Mary's Prayer

by Martyn Waites

  ‘But why? Why now?’

  After a long pause, she spoke. ‘When I met Charles he was rich and successful. That made him very attractive. Like I said, I knew he was gay, but it was a strictly business arrangement. We were useful to each other. But then he lost everything. I was going to leave him – but he pointed out that the people who were after him for money might also decide to come after me.’

  ‘Including Lascelles?’

  ‘Including Lascelles. Charles said our best chance was to stay together. Watch each other’s backs.’

  ‘So how did the drugs come into it?’

  She let her eyes trail along the quayside. Absently, she noticed a white car pull up and park; the lights were turned off and the driver got out. She turned her attention back to Larkin. ‘He started using. Coke, mainly. At first it was just because he was depressed. Then, like a true entrepreneur, he spotted other possibilities. He saw his way out though dealing. Our way out.’

  ‘So why did you kill him?’

  ‘Because … I’d convinced myself that what was between Charles and me was purely professional. No more. I was happy to stay with him, while he was making money. He gave me a certain status. He was handsome. And if people want to mess up their lives with drugs, that’s their decision. He wasn’t corrupting anyone – we’re all responsible for ourselves, and no one else.

  ‘And then he told me he was in love. With Danny. Not just sleeping with him – I wouldn’t have minded that – but in love!’ She gave a bitter laugh. ‘And I was overwhelmed with jealousy. I couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t the sex, we’d never had that – it was the power. The emotional power. I enjoyed knowing that I had that over him. And suddenly he no longer needed me.’ Her voice became very small. ‘I couldn’t cope with that.’

  She sighed, lost within herself. Larkin waited, she continued as if retelling a dream. ‘Then I thought; if Charles was out of the way, I could run the Newcastle end of the London firm! I knew I’d be much better at it than he ever was. And he’d become so indiscreet – he was putting both of us in danger. So I …’ Her voice faded into silence.

  Larkin stood, not trusting himself to speak. Charlotte looked at him imploringly. ‘Stephen, please – you’ve got to believe this. Once I’d been with you again, I tried to put things right. All that mattered then was you. I thought we could start again—’

  Larkin rounded on her. ‘Don’t give me that. You set me up.’ He stared at her, merciless. ‘You were good, though. You had me fooled. I always said you should have been a politician. I’ll tell you the rest, shall I? You told me you and Mary were great mates, and I would be doing you a favour – you even offered to pay me, just to make it legit. You had every angle covered. You invented Terry; you must have written the diary. All so your connection with the London firm wouldn’t be discovered by Sir James – who you also happened to be sleeping with. A finger in every pie, eh? Sir James was the one trying to unite the Newcastle gangs, and Cain was his enforcer. But you persuaded Cain to double-cross Lascelles and come in with you, Charles, Edgell and Danny – controlled by the London mob. Lascelles suspected someone was trying to rip him off, so he sent Fenwick to investigate. After that balls-up, you had to protect yourselves, so you sent me looking for a non-existent person – just to take the heat off. Trouble was I met Torrington, who gave me a photo of Mary with Danny. I assumed he was Terry; you didn’t argue in case I found out too much and it all got back to Lascelles. I was getting too close. I was thinking, and that surprised you. That party I was supposed to meet you at – you never intended to go, did you? It was just a way of getting me into the arms of Cain. And don’t say you didn’t think he’d hurt me – you knew fucking well what he’d do. I was just something else that had got in the way of you and your ambition.’

  He looked at her. She was crying, her tears flowing freely.

  ‘And don’t insult me by crying. Don’t make excuses. I’m right, aren’t I?’

  She nodded mutely.

  ‘So why me? Was it just luck? I’ll bet you were rubbing your hands with glee when Larkin the Ace Fuck-Up came back on the scene. Did you think I was so incompetent that I couldn’t hack it? Is that it?’

  She looked down, not wanting to face him. ‘Something like that.’

  ‘That’s what you’d planned to do, wasn’t it? You were going to find a private detective – either some bloke who couldn’t find his arse with both hands, or someone who could file reports any way you wanted for the right price – and then, suddenly, who should appear? Me. The fuck-up. The burn-out. Your ex-lover, and drunk when you met him. What did you think it would take? You coming on to me? Money? Whatever, your curiosity got the better of you – and that was your big mistake. Because I wasn’t quite the mess you thought I’d be, was I?’

  She was crying again now. ‘No … But that’s not the way it turned out. I fell in love with you, all over again.’

  Larkin turned away in disgust. ‘Oh, fuck off, just fuck off, I don’t want to hear that crap.’

  ‘You’ve got to believe me, Stephen. I love you. When I saw you in the hospital, I realised what I’d done to you, what I’d become. And then I knew. I’m telling the truth. I saw a chance for us, a way of us both being happy together, a future with no worries. With Charles out of the way … The drugs drop tonight was it. Just one score – that was it, no more. We could have gone away somewhere, anywhere, started again. I just had to … to get rid of my old life first.’ She grabbed him by the shoulders; he could feel her nails through his leather jacket. ‘Stephen, you have to believe me! Please!’

  He pulled her into his coat, comforting her. ‘Oh, Charlotte …’

  He had softened, found himself talking against his better judgement. Then he realised what he was about to say. ‘How can I believe you? How do I know you’re not lying? Not using me again?’

  ‘I’m not! I swear I’m not. I love you, Stephen.’

  Larkin tried to be the iceman again. ‘You never loved anybody but yourself. You were always ambitious, always wanted to come out on top. That’s all you were ever interested in.’

  She started to cry again. ‘Yes – and look where it got me!’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  The tears stopped and were replaced by a still, small voice. ‘You read the diary. You know.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I did write that diary. But it wasn’t about Mary – at least, only the beginning and the ending. It was about me.’

  Larkin was stunned. ‘You? Then – who’s Terry?’

  ‘Sir James’s middle name is Terence.’

  Larkin felt sick, as if he’d been punched in the stomach. ‘That gear – in the wardrobe—’

  ‘All mine.’

  ‘But why did—’

  Charlotte wouldn’t let him speak. ‘You said I was ambitious. That’s no secret. But like you – like everyone – I had ideals too. Once.’

  ‘You told me ideals were a luxury! One you couldn’t afford.’

  ‘Just let me finish! I was trying to justify myself – what I’d become. I’m trying to explain to you – I wasn’t like this at the beginning. Oh, I’ve always wanted to do well, better than my parents ever did for themselves, but I wanted a career where ambition and integrity could go hand in hand. That was why I chose to study Law. And then I became a solicitor. And it wasn’t all about defending the vulnerable, getting justice, righting wrongs. Far from it. Everyone I saw was on the take, feathering their own nests. And they were the ones getting on! Not people like me – I was a bloody good solicitor, but who cared about that? I began to realise, if I was going to make a success of my life, something had to give. And I knew that I wasn’t going to win power and respect by slogging away in a solicitor’s office till the end of my days.

  ‘Marrying Charles was just the first step. Then I met Sir James Lascelles – Terry. I did actually call him Terry when we were together – never in public, of course. He told me that his mother and his lovers were the only pe
ople allowed to call him that.

  ‘Anyway, Sir James found me attractive and didn’t hide the fact that he wanted to sleep with me. So I let him. He’s very influential in this city – I thought it was bound to open a few doors. And it did.’ Charlotte saw the look of contempt on Larkin’s face. ‘Stephen, it’s not as bad as it seems! It wasn’t just that. Remember, I had no love in my marriage. To all intents and purposes, I was alone. I wanted to believe that I could love someone, and that they could love me. I knew I was pretty worthless. And because I didn’t have any self-respect, because I knew I’d let myself down, I let Sir James do whatever he wanted. I let him abuse me.’

  She broke off; Larkin noticed that she was trembling. He waited for her to regain her composure.

  ‘Believe it or not, I enjoyed the sex at first,’ she said. ‘It was so wild – it was like a drug. But when I thought about it afterwards, I hated myself. I hated the fact that I allowed this horrible, ugly, fat bastard to do those things to me.

  ‘Writing that diary helped me to get it all out of my system. Free myself from it. Oh, it was also helpful as far as the thing with Mary was concerned – but that wasn’t the only reason I wrote it. Perhaps I needed to let someone know what I had been through – someone who mattered.’

  Larkin turned away from her. She grabbed hold of him, swung him round to face her. ‘You have to believe me! You have to trust me. I want to start again, with you. I need you to give me a chance.’ Her eyes were begging him. He stared into them and found, perhaps because he wanted to, the truth. All he’d ever wanted to find in Charlotte’s eyes. He relented.

  ‘All right. I believe you.’ He looked straight at her now, her mask ripped away. And for the first time in his life he saw her as she really was: pitiful, desperate, damaged. He couldn’t turn his back on her. ‘We’ll do what we can. We’ll get it sorted.’

  She looked up at him, hope glimmering through the tears, the disco lights creating a halo around her head.

  ‘Will we?’ She looked like a child who’d been expecting punishment, spared at the last minute. Perhaps she was telling the truth, thought Larkin. Perhaps on this jetty, where they’d parted all those years ago, was where life could start again.

  ‘We will. We’ll do something. Come on.’

  He put his arm round her. As they turned to walk away, their path was blocked. Larkin thought at first that the man was carrying a fishing rod, aiming to do a bit of late-night angling. Then, as he stepped into the glow cast by the disco lights, he saw who it was. Torrington. Carrying a shotgun.

  ‘I thought I’d find you together. The two of you, you’re as bad as each other. Oh, you think you’re so clever. But you’re not, are you? You, you bitch – I was tailing you, all the way from your house, and you never even noticed. You’ve destroyed my family. But you won’t destroy me. I’ve got the better of you now.’

  Larkin tried to be rational. ‘Mr Torrington, what exactly is it that you’re doing here?’

  Torrington swung the gun at him. ‘Don’t. Just don’t. Don’t say anything. D’you know what you’ve done to Carol? Do you know the state she’s in? Coming round, saying the things you said – you’ve no respect for ordinary people.’ He gestured at Charlotte. ‘And nor does she.’

  ‘Just listen,’ Larkin said frantically. ‘Think of your wife, think of Carol. Think what you’re doing to her.’

  But Torrington would not be deterred. ‘I heard her. I heard the two of you, scheming away. So she’s killed him. She’s denied me that opportunity. He deserved to suffer, for what he did to me and my family. To my son. But she got there before me. And you – you were going to help her get away with it, scot-free.’

  He swayed to and fro unsteadily; Larkin wondered if he were drunk as well as unhinged. Whatever he was, he was dangerous.

  ‘If I can’t have that degenerate bastard,’ Torrington continued, ‘then I’ll have the next best thing. Oh, yes. Either the murdering whore bitch –’ he pointed the gun at Charlotte – ‘or the big-mouthed piece of scum.’ He aimed the gun at Larkin.

  ‘Don’t be fucking stupid.’ Larkin had had enough. Pain was driving a bulldozer to his brain as he looked straight down the twin barrels of the shotgun. And up into the cold, killer eyes of Torrington, as his finger tightened on the trigger.

  Larkin knew he only had one chance. He tried to move as quickly as he could, but his battered body telegraphed his intention and Torrington neatly sidestepped, his middle-aged reflexes sharpened by adrenalin. As if it were a slow-motion dream, Torrington pulled his gun out of Larkin’s range and swung it at Charlotte. And emptied both barrels into her.

  Larkin pivoted laboriously, the jetty now molten tar. He reached out to stop the shots. Too late. He saw the bullets fly into Charlotte—

  Into Sophie—

  Cutting her almost in half, launching her off the end of the jetty, into the air and down into the Tyne—

  Cutting her almost in half, exploding in a blossoming fractal flower of red—

  He heard a loud roar, huge, full of anger and loss, and realised it was his own. He turned and faced Torrington—

  Faced Sickert—

  Walked over to him, his legs working painfully, and grabbed the gun from Torrington—

  From Sickert—

  Grabbed the shotgun from his hands, hefted it up, and brought it down on Torrington’s—

  On Sickert’s—

  – face. Then again. Then again. Tears streaming down Larkin’s face, anger and pain flooding his body, screaming at the top of his lungs—

  ‘You’ve taken my life! You’ve taken my fucking life!’

  Living every single second as if it were an hour. Oblivious to everything except revenge.

  Twenty minutes later, the police arrived and found Larkin slumped over Torrington’s prone body. He had nothing left to give.

  25: The Beginning

  He lay there in bed and stared at the ceiling. He’d been doing it for so long he knew it by heart, every contour, every slight bump. But if he shut his eyes, he couldn’t even remember what colour it was.

  He didn’t know how long he’d been there. It could have been days, or hours. When he shut his eyes, all he saw was emptiness. Dark, swirling emptiness. He had stopped dreaming. When he slept, all he saw was black. He closed his eyes. If he had no more dreams left, he might as well look back. To a few days ago, just after he’d been let out of hospital …

  ‘You didn’t have to come and fetch me, you know. I can manage perfectly well on my own,’ said Larkin, hobbling along outside the General.

  ‘Believe me,’ said Moir, ‘I didn’t do it out of compassion.’

  ‘I suppose not.’

  ‘You’ve got some very serious charges stacked up against you. Stealing police property, interfering in an arrest, assault probably with intent to kill, deliberately withholding evidence – and, above all, seriously pissing me off. That’s the worst one. Believe me, you don’t want me for an enemy.’

  ‘I can imagine. So what are you going to do with me now?’

  ‘Well,’ he said, opening the door of the Rover so Larkin could get in, ‘by rights I should take you to the station and book you.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But, I think we should talk about this somewhere quiet. Get in.’

  ‘Nice car, by the way.’

  ‘Don’t push it, sunshine.’

  They drove to a pub Moir knew, up by St James’s Park. It was the kind of place committed drinkers went to when they had nowhere else to go – which was often, to judge by the clientele.

  They got their drinks and sat down.

  ‘So,’ Larkin ventured, ‘what’s all this about?’

  ‘Shut up and listen. And don’t interrupt. I told you I don’t like journalists – and I fucking hate vigilantes. But before I moved to Newcastle, I had a family. A wife, two lovely wee daughters. And personally I was on the up – a fast-rising star in the police department. I spent all my time working, I never got to see my family. But I
didn’t care – I was on the up. I courted the right people, went to the right parties, was a member of the right Lodge. I didn’t see what was happening. I was so blind.’ His eyes dimmed for a few seconds, lost in the past. ‘My wife found it difficult to cope when I wasn’t there. You see, my oldest daughter had started running with – how shall I put it? – the wrong crowd. Sheila, that’s my wife – was my wife – asked me to have a word with her. I did, halfheartedly, but she got worse. And I couldn’t see it. One night I was down at the station, just about to go for a few drinks with the boys, when they brought in some kids from a heavy drugs bust. And there was Karen.’ He was breathing hard, the memories weighing heavily on him. ‘What could I do? Nothing. Fucking nothing. I talked to her, got angry with her, but it was no good. She wasn’t my daughter any more. She stayed away from home all the time and eventually she didn’t come back at all. We caught up with her through an old friend of hers, last year.’ His voice started to crack. ‘She’s HIV positive. Living in a squat somewhere. I don’t know exactly where – Karen didn’t want me to have her address.’

  ‘What about your wife?’

  ‘She took our youngest and went. They blame me for what happened. But that’s all right – because so do I.’

  They drank in silence. Eventually Moir managed to go on. ‘Moral of this story; look after your kids. If you don’t, there’s always some shitbag waiting to pounce.’

  He didn’t need to tell Larkin that.

  ‘I’ll be taking no further action over what you did. I’m not condoning it – I just wanted to let you know why.’

  Larkin nodded. He knew how painful it must have been for a man like Moir to confide in him. His respect for the man was growing.

  ‘But if you ever do something like that again. I’ll come down on you so hard you’ll wish you’d never been fuckin’ born.’