Deadly Admirer

by Christine Green

  ‘Move and you're both dead,’ said the voice.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Hubert and I seemed to stay in that undignified position for ages. The barrel of the gun pressed into my back was only half as painful as my full bladder. And far from my life flashing before me, the only thought that occupied my mind was I didn't want to wet myself.

  ‘We can't stay like this, Sheila,’ I said eventually, my voice sounding as if it were coming from my feet. ‘Let us straighten up, please.’

  ‘Lie on the floor then – you first.’

  The gun barrel had gone from my back and Hubert was suddenly sprawled on the floor.

  ‘You next.’

  I was prodded and kicked, then I too lay on the floor.

  ‘Put your hands behind your head where I can see them.’

  Sheila's voice came out low and husky as if well practised in giving orders or in faking telephone calls.

  We did as we were told and then lay without moving. I struggled to think back to all the films I'd ever seen. This was the point when someone always comes up with a merry quip or at least tries some sort of plea bargaining. The ‘you'll never get away with it' scenario. But she had got away with it and somehow I doubted that she cared now if she lived or died. She had after all killed Colin. And the others.

  I heard her stepping backwards and sensed she'd sat down. What now? Then Hubert began mumbling. He was on the second line before I realised what he was saying – the Twenty-Third Psalm.

  ‘I'll not want, he maketh me down to lie …’

  Substitute he for she and lie for die, it was about right. Not now, I wanted to say, it's not the right time, but then I realised that it was.

  ‘Be quiet,’ said Sheila. ‘I can't hear.’

  At first I assumed she meant voices in her head, then I realised there was the sound of footsteps outside. Oh blessed cavalry, I thought, just in the nick … She was on her feet then at the door; I could see her boots level with my eyes.

  ‘What's going on? Who's broken in? What the …? The male voice trailed off.

  ‘Stand still,’ shouted Sheila.

  ‘Put that gun down,’ said the man. ‘Have you gone mad?’

  It was his last question. The blast rang out and I heard one gurgled scream and a thump as he fell. I waited for the barrage of shots at us. Please don't shoot me in the back, I thought. Never mind my past life, it was my future I was worried about, I didn't want to be left alive and paralysed.

  In an agony of stillness we waited. Then I opened my eyes. The boots were no longer by the door. She had moved behind us. Hubert began mumbling again about pastures green. That poor man outside wouldn't be seeing any more pastures, green or otherwise. He was, I guessed, the farmer.

  Vanessa groaned then. In my fear I had forgotten her.

  ‘Let her out, Sheila. She doesn't deserve this, you know. She didn't mean you any harm.’

  ‘We'll be going together, her and I. I do love her, you know. I always have. I had to tie her up and keep her here. She tried to escape, you see. She always tried to escape. I should have told her the truth but I left it too late. Colin lied to me, you know. All along he lied. He told me the truth in the end, though. I taught him sign language and he was beginning to get some speech back and then he told me. I couldn't let him live after that, could I? Not after what I'd done.’

  I didn't know what Sheila was talking about but at least she was talking which was supposed to be therapeutic for people with homicidal tendencies or was it suicidal tendencies? I couldn't think clearly anyway. My arm muscles had knotted now into painful spasm and that and a full bladder seemed to blot out any attempt at coherent thought.

  It was then we heard the sound of cars arriving. It's all over. It's all over. The police. The cavalry. Death's dark vale retreating. Sheila's boots were once more at the door. She swung it open with a soft sound of polymers clashing.

  ‘Stay back!’ she screamed. ‘I'll shoot.’ To prove it she fired.

  Nothing happened. For a moment I imagined I'd heard those cars. Soon they'll be shouting through a megaphone and a mediator would talk Sheila out. Time passed and still nothing happened.

  ‘Have they gone?’ I asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Sheila, I have to go to the loo.’

  ‘Wait.’

  ‘I can't.’

  Eventually she said, ‘Crawl, then. Turn to your right and crawl. If you stand up before I say I'll shoot you.’

  I crawled. Slowly and without removing my arms from behind my head. It wasn't far but it seemed a long way.

  ‘Stop,’ she said as I got to the door. ‘Stand up.’

  I stood up, painfully stiff.

  ‘You can go in now.’

  The bliss of moving my arms and relieving my bladder were such that I thought I'd never forget it – ever. Somehow the physical relief gave me new heart. I didn't want to die. I wasn't going to die. Somehow I had to do something.

  ‘I'm coming out,’ I called, in case she shot me in panic. As I crawled back to my place beside Hubert, for the first time I got a proper look at Sheila. She was wearing a man's black donkey jacket with leather patches at the shoulders, black jeans and mud-covered thick-soled black boots. Her hair she'd scraped back under a cloth cap. From a distance, even a short distance, she looked like a stocky middle-aged man. I managed to wink at Hubert. He winked back at me.

  My euphoria was short-lived. Nothing had changed. But then I remembered the police outside. Perhaps they had sent for marksmen by now. It would soon be over.

  ‘Sheila,’ I said in a wheedling voice, ‘please let Vanessa come on the floor with us. You can still keep her tied up but she must have terrible cramp by now. What difference can it make to you?’

  She didn't answer at first, then she said, ‘All right, get her out but just you. He's not to move.’

  Pulling Vanessa out took all my strength. She blinked but then seemed to pass out. Her face seemed drained of all colour and just beneath her eyes were blue patches as if she'd been choking. I heaved her on to the floor and lay beside her for a moment, breathless. There must have been movement outside because Sheila moved towards the door.

  ‘Come out with your hands up,’ boomed a voice I didn't recognise.

  I had to give the Longborough police zero out of ten for originality. Sheila wasn't impressed either. She raised the shotgun and took aim. In the seconds her attention was taken from us, Hubert's long arms reached out and with both hands around her ankles he had felled her. The shot rang out as the gun dropped from her hands and she toppled heavily backwards. Hubert sat on her legs and I made a grab for the gun. There was no moment of elation because from outside I heard the word ‘Fire' and through the open door came what for a second I thought was a hand grenade. Then it exploded into a cloud of gas. Tear gas. I tried to crawl over to Vanessa to remove the plaster from her mouth but I was choking, crying and suffocating all at the same time. I got a vague impression that her face was going blue but then I couldn't see anything. The air around me turned black and it was as if I were in some deep swirling cavern going round and round and all the time gasping for air like a fish with a hook caught in its throat.

  Then suddenly I was aware of being dragged along and bundled out into cold fresh air. My lungs felt as though they were bursting, my throat hurt and my eyes stung. Blue uniforms surrounded me and I tried to push them away. I wanted the whole sky full of fresh air.

  ‘Come on, love. It's only oxygen. Take a few whiffs like a good girl.’

  I breathed deeply as a mask was held to my face.

  ‘That's better. You'll soon feel right as rain.’

  I opened one sore eye to look at the ambulanceman. He smiled down at me and suddenly he seemed like the most attractive man in the world.

  ‘How's Vanessa and Hubert?’ I asked.

  They were, it seemed, ‘right as ninepence'. I looked round for them but couldn't see them.

  ‘They're in the ambulance, love. Can you make it on
your feet?’

  ‘Yes, thanks. I'm feeling better now.’

  Hubert sat upright in the back of the ambulance looking a strange puce colour but smiling. Vanessa lay having oxygen on a stretcher. Her eyes opened slightly as I said, ‘Sorry I took so long to find you.’

  She closed her eyes but I think she mumbled, ‘That's all right.’ I half expected us to be VIPs at Longborough General but although Vanessa was whisked away to be examined, there had been a serious road traffic accident and Hubert and I had to sit in reception and wait. Being gassed by the police obviously didn't make us priority cases.

  ‘You feeling okay, Kate?’ asked Hubert, smiling happily.

  ‘Never better.’

  Hubert's near-death experience seemed to make him feel cheerful. In contrast I felt exhausted and depressed.

  ‘Where are the police?’ I asked. ‘Keeping a low profile?’

  ‘They'll be after us soon enough.’

  ‘Did you see Sheila?’ I asked.

  ‘I certainly did. She was taken away by police car. I expect the police surgeon will take a look at her.’

  We continued to wait and wait. A screaming child was brought in by anxious parents and that proved too much for Hubert.

  ‘If we're both feeling fine now, why do we have to hang around here?’

  I shrugged. ‘Don't ask me, Hubert. I've never been tear gassed before.’

  ‘We could just do a bunk, go and find that cooked breakfast I've been fancying for hours.’

  I thought for a moment. I could almost smell fresh coffee and bacon. The choice between that and a cold stethoscope was an easy one.

  ‘You're on,’ I said, ‘but the police could be waiting outside.’

  ‘Do you know another way out, Kate?’

  ‘Follow me. Try to look casual, though.’

  The police had obviously driven Hubert's car to the hospital. One or two uniformed officers were standing around the car, either checking it for faults or admiring it. Hubert's wide American sedan was easily the most ostentatious in Longborough. We sneaked along the side of the hospital and stood outside.

  ‘We could ring for a mini-cab from the phone box and go to the Happy Sausage,’ I suggested.

  ‘The Happy Sausage!’ said Hubert incredulously. ‘We're having breakfast at the Grand.’

  The Grand Hotel provided us with their Grand Slam Breakfast. A similar breakfast to the Happy Sausage but on smart plates and with less grease. And with freshly squeezed orange juice, croissants and jugs and jugs of fresh ground coffee. The surroundings were of course a vast improvement and it was only when we were recovering from a day's worth of calories in the large shell-like chairs of the Grand's lounge that Hubert said, ‘Are you going to explain this … adventure or do I have to guess?’

  ‘I'll explain it as best I can, Hubert. Vanessa was fourteen when she suffered at the hands of Colin Tiffield. I think Sheila became very bitter then, blaming Vanessa for lying, for trying to spoil her life, for wrecking her chances of a marriage and a family, for “leading him on”. Perhaps for a while she calmed down but then Colin got up to his old tricks again with a young girl. Instead of blaming Colin she blamed the girl and Vanessa of course. Then he went to prison and the “accident” happened. Bitterness festered in Sheila. She took to keeping tabs on Vanessa. Very cleverly of course …’

  ‘Hang on,’ said Hubert. ‘Didn't she give a description of a man?’ ‘A very vague description, yes. But of course she assumed the man to be Colin Tiffield. You said to me once that the fear of being followed was contagious. You also said it was all in the walk.’

  ‘Did I? I don't remember.’

  ‘I still thought Tiffield was shamming his injuries but if a woman wants to look like a man it's her body language that she needs to change. And of course it is hard actually to see a person behind you in a car. All you really register is a general shape or something striking like flaming red hair. Sheila set out to be invisible; middleaged women often complain of being invisible, and that's what she was. Not the invisible man, as Yvonne suggested, but the invisible woman. Even on the night of the fire no one could give a description of her and Vanessa hadn't, after all, seen her for several years. She sensed more than saw a person following her. I also doubt that Sheila actually did much following. The fear already implanted in Vanessa's mind was hard to shift.’

  ‘That's all very well but what about the phone-calls?’

  ‘Those, Hubert, were well practised. A telephone line always makes the voice seem deeper and she talked in a dull stylised monotone. Which was why Vanessa wasn't sure about the voice.’ Hubert gave me an old-fashioned look of the type that said ‘I'm not totally convinced'.

  ‘Tell me, then, why did she start killing people?’

  ‘I can only guess at that, Hubert. Maybe she didn't feel Vanessa was suffering enough. Perhaps her beloved Colin wasn't making the progress she desperately hoped for. Killing May Brigstock was a prelude to killing her own sister. And of course she got away with it. The farm nearby held the answers but I concentrated far too much on Vanessa's men friends. I should have asked more questions in Little Charnford. Sheila had a connection with that farm and the village.’

  ‘And the policeman's death?’

  ‘I think Sheila arrived at the house planning to kill Vanessa, Paul Oakby was there and she panicked and killed him instead.’

  ‘But why kill Colin? It seems he was beginning to improve.’ ‘Ah, Colin. I think he improved too much. He let it be known that not only had Vanessa not lied but Sheila finally recognised in him the evil that she perhaps knew subconsciously was there, but didn't want to admit to herself. No one, after all, likes to admit they love the unworthy. She had killed for a man who just wasn't worth it.’

  ‘Well,’ said Hubert thoughtfully. ‘That's an awful lot of guesswork. Why on earth did she kidnap Vanessa and not kill her straight away?’

  ‘That is puzzling me. Was she suddenly overcome with guilt or did Vanessa manage to talk her out of it? Perhaps some vestige of sisterly love still existed. I think she was contemplating both murder and suicide and then we came along and well … you were there.’

  ‘Yes and what a cock-up. Wasn't like the films, was it? Hours of patient negotiations and requests for drinks and sandwiches. All we got was a gassing.’

  ‘I think the Longborough police were a bit short on patience but then they didn't know we were already winning, did they?’ Hubert laughed. ‘We did quite well really, didn't we? Teamwork, you see, that's what matters.’

  ‘Indeed it does, Hubert,’ I said, ‘indeed it does.’

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  It was three days before we saw Vanessa again. Three days in which Hubert and I had to give long and detailed statements and listen to equally long lectures from Inspector Hook who called me a ‘rank amateur' and a ‘foolhardy girl'. I was grateful for the ‘girl' but it was still difficult not to retaliate. Every time I opened my mouth Hubert kicked me on the ankle. Eventually, though, I knew the worst was over when Hook asked me for headache pills and a contribution to the police widows and orphans fund.

  For actual news of the case we had to rely on Vanessa. Humberstones was, she said, her first port of call after leaving hospital. She looked radiant in a simple white blouse, with a black waistcoat and skirt. She kissed both Hubert and me and as she did so I suddenly remembered the letter tucked in my bag that Christopher had given me. She smiled as I handed it to her and slipped it unopened into her pocket.

  ‘Thank you for your valiant effort, Kate. I really do appreciate it. My life has been transformed. I feel so … free.’

  ‘I'm glad, Vanessa. You've had a rotten time.’

  As I made coffee she said, ‘I feel sorry for Sheila. She was so bitter and jealous. While we were alone she talked quite a bit. About the past, about the narrowness of her life, the loneliness. She began keeping tabs on me when she got the job at the farm. She worked there, you see, when Colin was in prison, just seasonal stuff, fruit picking, d
oing the accounts, selling eggs, that sort of thing. That was where she first saw me, in Little Charnford. From all she says the farmer had a soft spot for her. He was over sixty and the farm was really too much for him alone. When Colin came out of prison she could let him stay in the caravan while she did jobs around the farm. In deepest winter she was at the house in Bonsall, apart from being at the farm one day a week. And of course she had the use of the farm vehicles; the black van I saw – that was her.’

  ‘But why all the killing?’ I asked.

  Vanessa smiled bleakly. ‘Panic, madness, wanting to punish me, wanting me to be afraid. Wanting me to suffer as she'd suffered.’

  ‘Why Colin?’

  ‘Colin confessed, not so much in what he said but I think she must have confronted him with … and he let it be known she had made a terrible mistake.’

  I sipped my coffee, still puzzled. ‘Tell me, Vanessa. Why didn't you tell me about Colin straight away?’

  ‘I was desperate to put that time behind me. In some way I felt that I was to blame, and all I wanted was to forget the past. I couldn't even bear to say his name. But then I realised the only way out was to be honest with you.’

  ‘Perhaps my visit to your sister caused her to go completely over the edge.’

  ‘I think you're right, Kate.’ Vanessa spoke calmly. ‘So Colin, too, had to die then for what he'd done. She wanted us all to die, so that we could be together in a better world.’

  Vanessa sat silently then for some time. Hubert stared out of the window. All that dying, all that misery, because one individual couldn't curb his lust for young girls.

  ‘There's something else,’ said Vanessa slowly, ‘that I haven't come to terms with …’ She paused as though having trouble telling me. ‘And that is … Sheila isn't my sister, she's my mother.’

  My mouth dropped open; Hubert turned in quick surprise from the window.

  ‘I was born when Sheila was sixteen. My mother … no, not my mother, she was really my gran, was old when I was born but I never suspected. My real father disappeared as soon as Sheila knew she was pregnant. Somehow they managed to keep the birth a secret and I appeared as a menopausal baby. When Colin Tiffield came along she saw her chance to lead a normal life, get married, have another child that she really could call her own. I think for some of my life she really loved me but she was jealous. Jealous of the time and attention Mum, I mean Gran, gave me. When … Gran died that was my fault too.’