Do No Harm

by L. V. Hay

  Ten minutes later and I parked up around the corner from your home. The alleyway to your front door protected me from prying eyes perfectly, especially as I was still dressed in black. I pumped the petrol through the letterbox with ease, sending a bunch of lit matches after it. I might have burned myself, but thankfully I was wearing your father’s old leather gloves. Even from the other side of the front door, I could hear the flames crackle to life. I imagined them racing towards the wooden stairs, dancing from step to step. I grabbed Maxwell’s phone from the pocket of my dark hoody and tapped out a text message for you:

  IF I CAN’T HAVE MY FAMILY, YOU DEFINITELY CAN’T.

  I pressed SEND. I smiled, knowing how you would react, receiving such a message from Maxwell’s phone. You’re so predictable! You would not be able to help yourself; you’d rush to Lily and Denny’s rescue, the big hero.

  I had to stay; it was the responsible thing to do. You might have been asleep in your car and it could be up to me to call the fire brigade. Denny is my grandchild, after all. I kept to the shadows and watched for your car. I’m not sure what happened, but I blinked and suddenly you were there, blocking my way. I hadn’t even heard your car arrive or seen its headlights. It was as if the crackling of the flames inside the maisonette had hypnotised me.

  Overpowering you wasn’t difficult; you had already been in the wars enough for one night. As I ran from the alleyway and across the car park, I made sure I slowed down as I made it back towards the street and my car. It was a quiet night, clear and cloudless. As I walked, I shed my hoody and chucked it into a large red bin full of takeaway cartons. Another couple of streets later I pulled the scarf from my face and posted it down a grate on the road, into the watery depths below.

  I still had part three to organise.

  Fifty-five

  ‘Why did you leave the knife in my car, Mum?’

  Fran’s face took on a curiously absent expression. As if Sebastian had just described some plans for an outing she didn’t want to go on. He could feel the phone in his pocket, the seconds slipping away from him. He needed her to admit it. Then he could take the recording to the police.

  It was his only chance of staying out of jail himself.

  Sebastian sighed. ‘Okay, let’s try something else. Why did you try and kill Lily and Denny, last night?’

  ‘Darling, you’re really worrying me. This makes no sense.’ Fran’s voice was all maternal concern, though her face was still oddly vacant, like she was acting a part. ‘You’ve been under so much stress, thank God Father’s not here to see this.’

  Father. That was what she’d always called him around Sebastian; never your father. Sebastian had always accepted this, but now it seemed strange, almost clinical. As if Jasper’s only real contribution to Fran’s life had been Sebastian – and of course all the money from his estate. It seemed so obvious now.

  ‘You were never happy with Dad, were you? You got rid of him, back when I was a baby. You were the hit-and-run driver. You killed him!’

  ‘Now you’re being ridiculous.’ Fran actually looked amused.

  ‘You killed Maxwell, too.’

  ‘Maxwell was a difficult man, intent on getting between you and Lily.’ His mother said the words like she’d practised them. Maybe she had. ‘It’s not surprising you cracked, all the pressure you’ve been under.’

  Cracked. The same word Lily had used. It sent a shudder through Sebastian. Again, in that microsecond, he wondered if it could be true. Then he shook it off. No. That was mad. Sebastian could never kill a man, not even one as annoying and ruthless as Maxwell. And he would never, ever try to kill Lily and Denny.

  ‘He was alive when I left him!’ How many more times did he need to say it?

  The cocoa frothed up in the pan, scalding hot. Fran turned the gas ring off and poured it carefully into a mug. She presented it to him with a tight-lipped smile.

  ‘So, you didn’t even try and rescue Lily and Denny?’ Fran tutted. ‘That is surprising.’

  Shame coursed through him. ‘The flames were too fierce.’ He took the mug, but he made no move to take a sip. He wouldn’t put it past her to have put something in it, even though he’d watched her make it. ‘I did what I could.’

  Fran crossed her arms. That maddening smirk still tugged at her lip. ‘I’m sure you did.’

  Sebastian stared into the cocoa, at the skin forming across the top. A dead man, a lost family, a fatherless little boy. Lily thought he’d tried to kill her and Denny. He’d assaulted Triss. Everything was ruined.

  ‘Tell me why…’ He had to understand what had motivated his mother.

  Fran sighed, dropping her vacant look and now seeming a little irritated, like he was being fussy and spoiled. ‘Something had to be done.’

  Sebastian could not process what Fran was saying. ‘Done? Done about what?’

  She flicked a hand at him. ‘You … You and that tramp.’

  Sebastian was shocked at the venom in her voice. Her eyes glittered now.

  ‘Lily?’ he asked. ‘She is not a tramp! For God’s sake, Mum, how can you…? I thought you liked her.’

  But once Fran started, vitriol poured from her lips: ‘Liked her? Don’t be ridiculous. Single mother. Common background. Older than you. You deserve better, Sebastian.’

  ‘Better, how? Someone more like you, you mean?’

  She bristled. ‘Maybe.’

  Sebastian stepped closer, the air between them charged with white-hot fury. The anger burst out of him like invisible flames; the legacy of thirty years of keeping it all inside. He’d tried so desperately to have a quiet life; to keep the peace; to try and mediate between his mother and the rest of the world.

  No more.

  ‘Or maybe this is some sick Oedipal shit you’ve got going on!’

  He felt the sting on his cheek as Fran’s palm connected with his face. The mug fell from his hand and smashed on the floor, cocoa spilling across the tiles. He gaped at her. She’d never hit him before. He felt a stupid smirk rise to his face. That must have infuriated her, because Fran took another swipe at him. She just missed but caught his cheek with one of her long talons. Sebastian felt the scratch, the sting.

  He roared – more with anger than pain – and pushed her, just wanting her away from him. She stumbled backwards, howling as she hit her lower back on the countertop then slipping and landing, hard on the kitchen tiles.

  ‘Sebastian,’ she whimpered from the floor at his feet.

  Sebastian leaned down beside her, but he made no attempt to pick her up. He wanted to smash her head against the tiles. He managed to restrain himself. ‘I’ll ask you again. Why did you set the fire?’

  But even in her vulnerable position on the floor, Fran would still not budge an inch. ‘That must have been you. You’ve not been well, Sebastian. I’ve been so worried about you!’

  Another cry of exasperation burst from him. He pushed her proffered hand away, as fear and panic consumed him. He could not believe how she was sticking to her story. What was he supposed to do? How could he catch her out?

  Fran regarded him with sorrow in her eyes. ‘You have to understand…’

  Everything seemed to turn on its head again. For a single, blissful moment, Sebastian was sure that this was it: she was going to confess.

  Then she beckoned him towards with her one finger, whispering in his ear: ‘I’m sorry. This was the only way.’

  I parked on a side street, beyond the General. Hospital car parks are extortionate and opportunistic for parking fees. I might have plenty of money, but I wasn’t paying for the privilege of being just a few metres closer to the entrance. Besides, there are plenty of cameras in the car park. I needed to slip in and slip out, unnoticed.

  I had agonised about when to come. It was early morning, not even six o’clock yet, so the hospital was fairly quiet. In the next couple of hours, receptionists and outpatients would arrive, meaning I could perhaps blend in with the crowds. But the more people there were, the more
chance I had of being seen. What was more, if I left it too late, you might be awake when I arrived; my plan depended on you being dead to the world.

  Accident and Emergency was the busiest department even at that early hour, though there were fewer patients and relatives waiting there than I thought there would be. Even so, I gave it a wide berth, going out of my way and down other corridors to your ward instead. On my way, I saw various doctors and nurses, all of them preoccupied and harassed. They didn’t spare a glance for a woman dressed in black with bare arms; nor did the porter with the strained face pushing empty gurneys into an oversized lift.

  I didn’t have to worry about finding you. The tracker app I installed on your phone when I came to lunch at yours led me straight to your ward. I didn’t have the ward code for the door, so I studied the posters and leaflets on the wall until a weary young man came along. I watched intently as, with his back to me, he presseed in the code: 1989. Easy. I waited for him to disappear inside, then stepped towards the door and let myself in.

  Once inside, the rest was no problem at all. I had wondered if anyone at the nurses’ station would tackle me, or even just ask who I was with; it didn’t happen. There was only one nurse sitting there and she had her head in her hands, fighting sleep. It’s alarming to think how security men and codes can make us think we’re safe when they can be circumvented so easily.

  I scanned the ward, and saw you in your bed. You were asleep like the other two men, so I pulled the curtain around you. I had a bag of clothes with me, in case anyone queried my being there. I placed them next to your bed. I needed your keys for the next part of my plan, plus I took your phone, so the text message sent after Maxwell’s death could not be discovered. I left you your wallet. I’m not a complete sadist – you would need money to make your way back to the maisonette and your car.

  Anxious to get out of there again, I nevertheless paused a moment. Maxwell really had done a number on you. Your nose looked bulbous and raw; dried blood was crusted around your nostrils and one of your eyes. You were bare-chested and there was blood still caked on your head. Tears sprang up in my eyes, but not from sorrow. The denouement of my plan was in sight! We could be together at last.

  I reached out and brushed a tender hand against your forehead. ‘Love you, son.’

  I drove by the maisonette next and saw it was crawling with police and fire investigators, as you might expect after such an incident. I let them get on with putting up their yellow tape, making measurements and filling in forms before making my grand entrance. I returned home and changed my clothes. This time, I went full ‘old lady’; I donned a twin set, a box-pleat skirt, flat shoes, even a string of pearls.

  Later in the day, I returned to find most of the investigators had drifted away. There was only a single fireman and a couple of police making sure the property was safe. I’d read how fires sometimes reignite, especially in older properties, since wooden beams can retain heat deep inside them. Fascinating.

  As the last three packed up for the day, I parked in the little car park behind the maisonette, partially blocking their way so they couldn’t miss me.

  ‘Oh, dear God! How awful!’

  My eyes on the blackened building, I got out of my car, mouth open. I even managed to squeeze out a few tears for my audience: three tall young men in uniform. The smallest one came running immediately, a pale young thing with a bright ginger beard. He grasped my arm like I was made of china. I probably reminded him of his grandmother. He guided me towards his police car, letting me sit down in the passenger seat.

  ‘Are you a relative?’ the other policeman said, his expression grave. He was glad to tell me my family members had escaped harm and that they’d been taken to the General.

  But I shook my head with vigour, one hand to my chest like I was trying to stop my erratic heartbeat. ‘You misunderstand. I know. My son has sent me to get some things for them. I’m just … How could anyone do this? It’s horrific.’

  The three men all agreed with me. The fireman then told me no one would be able to go into the property for the foreseeable. This made me cry even harder: ‘My grandchild needs his toy cars,’ I wailed. ‘He’s just a little boy whose home has been destroyed!’

  The men all looked at one another. I thought every single one of them would rather tackle a roaring blaze head-on than deal with a crying woman.

  Eventually, the fireman said he would go and get Denny’s box of Matchbox cars as I’d requested. Since his room was at the back of the house, it had seen some of the least damage; he could get in across downstairs’ flat-roof extension. He would unfortunately have to break the window though as it was locked … Is that okay?

  I sniffed and dried my tears. ‘That’s absolutely fine.’

  The box of cars was presented to me about fifteen minutes later, along with their commiserations. I promised to pass their regards on. Of course, the cars were not what I wanted at all. I wanted to make sure Denny’s window was passable for you when – not if – you came back. I needed you to go and get your spare car key from the maisonette, as I had yours in my bag. I didn’t want to risk going back to the hospital to replace them and I didn’t want you to see the stairs and simply call a taxi.

  When I’d watched them leave the car park, I walked over to your car, which you’d left at the back of the property. I pressed your key fob and the car unlocked. I opened the passenger door and placed the plastic bag containing the knife on the seat, in plain view. Then I shut the door and locked the car again. Everything was in play.

  All bases covered.

  Fifty-six

  That’s when Sebastian realised.

  His mother had just been delaying him.

  Maybe Fran had made the call upstairs, or perhaps Su had traced Lily’s mobile. Whatever the case, there were shouts and loud voices. Men and women in black and white streaked past the windows.

  The front door came crashing in.

  Sebastian pre-empted the police by a nanosecond. He made it out of the kitchen and into the hall, then into the living room beyond. But he didn’t get as far as the patio windows because someone made a grab for him, hooking meaty arms around his knees and bringing him to the ground.

  Sebastian groaned in pain as he felt a knee pressed into his back and his hands yanked behind him. He felt the bite of steel handcuffs around his wrists as a raspy voice read him his rights.

  It was Sergeant Meyer. ‘Sebastian Adair, I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Maxwell Stevens and the attempted murder of Lily Adair and Dennis Stevens. You do not have to say anything…’

  ‘It wasn’t me. It was her. My mother!’ Sebastian protested as Meyer hauled him to his feet like a five-year-old.

  Sebastian found himself staring at Detective Su through the kitchen doorway. His mother had been helped up from the floor and was now sitting on one of the kitchen chairs, a grateful smile painted on her thin red lips. The detective stood next to her and patted her arm in sympathy. Su could only see the old-woman act, not the ruthless, manipulative harpy underneath. Fran would do anything – anything – to get her own way.

  But there was one thing still Sebastian didn’t understand: why would she want him, not Lily, put away? It didn’t make any sense. Maybe it was a mistake. It had all got out of control? Sebastian fought against Meyer as he jostled him past both women.

  ‘Mum! Mum … tell them. You didn’t mean for all this to happen? Mum!’ Through the open front door, Sebastian could see their unmarked police car at the end of his mother’s driveway. Two patrol cars were parked at skewed angles by the old tree behind it.

  But Fran was a consummate actress, as ever. Tears coursed down her made-up cheeks. Mascara left black trails.

  ‘I just don’t understand,’ she wailed. ‘He was brought up so well. I gave him everything. Thank God his father is not alive to see this!’

  Su nodded, her face earnest. Meyer pushed Sebastian over the threshold and onto the driveway beyond, Su coming with them. Sebastian ha
d left the doors to his car unlocked. Men and women in black and white crawled all over it. One uniformed officer, a young woman with an eager expression, held up the plastic bag like a trophy.

  Su stalked over and peered inside, her expression grim. Sebastian knew what she was looking at: the knife. Su glanced over to Meyer, her eyes glinting.

  ‘I found that, in my car. She must have planted it … Maxwell was alive when I left! I did not try to kill Lily and Denny, please … Listen!’

  Though as the words left Sebastian’s mouth, he knew how futile they were. He twisted around in Meyer’s grip and looked back to the house and saw his mother on the doorstep, watching the proceedings. He was shocked to see now how detached she looked, her arms folded, like she was watching her guilty pleasure: Deal or No Deal.

  It was then that Sebastian realised. Insight hit him with the force of a hammer blow.

  There had been no mistake.

  The ball had never been in his court. He’d thought he could outwit his mother, make her confess and record her doing it. Prove his innocence.

  But she’d had Sebastian stitched up. It had never been a case of events running away with Fran. She had never wanted to frame Lily. She’d probably planned to murder Maxwell from the outset. It would not have been the first time she’d used a man.

  Maxwell had just been Fran’s marionette, but in real terms they’d all danced to her tune. This fucked-up sequence of events had pitched them all against one another. Fran had set them all up like skittles and watched them all fall down. It had been his mother’s endgame the whole time.