“I’m sure she is,” Angelica said in the same dreamy voice. She rocked backwards and forwards. “The whole world adores him. Everybody loves Bill. Everybody but me…”
My mouth dropped open but no sound came out. Everything had suddenly snapped into place. Graham didn’t notice.
“We’re wasting our time here,” he said to me, looking over to the balcony. “Have you thought about how we can get back up to your room?”
Angelica rose from the bed and drifted like a sleepwalker out through the French windows and onto the balcony.
“Graham!” I beckoned him over to the door so we could talk without disturbing her. “All this time we’ve thought she’s mad. But what if she isn’t? Suppose she’s been telling the truth?”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“She keeps saying Bill loves her. I think she’s right!”
Graham shook his head incredulously. “That can’t be true. Bill married Josie. He wrote her that song.”
“Did he? Are we sure of that? Think of all those other song titles, Graham – the ones from years back. Were they written for Angelica? “My One, My Only”, “All Time and For Ever”, “You Won’t Never Need No One But Me”, “I’m Yours, You’re Mine, End of Story”. Add them together – don’t they sound a bit menacing? A bit obsessive? And the Christmas hit – “He Ain’t the One for You” – what was that all about? And then “Ain’t No Escaping My Love”? He’s starting to sound like a stalker!”
Graham looked completely unconvinced, but by now I was bowling along like a runaway train.
“You know, when I read those newspapers I thought there was something a bit funny about those phrases Angelica’s friends trotted out. They sounded like cheesy song lyrics – which is just how Bill speaks. All these people who were supposed to be so angry that they wouldn’t come to Bill’s wedding – why aren’t they looking after Angelica? That’s what friends are for, isn’t it? How come they can talk to the newspapers but they can’t talk to her? I reckon they don’t exist. I bet Bill planted those stories to make people think Angelica was going mad. And it worked, too. Everyone thinks she’s crazy. Including you,” I finished accusingly.
We glanced over at Angelica. She was leaning on the parapet, twirling a strand of hair between her fingers, swaying and humming tunelessly to herself. Even I had to admit she looked pretty loopy.
“It’s the bluebells, Graham. They flower in the spring. She was heartbroken, sure, but that picture has to have been taken at least a month before Bill met Josie. So whatever upset her then, it wasn’t Bill leaving her.”
Graham frowned. “If you’re correct about the flowers – and I’m sure that with your horticultural expertise you are – it’s very significant. And yet I don’t understand. You say Bill loves Angelica. And Angelica clearly loves Bill. So why did he marry Josie?”
“Does Angelica love him, though? She just said everybody loves him but her.”
“She’s insane!” exclaimed Graham. “You heard what she said to Ruby. She was clearly still devoted to him.”
I remembered Angelica’s outburst the night we arrived. That cracked, dry sob. “I want him back. But I can’t. Never, never, never…” There was no doubting the depth of her feelings. And yet…”
“OK. But suppose she wasn’t talking about Bill? That song title – “He Ain’t the One for You”. What if she’d fallen in love with another man!”
“But who?”
“Who else died, Graham?” I demanded, slapping my hand against the wall. “We were right – the motive for the murders is jealousy. We just got the wrong culprit.”
All the photographs of Bill and Angelica I’d seen in the newspapers flashed through my head like a slideshow. Bill standing next to Angelica, staring sullenly into the camera. I’d thought it was because he’d lost interest in his wife, but maybe he was seething with emotion. Just behind him had stood a man. I’d assumed it was a bodyguard, but it could easily have been Bill’s PA, Mick. Angelica, her face full of love. Suppose Angelica wasn’t looking adoringly up at Bill, but smiling over his shoulder at the person behind him? Bill’s right-hand man – who might have felt more for Angelica than he was supposed to…
“Mick,” I said. “She was in love with Mick. And then he died. That would explain why she was so upset in the bluebell wood.”
“But why come here? Why try to stop the wedding?”
“I don’t know. To save Josie from Bill?”
“Save her? You’re not suggesting he was her murderer?”
I stared at Graham for a moment. It was the only solution that made sense. “Yes, I think he is,” I said slowly, puzzling it out as I spoke. “All that Mr Nice Guy stuff? Bill seems so easy-going and laid-back – but you don’t make it to the top of the showbiz ladder without being pushy, do you? He’s just better at hiding it than most people. All this time we’ve been thinking Angelica was obsessed with Bill … when it’s the other way round! And if Angelica was planning to leave him – well, he could have killed Mick, couldn’t he?”
Graham almost exploded in protest. “But he married Josie!”
“Yes! To get his revenge. This whole thing has been a set-up. All that Venus and Adonis stuff. Tessa said those costumes were Josie’s idea. So did Bill. But Josie said her dress was Bill’s choice. And that gold bikini – she looked like a kid in fancy dress. I bet he chose that, too. What if he planned the whole thing from beginning to end? The deal with Hi! magazine, all that press coverage… Those comments from outraged celebrities – he planted them! What if he wanted maximum media attention to draw Angelica out? To have her totally in his power. She’s got no friends – he’s seen to that over the years. “You Won’t Never Need No One But Me.” It doesn’t get clearer than that, does it? He’s the complete control freak, Graham! The only two people here who ever listened to Angelica are dead – he’s seen to that too. He must have killed his own mother! And Sizal – Bill must have thought he knew something about her and Mick. He’s framed Angelica, good and proper. That’s why she said that stuff about him visiting her in prison – that’s why she sounded so defeated – she knows there’s no way out. She tried to help but no one believed her. “Ain’t No Escaping My Love” wasn’t written for Josie: it was written to torment Angelica. Can you imagine her sitting up here, listening to it over and over again, knowing it was meant for her, knowing that he was going to do something to Josie and that nobody would believe her? No wonder the poor woman’s gone bonkers!”
My voice had become louder and louder as I’d been talking. Angelica hadn’t paid the blindest bit of attention, but clearly Gregor had. He must have alerted his employer to the fact that Angelica had visitors, because without warning the door swung open and Bill Strummer walked in. Graham and I were so shocked, we both screamed. It was enough to startle Angelica out of her reverie and she looked at Bill in terror. Then, before any of us could stop her, she scrambled onto the parapet.
There she stood, teetering on the edge for a second. And, with a last, despairing sob, she jumped.
no more mr nice guy
Bill roared like a tiger whose prey has escaped, then let out a stream of swear-words that could have made your ears bleed.
Graham and I raced across the room, leant over the parapet and saw, to our immense relief, that Angelica had landed in deep water. She bobbed to the surface but seemed to be making no effort to swim.
“You stupid—!” bellowed Bill from inside the room, and Graham and I spun round to face him. I’m not repeating what he called us – you can probably imagine.
It was obvious that he knew that we knew all about him. He must have been listening at the door while we worked it out. And now something was contorting his features: something that terrified the pants off me. It was the cold, savage rage that had clearly inspired him to stab Josie.
For the first time I noticed how extremely well-muscled his arms and shoulders were. We were two against one, but I doubted we’d stand much chance, especially as he’d
just pulled a knife from his pocket and flicked it open.
“Come over here,” he said, “and get what you deserve.”
I looked at Graham. He gave me a faint nod and his eyes slid seawards. In that split second we made our decision.
Let me assure you, climbing over a parapet and plummeting – what, thirty metres? – into the sea is not a pleasant experience. Don’t try it at home. The water whacked me so hard, it knocked the breath clean out of my lungs and I sank deep, deep down in a rush of bubbles, and soon I didn’t know which way was up. I thrashed and kicked but couldn’t tell if I was swimming deeper or back to the surface, and it was all just lung-bursting panic until a hand grabbed mine and pulled. That gulp of air as I broke through into the sunlight was the sweetest breath I’ve ever inhaled.
I looked around. Graham was treading water a couple of metres away. The hand that had grabbed me belonged to Angelica.
The pair of us splashing down so close to her seemed to have jerked her out of her dream-like state. Letting her husband frame her was one thing. Allowing the deaths of two innocent children was quite another. Her face had taken on a determined look.
“Can you swim to the beach?” she demanded.
“Yes,” I spluttered. It wasn’t that far – just around the rocks – and it wasn’t like there was a heavy current to contend with. Angelica struck out in a smooth crawl, and Graham and I kind of doggy-paddled behind, still winded by the long drop.
When we reached the cove we were faced with a new problem. Bill was already at the top of the path, descending fast, the knife glinting in his hand. He didn’t look like he was after a cosy chat.
Our only hope was the pedalo. Graham and I began to pull it across the sand and Angelica pushed from the other side, but we were all so panicked by the sight of Bill that our teamwork wasn’t exactly impressive. We reached the water’s edge just as he reached the beach. He was less than ten metres away now, but the soft sand was harder for him to run on than the cliff path had been.
“Stop!” he screamed.
I took strength from the edge of fear in his voice: he must think he couldn’t reach us in time. We gave the pedalo one last shove, then Graham and I jumped into the seats and started pedalling frantically while Angelica leapt onto the back.
Behind us Bill’s heavy footsteps thudded over the last bit of dry sand and came splashing into the waves. Angelica stuck her legs in the water and kicked desperately to give us more momentum. Bill lunged, but her sudden spurt of energy took us beyond his reach. And thankfully Bill wasn’t a good swimmer like Angelica. Once he found he was out of his depth, he turned back for land, defeated.
“If we can get round to the big beach there’ll be loads of people,” I puffed. “He can’t do anything to us there.”
For a while we pedalled along the shoreline in silence. But after five minutes or so I couldn’t help asking, “It was Bill, wasn’t it? He killed all of them. Starting with Mick.”
The pedalo lurched as Angelica moved up to perch between me and Graham. “You know about him?” she said incredulously. “How?”
“Well … we kind of worked it out,” I said. “It took a while, though. Bill’s Mr Nice Guy act is very convincing.”
“Tell me about it,” she said wearily. “It was years before I saw through him. If I had done so sooner, Mick might still be alive.”
“You shouldn’t blame yourself,” Graham put in helpfully. “Con men don’t go around with flashing neon signs on their heads saying DON’T TRUST ME, I’M A GIT. They’re charming. Likeable. Plausible. That’s how people get taken in.”
“Perhaps you’re right. I was so young when we met! Just a kid, really. I didn’t know any better.” She let out a sad, tired laugh. “He made me ditch my friends. I thought it was romantic that he wanted me all to himself. Stupid girl! It was only later that I realized he had me in a stranglehold. Then along came Mick…”
“And you fell in love with him?”
“Head over heels. But Bill refused to give me a divorce – he said he’d never let me go. Mick tried to make him see sense, be reasonable, but he wouldn’t. Then one day I couldn’t take any more. I told him I was leaving and went to pack my case. Mick must have been out walking his dog. By the time I was ready to go, the police were at the door. As soon as I heard, I knew exactly what Bill had done. I couldn’t think straight. I ran through the wood, I just had to find Mick. When I got back I was too distraught to tell the police what I thought had happened. After they left, Bill kept me prisoner. Locked me in my own home! And then he met Josie, and he worked out his little plan. After that he made sure no one believed a word I said. The more I protested, the crazier I looked. But I had to try. I knew the whole wedding was set up to trap me, but I had no choice. I had to come. That poor girl! She had no relatives, no friends to protect her. That’s why Bill chose her.”
“Did you tell Ruby all this?” I asked.
“Yes. She didn’t believe me. And when I found her – when I saw what he’d done to his own mother – I knew Sizal would be at risk too. I used to talk to him sometimes, you see? I’d asked him to help me. But even he thought I’d gone mad. I ran back to the villa but I was too late. This morning I went down to plead with Josie again – I knew she wasn’t safe – but she was already dead. I don’t suppose she’d have believed me anyway: no one ever does. Even his mother couldn’t see what Bill was really like…”
“But we can!” Graham said staunchly.
“Believing is one thing. Proving is another,” said Angelica miserably. “If it was that easy, don’t you think I’d have done something?”
“There’s a photo of you taken that day in the bluebell wood…” I said. “You look dreadful.”
Angelica let out a wry laugh. “Thanks.”
“Sorry, but you know what I mean. It was taken before Bill met Josie. It proves you must have been upset about Mick, not about Bill leaving you for another woman. OK, it’s not much, but it’s a start. And we’ll back you up.”
We’d been pedalling for a good twenty minutes. My legs were starting to feel distinctly wobbly around the knees and Graham’s breathing was ragged with effort. “Not far now,” I puffed encouragingly. “If we can just get around the headland we’ll be home and dry.”
We neared the rocks, and, turning the corner, caught a glimpse of the golden stretch of sandy beach. My heart lifted for a moment. Then it sank to the bottom of the ocean. I could hear a speedboat engine. And I could see Bill powering towards us.
Angelica curled into a tight ball. “There’s no escaping him,” she whimpered. “He’ll never let me go. Never! I won’t be free of him until I’m dead!”
We didn’t have time to argue with her before Bill’s boat was on us, nudging the pedalo backwards, around the headland and out of sight of the beach. Then he powered up his engine and ploughed on, pushing our helpless little craft further and further out to sea. The pedals were now whirring round so hard and fast, we had to lift our legs high in the air for fear of having our feet chopped off. All we could do was cling on and wait for Bill to stop. And, in his own good time, he did.
Coolly, casually, as if he was picking up a mop or broom, Bill took a boat hook from the floor of his speedboat. He raised it above his head and then, with a force that might have been impressive if it hadn’t been so terrifying, brought the pointed end down into pedalo, just centimetres from where Angelica was cowering. And in about five seconds flat, our heroic vessel started to sink.
I looked back at the island. We were at least a kilometre out to sea. There was no way I could swim that far, and neither could Graham. We were done for.
“You know, kids,” Bill said, smiling his charming smile, “pedalos are dead dangerous. Ain’t no escaping the currents around here.”
“You won’t get away with it!” Graham shouted as the pedalo finally gave up and began to disappear beneath the surface. We were ankle-deep. Knee-deep. Thigh-deep in water.
“Sure I will. Two drownings? Two more
deaths by misadventure? Tragic, but not suspicious, I think you’ll find.”
We were treading water now. We couldn’t even strike out for the shore with Bill’s boat in the way.
He leant over the side and extended a hand to his ex-wife. “Come to me, angel,” he said in a silky-smooth voice that made my flesh creep. “You know you want to.”
Angelica let out a soft moan, but instead of swimming towards Bill she struck out determinedly in the opposite direction. Her long hair streamed behind her and Bill had only to reach down and grab it to haul her back. He held her there for a moment, a grin playing on his handsome features. He had her just where he wanted her. Then he bent down and plucked her from the sea as if she weighed nothing.
Angelica collapsed on the floor of the boat. All the fight seemed to have gone out of her. Bill booted up the engine, turned the vessel round and steered towards the shore. In no time at all they were ten, twenty, fifty metres away. Half-heartedly Graham and I started to swim, but we knew our chances of survival were zero.
Then, suddenly, Angelica struck. I don’t know what she’d found to use as a weapon, but it must have been good and hard. We couldn’t see exactly what happened – just a figure leaping at the pilot. He staggered, and the engine sputtered and died. She struck again. There was a yell of pain, a splash, a desperate, angry roar. Bill was in the water, trying to haul himself back on board. But the engine started again and the boat lurched sideways, out of control, out of his reach. Angelica had clearly never steered a speedboat before: it was all over the place, spinning in a circle, shooting off, turning … then heading in a straight line for the man in the water.
Bill let out a high, hideous scream, which was cut short when the boat thudded into him. He didn’t make another sound, and when the boat had passed over where he’d been, he didn’t bob back to the surface. Instead we saw red spreading across the water. It looked like someone had poured a can of paint into the sea.
Graham and I grimaced in horror but didn’t say a word: we were saving our breath for swimming.
Love Him to Death Page 7