it. She had no idea what his password was and didn’t want to waste time trying to crack it; in doing so, she might possibly alert him to her efforts.

  She pushed the laptop to one side to make room for hers, which she then opened to see the Word document she’d just created, headed Please don’t let it be him.

  She grabbed the loose cable running from the printer and inserted it into one of the USB ports at the side of her laptop. Then she pressed Print. As the printer groaned into action, it felt like an eternity waiting for the page to emerge. Print job complete, she hesitated to pick up the single sheet of paper. Her heart was pumping so furiously it hurt, her hand trembling as it hovered over the potentially damning evidence.

  Come on, Mads, get a grip. You’ve come this far, now see it through for pity’s sake.

  She slid the piece of paper off the printer tray, then slowly turned it over. It was blemish-free. It didn’t match the letters printed and mailed by the killer.

  She was overcome with relief. But also with guilt for doubting Paul. For very nearly betraying her best friend to the police.