by Tim Adler
Even I managed to smile at this. "Your word. What, the word of a man who has the blood of two people on his hands? The word of an adulterer who's lied and stolen and kidnapped my baby?"
Something must have touched a nerve. Forget became angry. "You're an adulterer as well. Except I didn't go running to mummy when I was a bad boy. Either you take the pills or we'll abandon your baby somewhere." He cocked his head to one side and made a little moue. "I bet you're thinking, 'Nobody could be cruel enough to do that.' You forget. The baby isn't Emily's, it's yours."
"I don't believe Emily would do that."
Forget offered me the pills again. "So, how much is your child worth now?"
"I've got a counterproposal," I said. "There's more money in my holdall. You tell me where my daughter is, and you take the extra cash. You don't want another person's death on your conscience. I'm giving you the chance to get away. The police know the connection between you and Emily, how you dreamt this up together," I lied. "It's only a matter of time before they track you down."
The tip of the gynaecologist's tongue darted between his lips. "How much money are we talking about?" he asked. "I want to see it."
He nodded at me to start walking and picked up the baseball bat. One swing and my brains would be graffiti all over the wall. I raised my hands, and he followed me out into the corridor. "One hundred grand in cash," I said, slowly unzipping the nylon bag.
I swung round and jammed the sawn-off shotgun into his stomach. "Now fuck off," I said.
Instead, Forget swung the bat down on my shoulder. The pills flew everywhere. I dodged the blow, which still caught me, and I dropped the shotgun. It clattered on the floor. First I was standing up, and now I was on all fours. Christ, the pain. Forget must have broken my collarbone or something. We both had the same idea and lunged for the gun, but Forget got there first. Now he was pointing it down at me.
"You little fucker," he said, panting. "Pick up those pills."
I crawled around on my hands and knees trying to find the pills that had rolled against the skirting board and all over the floor. My shoulder throbbed like a pump.
"Now eat them," he said. Gingerly, I put the first one in my mouth, tasting its bitterness. "Not just one at a time, the whole lot," Forget said, resting both cold barrels against my temple.
I looked up at him, but there was no mercy there; his eyes were as expressionless as mackerel. Forget jerked his chin, indicating for me to hurry up.
I cupped my hand and swallowed the handful of pills without water, grimacing at the aftertaste. I would be dead within minutes. Already I imagined that my eyelids were getting heavy.
"Wait a minute, I've got a better idea," the gynaecologist said. He grabbed the back of my collar, hauled me up and told me to walk into the sitting room, jabbing me in the back with the sawn-off shotgun. If only I could get the room into focus. Everything seemed to be revolving in figures of eight.
"I'm bored with this," Forget said. "Go outside onto the balcony. Don't try any funny business. Your wife will play the grieving widow for a bit, and then we'll live comfortably on your money."
I slid the balcony door open and stepped onto the patio. It was bitterly cold and I shivered involuntarily, wind ruffling my shirt. "Promise me you won't hurt my baby," I said. Already I could feel myself getting sleepy. My eyelids were starting to close as the pills took effect. Another few minutes and it would all be over. No, I was not going to let this happen. In my heart I had made a solemn oath to protect my child, and I was going to keep that promise.
Forget grinned and motioned for me to stand by the balcony. Canary Wharf glowed before us, and it felt like that moment in the Bible where the Devil tempts Jesus with all the countries in the world he could rule.
"You know," Forget said, "I've seen a lot of cunts in my life, and your wife's is by far the prettiest."
"Please, don't do anything to my child."
"Now, get up on the balcony. Either you jump or I'll blow a hole in you right now." He took a step closer and prodded me in the gut. "You know, Dante had a special place reserved in hell for people like you and me."
"Yes, and who's that then?"
"The adulterers."
"Well," I said. "I'll be seeing you in hell."
I grabbed him and threw both of us over the side. Forget was so surprised that he dropped the shotgun, and it clattered onto the cement. For a moment I wondered if it was going to go off as I felt the gynaecologist’s centre of gravity shift and he came toppling after me. I closed my eyes, but not before I glimpsed the lit-up health club skylight rushing towards us. I screwed my eyes shut even tighter: this was going to hurt. What the hell was I talking about? This wasn't just going to hurt, we were both going to die.
Chapter Thirty Seven
This was going to be bad. For a moment, I glimpsed the skylight rushing towards us, and then glass splintering as we crashed through it. Pieces of glass were spinning right towards me, and I shut my eyes tight as we hit the swimming pool. Hard. The water was like cement. Bubbles exploded around us, and it was so cold I wanted to scream. In the confusion I let go of Forget and felt us drifting apart. All I wanted to do was get out of the water. I kicked upwards, desperate to reach the surface. My head broke the water and I gasped, trying to get as much air into my lungs as possible. Around me was broken glass and bits of wood from where we had burst through the skylight. I was conscious of cuts on my face and arms, but to my surprise there wasn't more blood. Amazingly, we had not been cut to ribbons as we fell through the skylight.
Somebody grabbed me from below in a clumsy rugby tackle.
Forget had his arms around me as we grappled underwater, trying to reach my throat. Christ, he was strong. I tried fending him off, but I was becoming very drowsy. The sleeping pills were really coming on strong.
We turned and turned again as Forget forced his hands around my neck, trying to squeeze the life out of me. Above us the silver ceiling rippled. The gynaecologist looked unhinged as he bore down, his face filling my vision as pressure built and the roar of blood in my head became intolerable. Desperately, my hand groped for anything I might use, and my fingers touched a piece of glass. I scrabbled for the shard as it bobbed away just out of reach. Finally I got my fingers round it as my arm broke the surface, and I plunged it down into what I hoped was his back.
Forget screamed and let go, his hands clutching his neck. Blood ribboned, pouring out of him, and I kicked away, trying to get to the other end of the pool as the water turned cloudy with blood. Forget came after me, his hands grabbing my ankles as I ploughed on. It was like a nightmare where something just out of sight is grabbing at you – no matter how fast you went, it was always gaining. I could see a swimmer standing up in the shallow end of the pool looking astonished. "Help," I yelled before I went under. Forget was pulling me back down, and I swallowed a great mouthful of water. Clouds of silver bubbles escaped from my mouth. Forget's powerful arms were pulling me down into the depths. He was far too strong for me, and I had already made the decision to give in. Then Forget's hands weren't there anymore.
My head broke the surface again, and I looked wildly around to see whether he had given up. No, he was floating face down in the water in an expanding cloud of blood. The water was dark with the stuff, and Forget's clothes ballooned around him. I kicked my way to the edge, coughing and choking. I could still feel Forget’s hands around my throat. With one supreme effort I hauled myself up out of the pool and lay coughing and retching on my side. I felt exhausted, with nothing left to give. But I still had to get those pills out. I stuck two fingers down my throat and started heaving as the enormity of what had just happened sank in.
I had just killed another person.
Another man's blood was on my hands.
With that, I puked my guts out onto the tiles, half-digested sleeping pills in the bile. I paused for a moment, still dry heaving. Then I went again, vomiting whatever was left in my stomach. Finally, I wiped an elastic string of spittle
with my wrist. My eardrum also ached. We had hit the surface so hard that water had shot up my nostrils, hurting my sinuses. I wanted to bang my head with my fist to get the stuff out. Instead I just lay there waiting for the excruciating pain to go away. The swimmer stood over me, keeping his distance as if I was contagious. "Are you all right?" he asked. Did I bloody look all right? I rolled onto my back. "Please. Call the police," I managed to say. Despite everything, life was seeping back into me. I had never felt so rawly alive. I was alive and Forget was dead, and that was all that mattered.
An hour later I was sitting on my living room sofa wearing a tee-shirt and tracksuit bottoms. Everything hurt, and I felt grey with pain. I was coming down now and, catching sight of myself in the bathroom mirror as I applied TCP to my cuts, I thought I looked like death. From the balcony I had watched Forget's body being carried into the ambulance. A police car was parked in the courtyard below with its lights still churning. A policewoman had placed the sofa throw around me as I sipped smooth, delicious-tasting coffee laced with sugar in my living room. There was a lot of explaining to do: a police officer took my statement, and I told him to phone Detective Inspector Syal, who could vouch for everything I had said. I was taking another sip when there was a knock at the door. DI Syal herself came into the room, looking mightily pissed off.
"What the hell has been going on?" she asked me. Even the PC looked embarrassed.
"I did warn you," I croaked. My throat felt sore as hell. "You didn't listen."
"I left a message saying that we had traced the car, and still you had to play the hero."
"I didn't play the hero. He came after me."
Syal's face softened a little when she saw the state I was in. "Are you all right?" she asked. "Are you hurt?"
"As all right as somebody can be who has just fallen three stories through a glass window," I said. It hurt every time I breathed.
"Why did Forget come here? Your wife had already run away with him, and he had your money as well. I don't understand."
"He wanted me to leave a note confessing to Alice's murder and then kill myself. That way all his loose ends would be neatly tied up. He literally put a gun to my head." I managed to smile at this. If my sense of humour was coming back, I must be starting to feel human.
"Your own shotgun that you planned to shoot him with."
I decided to ignore that. "So, what are you going to do about finding my baby? My wife still has my child and a million pounds of my money." I looked at the chair where less than an hour ago Forget had been planning to kill me. "Will you tell his wife? He had a son of his own, you know." I wondered how Forget's son would grow up, knowing what his father had done.
For the first time, the detective looked compassionate. "Yes," she said. "We will inform his family. His wife needs to identify his body. I'm going to have to arrest you, though. For manslaughter. I believe that you acted in self-defence, but it's not up to me to decide."
"Wait. A man tries to kill me and I'm the bad guy here? My wife has two people's blood on her hands. Not just Alice Adams or Helen Noades or whatever the hell her name was, but the private detective as well. Forget told me that he'd gotten too close, that he'd figured out their scheme. They set fire to his office to destroy the evidence."
"Leaving him locked inside." Syal grimaced.
We both sat there for a moment contemplating Martin Wynn's grisly end. Finally I said, "Listen, I've got a proposal for you."
Syal sat down on the leather footstool facing me. For once, rather than talking over me, she wanted to hear what I had to say. "Go on," she said.
"You arrest me, or whatever it is you need to do," I said, rubbing my throat, "but let me phone Emily first. Let me try and get my daughter back. She won't want to leave the country with her if she can. Nancy's not hers, you see."
"What makes you think your wife will pick up the phone? You told me she's on the run. She could be anywhere by now."
"No. Forget told me they planned to disappear, somewhere abroad, I guess. So she must be still in the country. Everything has changed now that Forget is dead. First Alice and now her–" I still couldn't bring myself to say the word lover. "–her accomplice." I remembered what the man in the sauna had said, about how his dog had turned out to be a rat. In the end, do any of us know who another person really is?
DI Syal sat back looking sceptically at me. "If she agrees to hand your baby back, we will be there. The moment she hands over the child, she'll be under arrest."
"She mustn't know that the police are involved. Otherwise she'll run."
Syal gestured with her eyes for me to use the phone. "Go on," she said. "You can make one call."
I lifted the phone out of its cradle and jabbed in Emily's number. I knew it off by heart by now. Please pick up, I said silently. Just for once, take my call. Four rings and my heart sank as the phone went through to voicemail again. Emily's bubbling voice told me to leave a message. I said hoarsely, "Emily, it's me. Forget’s dead. There's been enough killing. This is where it ends, this is where it stops. I know everything, by the way. I went to see your mother in Wales, and she told me what had happened about your father. Listen, Emily, I'm truly sorry. For what we did to you, I mean. You got your pound of flesh. You win, Emily, I get that. Just give me my little girl back. You can keep the rest."
With that, I replaced the handset, and we both just sat there, willing it to ring. We both jumped when the phone rang minutes later. I could see from the caller ID that it was Emily, and I punched the speakerphone button.
"Hello?" I said cautiously. I could hear her breathing on the other end.
"What do you mean, he's dead? What have you done to him?"
Already I felt righteous anger. Her lover had broken in to our flat, tried to murder me, and all she was concerned about was him? "He came here and tried to kill me. I don't have to justify myself to you." Syal motioned for me to calm down.
"Are we on speakerphone?" she asked suspiciously.
"Sorry, force of habit."
"Do the police know yet?" she asked with a husk in her voice. I looked up at Syal, who shook her head. "No, no I haven't– not yet anyway. This changes everything. Listen, Emily, I know you don't love me and probably never did."
"That's not true ..."
"But give me my little girl back. You can keep the money. Be logical about it. You don't want to start a new life like this. I just want you to go."
There was a pause on the other end while Emily weighed up my offer. Syal made a rolling gesture with her finger, as if to say, keep her talking. Finally Emily said, "Can you come up to Morecambe tomorrow afternoon? I'll meet you on the beach at five o'clock. I'll have Nancy with me. How do I know you won't call the police?"
"I just want my daughter back. I don't care if I never see you again." I remembered how deserted the seaside resort had been out of season. What was she doing up there? That was where Alice's family lived. I remembered the bleak seaside promenade. "Morecambe beach, what, in the north of England?"
"Yes, that's the place."
"The beach stretches a long way. How will I find you?"
"Don't worry. We'll find you. Park your car at Hest Bank station and start walking." Pause. "Hugo?"
"Yes. I'm still here."
"I never meant any of this to happen, you know. Things went wrong. It was the company I hated, not you."
My wife’s words came back to me. "You can't unring a bell, Emily."
We hung up, and I sat back on the sofa feeling utterly drained. It was well past midnight, and all I wanted to do was finally close my eyes. Something was nagging at me, though, something that Mole had mentioned. Then I got it. I said, "Alice's funeral is tomorrow at three o'clock in Morecambe. My wife is planning to be there."
Chapter Thirty Eight
I rested my head against the pew in front of me and thought about all the bad things I had done in my life. Lust. Pride. I tried remembering what the other seven deadly sins were but was at a loss after gluttony and
sloth. The varnish felt sticky from other people's fingers, and I lifted my head to look around. Only a few people had come to Alice's funeral. I was sitting well at the back of the mostly empty church and recognised Alice's sister from the back of her head. Our surrogate's coffin rested in the middle of the pew facing the altar. I thought about the argument I had got into with Alice that day she attacked me, coming home to find the creepy supper she had prepared, bumping into her in the fertility centre, and the night we had ended up in bed together. Oh, they had it all planned. Right from the start they had played me all. Yet something had gone wrong: perhaps Alice had wanted to keep our child and what, give her share of the money back? But that was not how Forget had planned things. Yes, you can get what you want, I reflected, only it never turns out the way you expect: the gynaecologist had gotten his money, only to end up dead in a swimming pool; Mole had gotten the child she said she wanted, only for the police to be hunting her down; and look where Alice was now – in a pine coffin about to roll into the flames. Really, Mole was just as guilty as Forget for what had happened to our surrogate: she had kept her mouth shut after her lover had bludgeoned Alice to death. Once again, I looked around for Mole, but she was not sitting in one of the rear pews. Even she could not be that much of a hypocrite.
The priest, who was in his mid-twenties, gave the homily, talking about lost sheep who had strayed and "Let he who be without sin cast the first stone." If Mole wasn't coming to the funeral, then why had she wanted to meet in Morecambe? That's what I couldn't figure out. Tinny, reverent organ music played while the vicar summarised Alice's childhood, glossing over her troubles with the police. Still, what could he say? Family members must have given him a half-hour of memories, and he was expected to make a life out of that?