by Lynda Renham
The black gloves that her uncle always wore when he went hunting slipped easily onto her hands. They were too big. She’d only loaded a gun once. Uncle Edward had taken her shooting. She’d hated it. He’d shown her how to load the gun and allowed her one shot. It had been horrible, and she never wanted to go on a hunt again. She’d make them give her the money. There was nothing wrong in her forcing them. It was hers after all and they were in the wrong for keeping it from her.
Chapter Eighty-Six
Fifteen years earlier
New Year’s Eve
Edward was livid. He hated being ripped off and that bloody vet ripped him off all the time. But he should have waited. He felt sure he’d finished the horse off. Bugger it. He didn’t want to lose Ewan. He’d speak with him tomorrow. Ewan reminded him of himself thirty years ago. He was a good bloke to have around. He’d sort it out. Probably best to leave him alone tonight to cool off, like Rose suggested.
Now this ridiculous business with Libby and that bloody Australian. He thought he’d seen the back of him. He never imagined Libby would ask for her inheritance. He couldn’t let her throw her life away on some lowlife gypsy.
‘You need to go and speak to her,’ he said to Rose after Libby had stormed out.
‘What is all this about an Australian?’
Edward sighed.
‘She thinks she is in love with this bloke. He’s been here asking for money. I paid him off to get rid of him. He’s been having sex with her, Rose. She thinks she’s in love with him. I can’t give her money. It will go straight to him.’
Rose clapped a hand to her head.
‘Oh no, Edward, why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I didn’t want to worry you.’
Poor Libby, I’ll talk to her.’
Rose stood up and was about to go to the door when it was flung open and Libby stood there on the threshold. The shotgun shook in her trembling hands. Her eyes were wide and her hair wild where she had tugged at it in her agitation. Rose stared in horror at the shotgun. Saliva dribbled from the side of Libby’s mouth and she fought to stop her cheeks twitching.
‘You can’t stop me being with Patrick,’ she sobbed, tears running down her cheeks. ‘I won’t let you.’
‘Oh my God, Libby, what are you doing?’ Rose said, her voice breaking.
Libby ripped a sheet of paper from a pad on the desk. She threw a pen at Uncle Edward and then stepped backwards with the gun aimed at him.
‘I want in writing that I can have half of my inheritance now and the other half on my birthday.’
Edward stared at the rifle. He couldn’t be sure it wasn’t loaded but he felt pretty certain it wouldn’t be. Ewan didn’t leave loaded rifles around and Libby would have no idea how to load it herself. He felt sure she was bluffing and by God, she’d pay for this later.
‘Libby, you’re angry and upset and you’ve had too much drink. It’s an exciting night and I can understand you’ve got plans for the future. We can talk about it in the morning when we’re all calmer.’
‘Sign the paper now,’ Libby screamed.
‘Edward, do as she asks,’ begged Rose.
Edward moved towards the desk.
‘There’ll be other men, Libby,’ said Rose. ‘I’m sure your chap is lovely but what future is there with a married man?’
‘If I have my money we can have a future,’ Libby sighed. ‘Why won’t you understand?’
‘You think this is right, pointing a shotgun at the people who have given you everything? You’d threaten us like this for a man you barely know?’ said Edward.
‘I love him and he loves me. He’s going to leave his wife and …’
Libby faltered. It was too hot in the morning room, she felt dizzy. Her hands were slipping off the rifle butt. She lowered the shotgun slightly so she could wipe her forehead. Edward saw his chance and feeling sure that the gun wasn’t loaded, leapt towards her and grappled with the rifle.
‘Oh Edward, no,’ screamed Rose.
He took Libby by surprise. The recoil from the shot sent Edward reeling back. Libby stumbled with the force and pain shot down her arm. For a moment neither of them could hear anything except the ringing in their ears. Libby thought she’d heard Aunty Rose scream but she couldn’t be sure. Now she stared in horror at the limp body where it had been thrown against the wall. It looked like one of Libby’s old rag dolls. They used to fall with their legs askew and their heads on one side in exactly the same way, except this wasn’t a rag doll, this was Aunty Rose.
‘Rose, Rose,’ cried Edward.
‘I didn’t mean to,’ said Libby. ‘It wasn’t my fault.’ Edward sobbed into her Rose’s blood-soaked chest, his hands clutching at her hair. His whole body shook with shock.
‘Edward,’ moaned Rose. ‘It’s going to be alright isn’t it …? Edw…’ her voice trailed off.
Libby’s hands clenched and unclenched around the rifle. Aunty Rose would be alright. Of course she would. Edward looked up, his face full of pain. His sobs echoed throughout the house. Libby wanted to block out the sound. She stared in horror at Aunty Rose’s breasts, at the blue veins that stood out. A rivulet of blood dribbled across the nipple and Libby had to fight down the acid in her stomach that threatened to pour forth.
‘Jesus. Oh Rose, Rose,’ Edward cried.
Libby looked away. She hadn’t meant to shoot her. It was his fault. All she wanted was for him to sign the piece of paper. Edward cradled Rose in his arms, her blood soaking through his white starched shirt.
‘Sign the fucking paper,’ Libby screamed.
Edward turned puffy red eyes towards her.
‘You bloody psychopath. You won’t get anything now except a prison sentence. Get out of my way. We need to call an ambulance.’
‘Don’t make me shoot you,’ she trembled.
‘I’m calling an ambulance and if that means you shoot me then go ahead.’
His words paralysed her. She couldn’t go to prison. She had to get to Australia to be with Pat. He was waiting for her. Aunty Rose would be alright once they got her to hospital. It was an accident. She wouldn’t go to prison. Surely they wouldn’t put her in prison; she was only seventeen years old.
Libby’s finger hovered over the trigger as Edward lifted the phone receiver. He was the only one who saw her shoot Aunty Rose. No one else was here. The staff had all gone home. She couldn’t go to prison. What would happen to her?
‘Don’t,’ she yelled, her hands shaking. If only she didn’t have to keep looking at Aunty Rose’s bloodstained breast.
Edward ignored her and picked up the telephone.
‘Do it,’ said a voice in her head. ‘Shoot him now.’
‘No,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t do it Libby.’
Her finger pressed onto the trigger.
‘You have to.’
‘No, don’t,’ she pleaded.
But it was too late. She’d done it and Uncle Edward slammed against the wall. His eyes were wide and accusing. She felt sure the room shook under the force. She watched fascinated as he slowly slid down the wall. The shotgun slid from her hand and fell with a thud onto the floor. The room was silent. Perspiration mixed with her tears and for a moment she just rocked back and forth.
‘Everything is going to be alright,’ she whispered. ‘It’s all going to be alright.’
She stepped closer to Aunty Rose. Her feet slid on the blood and she stared at them in surprise. She went to cover Aunty Rose’s breast but, somehow, she couldn’t do it. She touched her face and stepped back, wiping her eyes with her bloodied hands.
There was the sound of someone running into the hall and she froze.
‘Edward?’
It was Ewan. She hurried from the morning room and kicked open the kitchen door. Damn it, why hadn’t she locked the main door behind her? She tiptoed from the kitchen and out into the cold. The freezing air took her breath away. She began to run. She’d only got partway down the drive when Ewan called to her. She turned and
her eyes met his. Keep running, she thought. Everything is going to be alright.
Chapter Eighty-Seven
Present day
Libby
I can’t stand the hate in Ewan’s eyes. The rifle is so close. His finger is firm on the trigger. I can barely breathe.
‘They were good people, Libby,’ he says finally.
‘I only wanted what was rightfully mine,’ I say defensively.
‘That’s what the fucking courts are for. If you weren’t happy with Edward’s decision you could have got a solicitor. You don’t fucking kill people.’
‘Patrick was waiting for me and …’
‘Bollocks,’ he yells, jumping up. The coffee table crashes to the floor. I scramble backwards and try to stand up.
‘Don’t move Libby,’ he snarls, ‘don’t fucking move.’
He picks up the broken glass from the floor and leaves the room. I look around. It’s growing dim. I fight to release my hands but it’s hopeless. Ewan returns with a whisky bottle. He takes a long swig.
‘Ewan …’
‘You knew all along that I didn’t do it and yet you let them crucify me. You put me away to save yourself and for revenge. Revenge because I wouldn’t fuck you and because I told Edward about Patrick. That loser didn’t give a shit about you.’
‘I was seventeen, I couldn’t go to prison.’
‘I was twenty-four, you evil bitch,’ he spat in my face. I feel his saliva run down my cheek. ‘I was an innocent man and you let me go to prison.’
‘You ruined my life.’
‘How can you live with yourself? I was sure it must have been that Patrick killed them. Some plan you both had to get money that went terribly wrong and that you covered for him. I never for one minute imagined that you were capable of such horror, Libby.’
Tears prick at my eyelids.
‘I didn’t mean to kill Aunty Rose,’ I sob. ‘If Uncle Edward hadn’t tried to get the gun then it wouldn’t have gone off. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t go to prison and I knew Uncle Edward would tell them it had been me. What choice did I have Ewan? There was no other way out. I had to shoot him.’
He switches off the video machine and pulls out the tape.
‘I’m handing this over to the police, Libby.’
‘Ewan, think about this. What will it achieve now?’
‘It will clear my name Libby, that’s what it will achieve.’
My body trembles at the thought of prison. I can’t go to prison, I can’t. They’d never believe it was an accident. I feel nausea rise up and gag.
‘Jesus,’ says Ewan, pulling me to the loo.
I try to breathe normally but the panic is overwhelming me. He unbinds my wrists and opens the bathroom door. I realise this is my only chance. It’s him or me. I pretend to gag again and bend forward. I turn sharply and swing my arm, punching him hard in the groin. Ewan groans and doubles over, the shotgun falling to the floor. He tries to reach for it, but I stamp on his foot. I grab the gun and point it at his chest.
‘Kick the tape to me,’ I say, my eyes not leaving him.
His face creases in pain but he’s smiling and it unnerves me.
‘I can’t go to prison Ewan.’
‘So you’re going to kill me too?’
‘It will be self-defence. Everyone knows you’ve been tormenting me.’
‘I don’t believe you can do it,’ he goads.
I lift the rifle. What if he’d been bluffing all along? What if the gun isn’t loaded? I look into his eyes and then I know. It’s loaded and Ewan is just hoping I don’t have the guts to go through with it.
I look down at the video tape and then throw it on the fire.
‘No,’ he pleads as the plastic writhes and twists in the heat of the fire before bursting into flames, giving up its secrets and erasing the evidence that would have destroyed me.
*
Fran knocked on the door of the beach house. The house was in darkness.
‘Break the door down,’ Fran instructed the police officer with them.
‘Look Fran, come on. It’s just an anagram,’ said Mike.
‘It’s him, I know it.’
‘You’d better be right,’ sighed Mike.
He nodded at the officers. He fully expected Libby or her boyfriend to come running from the bedroom but Fran was quite right, the place was empty.
‘He’s got her at Manstead,’ said Fran.
‘Let’s go,’ yelled Mike.
Fran hurried to their car and cursed.
‘I should have listened to her.’
‘Don’t start blaming yourself,’ said Mike, placing a hand on her knee. ‘You weren’t to know.’
‘I only hope we get there in time,’ said Fran.
*
‘You’re a fool Ewan. You could have had money. Life could have been comfortable for you. Now you’ll go back to prison.’
There’s the sound of sirens and I smile.
‘Sorry Ewan.’
The sirens grow louder and the room flickers with blue lights.
I turn to call out. It’s a mistake and Ewan uses it to his advantage. The rifle is knocked from my hand and my attempt to stop him sends me falling to the floor. There are shouts from outside. I look back at the fire. The videotape is now ashes.
*
Fran turned to Mike.
‘Let’s go,’ she said.
Armed police followed behind them.
‘We’re coming in,’ Fran yelled.
‘In the morning room,’ called Libby.
Mike aimed his gun, beckons to the officers behind him and then flings open the door. At the sight of Fran, Libby burst into tears.
‘Oh God, Fran, I thought he was going to kill me. He’s held me prisoner here. I managed to overpower him somehow, but he got away.’
‘Search the house and grounds,’ yelled Mike.
‘It’s okay, Libby,’ said Fran, putting her arm around Libby’s shaking body.
‘He disguised himself. He said if I didn’t give him money he would kill me and …’
She stopped at the ringing of her phone. Fran glanced at the screen.
‘It’s Simon Wane,’ she said, reaching out for it.
Libby leapt forward.
‘No,’ she screamed.
Her hands clawed at Fran’s.
‘Libby,’ said Fran, surprised.
‘Give it to me,’ Libby screamed.
Fran looked down at her hand where Libby had drawn blood. She nodded to a policewoman who roughly pulled Libby off her. Tears rained down Libby’s face. Fran clicked the phone onto speaker.
‘Hello Ewan,’ she said.
‘Hello, Inspector. I thought you might like to hear this.’
Libby’s jaw tightened. Her voice clear and strong rang out.
‘I didn’t mean to kill Aunty Rose. If Uncle Edward hadn’t tried to get the gun then it wouldn’t have gone off. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t go to prison and I knew Uncle Edward would tell them it had been me. What choice did I have Ewan? There was no other way out. I had to shoot him.’
Fran gave Libby a sad look.
‘It’s all over Libby,’ said Ewan.
‘The Dictaphone,’ she said wearily. ‘You had it running all the time.’
‘You underestimated me, Libby. You always did.’
Chapter Eighty-Eight
Six months later
Fran watched as Libby entered the room. She looked around and her face softened when she saw Fran.
Fran nodded. Libby sat opposite and smiled shyly.
‘Thanks for coming.’
‘I just thought I’d see how you were doing.’
‘Not great.’
There were dark circles under her eyes, but she’d made the effort of putting on make-up and Fran wondered if Libby had hoped it was Ewan who’d come to visit her. Poor Libby, Fran found herself thinking, convicted by her own words on a Dictaphone and the evidence from a video hidden in the morning room of M
anstead Manor. It had been a shock to Libby to discover that Ewan had swapped the tapes. The original had been in the video player all the time. He was right when he said she had underestimated him. Fran had found the video difficult to watch during the trial and Libby had broken down several times. It had all seemed overwhelming for her. A psychiatrist testified that Libby had truly convinced herself that Ewan had killed her family.
‘It was a coping mechanism,’ he’d said. ‘It was too difficult to face the horror that she had done it.’
The jury found her guilty of one count of murder and one of manslaughter. She’d also faced a charge of perverting the cause of justice. Fran had thought that Libby was going to have a heart attack when sentence was read out. She was let off lightly on account of her age at the time of the murders and was given fifteen years, but she’d collapsed with the shock all the same.
‘It’s good of you to come,’ said Libby.
‘I always thought it wasn’t Ewan, you know, but I never for one minute guessed it was you.’