“Fine,” Smith said, “I’ll have a drink.”
“Pour one for me,” Swain handed Smith his glass.
“I saw them,” Swain continued, “I saw them together that summer. Janet hadn’t even left me yet. That’s what stung the most. I could tell by the way that they were looking at each other.”
“How did you do it?” Smith sipped at the whisky, “How did you make it look as though Thatcher had killed her?”
“That was easy,” Swain said, “Thatcher was an idiot but it was Janet’s naturally trusting nature that was the key to it all.”
“What do you mean?”
“I phoned her,” Swain said, “I phoned her just after Christmas and said I understood how she felt. I understood that what we had was bound to die out sooner or later. I told her I wanted to do the right thing and set her free.”
“What did you mean by that?” Smith said.
“Divorce detective,” Swain said, “I said we should get divorced and I suggested we meet to discuss the ins and outs.”
Swain seemed to be lost in thought for a moment.
“Go on,” Smith said.
“She was staying in York,” Swain said, “she wasn’t with Thatcher; they had had a fight apparently, she was staying with some people she’d met. I drove to York and we met up. It was all very civil. We talked, had a few drinks and even agreed to stay friends even though I knew that wouldn’t happen.”
“How did you get hold of the crowbar?” Smith said.
“Patience,” Swain said, “all will be revealed. I knew where Thatcher’s mother lived. I knew what car he drove. It was a rusty old banger. It was when I spotted the crowbar on the back seat that I realized it was destiny.”
“Destiny?”
“It was meant to be,” Swain said, “the idiot had left his car door open. I took the crowbar and hid it in some bushes behind a bench on the track that runs along the river. Later that evening as it was getting dark, I suggested to Janet that we go for a walk along the river. For old time’s sake. When we reached the bench I nearly bottled out but by then it was too late.”
“And you killed her?” Smith said.
“I hit her once on the side of the head,” Swain said, “I hit her with such a fury that I terrified myself. She fell back in the river and didn’t come up again.”
Smith did not know what to say. He was starting to feel sick.
“The autopsy report revealed that there was no water in her lungs,” Swain said, “which meant she died instantly. At least she didn’t suffer. I wiped my fingerprints off the crowbar, put it back in Thatcher’s car and drove back to Darlington.”
“Then what?”
“I waited,” Swain said, “I nearly went out of my mind waiting. I waited so long that I thought something had gone wrong but when you showed up a couple of days ago I knew everything was going to be alright. I’d even paid for a couple of thugs to put the frighteners on Mr Thatcher so I’d be sure he kept hold of the crowbar. Now, I’d like to drink to justice. Justice has prevailed.”
“Justice has not prevailed Swain,” Smith said, “you got away with murder.”
“Justice works in mysterious ways,” Swain was starting to slur his words, “we’ve all been punished in our own ways. Sid Thatcher will spend the next twelve years thinking about what he did to me. You should be thanking me for getting a scumbag like that off the streets for you. Janet, my beautiful Janet has paid with her life. That’s her punishment for betraying my trust.”
“What about you Swain?” Smith said, “What about your punishment? You got away with it; you’re free.”
“You don’t get it do you?” Swain sat back in his chair, “I’m facing the worst punishment of all. I have to live out the rest of my life in purgatory. I have to wake up in this place knowing what I’ve done. Thatcher will be free one day, Janet has been sent to oblivion. Don’t you see, my fate is a million times worse than anything the justice system can throw at me?”
The Girl in the River Page 5