by Val McDermid
“You’ve got a bloody cheek,” he complained bitterly as he led her down the hall to the office. Once there, he rounded on her. “Sit down. Now what’s all this crap about the police?”
“I thought I’d like to put a proposition to you,” said Lindsay. “Forget about blaming me for Sarah’s death. It’ll go down fine with anybody else, but it won’t wash with me.”
His expression was calculating. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
Lindsay managed to maintain the tough façade she had adopted, though inwardly she was quaking with fear. “Last Saturday night. Saturday’s not been a lucky day for you lately, has it? First Lorna, then Sarah.”
A flash of genuine pain crossed his face. “You’re not fit to speak her name,” he spat.
“Leave it out, Cartwright,” Lindsay replied. “I know how Lorna was murdered, which, thanks to the conversation I had yesterday with Inspector Dart, is getting to be common knowledge. But only you and I know who murdered her.”
A new wariness appeared in Cartwright’s face. “Sarah confessed, you know. Not easy for me to believe, but my daughter did that to try to save my business.”
“Save it for the funeral oration, Cartwright. Though, funnily enough, those are the first true words you’ve spoken in this whole sorry business. Sarah did just that. She confessed to save both your business and your neck. She was bright enough to know that alive her ‘confession’ wouldn’t stand up to a five-minute police interview. There were too many details of the killing she simply didn’t know. And the reason for that is that it wasn’t Sarah who killed Lorna. It was you.”
He sat and stared at her, his hands balling into fists on the desktop. “You must be mad. I’ve got an alibi. The police have checked. It was Sarah, God damn it, it was Sarah!”
“I’ve checked it out too. And it’s not tight enough. Lorna was killed between half-past seven and twenty to eight. You could just have done it on the basis of the times you were actually seen in the two pubs. Sarah couldn’t have done it, though. By twenty-five to eight she was in Longnor. That only leaves you with the necessary knowledge and skill to assemble that scaffolding and kill Lorna.”
“You can’t prove that. If you could, or thought you could, you’d be telling the cops, not me.” He got to his feet and started pacing about the office restlessly.
“I can prove that Sarah couldn’t have done it. I’ve got a witness who will swear to where Sarah was at the crucial time. You’ve had it, Cartwright. So listen to my proposition.”
His lips curled in a sneer. “You’re talking rubbish. But let’s hear this so-called proposition. If it’s blackmail you’re after, forget it. I haven’t got a bloody penny.”
“I got involved in this business because Paddy Callaghan was arrested. Since then, a lot of people have had a very shitty time because of you. I think it’s only fair that you should make it up to them in some small way. So all I’m asking is a written undertaking that you will withdraw from all negotiations concerning the purchase of Derbyshire House’s playing fields. When I get that, I’ll forget everything I ever knew about Lorna’s murder. Do we have a deal?”
He continued to pace back and forth. “If I pull out, which I might say is because of the way I feel about my Sarah’s death, what guarantee do I have that you’re not going to go around spreading these slanderous lies about me?”
“Why should I say anything? I’ll have got what I want.”
“And what’s to stop you coming back any time in the future and making more demands?”
“You’ll just have to take my word for that.”
His seemingly aimless striding around had brought him to within a few feet of Lindsay’s chair. Suddenly he lunged at her. Caught by surprise, she could only struggle feebly as his weight overturned the chair and pinned her to the floor. His hands were round her throat, squeezing. She could feel the bursting pressure in her chest as her lungs fought for air. Just as she felt her head start to swim, his hands came away as he jerked her to her feet and pulled his arm round her throat in a half-nelson. She gulped air desperately as he pulled her back so hard that her toes scrabbled to stay on the floor. With his free hand, he picked up a stiletto paper knife from the desktop. He held it to her temple and growled, “That’s what I think of your lousy proposition, Miss Gordon. Now I’m going to let go of your neck. And you’re not going to move a muscle. One move and this goes straight into your smart little brain. If you’re clear about that, say yes.”
Lindsay swallowed hard and croaked, “Yes,” through a dry throat. He let her go and moved surprisingly quickly round in front of her.
“Walk backward toward that other desk. One step at a time.”
She stumbled backward until she backed painfully into the metal edge of the desk. He moved so close she could smell the combination of stale gin and sweat. She could feel bitter vomit rising in her throat and swallowed it back with effort. He reached beyond her and picked up a roll of colored plastic tape. “Now turn around and walk slowly to the chair by the wall. The one with the arms.” Lindsay obeyed, bewitched by the knife that was now pricking into her neck just below her ear. When she reached the chair, he punched her roughly into it and handed her the tape. “Use your left hand to tape your right wrist to the arm of the chair,” he told her. “And make a good job of it.” Lindsay did what she was told like an automaton. Only now was her numbed mind beginning to come out of shock and beginning to reason. Not that that was much help, since she couldn’t think of anything that could be effective against this animal with the knife.
He watched her carefully, and picked his moment well for the next part of his operation. His hand darted out and grabbed her left wrist. Without breaking the tape, he swiftly taped her free hand to the chair, throwing the knife on to the floor.
Lindsay tried to kick him as he bent over her, but her foot only glanced off his shin. He started with the pain and reacted swiftly with a hard slap to the head that Lindsay felt the length of her spine. “Bitch,” he spat. “Try that again and I’ll kill you here and now. And don’t think I’m bluffing. That was Lorna Smith-Couper’s mistake.” He moved to the side of the chair and pushed it away from the wall. He came round behind her and started going through the pockets of her jacket. He removed the tape recorder triumphantly. “I thought you might have one of these,” he crowed. “I’m not daft, you know.” He opened the machine and pulled out the cassette. He walked over to a metal bin and began to draw the tape viciously out of its plastic cassette. When he reached the end of the tape, he took a cigarette lighter from his desk and set fire to the tape, which blazed briefly, then died.
“Thought you’d got me, didn’t you?” he gloated. “Well, you were wrong. Now I’ve got you. And you’re not going to live long enough to tell your little tale to anybody else. This bloody land was worth killing once for. It’s got to be worth killing twice for it.”
Lindsay found her voice. “Make that three times. You as good as killed Sarah as well.”
“Don’t say that,” he almost screamed. “I know why Sarah died. It was because of your meddling. If you’d kept your nose out of this, nobody would have ever known anything about that bloody scaffolding. It was you that killed my daughter, you bitch.”
“Keep thinking that if it helps. But one day you’re going to have to face the fact that Sarah preferred to die rather than live with a murderer.”
A cunning look crept across his face. “You’re trying to make me lose my temper, to give you a chance of coming back at me. Well, it won’t work. Where’s your car? Is it outside?”
Surprised by the change in tack, Lindsay blurted out, “No, it isn’t.”
“Where is it then?”
Lindsay couldn’t work out why the question was being asked, but some instinct for self-preservation made her keep her mouth shut.
He moved back to face her. “I asked where your bloody car is.”
“Find out your bloody self,” Lindsay retorted. Before the words were out of her mout
h, his hand slashed at her face again. Pain blotted out her consciousness for a moment. When she could sense anything again, she tasted blood and felt her mouth beginning to swell. Her left eye felt on fire. She shook her head to clear it.
“Where’s your car?”
He grasped the little finger of her left hand and began to bend it backward. Lindsay gritted her teeth as the pain flooded through her arm. “It’s at the school,” she gasped.
He let go. “All the better. No one will have noticed it here. We’ll go and collect it a little later on. You’re going to have a nasty accident. Driving away from the school. There’s a lot of really bad bends up on the Cat and Fiddle road. Somebody who doesn’t know their way around and likes to drive fast could easily have a fatal accident up there. Don’t worry, you won’t feel a thing. A bump on the head, that’s all. I’ll drive you up there in your own car and we’ll send it over the side. Shame you don’t like wearing a seat-belt, isn’t it?”
Lindsay stared at him with pure hatred. “You bastard,” she said, her words slurring slightly.
He moved toward her again. But before he could reach her the door burst open and Inspector Dart ran into the room, followed by half a dozen uniformed officers. “Police!” he yelled. “Stop right there, Cartwright. Okay, lads, take him.” They rushed toward him in a body. Cartwright picked up the fallen chair Lindsay had been sitting on previously and hurled it at the approaching policemen, then threw himself through the window. He’d reckoned without Dart’s foresight. He dived, bleeding, straight into the arms of Dart’s sergeant and another group of uniformed men. He thrashed out blindly, but it was only a matter of seconds before they overpowered him, handcuffed him, and hustled him off to a waiting police van.
While the struggle was going on, Dart crouched behind Lindsay’s chair and picked the tape away from her wrists. She felt herself close to tears and collapse, but she was determined not to give way in front of the policeman. “You took your bloody time,” she complained weakly. “I was beginning to think the radio mike had packed in when he jumped me.”
“You did well,” Dart said as he helped her to her feet and lit a cigarette for her. “We picked it all up loud and clear. I took the precaution of having a shorthand writer take it all down as well as taping it, just in case. We wanted to let him hang himself good and proper, since he seemed reluctant to make anything amounting to an admission. Probably because he guessed you were wired. That was a good idea of yours to take your own tape recorder. It put him right off his guard after he’d disposed of that. Now we can probably get him for attempted murder on you as well.”
“Terrific. That makes me feel it’s all been worthwhile,” said Lindsay ironically. “Now, could one of your lads take me back to Derbyshire House? I’ve had enough for one day.”
“We’ll need a full statement from you. But that can wait till the morning. Don’t you think you should go down to the hospital and get checked over?”
Lindsay shook her head. “There’s nothing broken. I’d know if there was. I’m just bruised and shaken. Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t put more or less right. But thanks for the belated concern,” she added. She walked out of the room on very nearly steady legs.
A few minutes later, the police car drew up outside Longnor House. Lindsay glanced across at her car. It seemed many hours since she’d left it. She glanced at her watch and was astonished to see it was barely past midnight. “I’ll never feel the same about that car again,” she said to the policeman with her. “If that bastard had had his way, it would have been my coffin. Tell the Inspector I’ll see him tomorrow about noon.”
The door into the house was locked. Lindsay’s shoulders sagged. It was the last straw. She leaned against the wall of the porch and studied the bells. Housemistress. Senior Mistress. Junior Mistress. She pressed the top bell and prayed for Paddy.
PART FIVE:
CODA
22
It was just after nine the following morning when Paddy pulled back the curtains in her bedroom and turned to look at the waking figure in her bed. Lindsay’s sleep-rumpled hair suited a disreputable appearance that included a black eye, a split and swollen lip, and a badly bruised jaw. She opened her eyes and winced as the pain hit her. Paddy brought her a glass of orange juice and smiled anxiously. “How are you feeling?” she inquired.
“Like I’ve been run over by a truck,” Lindsay replied crossly. “I’m sure that bastard Dart deliberately let Cartwright work me over.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, you know,” Paddy complained. “You staggered in here last night looking as though you’d been mugged, told us everything was all right, demanded a large Scotch and a bed, and refused point-blank to tell us a bloody thing more until you’d slept. Cordelia has been going out of her head with worry. I couldn’t get her to bed till gone three. Really, Lindsay, you are the pits.”
Lindsay attempted a scowl, then thought better of it. “Sorry. I had just had more than enough for one day. Anyway, shouldn’t you be teaching? Isn’t that what they pay you for?”
“I’ve managed to off-load my classes for today on the grounds that I’m nursing an invalid journalist. So if Pamela Overton comes across, try to look sick.”
“That won’t be hard. Where’s Cordelia?”
“Upstairs, I presume. I’ve given her the guest room. She was sufficiently anesthetized by the time she went to bed to sleep half the morning if we let her.”
“Where did you sleep, then?”
“On the sofa. After prison comforts, it seemed like the Ritz.”
“Sorry I spoilt your homecoming.”
“Never mind that. Just tell me what the hell has been going on!”
“When I’ve had a shower and Cordelia’s here. Not till then. I’m not going over the whole thing twice.”
Paddy wasn’t happy with this answer, but Lindsay was adamant, insisting on washing and dressing immediately. Paddy left to fetch Cordelia, and Lindsay winced her way to the bathroom, where she let the hot water soothe away some of the aches from her battered body.
When she emerged, Cordelia was pacing the living-room. She rushed to Lindsay and hugged her. For the first time since she’d woken up, Lindsay forgot her pain. “Don’t ever scare me like that again,” Cordelia murmured. “Thank God you’re all right.” Paddy looked mildly astonished, then discreetly exited to the kitchen to brew more coffee.
When she returned, the two lovers were sitting together, Lindsay with her bruised head on Cordelia’s shoulder. She sat up to relate the events of the previous evening. Just the telling of it was enough to make her shiver with horror. And the effect on Paddy and Cordelia was no less chilling.
“You must be crazy, Lindsay,” Cordelia cried. “Going in there on your own. You could have been killed. You should have taken me with you.”
Lindsay shook her head, “No, this was one thing that had to be done solo. There’s no way Cartwright would have opened up at all if there had been two of us. He wouldn’t have fallen for the line I took. He’d simply have tried to brazen it out. So I had to trust Dart to take care of me.
“He’d fitted me out with a very good radio microphone, so that was transmitting everything said and done in the room. The cops were sitting outside in a troop of unmarked police cars with a van parked in the next-door neighbor’s drive behind the shrubbery. And for extra security, Dart’s sergeant was outside the office window with one of those limpet microphones.
“Dart was very quick at getting the operation together once I’d convinced him it was the only way to do it. He wouldn’t hear of it to begin with, but I told him if he wouldn’t help me, I’d do it on my own and the only way he could stop me was to throw me in the cells. He finally relented when I pointed out that eventually I’d be back on the streets again, and I’d go straight to Cartwright and confront him. At least when the case comes to trial I’ll have a wonderful exclusive to flog—How I Caught The Girls’ School Killer.”
“Yes. The scars will pr
obably have healed by then,” said Cordelia drily.
“I’m sorry to be a bore,” said Paddy, “but you’ll have to bear with me. Don’t forget, I’ve not been party to all these discussions you’ve had in the course of the past week. Someone has yet to explain to me exactly what has been going on. Starting from the murder.”
Lindsay took a deep breath and began. “I now know how precarious James Cartwright’s financial position was. He admitted last night he didn’t have a brass farthing. Inspector Dart told me he’d made some bad property deals lately. He had already raised a lot of capital on the strength of his time-share scheme and it was absolutely crucial that the playing fields deal succeeded. Had he not pulled it off, he would have been forced into liquidation and bankruptcy. He couldn’t face that prospect; he enjoyed his lifestyle too much. And he was worried about losing Sarah’s affection and respect if he couldn’t give her the life she was used to.
“He tried to bribe Lorna not to play that night. Even though the tickets had already been sold, if Lorna had pulled out, a lot of people would have been looking for their money back. And it would have completely discredited any further attempt to raise the money. But Lorna wouldn’t hear of it. She was enjoying herself far too much watching people being upset by her presence. Also, in spite of herself, I think she did care about the school. And she had sufficient integrity as an artist not to let her public down. So she refused, and in deeply insulting terms. He was thwarted and also very angry. That’s when he thought of trying to murder her. He had reached the end of his tether, something Lorna couldn’t have known. He was desperate enough to be dangerous.
“He knew the school layout very well. So, when everyone was at dinner, he went to the music room and helped himself to a cello string. He was probably wearing his driving gloves, because the police haven’t found any prints. He probably also checked that the window catches were still easy to manipulate. Then he fetched the scaffolding and set it up.