The Lighthouse

by P. D. James

  Benton swore and together they rushed to the door. Kate had the bunch of keys, but it took three seconds to identify the right one. She cursed herself for not having left it in the keyhole. Now, trying to thrust it in, she found she couldn’t. She said, “He’s blocked it with his own key.”

  Benton tore back the curtains across the right-hand window, pulled up the latch and thumped the wooden frame. The window was stuck fast. He tried twice more, then ran with Kate to the second window. This too had stuck. Pulling out one of the chairs, he battered its back against the frame. The window burst open with a tinkle of glass.

  Kate said, “You get him. You’re faster. I’ll see to the exhibits and the camera.”

  Benton hadn’t waited to hear. He had immediately pulled himself up and was gone. Snatching up the camera and murder case, Kate ran to the window and swung herself through.

  Padgett was sprinting towards the sea with Benton gaining on him, but those thirty or forty seconds’ delay had been enough. Padgett would have been out of sight if Jago hadn’t suddenly appeared round the corner of the house. The two collided and both fell sprawling. But before the dazed Jago could get up, Padgett was on his feet again. They were racing towards the lighthouse, with Benton now only about thirty yards behind. Breasting the mound, Kate saw with horror that they were too late. And there was something worse. Walking round the edge of the lighthouse came Millie. There was a second in which time seemed to be suspended. Kate was aware of the two flying figures, of Millie standing stock still, eyes wide with amazement, before Padgett scooped her up and flung her through the lighthouse door. Seconds later, they reached the door in time to hear Millie’s scream and the scrape of the bolt as it shot home.

  They stood panting. When she could speak, Kate said, “Take the exhibits to the safe, then get Jago here. He’ll need help. I want the tallest ladder he’s got, and another, shorter one to reach these lower windows.”

  Benton said, “If he takes her up to the gallery, no ladder will reach him.”

  “I know, but if he does take her up to the top, and I think he will, he’ll know they can’t reach him. But he’ll enjoy watching us make fools of ourselves. We’ve got to keep him occupied.”

  Benton sped off at once, and now there was the sound of voices. The chase must have been seen from the house. Roughtwood and Emily Holcombe appeared, with Mrs. Burbridge and Mrs. Plunkett behind them.

  Emily Holcombe said, “What’s happened? Where’s Padgett?”

  “In the lighthouse, and he’s got Millie.”

  Mrs. Burbridge said, “Are you saying he murdered Adrian?”

  Kate didn’t reply. She said, “I want you all please to keep very calm and do what I say.”

  Suddenly there was a high scream like the shriek of a gull, but heard so briefly that at first only Kate looked up. Then the others raised their eyes, and Mrs. Burbridge let out a moan and sank down, her face in her hands.

  Roughtwood gasped, “Oh my God!”

  Padgett had lifted Millie over the gallery rail, so that she was standing on the outside ledge, no more than six inches wide, clutching at the rail and shrieking while Padgett held her by the arm. He was shouting something, but the words were lost in the breeze. Slowly he began edging Millie along the ledge towards the seaward curve of the lighthouse. The little group below followed, hardly daring to look up.

  And now Benton was with them. Panting, he said, “The evidence is in the safe. Jago’s coming with the ladders. He’ll need some help with the longer one. It needs two to handle it.”

  Already they could see Jago running across the forecourt of the house. Kate said, “Go and help him.”

  Her eyes were fixed on the two figures. Millie’s frail body seemed to be drooping in Padgett’s grasp. Kate prayed, Oh God, don’t let her faint.

  And now she heard feet, a scrape of wood, and, moving round the lighthouse, saw that Jago, Benton and Roughtwood had arrived with the taller ladder. Tremlett had also arrived and was behind them with a smaller one, no more than twelve feet long.

  Kate spoke to Benton. “We’ve got to keep him calm if we can. I don’t think he’ll throw her off without an audience. I want Roughtwood and Jago to put the taller ladder against the wall. If he moves round, follow him with the ladder. Everyone else out of the way, please.”

  She turned to Jago. “I’ve got to get in. We can’t use the buggy to batter down the door, it’s too wide. Is there anything we can use as a battering ram?”

  “No, miss, that’s the difficulty. I’ve been trying to think of something we could use. There’s nothing.”

  She turned to Benton. “Then I’ve got to get in through one of the lower windows. I think it’ll be possible.”

  Roughtwood and Jago were moving the larger ladder round the lighthouse, and she followed them while they were trying, with difficulty, to set it up. At one time it slipped against the lighthouse wall and crashed to the ground. She thought she could hear Padgett’s jeering laugh and hoped she was right. She needed the diversion.

  She ran back to Benton. “You’re the quickest. Go to the sickroom and find Jo Staveley. I want the biggest tin of Vaseline they’ve got. Any grease will do, but Vaseline’s the most likely. I need plenty. And bring a hammer.”

  He was gone without replying. She moved quickly to the little group now waiting in silence by the lighthouse door.

  Maycroft said, “Shall I call a rescue helicopter?”

  This was the decision Kate had been dreading. It would be the safe choice. No one would blame her if, unable to get into the lighthouse, she called in a rescue helicopter and the experts. But wasn’t that just the kind of audience Padgett would welcome as he flung Millie and himself into the void? She wished she knew what AD would have done. She was aware of the little group standing helplessly, their eyes on her face.

  She said, “Not yet. I think it might panic him into taking the final step. If he does decide to throw her off, he’ll do it either when he has an audience or when he’s frightened.” She raised her voice. “Will the women please go back to the house. I don’t want Padgett to have too big an audience. And tell Dr. Staveley we may need him if he can leave Mr. Dalgliesh.”

  The little group dispersed: Mrs. Plunkett with her arm round Mrs. Burbridge, Emily Holcombe walking very upright, a little alone.

  And now Benton climbed the hillock carrying a hammer and a large tin of Vaseline. Kate inspected the windows. Those at the top of the lighthouse looked little more than slits, and those nearest the ground were the largest. Benton placed the ladder against the one nearest the door and some twelve feet from the ground, and climbed up. Gazing up, Kate estimated that the window was some three feet high and about eighteen inches wide, with an iron bar down the middle and two horizontal parallel bars at the base.

  Benton broke the glass and began hammering on the bars. He slid down the ladder and said, “They’re deeply embedded in the stone, ma’am. No chance there. It’s going to be a tough squeeze getting through one of the segments.”

  Kate was already taking off her clothes, leaving only her underpants and bra, socks and shoes. She prised open the lid of the tin of Vaseline and began scooping up the shining mess, smearing it thickly over her body. Benton came to help. She wasn’t aware of his moving hands, only of the cold slabs of grease spread thickly on her shoulders, back and hips. And now she became aware that Guy Staveley was there. He didn’t speak but stood silently watching.

  Ignoring him, Benton said to Kate, “Pity he didn’t grab you, ma’am, instead of Millie. We could have had that kid through the gap in no time.”

  Kate said, “If I need shoving, for God’s sake shove. I’ve got to get through.”

  It would have to be feet-first, she couldn’t risk dropping on her head. She had no idea how far down the chamber floor would be, but the lower bars would give her a hold. It was more difficult edging her body in sideways than she had thought. Benton was behind her on the ladder, holding her with strong arms at the waist, but her body was so
slippery that it was difficult to get a purchase. She grabbed his shoulders and edged herself through. There was no problem with hips or the soft tissue of her breasts, but at the shoulders she became stuck. She knew the weight of her dangling body wouldn’t force them through.

  She said to Benton, “For God’s sake push,” and felt his hands first on her head and then on her shoulders. The pain was appalling, and she felt the dislocation of her shoulder, a precise and excruciating moment which made her yelp in agony. But she managed to gasp, “Keep pushing, that’s an order. Harder. Harder.”

  And then suddenly she was through. Instinctively she grasped the lower bar with her one good arm and let herself slide to the floor. There was the need, almost overwhelming, to lie there collapsed, her left arm useless, the pain from torn muscles and the scraped raw flesh almost intolerable. But she scrambled to her feet and half fell down the single flight of steps to the bottom chamber and the barred door. As soon as, with difficulty, she’d shot back the heavy bolt, Benton came in, Staveley behind him.

  Staveley said, “Can I help?”

  It was Benton who replied. “Not yet, Doctor. Stand by if you will.”

  Staveley turned to Kate. “Are you all right, can you get up the stairs?”

  “I’ve got to. No, don’t come. Leave this to us.”

  Benton was carrying her trousers and jacket, impatient to get moving. She tried to get her arms into the jacket but couldn’t without Benton’s help. She said, “Come on, leave the trousers. I’m decent,” then heard his quiet voice. “Better put them on, ma’am. You may need to make an arrest.”

  He helped her on with these too, and half carried her after the first flight of stairs. The climb to the top storey seemed endless, the half-familiar rooms unnoticed. And always stairs, more stairs. At last they were in the final chamber.

  Benton said, “Thank God the door’s on the island side. If he’s still where he was, he may not have heard us.”

  They were on the gallery at last. The daylight almost blinded her, and she rested for a moment against the glass of the lantern, dazzled by light and colour, the blue of the sea, the paler sky with its high trailing clouds like wisps of white smoke, the multicoloured island. It all seemed too much for her eyes. She steadied her breath. There was absolutely no sound. They had only a few feet to go before they would know whether Millie was still alive. But surely, had he thrown her down, they would have heard even at this height a cry of horror from the men with the tall ladder watching from below.

  She said to Benton, “I’ll go first,” and they moved quietly round the gallery. By now Padgett had heard them. He was holding Millie by one arm and with the other was grasping the top rail as if he too were in danger. He turned on Kate a blazing look in which she detected fear and hatred, but also a terrible resolution. All pain was forgotten now in the extremity of the moment. What she did, what she said, would mean life or death for Millie. Even deciding what to call him could be the wrong choice. It was important to speak quietly, but at this height the breeze was erratic. She had to be heard.

  She moved a foot towards him and said, “Mr. Padgett, we have to talk. You don’t want to kill Millie, and you don’t have to. It won’t help you. And you’ll be sorry for the rest of your life. Please listen.”

  Millie was moaning, a low tremulous sound broken by sharp little cries like a kitten in pain. And then a torrent of words came at Kate, a spitting stream of obscenities, violent, filthily sexual, full of hate.

  Benton’s quiet voice was in her ear. “Better let me try, ma’am.”

  She nodded and he moved past her and edged round the rail more confidently and purposefully than she had dared. Seconds passed. And now he was close enough to shoot out a hand and grab Millie’s arm. He held it and began speaking, his dark face close to Padgett’s. Kate couldn’t hear what he said, but there was no interruption from Padgett, and she had a ridiculous vision that she was watching two acquaintances speaking together with the ease of mutual understanding. Time stretched, and then the talking stopped and Benton moved a little back and, with both arms, lifted Millie over the rail. Kate ran forward and, bending down, held the girl in her one good arm. Looking up over Millie’s sobbing head, she saw Padgett’s face. The hatred was still there, but there was something more complicated—resignation perhaps, but also a look of triumph. She turned to Benton, who took Millie from her, then made herself stand upright and, gazing into Padgett’s eyes, spoke the words of the arrest.

  11

  * * *

  They put him in Benton’s apartment with Benton guarding him. He sat on an upright chair, his manacled hands between his knees, staring into space. Only when Kate was in the room did he show any emotion, directing on her a look of mingled contempt and disgust. She went into her own sitting room and rang London and then the Devon and Cornwall Constabulary to arrange for his transfer. SARS or no SARS, he couldn’t be kept on the island. Waiting for a return call, she could imagine the consultations that were taking place, risks that were being weighed, the legal procedures that would have to be followed. She was grateful that the decision was out of her hands. But the risk of removing Padgett was surely small. He hadn’t been interviewed by Dalgliesh, and neither she nor Benton was showing symptoms of the disease. The call came in a comparatively short time. It was agreed that Padgett had to be moved. A helicopter would arrive in about forty-five minutes.

  And now she made her way up to the sickroom where Dr. Staveley and Jo were waiting. With Jo supporting her, Staveley pulled on her arm, and the joint clicked back into the socket. They had warned her that it would hurt, and she resolved to endure it without crying out. The pain was agonising but momentary. Almost as painful and more prolonged was the dressing of the raw patches on both arms and on her thighs. It was hurting her to breathe, and Dr. Staveley diagnosed a broken rib. That, apparently, had to be left to heal itself. She was grateful for their skill, but the treatment would have been easier to bear had it not been for their kindness and gentleness. She was trying hard not to weep.

  The removal of Boyde’s body had been done almost in silence, with only herself and Benton present and no watching faces at the windows. Today, when Padgett was lifted off, was different. Staveley and Maycroft stood at the door and, behind them, Kate was aware of watching eyes. She and Benton had already received congratulations. Residents and visitors were flushed with the euphoria of relief. The weight of suspicion had been lifted, their peace restored. Only Dr. Yelland seemed comparatively unaffected. But their congratulations, although heartfelt, had been muted. Everyone, even Millie, seemed to realise that they were celebrating a success but not a triumph. Kate half heard the murmured voices, briefly pressed the eager hands, braced herself to keep going, not to collapse into tears of pain and exhaustion. She had accepted Jo’s painkillers but hadn’t swallowed them, fearing they might befuddle her thinking. She had to report to AD. Until that happened she couldn’t relax.

  Walking back to the incident room with Benton after the helicopter had lifted, she asked, “While you were guarding him, what was he like?”

  “Perfectly quiet. Rather pleased with himself. Relieved, of course, as people usually are when they don’t have to fear the worst any more because it’s happened. I think he’s looking forward to his moment of fame, but half dreading it. He can’t quite take in the enormity of what he’s done. Prison probably seems a small price to pay for his triumph. After all, that’s where he’s been for most of his life. An open prison anyway. He was resented and humiliated from the day he was born. That awful aunt, her impotent husband—they even made him change his name. His mother too. ‘Bella,’ of course, would never have done for Auntie.”

  Kate said, “She probably thought she was doing her best for them. The usual excuse. People mean well when they’re doing their worst. Did Padgett tell you what happened when he confronted Oliver?”

  “Oliver went up to the lantern and Padgett followed. He poured out his story and all he got was contempt. Oliver said, ‘I
f you’d been a child I would have assumed some responsibility for your support. There was nothing else I would have given you. But you’re a man. I owe you nothing and you’ll get nothing. If you think a moment of stupidity with a randy schoolgirl is going to saddle me with you for life, then think again. After all, you’re hardly the son a man would be proud to own. I don’t deal with contemptible blackmailers.’ It was then that Padgett flew at him and fastened his hand round Oliver’s throat.”

  There was a silence. Kate said, “What did you say to him?”

  For a moment she was back on that high gallery, forcing her torn body to stand upright, her eyes dazzled by the shining colours of earth and sea and sky. She added, “Up on the gallery.”

  “I appealed to the strongest emotion he felt—hatred for his father. And to something else that mattered to him, the need to be someone, to be important. I said, ‘If you kill Millie you’ll get no sympathy from anyone. She’s done nothing to you. She’s innocent. You killed your father and you had to kill Adrian Boyde, that’s understandable. But not Millie. If you want to get your own back, now’s your chance. He ignored and despised you and your mother all your life, and you couldn’t touch him. But you can now. You can show the world what he was like, what he did. You’ll be as famous as he was, and as long remembered. When they mention his name, they’ll think of you. Are you going to throw it all away, a real chance of revenge, just for the satisfaction of pushing a kid to her death?’ ”

  Kate said, “Clever. And cynical.”

  “Yes, ma’am, but it worked.”

  How little she knew him in his mixture of ruthlessness and sensitivity. She recalled that scene outside the lighthouse, his hands smearing her half-naked body with grease. That had been intimate enough. But his mind was closed to her. And not only his mind. Did he live alone? What was his relationship with his parents? Did he have siblings? What was his motive in joining the police? She supposed he must have a girlfriend, but he seemed detached from all relationships. Even now, when they had become colleagues, he was an enigma to her.