Sleeping Cruelty

by Lynda La Plante

  ‘That Justin is a prick,’ he muttered, then flopped back on to the bed. He decided he had to talk to Laura. He didn’t want to go to the nightclub.

  James ran to Justin’s bungalow and kicked open the front door, shouting his head off. Hurriedly Laura drew the sheet across her bare breasts, but before Justin could get out of bed, the bedroom door burst open and James barged in. Laura flipped the sheet over her head; she didn’t need this, didn’t need anyone seeing her being intimate with Justin, let alone naked in bed beside him.

  ‘You lost something?’ Justin said casually, leaning back on the pillows and reaching for his cigarettes. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve run out of the four grams I gave you last night?’

  James shifted his weight from one foot to the other then pointed to the bed. ‘I know who’s there. I know you’ve been playing us off against each other and I don’t like it. You’re a piece of shit.’ His face was red with fury.

  Justin tossed his lighter on to the bedside table. ‘Get out of here, James, before I lose my temper.’

  James stuck out his bottom lip like a spoilt child. ‘No, I won’t.’ He dived round the bed and snatched off the sheet. When he saw Laura he stumbled backwards. Confused, he looked from her to Justin, who was smiling, the smoke drifting from his nostrils. ‘What’s she doing here?’ he said. ‘She’s your sister!’

  Justin inhaled deeply and his eyes narrowed. He glanced at Laura, as if to give her a signal. She caught it and, even though she was furious, she controlled herself, stretching her arms above her head, finally dropping the sheet to reveal her breasts.

  ‘Come here,’ Justin said to James, the cigarette stuck in the corner of his mouth. James hesitated but then, as if he was hypnotized, walked slowly towards Justin and stood a foot away from the bed.

  ‘Closer,’ Justin said, tilting his head so that the cigarette smoke drifted into his eyes.

  ‘No,’ James whispered.

  Justin reached out and hooked one finger into the leg of James’s shorts. ‘Naughty boy, come here.’ He drew James towards him and began to undo his zip. As he did so he glanced at the bedside clock. ‘We don’t have long. We’re going dancing tonight, aren’t we?’

  ‘Yes,’ James croaked.

  ‘Mmm, Laura, I think I might need some assistance here.’

  James closed his eyes and his legs trembled, but he couldn’t move as Laura crawled over the bed towards him. Justin stubbed out his cigarette, eased off the boy’s T-shirt and began to pour oil into his hand. Laura drew the frightened boy to lie between them.

  Max looked at his bruised eye in the bathroom mirror. The ice had reduced the swelling so he rinsed his face with cold water and patted it dry. He put on a clean shirt and light trousers, and slipped his feet into rubber flip-flops. Returning to the bathroom he caught his reflection in the mirror. His blond hair was silvery now from the sun, his pale skin tanned a light golden brown. He was struck at first by his resemblance to his mother, and then became rather pleased by the change in his appearance. He could see the effects of his love affair, as strong as the effect of the sun on his slender body. He would have been embarrassed to admit it, but he suddenly realized that he was, as his mother called him, ‘a beautiful boy’.

  James lay face down on Justin’s bed, sobbing into a pillow. He had crossed a line in his life that he had always known was there, but was too afraid to face. He was still weeping as Justin came out of the bathroom, showered and changed. He looked at James, annoyed to see him still lying there. ‘You’d better get yourself together. We’re leaving in five minutes.’

  James rolled over painfully. ‘Come on.’ Justin hauled him upright. ‘Get down to the jetty. I’ll see you there.’

  James stumbled out of the room. Across his back were deep red welts, and in some places the skin was broken, leaving small beads of blood.

  Laura came out of the bathroom, buttoning her blouse. She was angry. ‘I said that was risky, but you wouldn’t listen to me. What if he starts talking about us?’

  ‘Don’t be a fool. You really think that Master Matlock is going to rush to Mummy!’

  ‘Or Daddy,’ she said coldly.

  ‘No way is he going to spill the beans on us. I’ll make sure of it by the end of tonight.’ He left for the boat, and Laura returned to her room. She looked out of her window and could see Clarissa and Justin boarding the speedboat. She wanted to see Max, and be alone with him without Justin monitoring them. She had an agenda, worked out by Justin, but she would follow her own now too. She dialled Max’s number.

  He sounded so pleased to hear from her that her spirits lifted. They agreed to meet by the waterfall.

  ‘We need to talk,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, I think we do,’ she said softly, and hung up.

  Max flopped back on to the bed. ‘She wants me,’ he said aloud. ‘Laura Chalmers, my beautiful goddess, wants me.’ He was unaware that James had overheard him from his adjacent veranda, and had realized he’d been wrong about Max and Justin.

  Laura was shaking with nerves, but had almost made up her mind. She was unsure if she had the strength to do it. It would be up to Max to persuade her. Laura was forming a plan to leave the island and Justin. He had said he doubted that he could handle Matlock on his own, and she was sure he couldn’t. She was not intending to back out of the murder, though: she just had to make it happen faster than planned. It was imperative to get the Baron and Baroness off the island, leaving Max with her. She knew Justin could easily handle Clarissa and James, and Daphne, that fat, foolish woman, wasn’t the problem. Laura’s problem was Justin. She had got away with lying to him already. Now she planned on doing much more, because she knew she had to escape him.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ she whispered, and told herself that she had made the right decision, unaware that she was pacing up and down the room. If Marta or Justin had seen her doing this, the rapid footsteps, the urgent instructions, repeated to herself more vehemently each time, they would have been worried. Marta always knew this was the first danger sign. The second was when Laura made brushing strokes down her thigh. On these occasions, Marta acted fast, and doubled Laura’s medication. But Marta was a long way away. This time Laura was on her own.

  Chapter Eighteen

  William caught the night flight back to London. He phoned Michael from the villa, asked him to check out Camilla Maynard and arrange a flight to the Caribbean. He intended to leave immediately after his arrival in England.

  Michael didn’t phone back until William was in the limousine coming into London from Heathrow. He confirmed that Camilla had been Andrew Maynard’s sister. Had Justin known from the beginning and used William from the moment he had visited that awful mews cottage in London? He was sure now that Justin had forged the suicide note.

  When he got back Michael was waiting for him, although it was after ten. ‘Get me Charlie on the line,’ William shouted at him, dropping his bag and making for his study.

  By the time he was at his desk, the call was put through. William snatched up the receiver. ‘Charlie? The letter,’ shouted William down the line. ‘The one you told me about, from Oliver Bellingham. Have you still got it?’

  ‘Oh, it’s somewhere in my stuff,’ he drawled. ‘But, Dad, let me tell you about—’

  ‘No time,’ shouted William. ‘Is the letter in the stuff you left here?’

  ‘The big black canvas bag. No! Maybe the duffel bag or in the small gym bag. It’s somewhere amongst my gear. What’s the problem?’

  ‘Can I read it?’ William pressed on.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s a matter of life and death,’ said William.

  ‘Oh, yeah right, sure, man. I mean it’s personal but, like, go ahead.’

  William gripped the receiver. ‘I love you, son,’ he said, ‘but I’m in a great hurry. I’ll speak to you later, okay?’

  William took another deep breath and ran upstairs to the room where Charlie had left his bags. Furiously he rummaged through odd shoes and dirty short
s, until he spotted a gym bag that was full of exercise books, loose pages from Biker and music magazines. There were bundles of letters from Katherine to Charlie at school. At last, in a worn and well-thumbed airmail envelope, he found the letter from Oliver Bellingham. The large sloped handwriting began ‘Hello, Wanker!’ Next to the greeting, Oliver had drawn a grinning cartoon face. In the first few paragraphs, he described life on Tortola, the surfing and the clubs. He also mentioned that keeping straight was tough on the island, where everything was accessible in vast quantities, especially the ganja. There was another grinning cartoon face. There was some reference to his girlfriend and a lot of dots and dashes after her name, and then an underlined passage about receiving a letter from her so that it appeared ‘all was not lost’. This was underlined three times. Oliver mentioned the forthcoming ‘wrinklies party’. He was quite looking forward to it because he had met this bloke called Justin in the Harbour Bar. ‘He’s a really great guy. Very handsome – blond, taller than me and quite a bit older. I’ve been with him on and off most days and nights.’ He wrote that he’d invited Justin to his folks’ party – his parents didn’t really want him to come, but he didn’t care. Justin had promised to bring some gear so it would be a behind-the-bushes job.

  A young boy’s infatuation with a handsome older man had led to his death. William knew Justin and his sister had been killers as children, but he was also certain they had not stopped killing. He was sure that between them they had murdered both Andrew Maynard and Oliver Bellingham. God knew how many others there had been, perhaps even Maynard’s sister. William was determined to find out. The other thought that dawned on him, but oddly did not frighten him, was that perhaps he, too, was earmarked as a victim.

  He traced an aunt of Maynard’s, his only living relative, as far as William could tell. He did not make excuses as to why he had called out of the blue but came straight to the point. ‘This is William Benedict, an old friend of your nephew’s.’

  ‘I know who you are. I’ve read all about you in the press. Why are you calling?’

  ‘I think it is possible Andrew was murdered.’

  ‘Really? Whatever makes you think that? Are you sure you want to open this all up again? I’d hate to have the press coming down here.’

  ‘I’ll make sure they don’t.’

  ‘I doubt that you of all people would be able to do that. I’m old and I don’t want to get involved in any scandal.’

  ‘Please, could you tell me how his sister died?’

  ‘What’s she got to do with this?’

  ‘Perhaps nothing, but do you know how she died?’

  ‘A car crash. She was planning to visit me here in Brighton when she died. Her brakes failed on the motorway. I don’t know the technical details. It happened years ago, I think it was in March 1992.’

  ‘Did you ever meet someone called Justin Chalmers?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Unless … Is he the young man who …’ She trailed off, and William held his breath. ‘No, I’m sure I don’t know that name. All I do know is that shortly before Camilla’s death she met a couple. I thought it was a bit strange because they didn’t come to her funeral. They were apparently the last people to see her. If I remember correctly they met her somewhere in London.’

  ‘Did she describe them?’

  ‘No, but I think they were foreign. European, possibly French. I think they had offered her work as nanny to their children. She used to work in France …’

  ‘Thank you,’ William said, desperate to hang up but forced to hold on out of civility.

  William was certain the couple had been Justin and Laura, just as he was sure that they were preparing to kill Humphrey Matlock. He felt powerless to stop them. As for the staff, could he trust them? They had been hired by Justin. He groaned. The last thing he wanted was to involve the police, even though he knew he should. He felt Matlock was probably safe while there were plenty of other people on the island. He knew that neither Justin nor Laura had any personal grievance against the Hangerford family or the Baron – surely they would not harm them? But William was not due to return for three more days. Could he make it in time to stop the madness or had he unwittingly become a party to murder?

  The voice of sanity told William to contact the police immediately. But insanity was taking over. Or perhaps it was his own survival instinct. Perhaps he had sensed all along that something was amiss and it was this part of his brain that had arranged for him to leave them on the island to their own endgame. God Almighty, he mused, I played right into Justin’s hands. If he was to contact the police, he would be forced to incriminate himself: he would have to explain how he had come to this conclusion. In any case, how could he possibly explain the situation to anyone? No one would believe him. And he would be humiliated by the press again if they got so much as a whisper of this. He’d probably be arrested as an accomplice, or done up in a strait-jacket.

  ‘Get hold of the goddamn reins, William,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Stand up and sort this mess out.’ It was now imperative he return to the island, but he knew he had to do it without ringing alarm-bells for either Justin or Laura. He closed his eyes, trying to think like Justin. Who could he trust to have a boat standing by to pick him up? He had to arrive without their knowledge.

  ‘Money, you old fool, buys you anyone and anything,’ Justin’s voice rasped in his ear.

  William decided that Dahlia should be the one and only person to know he was returning ahead of schedule and to keep it secret.

  Max waited almost an hour. When Laura didn’t appear, he thought at first he must have misheard the meeting-place. Could it have been Suicide Point? He was sure she had said the waterfall. He returned to his bungalow and called her from there. The phone rang and rang, but there was no reply. He tried Justin’s bungalow, but again there was no reply. Max returned to the cliff-tops, making a round trip from one of their secret meeting-places to another. Still no sign of Laura. He returned a second time to his bungalow. He had been waiting for her for almost two hours.

  Laura could hear the phone. She was lying on the floor, stiff and cold. Slowly she forced herself to rise and unsteadily made her way into the bathroom to bathe her face. It was another fifteen minutes before she could function fully. Her mind was woolly and she’d bruised her hip when she fell, but she had no recollection of what had taken place. All she knew was that it had happened many times before, when Marta had been at hand to take care of her. Laura examined her body for the tell-tale marks, but just as she was about to reach for her medication, the phone rang again.

  ‘Laura? It’s Max. I’ve been frantic.’

  ‘William called and I had to be up at the main house. I’ve got a migraine.’

  ‘I’m back in my bungalow. Do you want to come here or …’

  Laura was tired. She knew she needed to sleep. But instead she agreed to meet Max, afraid that if she didn’t he would turn up on her doorstep.

  ‘Five minutes.’

  ‘No, two,’ he demanded, and said he would be outside waiting.

  During the long walk to the cliffs Laura felt exhausted. Max rested his arm on her shoulder, and she ached to lie down and sleep, but gradually the cool breeze off the ocean cleared her head.

  ‘Feeling better?’ Max asked, concerned.

  ‘Mmm, yes, I’m fine.’

  ‘Good.’ He kissed her neck, then held up her hair. ‘How did you do this?’ He touched the purple marks.

  ‘I fell against the cabinet in the bathroom coming out of the shower. It’s nothing.’ As if to prove it she began to run as they arrived at the end of the path leading to the open cliff-top. Max watched her spinning and turning, her hair billowing out, her arms raised above her head like a dancer’s. She was so fragile, he was afraid the wind would scoop her up and blow her away. She danced to the mossy area where the edge of the cliff dropped to the sheer rocks below, and flopped down. Max joined her. He had picked a posy of blue flowers, and tucked them into her hair by her ear.<
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  ‘Let me lean against you, as if you were my rock,’ she said.

  Max swivelled around, and felt her body heat as she leaned her back against his.

  ‘Wouldn’t it be nice if life was always this perfect?’ she said.

  ‘It would, but it never is. Tell me about Justin,’ he said, and felt her spine stiffen.

  ‘You see that little black cloud high in the sky, over there to the right?’ She pointed upwards. ‘That’s Justin. He makes the sun go in sometimes, but then you see it peep out again. Justin has always made me believe that he controls the sun.’

  Laura found it easier to tell Max what she had to say without looking at him. Even though she skirted around the horror of her childhood, explaining that the fire that killed her mother was an accident and the attack against her father had been in self-defence, it still sounded like a nightmare. For the first time in her life, Laura was telling someone who was not a psychiatrist about her past. She told him about the long years in homes, about the electrocution therapy, the drugs that left her with no memory for about five years. She admitted that her relationship with Justin must be difficult for an outsider to understand. ‘We only had each other, so we must seem unnaturally close.’ Laura pressed herself into him. ‘He is very dominating and I allow him to be so. If it had not been for him, I might never have been released from the home and allowed to return to France. I owe Justin … I owe him everything. And I was content for him to be the most important person in my life until …’

  ‘Until?’ Max asked softly.

  ‘You,’ she said simply.

  ‘Do you love me, Laura?’ he asked, holding his breath.

  ‘You are open and trusting and …’

  ‘You didn’t answer my question.’

  He turned towards her and she looked into his face. ‘Yes,’ she said.

  He took her hand and kissed the palm then drew her close to rest against him.

  ‘I know I’m young and inexperienced, just a kid, but I also know I love you, Laura. I want to make up for all those hideous years and make you happy.’