Death Comes First

by Hilary Bonner

  ‘No, you mustn’t do that,’ said Charlie, his voice calm.

  ‘Yes, I must,’ she said. ‘Because I do not let you get away with this. I who have done everything you ask me. I get you your drugs. I even go to doctor and I lie. I get you everything you need. I smuggle you into my home. I know I break law. I keep you in flat for months. While you stay all day in my bed and smoke your stink—’

  ‘Skunk,’ Charlie corrected her.

  For Joyce this was yet another shock. Skunk, which hadn’t been around in her long-ago smoking days, was by far the most potent and dangerous strain of marijuana ever to have been developed. Of course. It must have been skunk Charlie had been smoking that night she interrupted him in the garden shed. That was why the effect on her had been so powerful. Skunk is known to cause psychosis. According to Monika, Charlie had been smoking the stuff day in and day out for months. If that was the case, what mental state might he be in, and what might he be capable of?

  Monika had begun to speak again. ‘Skunk. You call it how you like. It stink anyway. I look after you, Charlie. I keep you safe. Until we are able to go away together, you say. I continue work for your family, because you say if I leave it will be suspect. I spy for you. I even do what you want when you tell me you cannot go away without your son. I go along with your crazy plan to take him from the house in the night and bring him out here where you can hide. Away from everything and everyone, you say. You will tell him then about me, about us, you say. He will be fine with it. What was I doing, believing you? I am idiot. Now I will make you suffer for what you do. I report you for all of it.’

  Everything was beginning to fall horribly into place now for Joyce. Monika said she had spied for Charlie. No wonder he seemed to know so much about what she and the children had and hadn’t been doing.

  Charlie was still staring at her. She hated him now for what he had done. She hoped he could not read her mind. Finally he removed his gaze from Joyce and looked at Monika directly. It was a chilling look.

  ‘I can’t let you do that,’ he said, his voice still disturbingly calm.

  ‘You cannot stop me,’ said Monika. ‘I have car parked on the road. I go now. And I go straight to police.’

  Joyce saw the expression on Charlie’s face change. Something came over him. There was a glint in his eye she had never seen before. She hadn’t imagined, for all the ups and downs of their marriage, that she could ever be afraid of Charlie. Afraid of what he might do.

  Suddenly she was very afraid.

  Twenty-two

  Charlie moved quickly. In three strides he was across the barn and had reached Monika. In one fluid movement he lashed out with his clenched right fist, smashing it straight into her face. There was a crunching sound. Joyce thought the girl’s nose must have been broken. Blood spouted everywhere. All over Monika and all over Charlie.

  Monika did not utter a sound. Joyce saw her knees buckle. It looked as if that one punch had knocked her out cold. But Charlie did not stop.

  He swayed back on his heels, crouching as he formed a fist with his other hand, and aimed a vicious left hook into the young woman’s belly, right below her ribcage. There was the sort of noise you get when air is ejected from a rubber cushion. Monika folded like a concertina and fell motionless to the floor. Joyce had never before witnessed an act of such violent brutality. And this from her husband. A man she had always considered to be so gentle. Only now did it occur to her that he had probably never been that, merely weak. And weak men can often be the most vicious of all. And the most dangerous.

  Joyce was horrified. She heard herself screaming. She hadn’t meant to scream because of her children. Molly and Fred were still zipped in the tent at one end of the barn. Whatever they may or may not have heard before, they must have heard their mother scream. The tent opened and they both came rushing out.

  They stopped in their tracks when they saw the scene before them. Their father was standing, legs akimbo, blood on his hands, over the prone body of Monika.

  Their mother had managed to stop screaming but was looking on in horror.

  ‘Dad,’ shouted Molly, taking in the dreadful scene. ‘What’s Monika doing here? She’s hurt. Did you hurt her? What’s going on? What have you done?’

  ‘Nothing, I haven’t done anything,’ said Charlie. ‘This isn’t what it seems, sweetheart, honestly it’s not.’

  It was, of course, exactly what it seemed. Charlie was behaving like the weak man Joyce already knew him to be, although she had not imagined for one moment that he could ever be capable of anything like the display of violence she had just witnessed.

  He was desperate, obviously. Desperate and weak. What a combination.

  Charlie turned to face Fred directly and opened his arms, inviting the boy to run into them the way he always had done. After all, whatever else may have been going on in their marriage, Charlie had always been a good father. Or at least, that’s what Joyce had thought until now.

  ‘It’s all right Fred, honestly,’ said Charlie.

  Fred started to move towards him again. Then he stopped.

  ‘No, no, Dad. It’s not. You’ve got blood on your hands.’

  Charlie looked down at his hands, surprised. He rubbed them hastily on the back of his trousers.

  ‘Look, you can trust me, Fred,’ he said. ‘You know that, don’t you?’ Charlie’s glance took in his wife and his daughter too. ‘You can all trust me,’ he said.

  Joyce at that moment thought her husband was the last man in the world she would ever trust. She heard Monika moan. At least the girl was alive. The way she’d gone down, Joyce had feared Charlie may have killed her.

  It was clear that Charlie had told Monika he was running away with her. He must have sworn his love for her so that she would help him stage his disappearance. He couldn’t have done it alone. His dinghy had been left on the boat; his life jacket had been found. He had to have had an accomplice who had rendezvoused with him at sea. Was Monika his accomplice in that too? She must be a reasonably competent sailor then. Joyce wondered if Charlie had coached her, and how often she’d accompanied him on those ‘solo’ trips aboard the boat named after his daughter. This young woman who, as she said, had risked everything for him. Yet as soon as Monika presented a threat to him, Charlie had viciously attacked her. And without a moment’s hesitation. What would he do to his wife, or even to his children, if any of them presented a threat? Joyce wondered. He said he had done everything for them to be together. But that didn’t make any sense. They had been together before. Before Charlie had decided he wanted his new life!

  Aloud she said in the kindest most reassuring voice she could manage: ‘I want to trust you, Charlie. We do all need you, I know.’

  It was as if by sounding understanding she had flicked a switch in Charlie. By giving him even the merest flicker of hope she had cut through the charade of his being in control of himself or the situation.

  He sank to his knees on the wet and muddy floor of the barn, alongside Monika, and began to blub like a baby.

  Joyce knew she must seize the moment. Trade on her husband’s inherent weakness. Take the initiative while there was a chance that he might allow her to do so.

  She walked across to him and rested a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Come on, Charlie, remember JC. Let’s do this together, like we used to do everything,’ she coaxed. ‘We need to get out of here. Please listen to me. We need to get our children to safety, and we need to get Monika to hospital.’

  Charlie shook his head and did not move.

  ‘You’re not a murderer, are you?’ asked Joyce. ‘Whatever else you might be, you don’t want to be that, do you?’

  Charlie looked up at her through his tears.

  ‘I don’t know what I am any more,’ he said.

  ‘You are my husband,’ responded Joyce, although the words nearly stuck in her throat. ‘I want you to be the man I married again. Can you do that Charlie? For me.’

  Charlie stopped
crying. He seemed to be totally broken, thought Joyce. And totally pathetic. She had no sympathy for him. She had no feelings for him whatsoever. All she wanted was to be safe again, and for her children to be safe again. Particularly the two who were standing in stunned silence watching all this.

  ‘I w-will try,’ he said.

  Joyce took one of his hands in hers and half pulled him to his feet.

  ‘Come on,’ she instructed with as much authority as she could muster. ‘Let’s go home. We’ll go home and then we can decide what to do next.’

  ‘I can’t go to jail, Joyce,’ said Charlie.

  ‘I’ll make sure you don’t,’ said Joyce, who at that moment didn’t care if her husband spent the rest of his life in jail, and in fact rather hoped that he would. ‘Fred went with you of his own free will, didn’t you, honey?’

  She glanced towards Fred, who nodded uncertainly.

  ‘See – no abduction, Charlie. Molly and I came here of our own free will too. We’ll get Monika to hospital, make sure she’s all right, say she was attacked in the street, we found her the way she is. Then we’ll sort out everything else. Dad won’t pursue anything. He will have to do exactly what I say or he’ll be the one going to jail. C’mon, Charlie, let’s all go home, shall we?’

  Charlie did not move. He was staring at the prone Monika. Joyce was still holding his hand. He hadn’t done a very good job of wiping it clean. She noticed that she now had blood on her own hand. It took an effort not to snatch it away from his grasp.

  Joyce wondered how convincing she was being. It was hard to tell whether she was getting through to him. He must be seriously mentally ill, and probably had been for a long time. She tried a new tack.

  ‘If you don’t want to come, then at least let me take the children,’ said Joyce. ‘You don’t want them seeing you like this, do you? You’re in no state to look after them, that’s for sure. And you don’t want then to, uh, misunderstand about Monika. They can’t stay here with you, you must see that.’

  Charlie shrugged.

  Trying not to make any sudden movement, Joyce eventually removed her hand from Charlie’s. He allowed her to do so without protest. She turned away from him and slowly returned to the car. She opened the tailgate of the Range Rover then looked towards her children, who were still clutching each other.

  ‘Fred, get in,’ she instructed.

  Molly was looking her mother straight in the eye, seeking reassurance. With a nod and a little smile Joyce tried to give it.

  Molly gave her brother a small push. ‘Do as Mum says,’ she told him.

  Fred obediently climbed into the rear compartment behind the doggy gate that no one had got around to removing after the family dog had died the previous spring. Fred had ridden in the back many times before when the car was full. Sometimes along with the dog. That in itself was not a problem for him.

  Joyce continued to give instructions. Charlie remained where he was. Then she saw his shoulders heave. He seemed to be starting to sob again. For the moment Joyce ignored him.

  ‘Molly, we can’t leave Monika here,’ she said. ‘We have to take her to hospital. Help me get her into the car. She can lie across the back seat.’

  Molly nodded her agreement. Mother and daughter lifted Monika and half carried, half dragged her towards the car. Molly hesitated only briefly when Monika’s head rolled limply to one side, as she and her mother were manoeuvring the young woman into the back of the Range Rover.

  Joyce proceeded to climb into the driver’s seat and gestured to Molly to get in alongside her. It was then that Charlie finally moved.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Wherever we go from now on, whatever happens, I want us to be a whole family.’

  He walked towards the car. Joyce reached out to turn the ignition. She didn’t want this man with her and her children. She was afraid of him. She wanted to leave him behind. And that was exactly what she intended to do. She would start the engine and drive away. He couldn’t stop her. If necessary, she would run him over. She didn’t want her children to see that. But she would do it. If necessary, she would damned well do it.

  She groped for the key with extended fingers. It wasn’t there. She realized at once that Charlie must have taken it. She hadn’t noticed, but she supposed he must have done so while they were having their not-so-cosy chat earlier.

  ‘Give me the key, Charlie,’ she demanded. ‘Give it me now.’

  Charlie was standing by the car. He shook his head and reached for the door handle. Joyce reached for the lock. Again Charlie was too fast for her. He jerked open the driver’s door.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘You don’t go anywhere without me. None of you do. I never want us to be apart again. I’m not going to let that happen.’

  His eyes were wild. He was sweating. He must have rubbed his hands over his face, because it was now streaked with blood as well as tears. He was a terrifying sight. Joyce was now convinced that he was in the grip of a serious nervous breakdown. God knows what regular use of skunk might have done to his brain. She suspected he’d been hanging on to the vestiges of sanity during this six-month period he’d pretended to be dead, hiding in his girlfriend’s flat, smoking a hazardous mind-altering narcotic, watching and waiting, to see if Joyce would do as he had told her in his letter, and plotting his next catastrophic move when she did not.

  The scene with Monika in the barn must have pushed him right over the edge. Certainly it had driven him to a shocking level of violence. And in front of his children.

  Charlie caught hold of her arm and pulled.

  ‘Get out,’ he said. ‘I will let you leave. But anywhere you go, I go. From now on we go as a family. I’ll drive.’

  ‘All right, all right.’ Joyce wrenched her arm free. ‘We will all go together. We will do what you want. But please, let me drive. You are in no state to drive your children. Look at yourself. You’re wet with sweat, even though it’s so damn cold, and you’re covered in blood.’

  Charlie looked down at himself, raised a hand to his sweating forehead, then looked at the blood on his fingers. Again he seemed surprised. His shoulders slumped. But he was not prepared to give in.

  ‘I’m fine,’ he said.

  He took a dirty tissue from the pocket of his combat jacket and rubbed at his face in a desultory manner. There wasn’t much improvement.

  ‘There,’ he said. ‘That’s the best I can do for the moment. I’m perfectly able to drive. So move over to the passenger seat, Joyce. Molly, get out, and climb in the back.’

  ‘Charlie, no,’ said Joyce. ‘Please. I will do whatever you tell me. But please, let me drive.’

  ‘No,’ insisted Charlie, his voice unnaturally high. ‘I am not letting you drive me anywhere, Joyce. If you want to get out of here, if you want to go home, for us to take our children home and work everything out, like you said, you will have to let me drive.’

  ‘Oh no, Charlie—’ Joyce began.

  Charlie put a hand over the pocket in which Joyce presumed he’d put the car keys. ‘Otherwise we stay here,’ he said. ‘All of us, together.’

  Joyce stared at him. At this man she barely recognized. It seemed that she had no choice. She would have to take the risk. To hope that he really did intend to take her and the children home, and not to some other crazy hiding place.

  ‘All right,’ she said resignedly. She turned to her daughter: ‘I’m moving over, sweetheart. Your dad’s going to drive.’

  Molly looked as afraid as Joyce felt.

  ‘Where am I going to sit?’ she asked in a small voice.

  ‘Out you get, Molly,’ instructed her father sharply. ‘You must ride in the back with . . . with . . .’ Charlie hesitated as if he could no longer bring himself to speak the name of the young woman to whom he had promised so much. ‘W-with Monika,’ he finished with an effort.

  ‘Oh no, oh, Mum, don’t let him make me do that,’ Molly began pleadingly, and she started to cry. ‘It’s too scary.’

  Joyce made one last
attempt to avoid what seemed to be becoming inevitable.

  ‘Why don’t you follow us in your car, Charlie? Then Molly wouldn’t have to move.’

  She gestured towards the Honda.

  Charlie shook his head. ‘The police are sure to be looking for it by now, and after all this rain I don’t even think it would make the track. Anyway, I’ve told you: we’re sticking together from now on.’

  Joyce thought the police might be looking for her Range Rover by now too. She hoped so. But that didn’t seem to have occurred to Charlie.

  Mollie was sobbing quietly. Much as Joyce felt for her daughter, she knew that none of them had any choice. She could only do what she believed was for the best.

  ‘Molly, do as your father says, please,’ said Joyce. ‘We need to get away from here. It will be all right, I promise.’

  Molly began to cry more loudly. But she obediently got out of the front of the car and climbed into the back. She chose to sit at the end where Monika’s feet were, making herself small in the corner, so that Monika could remain lying along the seat.

  ‘Good girl,’ murmured Joyce encouragingly as she manoeuvred herself across the front of the Range Rover and into the passenger seat. ‘We’ll be home in no time, you’ll see.’

  Charlie climbed in behind the wheel, produced the key and switched on the ignition.

  Without another word he started the engine, reversed out of the ruined barn, along the rough track now swimming with mud, and on to the Landacre–Exford road, turning in the direction of the A38 and the M5.

  A two hour journey to Tarrant Park – assuming that was where Charlie was planning to take his family – lay ahead. Joyce was dreading every long minute of it.

  Twenty-three

  Meanwhile, Vogel and DCI Clarke had arrived at Southmead Hospital. Clarke was still talking as she pulled into the car park. Vogel had expected the DCI, who operated on a need-to-know basis, to restrict her briefing on Henry Tanner and his family firm to the bare minimum. What he hadn’t appreciated until now was just how little she herself knew.