Grey Ladies

by William Stafford

  “Remember when I asked you not to make a noise,” he hissed. Pam Fogg sobbed.

  “Of course,” Lawson continued, “I could just leave you here and forget about you. Nobody comes down here. Unsafe - oh, not the building; don’t worry about that.” He gave the stone wall an appreciative smack. “The steps that lead down to it. Can’t have the public twisting their ankles and whatnot. So you’d be quite safe down here. Left in peace.”

  “Let me go, Adrian, please!” Pam Fogg pleaded. Her words caught at the back of her throat. “I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”

  He turned the beam towards her, directly into her eye. She flinched and tried to turn her head.

  “It’s not about not telling anybody,” he snarled. “In fact, the more the merrier. I’m going to bring your crimes into the public eye. I don’t care what happens to me but I’ll make sure you get what’s coming to you.”

  “Wh -?” Fogg was confused.

  “Oh, don’t play the innocent!” Righteous indignation contorted Lawson’s features as much as the torchlight under his chin. “You really expect me to believe you don’t know? Well, that just makes it worse! Ignorance is no defence in the eyes of the Lawson.”

  “You’re insane!”

  “And you’re a negligent bitch who shouldn’t be in charge of people’s lives. There; I said it.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Lawson returned the torchlight to his mother’s corpse. “We sold the family home to put her up at your place. Not cheap, is it, the Dorothy Beaumont Don’t Care Home? The place where I grew up. My rightful inheritance! Oh, I don’t mind the money. Only the best would do for my mother.

  “But what did we get for all that money? Poison! That’s what we got. Poison and ignorance.”

  “I really don’t know what you mean.”

  Lawson threatened to brain her with the torch again. “Then stop bloody interrupting! I want you to know why this is happening to you, so you can be sorry and everyone will know the kind of outfit you’re running up there.”

  “I didn’t even know your mother was dead!” Fogg protested.

  “And that’s entirely my point.” Lawson forced the torch between his mother’s jaws so that it illuminated him like some gruesome footlight. “She was dead for days and nobody knew. Lying there in her bed and no one came to check on her.”

  “I’m sorry -”

  “People die. Old people are especially prone to it; we all know that. But my mother was killed. Killed by your employees, Ms Fogg. That’s not what I paid for.”

  “I really don’t understand. I saw Mim only yesterday and - oh!” The penny dropped. “That was you?”

  “Bingo! Three years I pretended to be my own mother, so I could watch and wait and bide my time and get this little lot sorted.”

  “And by ‘this little lot’ you mean the murders?” Fogg’s gambit was to keep him talking. As long as he was talking, he wasn’t doing anything else and she was still alive.

  “I don’t know what gave you the impression this is an interview, Ms Fogg. I’m telling you because I want you to know. Now, kindly, shut the fuck up and let me get on with it.”

  Pam Fogg nodded, not daring to say anything further.

  “I’ll be brief. Got a lot to get done. First of all, we said - we watched you type it in her records - my mother was allergic to shellfish. And what does your cook go and prepare for her? Prawn cocktail. Delivered to her room because she was under the weather and not eating with the others. He should have known. Should have been told. Your fault!

  “Then, some dizzy young wench goes in, sees the food uneaten on the bedside table and takes it upon herself to spoon-feed it to my mother without a by-your-leave. She was new to the job. She should have known. Your fault!

  “Then the young wench goes off-duty and the old tart comes on. But she didn’t do her rounds, did she? Too busy painting her nails or something, I don’t know. But Loretta Phipps didn’t check on my mother. She might have been able to save her, raise the alarm, get the doctor - anything! But she didn’t. And when did she last have a staff appraisal, this paragon of elderly care? Never! And that’s your fault!

  “I’d been on holiday so I didn’t call in for a couple of days. I have hated myself ever since for that. But rest assured, Ms Fogg, my hatred for you is stronger. I found my mother lying there, staring at the ceiling, choked on her own vomit, her prawn-smelling rancid vomit, stone cold dead.

  “I reached for the panic button - believe me, I did - I was going to raise the alarm and all the rest of it. But something stayed my hand. I froze, Ms Fogg, my fingers an inch away from the alarm. There was something wrong about what happened to my mother and I was determined to find out what it was. I wasn’t going to give you the opportunity to whitewash the investigation. I was determined to make whoever was responsible pay.

  “I snuck my mother out of there. Very easily. In a wheelchair with a couple of blankets. Nobody stopped me. Someone even waved and said they hoped we enjoyed the fresh air. I brought her here to wait to meet her murderer. And I took on her identity. It was the perfect cover. Especially when nobody takes a blind bit of notice of you. I heard them talking, the young wench and the old slag. They knew they’d made a mistake. The young wench had told the old slag what she’d done and the old slag had said not to worry, leave it, let someone else deal with it.

  “But then they saw me, wheeling around as usual, and they thought all must be well. Old Mim must have gotten over her illness. And then the old slag packed her job in and the young one was promoted. Funny that. Well, I couldn’t do anything about the old slag leaving - had to go to great lengths to track her down, I can tell you. I was worried the young girl would do the same so - prepare to be surprised - I had help. A bit of smooth-talking and the prospect of exposing you so she could take over the top job and -”

  “Janet!” Fogg spat. “Fucking Janet!”

  “Well, I wasn’t exactly, but she thought I would and that was enough. The deluded cow. She fixed the girl’s promotion. She fixed the rotas so that nobody had Mum’s room on their schedule. I could come and go as I wanted. We were playing the long game. Now with you out of the picture, Janet will take over and everybody’s happy. Well, not everybody, but you know.”

  Pamela Fogg looked him in the eye. Her face was expressionless. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. “And the temp? What had she got to do with it?”

  Lawson’s expression changed. He sighed with what looked like genuine remorse. “She was talking too much to the coppers. There was every danger she might encourage their snooping into the past. If they asked her the right questions she might remember something about the old slag and the young wench. And I didn’t want things to come to the boil before I was ready.”

  Fogg’s head dropped to her chest. She shook it from side to side. She was sobbing.

  “You’re the reason those people died,” Lawson lifted her face and spat in it. “In these litigious times, it’s the head of the business who’s responsible. When I think of the compensation I could get - but there is no compensation for a murdered mother, is there?”

  “It was manslaughter at best!” Fogg glared at him in defiance.

  “You say potato.” He pulled her to her feet. “Come on. It’s show time.”

  15.

  Brough ran through the zoo and up to the castle. The public was gone; only members of staff remained, finishing up for the day. Those that spotted him tearing through the grounds and heading for the castle were terrified out of their wits. The stories were true after all! There was an old woman haunting the place - but who would have thought she’d be able to sprint like that? They got the hell out of there as fast as they could.

  It made sense that Lawson would head for the castle - if any of this could be said to make sense. What Brough might find when he got t
here, he couldn’t guess. The only thing he could come up with about a noose was the story of the old woman who had been hanged from the highest window in the keep for being a witch. Was that what was in Lawson’s mind too?

  He reached the central courtyard. Surrounded by walls it was darker there than the twilight that was settling everywhere else. He looked at the keep that was literally towering ahead, silhouetted against the sky. Something told him that was at the heart of all this. It was where Lawson would make his next - and perhaps his final - move.

  Brough froze. There seemed to be no one around but with all these shadows, he couldn’t be sure. What he didn’t want was another sighting of the woman in grey that had been plaguing him recently.

  He chose to move in the shadows too. He scurried to the edge of the courtyard and, with his back to the wall, made steady progress towards the keep.

  Some of the more nocturnal animals were becoming more active. Their calls and cries rose up from the surrounding pens. Brough’s heart raced and not just because he had been running.

  He was alone. It was a mistake to be alone no matter how accustomed he had been to working alone.

  Perhaps he could force his way into the castle museum’s office and use the phone.

  The castle museum was across the other side of the quad. Brough was steeling himself to make a dash for it when he heard the sound of voices coming nearer. Brough shrank back into the shadows.

  Lawson!

  His stupid pith helmet caught what was left of the light. He was dragging someone along with him - a woman if the tone of her snivelling protests was anything to go by. A woman with grey hair, short and spiked.

  Pamela Fogg!

  Knowing that the boss of the care home was still alive galvanised Brough. This wasn’t going to be a suicide attempt but another murder. There was someone to save!

  He watched as Lawson manhandled Fogg towards the foot of the keep’s spiral staircase. Damn it, thought Brough. I should have gone up there before him. Following him up could only put Brough at a disadvantage. His mind raced as fast as his heart.

  What to do, what to do, what to do?

  As soon as Lawson and his captive were out of sight, Brough emerged from the shadows. Where had they come from? Brough had entered the courtyard through the same archway but there had been no sign of Lawson or Fogg along the path... He surely would have heard the woman’s sobs.

  He stole across to investigate the archway. He almost didn’t spot it - a hollow hidden in the gloom. A stone door had been pushed inside to expose a set of stone steps leading underground.

  Brough peered down into the darkness and then up at the tower. Up or down? Which way should he go?

  Well, up, of course, he scolded himself. A woman’s life is in danger. There is no choice!

  However...

  ***

  Miller and Woodcock were back in the car. Miller was satisfied her mother was all right and not in any danger - but she renewed her silent vow to herself to find alternative accommodation as soon as possible.

  They’d seen Mim’s room and stationed a couple of the uniforms at the door. They, gormless pair, had seen nothing. Yes, a man dressed like an elephant hunter had come through, but he was a regular visitor. No, they didn’t see where he’d gone. But they had seen an old woman tear out of the building like a bat out of Hell.

  “Fucking useless,” Miller muttered.

  “I’ve never heard you swear before,” Woodcock was stunned.

  “Get fucking used to it!” Miller snapped. Woodcock was amazed. He’d like the chance to get used to everything about her.

  They drove back to the zoo. The public car park was locked. The place was in darkness.

  “There’s nobody here,” Woodcock observed.

  “No?” said Miller, extending her arm to point up at the tower. At the parapet, a light was flashing. “Then who the fuck is that? Come on!”

  Woodcock followed her up the pavement of Castle Hillock. There was a pub at the top, he knew that much. Miller found Brough’s discarded blouse and gasped in alarm. Woodcock caught up, looking puzzled.

  “Kids used to get through the fence behind the pub,” she explained, panting already. They found Lawson’s land rover and the unlocked gate. The zoo grounds were in total darkness now, out of reach of the streetlights.

  Remembering his phone was dead, Miller handed him hers. “Call for backup,” Miller nudged him. “Castle’s this way.”

  Together Woodcock and Miller followed the path that led to the stone arch that loomed ahead.

  “Enough to give you the willies,” Woodcock muttered nervously.

  Miller surprised him with a nudge to the arm. “Play your cards right,” she laughed.

  He pulled a face. “Let’s keep this professional, shall we, Sergeant?”

  They laughed and then realised they shouldn’t. Cautiously they made their way through the arch.

  ***

  Up on the battlements, Lawson shone his torch on Fogg who was quivering against the wall. He uncoiled the length of rope from around his shoulder.

  “I thought, you know, give her enough rope and she’ll hang herself.” His voice was toneless now. He seemed to have shut down inside. He just wanted to get this over with.

  Pamela Fogg snivelled. She raised her bound wrists so that her fingers could wipe her wet cheeks. “I’m so, so sorry about what happened to your mum,” she wailed. “But this won’t bring her back. Nothing will.”

  “Of course it won’t bring her back! Why do people always say that? Fucking idiots. I’m not trying to bring her back. I’m trying to bring her some justice.”

  An unearthly sound came from the foot of the staircase. Part groan, part howl, it was enough to make Lawson freeze.

  “What’s that?” Fogg’s eyes were wide.

  “It’s the animals. This place comes to life at night. Tapir, most likely.” He bore down on her, holding the loop of rope ready to slip over her head.

  The eerie sound came again. Louder this time. Closer.

  “Can they get out?” Fogg tried to scurry away on her backside. “The animals? They’re coming up the stairs!”

  “Bollocks they are -”

  The sound came a third time. It - whatever it was - was almost at the top of the stairs.

  “That’s no tapir!” Fogg screamed. Her tied hands pointed behind her captor. Lawson chose not to look around. Oldest trick in the book, that one. He slipped the noose over Fogg’s head - he wasn’t usually a fan of short hair on women but in this case it was impressively practical. He pulled the knot up to her throat as though adjusting her tie for the first day at the big school.

  “Look! You stupid fucking madman!” Fogg was almost breathless with terror. Lawson looked.

  At the top of the stairs, his mother was floating in the air. Her feet were a metre or so off the floor. She raised a bony arm and pointed at him.

  “Adrian! Adriaaaaaaannnn!” she said in a cracked voice like the ghost of Rocky Balboa. Lawson paled.

  “Mummy?”

  “Let her go, son. Let her goooooo!”

  “But this is for you, Mummy. All of this is for you!” He pulled Fogg to her feet, yanking the noose like a leash. “You’ll see. She’s the only one left. You’ll be able to rest peacefully when she’s dead.”

  He dragged Fogg over to the great arched window. He climbed onto the window ledge and reached up to attach the rope to a metal hoop he had installed for the purpose. The newness of its metal was incongruous with the ancient stonework. He fed the rope through and pulled it hard. Fogg lurched towards it, grasping at her neck with her tied hands.

  The spectre of Miriam Lawson hovered closer. Out of the shadows of the staircase, the figure of Detective Inspector David Brough was clearly visible, operating the corpse like a pu
ppet.

  In the courtyard, Brough and Miller watched this weird puppet show play out in silhouette. Sirens from the street below announced the arrival of reinforcements. It would be a couple of minutes before they reached the castle on foot.

  Fogg was on tiptoe now under the metal hoop. Lawson jumped down from the window ledge. He grabbed Fogg’s legs and put her feet up on the sill.

  “Adriaaaaannnn!” Brough howled again. “Listen to Mummy!”

  He moved closer. Lawson shone his torch on his mother’s rotting face and then on Brough’s slippered feet below.

  “Put my mother down, you bastard!” he snarled. “Have some respect!”

  “Alright,” said Brough. He tossed the old woman over the parapet. Lawson hurried to see his mother’s body swallowed by the darkness. There was the sound of old bones hitting the ground, like someone stepping on a packet of crisps.

  “Mummy!” Lawson cried.

  “Give it up, Doctor,” Brough said, calmly. “Let the lady go.”

  “Never!” Lawson returned his attention to Pam Fogg who, unseen by both of them had launched herself from the window ledge and was now hanging from the metal hoop by her hands. She swung through the air and kicked Lawson in the head. His pith helmet flew off. He reached for it and tumbled from the parapet, to land with a heavy crunch somewhere below.

  Brough dashed to Miss - sorry, Ms - Fogg and helped her remove the rope and untie her hands.

  “You’re looking at me strangely, Inspector,” she accused him. “Our exercise classes are not just for the residents, you know.”

  The place was full of footsteps and approaching light. Police officers filed quickly up the stairs, perhaps more than Health and Safety would deem prudent. Brough relinquished Fogg to the care of a WPC then snatched a torch from a constable.

  He shone it over the edge. The beam fell on Lawson’s dead body. He was lying face up, gazing lifelessly at the stars, his back broken across the barrel of a seventeenth century cannon.

  Miller and Woodcock joined Brough at the battlements.

  “Ugh,” said Woodcock.