(2011) Only the Innocent

by Rachel Abbott

  Will was on the edge of his seat.

  ‘Do you have a map of the region, and can you pinpoint the farm?’

  Tom couldn’t miss the note of excitement in Will’s voice.

  ‘No, but we could pull something up on Google Maps. I’ve got my laptop. Why? What are you thinking?’

  ‘I’d forgotten until you just mentioned it that the farm is in Dorset. Is there a pond of any sort that you know about?’

  Tom thought for a moment. He’d done a quick tour of the land with the team that had been sent to perform the search for bodies.

  ‘Not on Hugo’s land, as far as I can remember. He’s erected a secure fence close to the house - about a hundred metres away. There are locked gates in the fence that lead to the rest of his land, which extends in various directions beyond this. Once you’re outside the fence it’s pretty open countryside with nothing more than a dry stone wall between Hugo’s land and the adjoining fields. We did notice a pond close to the perimeter - just in the next field - but nothing substantial. It’s not a lake or anything, so probably not deep enough for… erm Hugo’s purposes. We talked about having a look, but not until everything else has been covered. Why?’

  ‘Ever heard of ball clay?’ Will asked, nodding his head slowly as if something was making sense to him.

  But it meant nothing to Tom, and he shook his head. Will explained.

  ‘It’s used in the manufacture of ceramics. Dorset’s famous for it. I did some summer work there when I was at university. There are several types of ball clay mine, some open, some with mine shafts like a coal mine - but I won’t bore you with the details. The interesting thing is that lots of the old mines were abandoned, and over time they filled with water. Some have been made into nature reserves, but the smaller ones were just left flooded. It might not look like much on the surface, but it could easily be very deep.’

  *

  The next few hours were tense and nerve wracking. Laura didn’t know what she wanted the police to find, and she kept going over and over in her mind everything that had happened. Could she have done something more than she did? If she had just tried a bit harder to convince somebody she was right about Hugo all those months ago, how many lives would have been saved? But she had never thought he was killing them. And she’d had other priorities.

  Tom had been closeted in the dining room with his computer and telephone for a long time. Will had joined him to help in the search. All signs of antipathy between the two men had vanished in the face of a shared mission.

  Finally, they both returned to the drawing room and sat down next to each other.

  Beatrice, Imogen and Stella had all joined Laura to offer her some support, and she was grateful, but she looked at the men and knew at once that there was news.

  ‘It appears that Will was right’ Tom said. ‘From the farm, it’s possible to go through one of the gates in the perimeter fence - if you have a key, that is - and then there’s a field which belongs to the farm bordered by nothing more than a dry stone wall. There’s been no livestock on the farm for some time, so the wall has broken down in places and never been repaired. The pond is just the other side of one of the gaps. But the local lads say it looks as if this part of the wall was taken down on purpose. Apparently it looks different when it’s just collapsed.’

  Will took up the story.

  ‘Tom’s managed to confirm that the pond is, in fact, a small but nevertheless deep old mine shaft that’s been flooded. With the aid of a wheelbarrow it wouldn’t have been too taxing for bloody Hugo to have transported a young and probably undernourished girl to the edge of the pit, weighted her down, and disposed of the body.’

  Laura gasped, and felt the colour drain from her face. The edges of her vision turned black, as if dark smoke was circling her eyes, and the sound of the voices around her became muffled. She vaguely heard Will shout.

  ‘Quick, Imo. Get her head between her knees. She’s going to pass out.’

  She felt a hand pushing down heavily on the back of her head and she leaned forward. Somebody was rubbing her back, and she took a few gulps of air. She kept her head down for a few minutes, and she could hear people making encouraging sounds. Gradually the dizziness passed, and both sound and vision returned to normal. She slowly lifted her head.

  ‘I’m okay. I’m so sorry. This is a pathetic way to behave.’ She leaned right back with her head against the sofa. She turned to her mother, who looked shocked. She would know better than anybody that Laura never fainted. She might be sick through tension, but she didn’t faint.

  ‘Do you think I could have a whisky, Mum? It’s just next to you on the tray.’

  Stella jumped up.

  ‘I think we’d all better have something,’ she said, making her way to the drinks cupboard. ‘What happens now, Tom?’

  ‘It’s too late now to do anything today, I’m afraid. It will be dark before we can set it up. We’re going to get some men down there tomorrow. Either Becky or I will keep you informed.’

  Laura knew what they were going to find, but she wasn’t about to voice that certainty. Yet more waiting. She just wanted this to be over.

  Tom’s gaze rested on Laura’s face for a few seconds. She could practically feel its warmth, and was so grateful to him for coming in person to tell her all this. He must be dead on his feet, she thought.

  As if reading her mind, he pushed himself wearily up from the sofa.

  ‘I’m really sorry that this has been so traumatic for you Laura,’ he said. ‘But I’m afraid I’m going to have to take my leave now. I need to report back to James Sinclair and try to catch up on some sleep. And I’m sure you could do without me around the place.’

  Laura tried to muster a smile for him, and made to get up to see him out.

  ‘No, don’t get up Laura. I’ve been here often enough, I can let myself out.’

  With a final sympathetic glance, he left the room.

  *

  As Laura had guessed, Tom was truly shattered. Not just with tiredness, but with the horror of everything that had been revealed. He didn’t know where this left them with the murder investigation, but for the moment it was important to discover everything possible about Hugo’s activities at Lytchett Minster Farm. The red wig was an obvious link - but not the one in Mirela’s room. That had been there for months, if not years. He was deep in thought as he headed across the hall. Much as he hated this house and the monster that it had sheltered, he was sorry to leave for Laura’s sake. He pulled open the front door, then stopped dead and swore to himself.

  ‘Shit, the laptop.’

  Closing the front door with rather more force than he intended, he made his way quietly to the dining room to collect the forgotten computer.

  CHAPTER 39

  Hearing the slam of the front door, Imogen rushed to put her arms around Laura. Will was busy pouring them all stiff drinks - not the first they had had that evening. Stella moved to the other side of Laura and held her hand, rubbing it gently.

  Laura felt sorry for Beatrice. She was getting all this support from her family, but after all Hugo was Beatrice’s brother as well. She was just about to voice these thoughts when Will suddenly banged the bottle he was holding onto the drinks table.

  ‘Right. Laura, Imogen, I want to talk to you both. Mum, Beatrice, I would like you to leave the room please.’

  ‘Will! You can’t talk to your mother like that! And Beatrice is a guest!’ Imogen said.

  ‘Imogen, much as I love you - and yes, I always have - this is not your shout. There’s something not right about all this, and I want to know exactly what it is. Beatrice, do you mind? Mum, I think it’s better for all concerned if you don’t hear this.’

  Laura felt like a spectator. Everybody had something to say, it would seem. But Will only really needed to know what Laura had to say. She felt a sense of inevitability and was just waiting for the scene to play out. She knew her part, and she knew she was going to have to play it. Her mother, however,
was clearly not following the script and was going to need some persuading.

  She watched through detached eyes as the scene unfolded.

  ‘William, I may be your mother, but I am not made of glass. I won’t shatter if I hear something I don’t like. Nothing can shock me as much as the news I’ve heard today, so I’m staying.’

  Beatrice stood up.

  ‘Come along, Stella. Let’s leave them to it. I don’t suppose for a moment we’ll ever know what’s been going on, but I for one have heard enough. Hugo was absolutely the psychotic prick that I always thought he would be.’

  If anybody was at all surprised at Beatrice’s choice of phrase, nobody showed it.

  Laura knew that it was time for her to speak.

  ‘Actually, I’d like Imogen to leave too, please. Sorry Imo, this isn’t your decision. It’s mine. Please go with Mum and Beatrice.’

  Stella and Beatrice left the room, but Imogen turned at the door and Laura could see the panic in her eyes.

  ‘Imo, he has to know. I’m sorry.’

  ‘I know, I know. Shit. Will, I don’t know what to say, but I want you to know that I love you. There’s never been anybody else. Please don’t hate me any more than you already do.’

  With a sigh, she left the room. Neither Will nor Laura noticed that the door hadn’t closed properly.

  ‘I want some answers, Laura.’ Will’s face looked as if it had been carved of granite. Every line was etched deeper, and he seemed to have aged ten years since he’d walked through the front door just a few very long hours ago. He was speaking with what appeared to be barely controlled anger.

  ‘We all now know that Hugo was a thoroughly immoral and corrupt individual. But I guess you knew that already. Is that why Imogen killed him for you? It had to be her. The police know it, but they can’t prove it. God help us all. I know she’s your friend and she loves you, but don’t you think that was a bit much to ask? Jesus, Laura!’

  Laura felt cold and strangely unemotional. So much had happened - so much that had hurt so many people. And now this almost felt like the easy bit. How many conversations had taken place in this room in the last few days? How many lives had been ripped apart? And now Will deserved the truth.

  ‘Will, shut up. It wasn’t Imogen. She didn’t kill him.’

  ‘Well if it wasn’t Imogen, who was it - because I think you know.’

  Laura took a deep breath and looked Will straight in the eye.

  ‘You’re right, I do know.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘It was me, Will. I killed Hugo.’

  *

  The room was silent. Laura couldn’t even hear the sound of their breathing, and realised that she, at least, was holding her breath. She had uttered the words, and the spell was broken, the detachment gone. Admitting what she’d done was one thing, but to explain it she was going to have to relive every moment, and that would be far harder.

  Will was staring at her with a look of utter bewilderment. She couldn’t meet his eyes.

  ‘It’s a long story. In a way, it will be a relief to tell you. But just listen, or I won’t be able to carry on. Don’t interrupt. Please, Will.’ She held her body rigid, feeling that at the first moment of weakness she would crumble.

  Will continued to stare at his sister and gave an almost imperceptible nod. Laura stood up from the sofa, clutching her large glass of whisky, and went to stand in front of the fire, drawing some warmth from the flames. She began to talk, keeping her voice steady and her emotions in check.

  ‘It was all so meticulously planned. Every single detail. The countdown started on the afternoon of the Thursday before Hugo’s death. I was at the house in Italy, of course, and I can remember checking my bags for at least the twelfth time, ticking off every item yet again from my list. Checking and re-checking. There was so much at stake, you see. I left another list on the kitchen table there, together with a small tape recorder, my passport, flight confirmation, Mercedes car keys and Stansted car park ticket. On the floor next to the table, I left a suitcase and a carry on case. I left them there for Imogen.’

  She saw Will jolt at mention of Imogen, but true to his word he didn’t interrupt.

  ‘Finally, everything was ready. I made it from the house to the car, and then I just sat there in the driving seat for ages. At first I couldn’t even get the key in the ignition, my hands were shaking so much.’ She clutched her drink tighter as the memory of that moment hit her.

  ‘Imogen was incredible; a real rock and an enormous source of strength. I knew I was making her an unwitting accessory, but I never thought it would be an issue for her because she’d be back in Canada before Hugo’s body was found. There was no way that she would be connected to it all. Her name would just never have come up, because in theory I hadn’t seen her for years. She was out of my life. She made such a huge mistake coming here, and I was livid when she arrived. She still didn’t understand, you see.

  ‘She started to visit me when Hugo had me locked up for the second time - whenever she could get over to England. We set it all up. She pretended to be visiting a sad old chap in the home who couldn’t speak, and then she’d sneak in to see me. Hugo would never have allowed her near me.’

  Laura took a drink from her glass and placed it on the mantelpiece, but with nothing to hold she felt more vulnerable somehow, so she picked up the glass again and held it between her two hands.

  ‘She knew I was supposed to be suffering from delusional disorder, and she knew what the so-called delusions were. You see I was fairly certain Hugo was taking the girls, and I told her that the only way that I was going to be able to escape this marriage was by proving to the whole world what a depraved individual he was. I told her that I had a plan. I had to get the evidence and leak it to the press. But it was essential that any revelations couldn’t be tied back to me - because I knew what the consequences would be. So I had to be able to provide irrefutable evidence that I was in Italy at the time that the news broke. That’s why I had to ask for Imogen’s help. At the time, all she thought I was going to do was follow Hugo and get some photographs. She had no idea what I really planned.’

  Imogen had been in Cannes - she had told the police the truth about that. Laura remembered very little of her drive - only that she had made it from Le Marche to Cannes in record time - just over seven hours, and no borders now, of course. That helped. She’d pulled into the car park at the Palm Beach end of La Croisette, knowing that Imogen would be waiting.

  ‘When I arrived in Cannes Imogen had organised everything. Her suitcases were in in the hire car, together with passport, flight tickets, cash - everything we’d agreed in advance.

  ‘She could tell I was nervous, because she stroked my hair and told me I was doing the right thing. If she’d known though, I don’t think she’d have helped me. She knew she was going to be breaking the law, travelling under a false passport - but she thought the risk was worth it if I could expose Hugo for what he was - or at least what I thought he was then.’

  Will stood up, and Laura realised that they had both already finished their whisky. Without taking his eyes off her face, he took Laura’s glass. She thought he was going to speak, but he resisted. As he turned his back to refill the glasses, Laura felt relieved not to have his eyes burning into hers, and so she continued.

  ‘Imogen gave me the key card to her room at the Majestic. She’d already filled in and signed the fast checkout form and left it in her room, and she was going to phone the hotel at eleven the next day to let them know that she’d just left but forgotten to hand in the form. She’d thought of everything. Then she hopped into my car as if it were the easiest thing in the world to drive through the night, back to my home in Italy.

  ‘I needed some sleep, but I couldn’t stop thinking of the bargain I’d made with Hugo. The bargain that was going to make his murder possible. I’d stopped caring about what happened to me by this time. But then I wasn’t doing it for me.

  ‘I left the hotel
very early in the morning to drive to Paris. I’d got far too much time to kill, but it was the only way we could do it. Most of the driving between the villa and the south of France had to be done overnight, so I wouldn’t be missed. I had to be ‘seen’ in the grounds of the villa - even if the person seen was actually Imogen. She was going to pick a few olives at strategic times when I knew somebody would be driving past - far enough away not to be able to make out her features, of course.’

  Will held out her refilled glass, and Laura took it, but went to sit down opposite him on the sofa. She was quiet for a moment as she remembered her drive to Paris - stopping to fuel herself with coffee, dropping Imogen’s suitcase off at the Gare du Nord, and then leaving the car at the hire company. It had closed for the night, so nobody had seen her there. And then the interminable hours of waiting, sitting in restaurants rather than the station waiting room where somebody might have remembered her, drinking endless cups of coffee. Finally, when all other options were closed to her, she had made her way back to the Gare du Nord and hidden in the toilets to keep her face away from too much public view. It had been a terrible night. But the worst was still to come.

  She swirled the whisky around the glass, gazing at it as if mesmerised by its golden vortex.

  ‘The train was booked in the name of Imogen Dubois, a name that should never have been associated with me. I used her Canadian passport to board the train. It matched the name on the ticket, you see. The photograph was at least eight years old, and could have been anybody. It wasn’t a flattering photo - how many of them are? And let’s face it - my passport photo was taken just after Hugo and I were married, and I don’t look remotely like that person now. I also had Imogen’s other passport - her UK one. That was even older and close to its expiry date. She looked very young.’