She put the quilted jacket on top of everything in case it got chilly high up on the cliffs. Finally, she combed her hair in the cracked and grimy mirror above the sink and examined her makeup. It wasn’t bad. She hadn’t put too much on that morning as she had intended to be out of Whitby for the day anyway, and now there was no point in standing here and washing it all off. Someone might come. Quickly, she gave her lips a dab with a Kleenex, then dashed back outside to join Keith.
“Lead on,” she said, bowing and standing aside for him.
Keith laughed. “Are you sure you’re not a spy or an actor or something?”
“Not at all.” Sue gave him what she intended to be an enigmatic smile, and they set off.
They wound their way up by the Mission Church of St. Peter the Fisherman, then followed the signs for the Cleveland Way past some farm buildings, over a couple of stiles and right up the hill to the cliff edge. The village lay spread out below them. Even though it was a clear, warm day, smoke drifted lazily from some of the chimneys. Up on the cliff top, there was a cool breeze from the sea. Pausing for breath, Sue put on the quilted jacket she’d been carrying in her holdall.
“What have you got in that thing?” Keith asked. “Your life’s work?”
“Something like that.”
The unfenced path ran close to the edge of the cliff, and the drop was sheer. After Keith had stopped to point out Boulby cliffs further up the coast, they started walking in single file. The pathway was rough, though mostly level, and they soon got into a comfortable rhythm. Keith was talking most of the time, half turning his head to look at her. He talked about how he was loving England but still felt homesick, and about a body that had been washed up on the beach at Sandsend while he was staying there. No, he hadn’t got a good look at it. By the time he had noticed that something was happening quite a crowd had gathered and the police had arrived.
Sue realized now that she would have to kill him. He was just too much of a liability to let go free. She didn’t know how the police were progressing on the Grimley investigation, but she was sure that, without Keith, they couldn’t link her to the dead man. Keith might not have seen the body, but there was a chance he might find out who it was and, if questioned, remember that strange girl who had acted as if she recognized the man…the girl who kept changing her appearance.
But she didn’t know if she could do it. Keith had done her no harm; he had only tried to kiss her. But he could give her away before she’d finished, and she couldn’t afford to let that happen—not after everything else. Grimley had been a mistake in the first place, and one that almost sent her screaming back home. Now Keith. All she had wanted to do was find the man who had hurt her and murdered the other girls and kill him, put a stop to his carnage once and for all, but she was so deep in blood already and she hadn’t even found him yet. How much further would she have to go?
With an effort, she pulled her mind back from the negative track. It wasn’t as if she had any choice in the matter, she told herself. Somehow, from somewhere, she would have to dredge up the courage. He was a man, after all, wasn’t he? When it came down to it, they were all the same underneath. Hadn’t he tried to force himself on her, and wouldn’t he do the same again? She shuddered at the thought.
It would be easy to do it up here. Just a gentle push over the edge, or quick kick at the ankles to make him stumble and fall. An accident. But it was too open, and she could see two other walkers approaching from the opposite direction. As it was, they turned out to be serious hikers with binoculars, boots and rucksacks, far more interested in distant seabirds than in fellow human beings, but there must be no witnesses and no probing, time-consuming inquest. As the men passed, Sue looked the other way. So far she was sure that nobody would remember seeing her with Keith, but there was no point in being careless.
Gulls swooped low, flashing white in the sun, and curious insects buzzed around Sue’s head. Before long, she could see the crumbling jetty of Port Mulgrave way below, and they began their descent into the tiny village. Keith wanted to stop for a cup of tea and a sandwich at the Boat House Tea Room, but Sue urged him on, saying she was still full from lunch. She was nervous now she had made her decision, and that made her cautious. When she took his hand, he gave in quite easily and they set off up the road to Hinderwell.
Soon they were on a rough track approaching a caravan site, then they turned right, crossed some more fields and walked down a steep hill to a footbridge over a beck. It was a dramatic change of landscape, from coast to inland valley. They walked through brambles and blackberry bushes, and Sue could see what Keith had meant about snagging her skirt on the thorns. Even in jeans she had to walk carefully. The smell was different here, too. Rotten fish and seaweed were distant memories, replaced by crushed berries and wild garlic in the honeyed air droning with insects.
Beyond the brambles, they entered the woods. The path was bounded on both sides by dense thickets and tall trees. They passed an elderly couple, who smiled and said hello, then after a few minutes walking in the quiet woods, Sue suggested that maybe it was time for a rest.
“But there’s nowhere to rest here,” Keith said. “Just the path.”
“There’s the woods, isn’t there?” Sue broke free and ran off through the undergrowth. “Come on, it’s nice in here!” she called back. “Cool and dark. I’m sure we’ll find somewhere to sit down.” Keith ran after her.
When they’d gone far enough that they couldn’t be seen from the path, Sue pointed to a concave patch of ground between two trees. “There. Perfect.” She sat and leaned back against a tree trunk. Filtered green light streamed down through the leaves and birds called to one another from their high nests, passing on warnings that intruders had come. Keith lowered himself down beside Sue, so close that their arms touched.
It wasn’t long before his hands started wandering, as she had expected, just touching her hair and throat at first. The tension inside her was almost unbearable, but she tried not to stiffen up. Then he kissed her. She let him. She took off her quilted jacket to make a pillow against the rough bark and he started fiddling with the buttons on her shirt. She let him. One button, two buttons, three buttons…she had one arm around him and the other groping in her holdall. Her mouth was dry and it still tasted of greasy cod. Four buttons. Now her bra was exposed and he bent forward and kissed the dark cleavage. She sighed. His fingers quickened and soon unbuttoned the shirt right down to her waist. Without bothering to take it off, he pulled the bra up over her breasts. She let him. Her free hand stroked the nape of his neck and tears ran down her flushed cheeks.
Suddenly, he froze.
“My god, Martha! What happened? What on earth happened?”
He pulled back and stared in horror at the puckered zigzags across the skin of her breasts. They looked like an old hag’s dugs, as Sue well knew. Her hand closed on the paperweight.
“Nothing,” she said softly. “Nothing for you to worry about. Why, does it turn you off?”
“Well, no,” he said awkwardly. “I didn’t mean that. I just…”
“Go on then, Keith. Go ahead. Kiss them if you like.”
She put her free hand on the back of his head and drew him toward her. As she felt him resist, she pushed harder. She could feel his oily black hair under her fingers and the strength in the knotted muscles at the back of his neck as he shoved against her hand. Tears of anger burned in her eyes. His lips brushed the dead skin where the severed nerve ends had never knit back together. He strained back, but she kept pushing him down. When his mouth reached the place where her right nipple used to be, she brought the paperweight down on the side of his head.
He didn’t jerk and twitch like Jack Grimley, and for that she was grateful. She didn’t know if she would have been able to stand that without going mad. He just slumped forward into her arms. She rolled him off and he fell onto his back at her feet. Blood bubbled over his ear through his glossy hair onto the earth. She wasn’t going to make the mistak
e of touching the wound this time. Her heart was beating wildly, but at least she didn’t feel sick. Perhaps, like everything else, murder got easier with practice.
Sue raised the paperweight again, but the sound of rustling in the undergrowth stopped her. Heart thudding, she looked up straight into the eyes of a large panting collie. The dog just stared at her with its tongue hanging out and its head cocked to one side, as if it wondered what the hell was going on. Sue felt more naked under its gaze than she had under Keith’s, and she quickly pulled down her bra and began to button up her shirt. The dog just stood there, watching her with that pained and puzzled expression in its eyes.
Then she heard a faint cry in the distance. The dog’s ears pricked up and with a final, despairing glance at her, it turned and ran off through the thicket toward two distant figures standing on the path. This place was too dangerous; she had to get out before someone else came. First, she took Keith’s Ordnance Survey guide from his back pocket. She would need that to find her way back to the main road. Then she felt for his pulse. She didn’t really know where to look, except from programs she’d seen on television, but she couldn’t feel anything on his wrist. Quickly, she hit him once more, just to make certain. Surely one of the blows must have fractured his skull, she thought. She wiped the paperweight carefully on his shirt, wrapped it in paper handkerchiefs and put it back deep in her holdall.
Next she piled all the loose brush and dead leaves she could find over Keith’s body. He looked so innocent lying there, such a babe in the woods. Then she remembered the pressure of his muscles as he had pushed himself away from her, rejected her, and that split second of balance when their strength had been equal and she had killed him. She patted her hair and brushed the leaf mold and twigs from her jeans, then hurried back toward the path. Looking behind her, she couldn’t see anything of Keith, just a small mound that looked like an old tree stump. She followed the map about three-quarters of a mile to the main road without passing another soul. Not that it mattered anyway. If anyone did recollect her, it would be Martha Browne they remembered. The police might find Keith soon, and they would make inquiries and track down the bus driver too. But it would be Martha Browne he remembered. And as soon as she got to the toilets near Whitby bus station, Martha Browne would disappear forever and Sue Bridehead would return.
At the bus stop, she caught her breath, then sat on the warm brick wall at the bottom of someone’s garden, where she watched the ants and smoked a cigarette as she waited for the 4:18 back to Whitby.
34
Kirsten
You realize it might take several sessions,” said Laura Henderson, brushing some ash off her white coat, “and even then there’s no guarantee?”
Kirsten nodded. “But you can do it?”
“Yes, I can do it. About ten percent of people aren’t susceptible to hypnosis, but I don’t think we’ll have much trouble with you. You’re bright, and you’ve got plenty of imagination. What did Superintendent Elswick say?”
Kirsten shrugged. “Nothing much. Just asked me if I’d give it a try.”
Laura leaned forward. “Look, Kirsten,” she said. “I don’t know what’s on your mind, but I sense some hostility. I want to remind you that what goes on between us in this office is confidential. I don’t want you thinking that I’m somehow just an extension of the police. Naturally, they’re keeping tabs on you, and when they found out you were seeing me they made inquiries. I want you to know, though, that I haven’t told them anything at all about our sessions, and nor would I, without your permission.”
“I believe you,” Kirsten said. “Besides, there’s been nothing to tell, has there?”
“Hypnosis might change that. Do you still trust me?”
“Yes.”
“And even if we do come up with something, even if the man told you his name for some reason, and you remember it, none of what we discover will be of any legal use.”
“I know that. Superintendent Elswick just said that I might remember something that would help them catch him.”
“Right,” Laura said, relaxing again. “I just don’t want you to expect too much, that’s all—either from the hypnotherapy or from the police.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t. Are you going to get your watch out and swing it in front of my eyes?”
“Have you ever been hypnotized before?”
“Never.”
Laura grinned. “Well, I’m sorry, but I don’t carry a pocket watch. I’m not going to make hand passes at you, either. And my eyes won’t suddenly start to glow bright red. You do need something to fix your attention on, true, but I think this’ll do fine.” She picked up the heavy glass paperweight from on top of a pile of correspondence. Inside, caught in the glass globe, was what looked like a dark green tangle of seaweed and fronds. “Do you want to start now?”
Kirsten nodded. Laura got up and closed the blinds on the gray afternoon so that the only light left shone from a shaded desk lamp. Then she took off her white coat and hung it on the stand.
“First of all,” she said, “I want you to relax. Loosen your belt if it’s too tight. It’s important to feel as comfortable as possible physically. Okay?”
Kirsten shifted in her chair and tried to relax all her muscles the way she had done in yoga classes at university.
“Now I want you to look at that globe, concentrate, stare into it. Stay relaxed and just listen to me.”
And she started to talk, general stuff about feeling at ease, heavy, sleepy. Kirsten stared into the globe and saw a whole underwater world. The way the light caught the glass, the green fronds seemed to be swaying to and fro very slowly, as if they really were seaweed at the bottom of the sea, weighed down by so much pressure.
When Laura said, “Your eyelids are heavy,” they were. Kirsten closed her eyes and felt suspended between waking and sleep. She could hear a distant buzzing in her ears, like bees in the garden one childhood summer. The soft voice went on, taking her deeper. Finally, they went back to that night last June. “You’re leaving the party, Kirsten, you’re walking out into the street…”
And she was. Again it was that muggy night, so vivid that she really felt as if she was there. She entered the park, aware of the soft tarmac path yielding under her trainers, the amber streetlights on the main road, the sound of an occasional car passing by. And she could almost recapture the feelings, too, that sense of an ending, the sadness of everyone going his or her own way after what seemed so long together. A dog barked. Kirsten looked up. The stars were fat and blurred, almost butter-colored, but she couldn’t find the moon.
She was at the center of the park now, and she could see haloed streetlights on the bordering roads. She felt a sudden impulse to sit on the lion. The grass swished under her feet as she walked over and touched the warm stone of the mane. Then she mounted it and felt silly but happy, like a little girl again. She thought of cockatoos, monkeys, insects and snakes, then she threw her head back to look for the moon again, and felt herself choking.
Laura’s voice cut through the panic, steady and calm, but Kirsten was still struggling for breath as she tried to drag herself out of the trance. She could feel the callused hands with their stubby fingers over her mouth, and she was being turned around, pulled off the lion’s back onto the warm grass. The world went dark and she couldn’t breathe. The cloud in her mind hardened and gleamed like jet, blotting everything out. She felt her back pushed hard against the grass, a great weight on her chest, then she burst up to the surface, gasping for air, and Laura reached forward to hold her hand.
“You’re all right,” Laura said. “It’s over. Take a deep breath…another…That’s right.”
Kirsten glanced around her, terrified, and found she was back in the familiar office with its glass-enclosed bookcases, filing cabinets, grinning skull and old hat stand.
“Will you open the blinds?” she asked, putting a hand to her throat and rubbing, “I feel like I’m at the bottom of the sea.” She was still gulp
ing for breath.
Laura pulled the blinds up, and Kirsten walked over to look out hungrily on the twilit city. She could see the river below, a slate mirror, and the people walking home from work. It was just after five o’clock and the streetlights had come on all over the city. She stood there taking in the ordinariness of the scene and breathed deeply for a couple of minutes. Then she sat down opposite Laura again.
“I could do with a drink,” she said.
“Of course.” Laura fetched the Scotch from the cabinet, poured them each a shot and offered her cigarettes. “Are you all right now?”
“Better, yes. It was just so…so vivid. I felt as if I was really living through it all again. I didn’t expect it to be as real as that.”
“You’re a very imaginative woman, Kirsten. It’s bound to be that way for you. Did you learn anything?”
Kirsten shook her head. “No, it all went black when he turned me around and dragged me to the ground.”
“He did that?”
“Yes, of course he did.”
Laura tapped a column of ash into the tin ashtray. “That’s not what you said before.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t you remember? Before, you could only remember up to the point of the hand coming from behind. You said nothing about being dragged down.”
Kirsten frowned. “But that’s what must have happened, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but this time you actually relived it.”
It was true. Kirsten had remembered the sensation of falling, or of being pushed, onto her back on the ground, and the soft warmth of the grass as it tickled the nape of her neck…then the darkness, the weight. “I didn’t see anything, though,” she said.
“Perhaps not. I told you this might take several sessions. The point is that you’ve made progress. You remembered something you didn’t remember before, something you’d buried. It might not be much, and it might not tell you anything, but at least it proves that you can do it, you can remember.”
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