Angela's Dead

by Lou Peters

  ‘There was nothing else of interest in there for me, so I again secreted myself in my vantage point in the undergrowth and waited for Rachel’s appearance. Fortunately, I’d not had long to wait. Once you’d nipped down to the bottom of the garden Rache, on the lookout for dirty Dick with a hot drink in your hand. I took the opportunity to go back inside, presuming you would have made yourself a coffee, as well as Richard. Low and behold there it was, waiting for me on the work top. I crumbled a few of the sleeping tablets in your cup. Gave it a quick stir and voila, you were out for the rest of the day and by the sounds of it, the night as well.’

  Rachel couldn’t believe the words coming out of Jackie’s mouth. No wonder she’d had no recollection of the rest of Wednesday. And her so called friend, had sat calmly in the cottage with her, trying to work out why she couldn’t remember, when all the time...

  ‘After you’d returned to the house Rachel, it wasn’t long, before lover boy over there, was on the move. I followed him to Brook Crescent, after firstly borrowing a hammer from your workshop. I thought it might come in handy.’ Jackie addressed the comment to Richard. ‘Hope you didn’t mind,’ she added with a sly smile. It was your actions that forced my hand, Richard...’ Jackie’s voice had risen, laced with ill disguised contempt. ‘When you entered the old woman’s house, you were as good as signing your own death warrant,’ she spat, ‘hers as well.’ Jackie took a deep breath, in an effort to subdue the hatred she obviously felt for Richard. She managed a twisted smile, her bright red lipstick and wild eyed look, giving her the appearance of the Joker.

  ‘Sure, Mrs. Smith had given me the lowdown. Unburdened herself, while dropping her daughter right in it. But I’d had no intention of revealing what I knew about Rachel’s past. As far as I was concerned, it was dead and buried. I intended to take steps, to ensure the past, remained in the past. I knew what I had to do. I was going to do my best Richard, to make sure you were going to get the blame for the old woman’s murder. Even though at that time, it hadn’t been committed and probably wouldn’t have been, if you hadn’t poked your nose in. I managed to snatch a button off your jacket, while you were miles away feeling sorry for yourself. Remember, when we were having our cosy little chat in the pub? I planted it down the alleyway adjoining the old lady’s house. I’d had every intention of dealing with you then, while we were sitting at the table by the door. Buy you another pint with a little added kick, make it look as though you’d had one too many to drink. Help you to the car just parked outside. Keep you somewhere handy until later, after it’d gone dark. Assist you in your own suicide when you’d apparently realised you couldn’t live with what you’d done to the old lady and had ended it all, by leaping off the bridge, into the river. But when I’d got back from the ladies room, after preparing your exit from this world, you’d annoyingly, already gone. That was most inconsiderate of you Richard.’

  Jackie’s voice had resumed normal tones. However, the words issuing forth from her mouth were anything but normal. They were that of a mentally imbalanced personality. Rachel wondered how she’d never seen this side of her friend before.

  ‘After spending the week-end, with the lovely Rachel,’ she smiled across at her. ‘I realised she hadn’t a clue where you’d disappeared to. I’d had to stay close, in case you contacted her. But you were never going to, were you Richard? It’s like I’ve always thought, you’re scum, not fit to be in the same room as her. But... unfortunately, you are in the same room, which leaves me with very little choice... You’re not saying a lot Richard, cat got your tongue?’

  Rachel could see Richard was experiencing similar effects as she was. His vision must be blurring, limbs heavy and useless, hearing fading fast. Although at the moment, Rachel could still hear the drone of Jackie’s voice. She didn’t know what Jackie had put in the coffee, this time, but the woman would be pleased it was having the desired effect.

  ‘Oh, I nearly forgot to tell you Rache. I moved into Rasburgh, a week after you. The same street as Ruth Montgomery, as it happens. Me and the old girl had a bit of a chat in the crescent, a couple of times. So when I went calling on her, around about ten to eight on Wednesday evening, on the pretext of borrowing a cup of sugar, she’d let me in with open arms. After she’d rummaged in her cupboards for the said item, she’d made me a nice cup of tea. Unfortunately, before the old dear had had chance to finish hers, she’d developed a really nasty headache and I’d had to leave...What’s that you’re trying to say Rache? Your lips are moving, but I’m not hearing any sound. I know it’s not your fault kid. You want to know why I moved there and gave up my job? Well... it’s because I love you Rache. I couldn’t bear it, that you’d be so far away from me. Ironic isn’t it, under the circumstances?’ She smiled sadly.

  Rachel felt the sensation of her hair being stroked, Jackie’s lips pressed against hers for a moment, in a farewell kiss. But it seemed so very far away. Everything was receding. With difficulty, Rachel focused her eyes on Richard. She witnessed an internal struggle taking place within the man. His face contorted, as he fought to get his useless arms and legs to move. He could only manage the occasional twitch, as though experiencing some sort of muscular spasm. Worn out, Richard gave up trying. He looked in Rachel’s general direction. She wasn’t sure if he could see her any longer. She sensed the man wanted her to know, how sorry he was that he’d ever doubted her. Rachel sympathised with him. She wondered how she would’ve reacted, if she’d been the one to be told Richard had murdered his childhood friend. Rachel supposed, given time to think things through, Richard would have returned to the cottage, to talk to her about her past. But the murder of the old lady had compounded her guilt in his eyes, as it would have done in hers, if Richard had been the one with the murky past.

  With her failing sight, Rachel saw Richard slump forward, across the plank of wood. Surprisingly, the board held his weight and she wondered if he was already dead. Rachel no longer had the capacity for tears. She was finding it hard to breathe. Her lungs were contracting, forcing air out and only allowing a small percentage back in. It wouldn’t be long until she joined him. Jackie placed an object in her right hand. She curled Rachel’s fingers around the wooden handle, pressed them hard against the shaft. Rachel dimly recognised the item as the missing hammer from Richard’s workshop. Jackie placed it onto the plank alongside Richard with her gloved hand.

  ‘Come on my girl, you need a bit of fresh air. I’ll finish off here when I come back.’

  In the last of her lucid moments, Rachel realised she was to be framed for Richard’s murder. Jackie was stronger than her slim frame would suggest. Grabbing Rachel under the arms, she pulled her backwards off the crate. Shuffling, the woman dragged her unresisting body, through the open doorway and into the night. The moon still shone brightly. Rachel could feel the cold Cornish air on her face. The pungent smell of pines filled her nostrils and suddenly it felt like Christmas. The two were leaving the sandy pathway. Undergrowth, snagged at her clothing, scratched her face. Jackie dragged her through the bracken and dense covering of broom bushes, which would be a blaze of yellow across the cliff tops, when spring finally arrived the following year. Rachel could hear distant cries. The calls seemed a long way behind. Jackie ignored the sounds. She continued stumbling backwards, taking Rachel with her. The immensity of the waves crashing against the rocks suddenly thundered loudly in Rachel’s ears and then... then there was nothing.

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  Tuesday Morning 15 December 2009

  The pain she was experiencing in every part of her anatomy, especially her stomach and throat, which felt bruised and raw, led her to the conclusion she’d not died and gone to heaven. Rachel relaxed against the softness supporting her back relieved to be there, wherever there was. She presumed she was alone as she could sense no movement in the room, the air heavy with silence. Vibrations came to her in waves, increasing then again receding, suggesting to Rachel there was activity not too far away. It reminded her of the rhythm of t
he sea. Inevitably her thoughts turned to Richard, to Cadgwith Cove and to the woman who had prematurely ended his life. Even now it was hard to believe what had occurred. If Richard had never bought River Cottage, would the gates of hell have remained closed? She knew what Jackie had become, but what had become of Jackie? Was she dead too, or incarcerated in some mental institution, for she was, clearly insane. It seemed Rachel’s nightmare of long ago remained with her, like an evil curse. She felt like a carrier of some deadly disease. Get too close and you become infected. Rachel knew she was feeling sorry for herself. But with Richard dead and her best friend crazy she felt she had the right.

  Opening her eyes she was vaguely surprised, or perhaps not, under the circumstances, to find she wasn’t alone as she’d originally thought. A man sat in a chair near to the bottom of the bed. His head lolled against his chest as he dozed. The daylight streaming through the window hurt her eyes and she squinted to lessen the glare. Running a hand over her face, she felt the raised scratches and abrasions on her skin. Her hands and arms also bore witness to the fact she’d been literally dragged through a hedge backwards. Well, a copse of broom bushes, anyway. The longer she was awake, the more her body was letting her know what it had recently endured. Rachel’s back and bottom felt badly bruised. She readjusted her position trying to obtain more comfort. It was a useless exercise. Her movement roused the man from his catnap. He stretched his arms, expanding his chest as he tried to stifle a yawn. Not quite managing the affect, he covered his mouth with his hand. Bleary eyed, he looked as exhausted as she felt. Aware of Rachel’s eyes upon him, he rose from the chair and walked towards the bed.

  ‘Ah, Miss Smith, you’re awake. How are you feeling?’ The man’s tone conveyed relief and Rachel presumed for him, it must have been a very long night. ‘Perhaps you would prefer it if I called for a nurse?’ Walters thoughtfully enquired.

  Rachel wouldn’t have minded some painkillers, but they could wait. ‘No Detective Inspector Walters, I think I’ll be okay for the moment, thank you.’ She tried on a smile, it didn’t quite fit. Shifting her position she winced as a wave of pain originating from her backside, surged through the rest of her body. Rachel hesitated a moment, until the sensation eased, then she said, ‘I presume you have one, or two questions for me?’

  ‘One, or two,’ the detective smiled. ‘But there’s no rush.’

  ‘I probably already know the answer but, did Richard... is Richard...’ Rachel found she couldn’t bring herself to say the word she was searching for. Although, in her head it was clear enough, screaming ... dead, dead, DEAD. Her eyes brimmed with tears.

  Walters pre-empted the end of her sentence. ‘Don’t worry; Mr. Johnson’s going to be fine. He’s in the room next door. DS Cooper is keeping a watchful eye on him.’

  Rachel let out a loud sob. The flood gates opened. Walters handed her a box of tissues. She took a handful. ‘I can’t believe it. I thought he was dead.’ Her voice was raw. ‘I was convinced of it, after I’d seen him slump forward across that plank of wood.’

  ‘He’s probably in a bit better shape than you, if truth be told. After all, he hasn’t been dragged to the edge of a cliff... He’s been asking after you, so dry your tears...’

  ‘And Jackie,’ she asked hesitantly, dabbing her eyes. After all her friend had put her and Richard through, incredibly, now she knew Richard was going to be okay, she found she still cared what had happened to her. Jack had been a good friend over the past few years, the best. Rachel remained stunned, not quite believing her actions. It was going to take quite a while for the realisation to sink in. Jackie had always been so level headed, so dependable. Rachel would have trusted her with her life. A life, the woman had nearly taken away from her, mere hours before.

  The detective inspector averted his gaze from hers and in that moment Rachel knew the answer. ‘Not so lucky I’m afraid. Miss Riley lost her footing while she was trying to roll you over the edge of the cliff. So I wouldn’t feel too sorry for her, if I were you. Detective Sergeant Cooper managed to grab one of your ankles to stop you following her. It was a very close thing. You don’t know just how lucky you are, young lady.’

  ‘I’ll have to thank him...’ Despite knowing of her murderous intentions, sadness enveloped Rachel at the news of Jackie’s demise. She wondered what had triggered Jack’s obsession and made her act the way she had. Love for her? It wasn’t a good enough reason. ‘Would you mind pouring me a little water detective inspector, I don’t think I’m able to reach and my throat is so dry?’

  Walters part filled the glass and handed it to her. Gratefully, Rachel took a long slow drink. Her mouth felt sore and tasted foul. Probably, something to do with the last cup of coffee she’d drank. When she’d finished, she handed the glass back to Walters to return to the cabinet.

  ‘How long have I been asleep?’

  ‘Well, let’s see. We got you here last night, at about nine. After having your stomach pumped out and your injuries checked and dressed... I’d say about seven, or eight hours. You don’t remember any of those proceedings?’

  Rachel shook her head.

  ‘Perhaps it’s just as well you have no recollection, with what your poor old body’s been through. But you appeared to be a little more coherent last night, mumbling something or other. I think you may have mentioned Richard Johnson’s name, once or twice.’ The detective inspector smiled again.

  Richard never far from her thoughts, the revelation had not come as any surprise. They fell into a comfortable silence for some minutes, the inspector giving her time to consider things. ‘I don’t understand why Jackie had to kill Mrs. Montgomery.’ Rachel said, when ready. Obviously, she knew a lot more than the inspector did. Even so, events had seemingly blown up out of all proportion in Jack’s warped mind. Her friend had been prepared to kill to keep Rachel’s secret safe and the reason Ruth Montgomery had had to die. Even though, in the end she was prepared to murder the object of her obsession, making it all a waste of time and of the old lady’s life. It was nonsensical. Now Jackie herself was dead. It was hard to take in.

  ‘Neither do I,’ Walters answered. ‘We’ve a hunch the old lady recognised Miss Riley, as someone from her past. For whatever reason, Jackie Riley didn’t want that past revealing.’

  Was now the time to come clean, get it all out in the open? If Rachel said nothing and Richard hadn’t revealed her heartfelt confession from the previous evening, then things could remain as they were, couldn’t they? Rachel would then succeed in not having to face the consequences of her past actions. The recent death of Ruth Montgomery seemed worse somehow, more shocking, although it wasn’t. What could be more shocking, than a ten year old girl killing her friend? The old lady had had the majority of her life. Mary McIntyre was only at the start of hers.

  ‘How did you know where to find us?’ Rachel asked, delaying the inevitable moment when she knew she would have to own up.

  ‘You can thank an amateur photographer for that. The man was in Cadgwith over the week-end, spotted Mr. Johnson by chance. Thought he’d make an interesting composition, dark and moody. He took a snap shot. It was only when he’d returned back home to Ranleigh, saw a re-run of the appeal on the TV and realised the man he’d snapped, was wanted for questioning re the old girl’s murder. Thankfully, the man called in at the police station to share his knowledge. Once we’d arrived in Cadgwith Cove, following up the lead. Parked our vehicle on the ground above the village, seen your Peugeot, and Jackie Riley’s car positioned a little way from it, we knew we’d hit the jackpot. It then wasn’t difficult to follow the trail of footprints left on the sandy path, leading us more or less straight to the cottage. While I was busy inside phoning for an ambulance and trying to rouse Mr. Johnson, Detective Sergeant Cooper was on the cliff top, performing heroics.’

  ‘I’m certainly glad you found us in time... Richard is free to go now, right?’

  ‘As free as a bird.’

  ‘Have you been able to question him, yet?’
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  ‘Yes a little. He told us Jackie Riley had formed a rather unhealthy emotional attachment to you. After killing Mrs. Montgomery, Riley was trying to frame him for the old lady’s death, to get him off the scene. Leaving her free, to move in on you.’

  Rachel shivered, at the implied suggestion.

  ‘However, after the woman realised that was not going to be possible, because you’d tracked Mr. Johnson down before she could. Riley had to revise her plan and dispose of you both.’

  Rachel recalled the phone conversation between herself and Jackie, while she’d been travelling in her car on the way down to Cornwall. She now understood the reason for the anxiety in her friend’s voice. The last thing Jackie had wanted was for Rachel to find Richard, before she’d had the chance to remove him from the equation. If she had, once Richard’s body had been discovered, Rachel would never have known that the friend whose shoulder she was crying on was the person who’d killed him. It didn’t bear thinking about.

  George Morris had contacted Walters earlier that morning. He’d told the inspector, under the circumstances he’d been forgiven for standing him up, but not to make a habit of it. The pathologist on a more serious note, had gone on to elucidate that some of the fibres found at the scene of the crime in Brook Crescent, had been matched to a sweater found in the room Riley had been renting in the same road. The guilt confirming garment had been on a coat hanger in the wardrobe. Taken away for hurried analysis, minute traces of blood had been found embedded in the fibres of the sweater, a perfect match to Ruth Montgomery’s.