by Sue Nicholls
‘Sorry sir. I can’t tell you that, but please feel free to stay as long as you need.’ He is polite to the point of offensiveness. ‘Perhaps you’d like to book a room?’
A sign behind the desk exhibits prices well beyond Paul’s pocket and he declines, deciding to venture back onto the street in search of either the happy couple, or a cheaper place to stay.
Heat blasts his face as he leaves the air conditioning. On a whim he drops into a ‘trash for trippers’ shop next door and comes out half an hour later sporting a cheap tee shirt with a picture of a Dodo plodding across its chest, a pair of khaki coloured knee-length shorts and some rubber flip flops. He feels less out of place.
Holding a parcel of his cast-off clothing in one hand and his travel bag in the other, he looks up the street, undecided which way to go. At the sight of a sign blinking out the word: HOTEL, he shuffles towards it, the flip flops uncomfortable between his toes.
Once checked into a simple room, he returns to the street, free of his heavy belongings. In the absence of any sign of Fee he decides to park himself at a pavement café, and chooses a shady spot under a canopy, half hidden behind some plants in tubs. The entrance to Fee’s hotel is on the opposite side of the road.
A waiter appears with a promptness unknown at home and takes his order for beer. Moments later a chilled glass arrives, along with a ticket, stabbed onto a spike. A person could get used to this type of life; Max was right. Yeah… His mind remains in contemplation of Max, he certainly is a very clever bloke.
He finishes his drink and orders another, watching tourists and traffic, his eyes drooping after his long flight. There is movement over the road and his lids fly up. A familiar figure runs up the steps of the hotel. She has lost weight. He downs the second beer and prepares to leave. When Fee comes back through the glass doors wearing a jacket and carrying a white shoulder-bag, Paul digs out a handful of notes and stabs them onto the spike with the chits, then squeezes between metal tables and crosses the road, dodging between taxis and bicycles.
Fee is walking purposefully and soon rounds a corner. Paul hops along in his unsuitable footwear and when he gets to the junction, peers round the wall in time to see his ex-wife climbing a pathway that, according to a white, painted sign, leads to the cliff top. Keeping his distance, he follows and watches as the woman he still loves, reaches the top of the rough path and climbs a short distance further on to a black rock that juts like a claw into the translucent, blue sky, higher than any other visible point. The sea crashes far below as she lowers herself to the ground and dangles her legs over the edge. With her hands on the volcanic surface, she leans forward gingerly to stare at the breakers far below.
In the distance stands a restaurant. Covered verandas skirt its wooden sides, and indistinct figures move on them. Is this where Fee is headed, to meet her new spouse, to chink romantic glasses and taste each other’s food? Perhaps he is already in there, waiting for her. Paul ducks out of sight to watch.
Before long, a shape steps from the restaurant and strides towards them, and Paul’s head fills with scarlet fury.
***
Although Gloria urged Fee to go away with Will, home life alone with the children is far from easy. Since the news of Twitch’s murder, Sam has become morose, spending too much time in his room, and screaming at Josh when he tries to come in. Little Josh doesn’t understand where his mummy has gone. He is clingy and cries for her or Maurice, especially at night. Gloria has spent many an evening cuddling the little boy to sleep.
Lucas and Olivia had been getting used to losing their own mother, but the discovery of Twitch’s body and attending another funeral has upset them. Gloria has changed a few wet sheets and pants for her grandchildren. It’s to be expected of course, the poor kiddies, but Gloria, capable and efficient and experienced in matters of bereavement, is still out of her depth and looking forward to Fee’s return.
This evening they are waiting for Kitty in the muted grandeur of the airport. Mick could not come because he is on a late shift, and Maurice, well she did not ask him. Why should she expect the poor man to drag himself out? He has enough on his plate. She stands in the waiting crowd holding Lucas in her arms. He is getting too heavy to be held for long and her back aches.
People trickle through the gate wearing travel-weary expressions. Around Gloria, excited families, their voices swallowed by the cavernous space, crane to spot loved ones. On the periphery, thick necked chauffeurs in straining suits, gossip together, holding scrawled notices to attract emerging clients.
Kitty’s flight is late but has landed. Gloria watches the display board and eventually sees that the child is collecting her baggage. She will be tired and tetchy after a journey halfway round the world in little more than a weekend.
It is Lucas who spots Kitty, hand in hand with an air hostess. ‘Kitty, Kitty, Kitty,’ he cries, and leans towards the girl with outstretched arms. Gloria puts him down and grasps his hand, shoving through the crowd to the end of the barrier.
While she signs a discharge form, the children hug Kitty, demanding to know about her adventure, but Kitty is half-asleep and can hardly talk, so they straggle back to the car in silence.
Gloria stares at the monotonous motorway, wondering how many fellow road users are suffering from jet lag. She is longing to know from Kitty how everything went, but it will have to wait until the morning. She looks in the mirror at the children, nodding in the back seats, and decides to keep them off school tomorrow. One day won’t hurt, and Sam and Josh will benefit from hearing something happy.
***
Sirens split the scorching Mauritian air and a police car, its blue light ablaze, weaves between vehicles, which pull over to let it pass. Another siren, then another. People stop and turn, murmuring questions:
‘Qu’est-ce qui se passe?’
‘Something’s happened, I can’t see anything?’
Two police cars skid out of sight around the corner and up a gritty pathway, unsuitable though it is for vehicles. Behind them an ambulance and a fire truck. The vehicles slew to different sides on the grassy cliff top, and Paul strides to meet them. ‘God, I’m glad you’re here.’ His voice breaks with emotion. ‘My wife is at the bottom of the cliff and that man, he raises a stabbing finger, Max Rutherford, pushed her.’ Paul is suddenly overwhelmed with the enormity of the situation and lets his knees buckle until he is sitting on the ground between an ambulance and a police car.
Men scramble from vehicles. One concerned officer helps Paul to his feet and encourages him into his car. Paul watches another pull Max towards the second police vehicle. He peers through the windscreen trying to make out what is going on with Max, but grey dust on the glass makes it impossible.
He gives his statement: Max must have tapped him for information about his wife during their counselling sessions and then insinuated himself into her life. Paul had followed Fee out here to warn her and had watched her climb to the cliff top on her own. He had hidden behind a bush to get a feel for the situation and make sure he was right about his theory. Max came out of the restaurant and climbed up the peak, then, instead of joining his wife, he had put his arms out and shoved her over the edge to her death.
Motive? Who knew? He was very secretive about his private life. Money perhaps?
Was Fee well off? Quite comfortable, and her father had been wealthy.
When Paul realised what was about to happen, he had torn towards Fee, but he was too late. Max saw Paul careering towards him and simply froze on the spot, and that is where he still was when the police turned up. Paul did not know who had called the police, maybe someone from the restaurant?
The copper excuses himself and leaves Paul sweating in the sun-beaten car. Paul watches as he walks to the other car and confers with the second policeman. They compare notes, gesticulating and shrugging, then Paul’s officer returns and asks Paul to step from the car.
He is pleased to escape from the heat into the slight breeze on the cliff top. When the
officer speaks, it is in a serious voice. ‘Mr Thomas? I must inform you that you are under arrest for the murder of Mrs Fiona Owen.’
Paul’s head buzzes and he hardly hears the accented words of the police officer reading his rights. Hard metal handcuffs are snapped around his wrists and he is pushed back into the sweltering car. As the vehicle swings in an arc to return to the town, Paul catches a glimpse of Max, his backside resting on the wing of the car and his arms folded. His face is inscrutable as he watches the car leave the scene.
Chapter 69
'It must have been hard knowing your ex-wife was marrying another man. Perhaps you were hoping she would come back to you.' The policeman, who bears the unlikely name of Kipling, sits opposite Paul at a wooden table, his heavy French accent giving the scene the feel of a cheap ‘B’ movie. It is an effect emphasised by the stuffy little room. Outside the open window, the sea slaps and sucks against rocks, and happy voices contrast with the stern tone of Paul's interrogator.
Paul glares. 'Do you think I travelled halfway round the world to confront a man on a cliff top and murder my wife?'
'His wife, sir. She was his wife.’ The policeman pauses to watch Paul sweat. ’And jealousy is a powerful emotion.'
'No, you don't understand.'
The man, olive skinned and attractive in a white shirt, open at the neck, cocks his head to one side. 'I think you need to do some talking Monsieur Thomas. You are in a lot of trouble, and I'm fascinated to understand exactly why you found it necessary to threaten a man and push his wife over a cliff to her death.'
‘I did not threaten him. We hardly spoke.’ Paul can hear his voice rising and pulls it back down. ‘I simply watched, out of sight, as he pushed the woman I love, to her death.’
‘Well Mr Owen has another tale to tell and believe me, from our enquiries, it is far more convincing.’
Paul gulps in some air and wills himself to breathe evenly. ‘I can’t imagine what Max Rutherford has told you. He does know things about me nobody else does and some of them are not things I’m proud of, but I repeat, I am innocent. He is guilty.
The officer crosses his arms across his chest and settles back on his chair. 'The floor is yours, Mr Thomas. Explain yourself.'
Paul's mind searches for a place to start. 'Years ago, two or three, I forget now, I was having a hard time accepting that Fee had left me. I was angry and hurting - myself and others - so I went to counselling. My counsellor was him.' He jerks his thumb over his shoulder as though Max were in the hallway.
'Monsieur Owen?'
'Yes. He told me his name was Max Rutherford, so when Fee said she was coming out here with someone called Will, I thought nothing of it. I didn’t know they were going to get married.'
The policeman sits forward and leans his folded arms on the table.
Paul thinks back to his sessions with Max. 'He helped me a lot. When I found out that it was him who was taking Fee to Mauritius, I was hit by a powerful feeling that she was in danger. I felt uneasy. Max had given the impression that he was totally ethical, but all the time he was using the information I gave him to get into bed with Fee.’
Paul starts to tell what he can remember about his sessions with Max, but the inspector stops him with an upward sweep of his hand.
‘Monsieur Owen has told us all this. We know he counselled you, and that you have a volatile temper.’
Paul slumps into his chair and stares at Kipling. ‘He told you that?’
‘Yes sir. Also, we have been in touch with the police in your local area,’ he glances at his piece of paper. ‘Lee-may-shire.’
‘Lymeshire.’
‘Ah,’ the man smiles, ‘Thank you Monsieur, my English can always be improved.’ His face grows serious. ‘These Lymeshire Police tell us that you are suspected of the murder of your wife’s friend, Mrs Sabrina Roman.’
Paul drops his head forwards; his palms smell of institutional soap. ‘I haven’t killed anyone.’
‘And the rape?’
The question comes like a thump in the chest. Paul raises his eyes slowly to meet those of the officer. ‘Rape?’
Yes. Mr Owen told me that you raped Ms Roman.’
‘He told you that? Why would he say such a thing? I did not rape Twitch. I liked her.’
‘And now she is dead.’
‘Yes, that’s true.’ His body sags.
***
‘Thank you for coming in Mr Owen. I know this is a difficult time for you.’ Kipling is all sympathy and Max dips his head.
‘I’m sorry we have to ask you these questions, when you must be suffering greatly from your loss.’
Max looks dully at Inspector Kipling. ‘I don’t feel anything, really.’
‘Could you tell me, please, exactly what happened this afternoon?’
‘My wife and I decided to go for a walk along the cliff top. We had found a restaurant up there, “Le Chamarel”, we’d been there before.’ Max stops speaking, his face quivering, shoulders shaking with suppressed emotion. ‘Sorry.’
‘That’s all right Sir. This is a difficult time for you. Would you like a glass of water?’
When Max nods, Kipling fills a tumbler. He watches Max take a gulp and fumble in his pocket for a handkerchief.
‘So, you walked up the path to the top?’
‘Well, I went up first, Fee was having her nails done so I brought a book and sat on the veranda reading. Fee said she’d follow, and she did. I was only there half an hour before I looked up and saw her in the distance, sitting on the edge of the cliff. I knew it must be her. She loved it there. Said it felt like the prow of a ship.’
The inspector’s face is full of sympathy. He reaches a hand towards Max, not quite making contact. ‘Go on Sir.’
‘I decided to go up and join her. We’ve sat there before - it’s such a beautiful spot. I ordered two glasses of wine and carried them along the cliff path. It’s a bit of a trek but I knew she’d love the gesture.’ Max blinks and wipes his palm across his eyes. ‘I’d only gone a little way when a figure came out of the shrubs at the side of the path that leads up from the town. A man ran up the slope towards Fee and I could see what he was going to do. I dropped the glasses and ran towards them, but I was too late.’ Max sobs out the last words and covers his face with both hands. His shoulders heave and Kipling looks on, waiting for the emotion to subside.
‘Why do you think he would do this thing?’ The policeman frowns.
‘I suppose he’d found out about our marriage. Perhaps Gloria told him. Gloria looks after the children. She knew I’d planned to surprise Fee. I needed to confide in her to get Kitty out here.’
‘Kitty is Fee’s daughter, is that right?’
‘Yes.’ Max jerks his head up, a look of realisation dawning on his face. ‘Has anyone told her?’
‘Kipling shakes his head. ‘Non, Monsieur. Do you think you will be able to do that?’
Max nods.
Max is subjected to a multitude more questions:
How long has he known Paul?
About a year.
How does Paul’s anger manifest itself?
Anything to do with Fee or antisocial behaviour and he loses control. He has beaten people up.
Does Max have notes relating to his consultations with Paul?
Yes. Only relevant to his anger, though.
Max repeats in a monotone, details of Paul’s attacks on Twitch, his neighbours, and the men in the chip shop. By the end of the interview his face is pale. Deep lines descend from his nose to the corners of his mouth and his eyes are red rimmed and darkly circled.
Detective Kipling pushes his chair from the table. With his hands still resting on the edge he contemplates the man opposite. ‘I think that will be all for now, Mr Owen. Thank you very much for your time.’
***
Children, no matter how sad or tired, must be kept occupied. After lunch Kitty and the others troop along the canal with Gloria, their destination, a village with a tearoom beside a small
playground.
Gloria wears a tightly fitting emerald green dress under her camel coat. Her feet, in brown support tights, are laced into stalwart shoes, which keep her upright despite the uneven surface of the path. Over her arm bounces a patent leather handbag containing the necessary accessories for the outing: Tissues, plasters, money, lipstick and more.
As they trudge, Gloria explains to the children about the history of the canals. ‘Children used to travel with their families you know. Helpin’ their mums and dads. They had to go to school at a different place each day, and sometimes the school would come to them, and the church.’
‘Where did they live?’ Kitty was more interested than the others, walking beside Gloria with Lucas’s hand gripped tightly in her own.
‘In those long, narrow boats. There’s not much room inside. They would have had to be very tidy.’
They stop to look at some ducks, and Gloria pulls bread from her bottomless bag. The wack, wack laughter from the birds, diminishes to quiet muttering as they scoop pieces of bread from the surface of the water with greedy beaks.
‘Keep hold of that child, Kitty.’ Gloria checks on Lucas and grabs Josh’s hand before he follows his bread into the water amid the hungry flock.
In the park the children run straight to the equipment. The vigorous walk has warmed Gloria, and she slips off her coat and drapes it over the back of a bench., She is still standing when her phone trills and she grabs it from her bag. A familiar voice hails her.
‘Hello Gloria.’
‘Will. It’s lovely to hear from you. Congratulations.’
‘Gloria…’
‘What is it? Is somethin’ wrong?’ His silence scares her. ‘Will. Is Fee OK?’ There is a long stillness and Gloria’s hand reaches for the back of the seat.
‘No. Gloria, she’s dead.’
The phone clatters from Gloria’s grasp and she doubles over and vomits on the grass.
***
Maurice, Mick and Gloria sit round the kitchen table. They have put the children to bed, trying to appear normal. Nobody has yet told Kitty.
‘Have you got anything to drink, Gloria?’ Maurice looks vaguely around the kitchen.