Cold is the Grave

by Peter Robinson

  The next thing he knew, the man had grabbed him by the arms and was pushing him towards the river, the stone forgotten at their feet. He could smell beer on the man’s breath, the same smell he remembered from his father, and something else – sweat, a wet-dog smell, body odour, like the smell of his socks after a long rugby game – as he struggled for his life. He called out and looked around for his friends, but they were running down to the gap in the fence where they had got in.

  The struggle seemed to go on for ever. Banks managed to wedge his heels at the edge of the riverbank and push back with all his might, but the grass was wet, and the soil under it was fast turning to mud. He didn’t think he could keep his grip much longer.

  His smallness and wiriness were his only advantages, he knew, and he wriggled as hard as an eel to slip out of the man’s strong grasp. He knew that if he didn’t escape he would drown. He tried to bite the man’s arm, but all he got was a mouthful of vile-tasting cloth, so he gave that up.

  The man was breathing hard now, as if the effort was becoming too much for him. Banks drew on his last reserves of energy and wriggled as hard and fast as he could. He managed to get one arm free. The man held him by the other arm and punched him at the side of his right eye. He felt something sharp, like a ring, cut his skin. He flinched with pain and pulled away, succeeding in freeing his other arm. He didn’t wait to see if he was being pursued, but ran like the clappers to the hole in the fence.

  Only when he caught up with his friends at the edge of the park did he dare risk looking back. Nobody in sight. His friends seemed sheepish as they asked him how he was, but he toughed it out. No problem. Inside, though, he was terribly shaken. They made a pact not to say anything. None of them were supposed to be playing down by the river in the first place. Their parents said it was dangerous. Banks didn’t dare tell his parents what had happened, explaining the cut beside his eye by saying he had fallen and cut it on a piece of glass, and he had never relied on anyone to help him out of trouble again in his life.

  ‘I was wrong. I should have told my parents, Annie. They would have made me report it to the police, and they might have caught him before he did any more harm. There was a dangerous man out there, and my fear and shame left him free to do as he pleased.’

  ‘You blamed yourself for what happened to Graham Marshall? For the acts of a child molester?’

  Banks turned away from the beer-coloured water to face Annie. ‘When he went missing, all I could think of was the tall man with the greasy dark hair and the body odour.’ Banks shivered. Sometimes he still woke in the night gagging on the taste of the dirty cloth of the man’s sleeve, and in the dream, when he looked at the river, it was full of dead boys all floating in the same direction, in perfectly matched rows, and Graham Marshall was the only one he recognized. So much guilt.

  ‘But you don’t know that it was the same man.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter. I still took the guilt on myself. I’d been attacked by an older man, possibly a pervert, and I didn’t report it. Then a boy was abducted, possibly by a pervert. Of course I blamed myself. And I certainly couldn’t say anything about it later.’

  Annie put her hand on his arm. ‘So you made a mistake. So you should have reported it. You can’t spend your life sulking over all the mistakes you’ve made. You’d never bother getting out of bed in the morning.’

  Banks smiled. ‘You’re right. I try not to let it get me down too much. It’s only when something like this happens, something I think I could have prevented.’

  Annie started walking again. ‘You’re not God,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘You can’t change the way things are.’

  Banks flicked his cigarette in the river and followed her. Annie was right, he knew; he only wished he could feel better about it.

  They turned left at the main road by the pre-Roman site, a sort of barrow where ancient graves had been discovered, and then left again, back towards the station, towards whatever other horrors Ruth Walker had in store for them.

  Banks started the tape recorders again. ‘All right, Ruth,’ he said, ‘you’ve had some food and rest. Ready to talk to us again?’

  Ruth nodded and retracted her hands deep into the sleeves of her sweatshirt.

  ‘For the record,’ Banks said, ‘Ms Walker nodded to indicate that she is ready to resume the interview.’

  Ruth stared down at her lap.

  ‘Before the break, Ruth, you told us that Barry Clough is your father. I’m sure you know that gives rise to a lot more questions.’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘First of all, is it true?’

  ‘Of course it is. Why should I lie about it?’

  ‘You’ve lied before. Remember, right at the beginning you told me your life has been a lie?’

  ‘This is true. He’s my father. You can check.’

  ‘How did you find out about this if it wasn’t on the birth certificate?’

  ‘I talked to Ros’s parents.’

  ‘And they told you, just like that?’

  ‘It wasn’t as easy as that.’

  ‘How easy was it, then?’

  ‘It was a matter of finding out what name he was using now.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘All they could tell me was that Ros got herself pregnant by some punk. He hung around with bands, worked as a roadie, played bass a bit, something like that. Ros had told them his name, but he was long gone by the time she even found out she was pregnant. He was in America, they told me. And she didn’t want anything to do with him anyway. Neither did her parents. Everybody just did their best to forget him, and it seems as if that was pretty easy.’

  ‘What was his name?’

  Ruth laughed. ‘You know what they were like back then, all using silly names, thinking they sounded tough? Rat Scabies. Sid Vicious. Johnny Rotten.’

  ‘I remember,’ said Banks.

  ‘Well, this bloke was going by the name of Mal Licious. I ask you. Mal Licious.’

  What an apt name for Barry Clough, Banks thought. ‘So nobody knew his real name?’

  ‘Ros’s parents and uncle and aunt didn’t.’

  ‘Did you ask Rosalind herself?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘She didn’t know, either. Mal Licious was all he went by. She just called him Mal. Seems she hadn’t known him that well. I think it was a one-night stand. She didn’t really want to talk about it.’

  ‘How did you find out, then?’

  Ruth shifted in her chair. ‘Easy. Information technology. I know a bit about the music scene, I’ve been to a lot of clubs and raves and stuff, and Craig had a few contacts, he’d taken band photos, that sort of thing. I asked around. It seemed a logical way to start. There was always a chance that this Mal Licious was still on the scene somewhere. A lot of these people never grow up. Look at Rod Stewart, for Christ’s sake. Clough was a pretty well-known name on the scene, partly because of his trendy bar and partly because of the bands he promoted. There were still people around who’d known him way back, and someone told me he used to be called Mal Licious. Thought it was a bit of a laugh. Well, there can’t have been two of them, can there? Stands to reason.’

  Indeed it did, thought Banks. Bright girl. Or woman. A lot of things were starting to make sense now. ‘So none of what happened since Emily went to London was coincidence, then?’ he said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Emily shacking up with Barry Clough, Clough finding out about Riddle, the article in the newspaper linking them together.’

  A look of triumph filled Ruth’s eyes. ‘No,’ she said. ‘None of it was coincidence. It was all me. I set things in motion. Beyond that, they took on a life of their own. I soon found out that Clough liked young girls, and it wasn’t hard to get an invitation to one of his parties. What happened next was up to nature, not me. It really pissed off Craig.’

  ‘Did you ever approach Clough? He’s a wealthy man. Wealthier than Rosalind, I should ima
gine.’

  Ruth frowned at him. ‘It’s not all about money, you know. No, I didn’t approach him. What was he going to say? Probably didn’t even remember Ros’s name, let alone that he’d shagged her. They were probably stoned out of their minds.’

  ‘Did you tell Rosalind about Emily and Clough?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why on earth not? He was her . . .’ Banks had to pause and think for a moment. No matter how terrible it seemed for Rosalind’s daughter to be sleeping with a man her mother had slept with, and whose child she had given birth to, Emily wasn’t any relation to Clough whatsoever. ‘Emily was your half-sister,’ was all he could manage.

  Ruth smiled. ‘Information management. Knowledge is power, as I’m sure you know. If you use it only a little at a time, it can go a long way. I might have had a use for that information eventually. But I was enjoying myself plenty with what I already had. I think if I’d told Ros about them, everything would have come tumbling down, and it wasn’t time for that yet.’

  You’re damn right the whole house of cards would have come tumbling down, Banks thought. Before he could respond, Annie eased in. ‘You said you were enjoying yourself, Ruth. In what way?’

  Ruth faced her for a moment before her eyes went off in another direction. ‘Why shouldn’t I enjoy myself? I’ve had little enough fun in my life. Why not have a bit for a change?’

  ‘Fun?’ repeated Annie. ‘Ruth, two people have died because of all this. Emily and her father. A family’s been torn apart. And you think it’s fun?’

  ‘I didn’t mean to kill her.’

  Annie glanced at Banks and indicated he should pick up the thread. It was the first hint of a confession they’d heard from Ruth so far. Banks didn’t want to lose her now, but at the same time he wanted no problems over PACE. ‘We’re heading into dangerous ground, Ruth,’ he said. ‘I’m telling you again that you’re entitled to have a solicitor present, and I’m asking you if you want us to provide one for you.’

  ‘I’ve told you before,’ Ruth shouted directly into the microphone, ‘I don’t want any fucking solicitor. Is that clear enough for you?’

  ‘It’ll do,’ said Banks. ‘Let me get this straight, then. You discovered that Barry Clough was your father and you didn’t tell either him or Rosalind this. Am I right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you tell Emily?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘But you introduced them at a party.’

  ‘That was all I needed to do.’ Ruth’s eyes shone. ‘That was the beauty of it, you see. I knew Clough liked young girls, and you didn’t have to talk to Emily for long before you found out what a twisted little Electra complex she had. She wanted to fuck her daddy. Well, I couldn’t arrange that, but at least I could give her a chance to fuck mine. It was perfect.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I was the only one who knew the truth. The joke was on them, on someone else for a change, not on me.’

  ‘What about Barry Clough and Emily’s father?’

  ‘That was just a bonus. I know a young reporter. It was a big story, probably made his career. I just gave him one of those photos of Emily all dressed up for a party and I told him that she was fucking Barry Clough and her father was a chief constable. He was off to Yorkshire like a shot. Did the rest of the footwork himself.’

  ‘What about Barry Clough, after Emily had left? Did you tell him who she was, where she lived, who her father was?’

  ‘Yes. I thought it would probably interest him. He struck me as the kind of man who liked to own others. I just thought it would be interesting to put the two of them together when neither of them knew how close they really were.’

  ‘So he doesn’t know that you’re his daughter or that Emily’s your half-sister?’

  ‘Of course not. It wasn’t time to go that far yet.’

  ‘Again, why?’

  ‘They all thought they were so cool, so beautiful, so powerful, so in control. But all the time it was me pulling the strings. Me. They were just running around like headless chickens.’

  ‘And this amused you?’

  ‘Yes. I’m not mad, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m not looking to get off on some insanity plea or anything like that. I would like a little recognition for all the work I put in, though.’

  ‘What about Emily? You told her she was your half-sister, didn’t you?’

  ‘I had to, otherwise she would never have trusted me or come to live with me. She’d have thought I was after her or something. This way it made more sense. It was our little secret.’

  Banks paused before going on, knowing he had reached a crucial stage. ‘Ruth, we know you were working for a pharmaceutical company and had access to strychnine. Cocaine’s easy enough to get. Did you give Emily the lethal mixture?’

  ‘It wasn’t meant to be lethal.’

  ‘What did you intend it to do to her?’

  ‘Give her a scare. Give her the jitters. I didn’t mean for it to kill her. Honest. I’m not a murderer.’

  ‘What are you, then?’

  Ruth tugged at a frayed edge on her sweatshirt. ‘Maybe I’ve got some problems. People don’t like me. But I’m not a murderer.’ There were tears in her eyes.

  ‘All right, Ruth. What happened?’

  ‘We’d talked on the telephone a few times and she kept saying she was off the stuff. First, I just wanted to see if I could get her back on again. I mean, people say all sorts of things, don’t they, like they’ve given up smoking, but if you offer them a cigarette, if you put just a little temptation their way . . .’

  ‘And that’s what you did?’

  ‘Yes. Dangled a carrot. Well, a gram of coke, actually. She could probably have scored some up here if she’d asked around, but that was a bit too close to her father’s territory. I mean, you never know if your dealer is an undercover cop, do you? I even offered to deliver it. Said I had to visit some relatives in Durham and I’d stop by on the way.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘She said she’d ring me back. I knew she was thinking seriously about it. Anyway, the day before I said I was coming up, I was working late . . . she phoned me at work on some lad’s mobile and said she was getting bored and she wouldn’t mind some for the next day. She was going clubbing with some mates. I knew I could get a couple of days off, say I had a cold or something. Anyway, just after I talked to her and said I’d see her the next day, I had to go into the controlled area to do some product coding, and that’s when I got the idea of the strychnine. I didn’t know how much to put in. I’d heard they sometimes used it as a base in some street drugs and it makes your jaw and your neck stiff. I just wanted to give her a scare, that’s all. It was only a little bit. I didn’t think it was enough to kill her, but it might make her twitch a bit in public, maybe even puke and piss herself.’

  ‘That was what you wanted to do to her? Humiliate her in public?’

  ‘It was a start.’

  ‘Even though you wouldn’t be there to witness it?’

  ‘But I’d know, wouldn’t I? Being there would be too dangerous. Don’t you see the point? I mean, I didn’t actually see her doing it, but I knew she was fucking my father. If you have a bit of imagination you can amuse yourself easily enough.’

  ‘It has to be more than that, Ruth,’ Annie chipped in.

  Ruth looked away. ‘Why?’

  ‘It just does. Why did you hate Emily so much? What did she ever do to you?’

  ‘She had my life, didn’t she? What should have been mine.’

  ‘Why did you want her to suffer?’

  ‘Because she had it all. She took Craig from me.’

  ‘Craig was never with you that way,’ Banks said, picking up on Annie’s rhythm. ‘He was never your lover.’

  Ruth jutted her chin out. ‘That’s what he says now.’

  ‘Why should he lie?’

  ‘He’s against me. She poisoned him against me.’

  ‘That’s not
enough, Ruth,’ Annie chimed in again.

  Ruth gave her a sharp glance. ‘What do you want? Blood?’

  ‘No. That seems to be what you wanted. We want some answers.’

  ‘It was all so bloody easy for her. Everything just fell into her lap. Craig. Barry Clough. My own father, for Christ’s sake, was running his hands over her thighs ten minutes after they met.’

  ‘But that was part of your plan, you said,’ Annie went on.

  ‘You can’t always arrange things so they don’t hurt you at least just a little bit. She got everything she wanted, just like that.’

  ‘Then why did she want to run away from home, Ruth?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘If everything was so perfect in Emily’s life, why did she want to run away from her parents?’

  ‘They wouldn’t let her do what she wanted. They were strict.’

  ‘Like yours?’

  ‘Nowhere near as bad as mine. You don’t know the half of it.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you sympathize with her?’

  ‘I did. At first. Then she just . . . she got everything she wanted. Craig started ignoring me. Even Emily deserted me.’

  Banks took over again. ‘Why did you kill her, Ruth?’

  Ruth didn’t know who to look at. She looked at the squashed fly again. ‘I didn’t. I didn’t mean to kill her.’

  ‘But you did kill her,’ Banks pressed on. ‘Why?’

  Ruth paused and her face seemed to go through the kind of contortions Emily’s must have when the strychnine hit.

  ‘Why did you kill her, Ruth?’ Banks persisted, his voice hardly above a whisper. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because they took her back!’ Ruth blurted out. ‘After all that happened. After everything she did to them. She broke their hearts and they took her back. Ros threw me out, but she took her back. They took her back! They took her back!’ Ruth started crying, fat tears rolling down her acned cheeks.

  There was nothing more to say. Banks called in the uniformed officers to take Ruth back to her cell. Now it was time to charge her and bring in the lawyers.

  Banks drove out to the Old Mill that night with a heavy heart. He knew he had to be the one to tell Rosalind what had happened, what Ruth had done, just as he had had to break the news about Emily’s murder, but it wasn’t a task he cherished.