Breaker

by Minette Walters

  "Did you read the reports of the trial?" he went on, ignoring her.

  "One or two," she said curtly, "until I gave up in fury."

  "What made you furious?"

  A small tic started above her lip. "They described his victims as lonely women, desperate for love and attention. I've never been so incensed about anything. It made us look such fools."

  "But your case wasn't tried," he pointed out, "and that description applied to his last victims-two elderly unmarried sisters who lived alone in an isolated farmhouse in Cheshire. A perfect target for Healey, in other words. It was only because he tried to speed up the fraud by forging their names on checks that he was discovered. The sisters' bank manager was worried enough to go to the police."

  The tic fluttered on. "Except I sometimes think it was true," she said with difficulty. "I never thought of us as lonely, but we did rather blossom when he came into our lives, and I'm humiliated every time I remember it."

  Ingram reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a newspaper clipping. "I brought something I want to read to you. It's what the judge told Healey before he passed sentence." He smoothed the paper on his lap. " 'You're an educated man with a high IQ and an engaging manner' " he read, " 'and these qualities make you extremely dangerous. You display a ruthless disregard for your victims' feelings while at the same time exercising considerable charm and intelligence to convince them of your sincerity. Too many women have been taken in by you for anyone to believe that their' "-he stressed the word-" 'gullibility was the only reason for your success, and I am persuaded that you represent a real menace to society.' " He laid the clipping on the bed. "What the judge recognized is that Healey was a charming and intelligent man."

  "It was pretense," she said, reaching for the comfort of Bertie's ears and tugging at them. "He was an actor."

  Ingram thought of Steven Harding's very moderate acting skills, and shook his head. "I don't think so," he said gently. "No one could keep up a pretense like that for a year. The charm was genuine, which is what you and Maggie were attracted by, and it seems to me that the problem you both have is coming to terms with that. It makes his betrayal so much worse if you liked him."

  "No." She pulled a tissue from under her pillow and blew her nose. "What upsets me more is that I thought he liked us. We're not so difficult to love, are we?"

  "Not at all. I'm sure he adored you both. Everyone else does."

  "Oh, don't be absurd!" Celia snapped. "He wouldn't have stolen from us if he had."

  "Of course he would." Ingram propped his chin in his hands and stared at her. "The trouble with you, Mrs. J, is that you're a conformist. You assume everyone does and should behave the same way. But Healey was a professional con man. Theft was his business. He'd made a ten-year career out of it, don't forget. That doesn't mean he wasn't fond of you, any more than it would mean I wasn't fond of you if I had to arrest you." His mouth twitched into a crooked smile. "We do what we're good at in this life if we don't want to starve, and we cry all the way to the bank if it upsets us."

  "That's nonsense."

  "Is it? Do you think I take pleasure arresting a ten-year-old kid for vandalism when I know he comes from a lousy home, is truant because he can't read, and is likely to get a belting from his drunken mother because she's too stupid to deal with him in any other way? I caution the boy because that's what I'm paid to do, but I'm always a damn sight fonder of him than I am of his mother. Criminals are human like everyone else, and there's no law that says they aren't likable."

  She peered at him over her bifocals. "Yes, but you didn't like Martin, Nick, so don't pretend you did."

  "No, I didn't," he admitted, "but it was a personal thing. I thought the guy was a grade-A jerk. If I'm honest, though, I never believed for one moment that Mrs. Fielding was telling the truth when she accused him of trying to steal her antiques. As far as I was concerned he was whiter than white ... bloody perfect, in fact ... every young woman's dream." The smile became even more crooked. "I assumed-and still do because it didn't fit Healey's MO-that it was Mrs. Fielding's senility talking, and the only reason I came to you about it was because I couldn't resist the opportunity to take him down a peg or two." He raised his eyes to hers. "It certainly didn't give me any insights into what he was really up to. Even when Simon Farley told me he'd passed a couple of dud checks in the pub and asked me to get it sorted quietly because he didn't want any fuss, it never occurred to me that Martin was a professional. If it had, I'd have approached it differently, and maybe you wouldn't have lost your money and maybe your husband would still be alive."

  "Oh, for God's sake!" she said gruffly, pulling so hard on Bertie's ears that the poor animal furrowed his brow in pain. "Don't you start feeling guilty, too."

  "Why not? If I'd been older and wiser I might have done my job better."

  With an uncharacteristic display of tenderness, she laid a hand on his shoulder. "I have enough trouble coping with my own guilt without carrying yours and Maggie's as well. According to Maggie, her father dropped dead because she was shouting at him. My recollection is that he threw a two-week tantrum then dropped dead after a drinking bout in his study. If my son is to be believed, he died of a broken heart because Maggie and I treated him like a cipher in his own house." She sighed. "The truth is Keith was a chronic alcoholic with a history of heart disease who could have died at any moment, although clearly Martin's shenanigans didn't help. And it wasn't as though it was Keith's money that was stolen. It was mine. My father left me ten thousand in his will twenty years ago, and I managed to work it up to over a hundred thousand by playing the stock market." She frowned in irritation at the memory before giving Ingram's shoulder a sudden sharp rap. "This is ridiculous. When all's said and done, the only person to blame is Robert Healey, and I refuse to let anyone else take responsibility."

  "Does that include you and Maggie, or are you going to go on wearing sackcloth and ashes so that the rest of us feel guilty by association?"

  She regarded him thoughtfully for a moment. "I was right about you yesterday," she said. "You are a very provoking young man." She flapped a hand toward the hall. "Go away and make yourself useful. Help my daughter."

  "She's doing a fine job on her own. I'll probably just stand back and watch."

  "I wasn't talking about painting the kitchen," Celia retorted.

  "Neither was I, but the answer's still the same."

  She peered at him blankly for a moment, then gave a throaty chuckle. "On the principle that everything comes to him who waits?"

  "It's worked up till now," he said, reaching for one of her hands and holding it lightly. "You're a gutsy lady, Mrs. J. I always wanted to know you better."

  "Oh, for goodness sake, get on with you!" she said, smacking him away. "I'm beginning to think Robert Healey was a novice compared with you." She wagged a finger at him. "And don't call me Mrs. J. It's appallingly infra dig and makes me sound like a cleaner." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath as if she were about to bestow the crown jewels on him. "You may call me Celia."

  "...I couldn 't think properly, that was the trouble ... if she'd just listened to me instead of shouting all the time ... I suppose what surprised me was how strong she was ... I wouldn 't have broken her fingers otherwise ... it was easy ... they were tiny, like little wishbones, but it's not the kind of thing a man wants to do ... put it this way, I'm not proud of it..."

  Nick found Maggie in the kitchen, arms crossed, staring out of the window at the horses in the drought-starved paddock. The ceiling had received a coat of brilliant white emulsion but none of the walls had yet been touched, and the paint roller had been abandoned to harden in the tray. "Look at those poor brutes," she said. "I think I'm going to phone the RSPCA and have their beastly owners prosecuted."

  He knew her too well. "What's really bugging you?"

  She swung around defiantly. "I heard it all," she said. "I was listening outside the door. I suppose you thought you were being clever?"r />
  "In what way?"

  "Martin took the trouble to seduce Mother before he seduced me," she said. "At the time I was impressed by his tactics. Afterward, I decided it was the one thing that should have warned me he was a cheat and a liar."

  "Perhaps he found her easier to get on with," Nick suggested mildly. "She's good news, your ma. And, for the record, I have no intention of seducing you. It'd be like fighting my way through half a mile of razor wire-painful, unrewarding, and bloody hard work."

  She favored him with a twisted smile. "Well, don't expect me to seduce you," she said tartly, "because you'll be waiting forever if you do."

  He prized the paint roller out of the tray and held it under a running tap in the sink. "Trust me. Nothing is further from my mind. I'm far too frightened of having my jaw broken."

  "Martin didn't have a problem."

  "No," he said dryly. "But then Martin wouldn't have had a problem with the Elephant Man as long as there was money in it. Does your mother have a scrubbing brush? We need to remove the hardened paint from this tray."

  "You'll have to look in the scullery." She watched in an infuriated silence while he scrabbled around among four years' detritus in search of cleaning implements. "You're such a hypocrite," she said then. "You've just spent half an hour boosting Ma's self-esteem by telling her how lovable she is, but I get compared with the Elephant Man."

  There was a muffled laugh. "Martin didn't sleep with your mother."

  "What difference does that make?"

  He emerged with a bucket full of impacted rags. "I'm having trouble with the fact that you sleep with a dog," he said severely. "I'm buggered if I'll turn a blind eye to a weasel as well."

  There was a brief silence before Maggie gave a splutter of laughter. "Bertie's in bed with Ma at the moment."

  "I know. He's about the worst guard dog I've ever encountered." He took the bundle of cloth out of the bucket and held it up for inspection. "What the hell is this?"

  More laughter. "They're my father's Y-fronts, you idiot. Ma uses them instead of J-cloths because they don't cost anything."

  "Oh, right." He put the bucket in the sink to fill it with water. "I can see the logic. He was a big fellow, your dad. There's enough material here to cover a three-piece suite." He separated out a pair of striped boxer shorts. "Or a deckchair," he finished thoughtfully.

  Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Don't even think about using my father's underpants to seduce me, you bastard, or I'll empty that entire bucket over your head."

  He grinned at her. "This isn't seduction, Maggie, this is courtship. If I wanted to seduce you I'd have brought several bottles of brandy with me." He wrung out the boxer shorts and held them up for inspection. "However ... if you think these would be effective...?"

  "...Most of the time it's just me, the boat, and the sea ... I like that ... I feel comfortable with space around me ... people can get on your nerves after a while ... they always want something from you ... usually love ... but it's all pretty shallow ... Marie? She's okay ... nothing great ... sure I feel responsible for her, but not forever ... nothing's forever ... except the sea ... and death..."

  *26*

  John Galbraitb paused beside William Sumner's car in tbe Chichester street and stooped to look in through the window. The weather was still fair, and the heat from the sun-baked roof warmed his face. He walked up the path toward Angela Sumner's flat and rang the doorbell. He waited for the chain to rattle into place. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Sumner," he said when her bright eyes peered anxiously through the gap. "I think you must have William in there." He gestured toward the parked car. "May I talk to him?"

  With a sigh, she released the chain and pulled the door wide. "I wanted to phone you, but he pulled the wire out of the wall when I suggested it."

  Galbraith nodded. "We've tried your number several times, but there was never any answer. If the phone wasn't plugged in, that explains it. I thought I'd come anyway."

  She turned her chair to lead him down the corridor. "He keeps saying he didn't know what to do. Does that mean he killed her?"

  Galbraith laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. "No," he said. "Your son isn't a murderer, Mrs. Sumner. He loved Kate. I think he'd have given her the earth if she'd asked him for it."

  They paused in the sitting-room doorway. William sat huddled in an armchair, arms wrapped protectively about himself and the telephone in his lap, his jaw dark with stubble and his eyes red-rimmed and puffy from too much weeping and too little sleep. Galbraith studied him with concern, recognizing that he bore some of the responsibility for pushing him toward the brink. He could excuse his prying into William's and Kate's secrets on the grounds of justice, but it was a cold logic. He could have been kinder, he thought-one could always be kinder-but, sadly, kindness rarely elicited truth.

  He squeezed Angela Sumner's shoulder. "Perhaps you could make us a cup of tea," he suggested, moving aside for her wheelchair to reverse. "I'd like to have a few words with William alone, if that's possible."

  She nodded gratefully. "I'll wait till you call me."

  He closed the door behind her and listened to the whine of the battery fading into the kitchen. "We've caught Kate's killer, William," he said, taking the seat opposite the man. "Steven Harding has been formally charged with her abduction, rape, and murder, and will be remanded to prison shortly to await trial. I want to stress that Kate was not a party to what happened to her, but on the contrary fought hard to save herself and Hannah." He paused briefly to search William's face but went on when there was no reaction. "I'm not going to pretend she didn't have sex with Steven Harding prior to the events of last week, because she did. However, it was a brief affair some months ago, and followed a prolonged campaign by Harding to break her down. Nevertheless-and this is important"-he glossed the truth deliberately in Kate's favor-"it's clear she made up her mind very quickly to put an end to the relationship when she recognized that her marriage was more important to her than a mild infatuation with a younger man. Her misfortune was her failure to recognize that Steven Harding is self-fixated and dangerously immature and that she needed to be afraid of him." Another pause. "She was lonely, William."

  A strangled sob issued from the other man's mouth, "I've been hating her so much ... I knew he was more than a casual acquaintance when she said she didn't want him in the house anymore. She used to flirt with him at the beginning, then she turned vicious and started calling him names ... I guessed he'd got bored with her..."

  "Is that when he showed you the photographs?"

  "Yes."

  "Why did he do that, William?"

  "He said he wanted me to show them to Kate but..." He lifted a trembling hand to his mouth.

  Galbraith recalled something Tony had said the previous evening. "The only reason Steve does pornography is because he knows it's inadequate guys who're going to look at it. He doesn 't have any hang-ups about sex, so it gives him a buzz to think of them squirming over pictures of him..."

  "But he really wanted to show them to you?"

  Sumner nodded. "He wanted to prove that Kate would sleep with anyone-even a man who preferred other men-rather than sleep with me." Tears streamed down his face. "I think she must have told him I wasn't very good. I said I didn't want to see the pictures, so he put the magazine on the table in front of me and told me to"-he struggled with the words, closing his eyes in pain, as if to blot out the memory-" 'suck on it.' "

  "Did he say he'd slept with Kate?"

  "He didn't need to. I knew when Hannah let him pick her up in the street that something was going on ... she's never let me do that." More tears squeezed from his tired eyes.

  "What did he say, William?"

  He plucked at his mouth. "That Kate was making his life hell by smearing Hannah's nappies on his possessions, and that if I didn't make her stop he'd go to the police."

  "And you believed him?"

  "Kate was-like that," he said with a break in his voice. "She could be spiteful when s
he didn't get her own way."

  "Did you show her the magazine?"

  "No."

  "What did you do with it?"

  "Kept it in my car."

  "Why?"

  "To look at ... remember..." He rested his head against the back of the chair and stared at the ceiling. "Have something to hate, I suppose."

  "Did you tackle Kate about it?"

  "There was no point. She'd have lied."

  "So what did you do?"

  "Nothing," he said simply. "Went on as if nothing had happened. Stayed late at work ... sat in my study ... avoided her ... I couldn't think, you see. I kept wondering if the baby was mine." He turned to look at the policeman. "Was it?"

  Galbraith leaned forward and clamped his hands between his knees. "The pathologist estimated the fetus at fourteen weeks, making conception early May, but Kate's affair with Harding finished at the end of March. I can ask the pathologist to run a DNA test if you want absolute proof, but I don't think there's any doubt Kate was carrying your son. She didn't sleep around, William." He paused to let the information sink in. "But there's no doubt Steven Harding accused her wrongly of harassment. Yes, she lashed out once in a moment of pique, but probably only because she was annoyed with herself for having given in to him. The real culprit was a friend of Harding's. Kate rejected him, so he used her as a shield for his own revenge without ever considering the sort of danger he might be putting her into."

  "I never thought he'd do anything to her ... Jesus! Do you think I wanted her killed? She was a sad person ... lonely ... boring ... God, if she had anything going for her she kept it well hidden ... Look, I know this sounds bad-I'm not proud of it now-but I found it funny the way Steve reacted. He was shit-scared of her. That stuff about dodging around corners was all true. He thought she was going to attack him in the middle of the street if she managed to catch him unawares. He kept talking about the movie Fatal Attraction, and saying Michael Douglas' mistake was not to let the Glenn Close character die when she tried to kill herself."