by Amy Bird
‘I’m not going to prison, you see,’ Adam says. ‘I can’t do that to myself.’
‘Why would you go to prison?’ asks Nicole.
Adam does a little laugh. ‘Because you’re so conscientious, my darling. This great passion for justice that you have.’ He bends down and stage whispers, ‘Because you’ll tell your new best friend, DC Huhne.’
Nicole shakes her head. ‘I won’t, I won’t. I promise I won’t.’
Adam nods. ‘You’re right, Nicole. You won’t.’ Adam lets Nicole see the knife. Our moment of shared secrets is lost. Nicole does not seem to understand the privilege of being let into the secret, because she starts to whimper, and shake her head.
‘You won’t get away with this. You won’t. Dan is here. Dan, call the police!’
Adam turns to look at me, his eyebrow raised in amusement. I love him. I love that look. I want to frame it forever. Adam chuckles to himself and turns back to Nicole.
‘Don’t worry about Dan, sweetheart. He is a loyal, loyal friend. And not too keen on the police.’
Yes, you see, he recognises me. My loyalty. He is going to kill Nicole and then in reward, we will be together forever. I don’t need Nicole now, we don’t need Nicole now, closeness is achieved, love is achieved – salvation is nigh!
‘You deserve each other, you know that?’ Nicole says. ‘He kills women too, you know.’
Adam looks at me again, differently this time. Taking me in. I am still the same. I still love him.
‘Is that right, Dan?’ Adam asks.
I want to tell him about it all, not the way Nicole described it earlier, but the whole plan, what Luke and I did for him, as practice, to seduce Nicole, to get close again to him. But Nicole might tell him about the first closeness. So instead I just nod.
‘That woman, in the flat, opposite where we had dinner. He murdered her,’ Nicole fills in.
Adam doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he smiles at me, like I’ve suddenly done him a favour. I smile back. Maybe he understands. Maybe he is, in fact, He and omniscient.
‘You two deserve each other. You can rot in prison together. Because they’ll know, they’ll know that you were here,’ Nicole continues.
‘Nicole, I’m not here,’ says Adam softly. ‘Just like I wasn’t there when Helen died. Jimmy is here. Dan is here. No one who matters saw me come in or go out.’
It’s okay, because I know he doesn’t mean that I don’t matter. He just means I don’t matter in this context, because I’ll never tell the police.
‘Your friend Jimmy? How do you know you can trust him? He’ll tell people. Then you’ll be done for both me and Helen. Don’t do this, Adam. We can work it out.’
‘Sure, Jimmy’s outside. He’s probably gazing at his new Rolex. And for all he knows, we’re in here, having tea. In fact, I fancy some tea. Put the kettle on, will you, Dan?’
Tea, devotion, love – whatever it is, Adam can have it. I go into the kitchen and fill the kettle.
‘You’ve got time for some tea, too, I think, Nicole,’ says Adam. ‘Or are you still off the caffeine, with the baby?’
I put the kettle into its base and flick the switch to boil.
‘So, you remember we’re having a baby, then. That you’re going to kill, as well, right?’
The swooshing noise starts in the kettle. Heat begins to rise. Little bubbles start to form, through the window.
‘Nicole, I’ve already done the logic there, remember? With Helen.’
Steam is now rising from the spout.
‘It’s like this: You can only love a baby if you love its mother. If you got divorced, she might have an abortion anyway. If it lives, it might inherit all your money.’
Bubbling and bubbling and – now – yes, boiling, boiling. I put two bags into the teapot and pour the water over them both, so that they are saturated.
Next door, Nicole has stopped whimpering. She is sobbing.
‘I thought you loved me,’ she is saying, over and over again. It is an easy mistake to make, with Adam.
‘Nic, honey, I did. I loved you so much.’ His voice waivers.
I clatter the cups and pot down onto a tray.
‘Tea’s up,’ I say. Since I’ve been in the kitchen, Adam has changed position. He is squatting down now, facing her, level with her neck. She is still bound to the chair. Her neck and her belly are exposed for incision.
‘I did, I really used to love you. In fact, what I loved then, I love even more now,’ says Adam. His voice is strong again, now he has an audience.
‘Milk, sugar, you two?’ I ask.
‘Then don’t do this, Adam. Don’t kill me, for God’s sake! We’ll work it out.’
‘I loved you in a special way, Nicole, so different from what I loved about Helen. Do you know why I loved Helen?’
I think back to the picture of the castle with the queen scrubbed out. I think I can guess.
‘Her castle and her jewels?’ I volunteer.
Adam looks at me and smirks.
‘Yeah, why not, Dan? What a lot you know about love. Her castle and her jewels, Nicole. And we already had the castle, didn’t we, when you came along? And you weren’t above helping yourself to its contents.’
Nicole is shaking her head. ‘I didn’t know. I didn’t know.’ I can imagine her thinking of all the jewels, all the diamonds, all the kitchen designs – her house and herself decorated with blood.
‘But the castle would be so empty, alone. And you were so pretty to put in it. So glamorous. My Nicole, my actress.’
‘It can still be that way, Adam,’ Nicole says.
He looks at her. He raises his free gloved hand, and hovers it above her forehead, as if to stroke her. Then he takes his hand away.
‘I can’t go back, Nicole. To that. Or to a jail. You’ve no idea what it’s like.’
‘Because you never told me. You never told me about Feltham. You never share. Just bottle it up, then act.’
‘You’d have divorced me. And taken your split of the house and my money. Don’t pretend you wouldn’t. Indecent assault isn’t attractive. Is it, Dan?’
He doesn’t wait for an answer, but carries on. ‘I’d be awful in prison, again, Nic. I attract odd people. People I don’t want. Look at Dan.’
I know I shouldn’t take offence at this. I know he is just doing Nicole one last kindness, before he kills her – make her not know his real motive. His love for me.
‘I’d be there with all sorts of people, Nic,’ he continues. ‘Horrible ones. Odd ones. Locked up, in a tiny place, with shabby clothes, and no hope. Why couldn’t you just put Helen out of your mind, like I did? Why the constant discussions with Huhne? Why did you put it all at risk?’
‘I’ll stay away. I won’t talk to her. I promise.’
‘I can’t believe you, Nic. I know you will, eventually. You’ll be in bed in the middle of night, or after we’ve made love. And you’ll think: How do I know he won’t kill me too? And then you’ll betray me. Trust me; I know who my betrayers are.’
Adam is right. Nicole lies. But who betrays him? I don’t.
‘I’m sorry, Nic,’ he says. ‘But it was you who destroyed us. Now it’s my turn.’
I expect Adam to use that moment to insert the knife, to slit down her front, to the roe. But he doesn’t. He stands up. Then he takes the pot in his gloved hand. And he pours tea all over Nicole. She cries out – the water must still be scalding. And yes, it is, because she is going red, lobster red. She cannot fight back, her hands still tied, so all she can do is shut her mouth, shut her eyes, endure it.
And then comes a voice that I did not expect to hear.
The voice of DC Huhne.
Chapter 6
It’s coming through the letterbox, her voice.
‘Hello,’ it says. ‘Mr Millard? Dan? Nicole? You still in there?’
Before Nicole can cry out, Adam fastens his hand over her mouth.
‘I got a message you tried to reach me from here, Nicole. Are
you in here?’
Adam and I look at each other. If he lets Nicole go, she will cry out. If he doesn’t let her go, Huhne will come in.
‘Go to the door,’ he mouths at me. ‘Open it, tell her Nicole has gone.’
‘She won’t believe me,’ I say. ‘She’ll want to come in, do a search.’
‘Just tell her through the door, then.’
‘She’ll force it down. They’re close, her and Nicole. And DC Huhne thinks I … thinks I did stuff.’
‘Nicole, can you shout out if you’re in there, please? Otherwise I’m going to have to force an entry.’
Adam looks at Nicole, at the knife, at her belly.
‘Take the knife,’ he orders me.
I take it. I wonder if I should be wearing gloves. Too late now.
Keeping one hand over Nicole’s mouth, he pulls up her top to expose her bump. Then he takes the knife back from me, and places it on the bump, blade against skin. I hear Nicole take in breath, see her body stiffen.
‘Still got that motherly instinct, hmm, Nic? Defender of the unborn, just in case there’s a chance you can survive?’ She doesn’t reply, but I can see he is right.
‘Very noble,’ Adam continues. ‘So, what we’re going to do, Nic, is untie your hands, but your ankles will still be tied to this chair. Then Dan is going to go to the door, while I stay here, beneath the table, with the knife held just here. And then I’m going to take my hand away from your mouth, Nic,’ says Adam, so softly I have to strain to hear. ‘And when I do so, you’re not going to scream. You’re going to say, very loudly and firmly, ‘It’s okay, DC Huhne, I’m here and I’m fine. I’m through here.’ He presses the knife harder onto her belly. He pierces the skin. ‘A little bit of acting. Okay?’ he asks.
She nods her head slightly.
‘And when DC Huhne comes through here, you’re going to say everything is fine, and you’re not going to give me away, are you? You’re going to say that Helen was killed by accident. Okay?’ More pressure from the knife. She nods.
Outside, DC Huhne is still hammering on the door.
Adam applies the knife firmly to Nicole’s stomach. He takes his hand away from Nicole’s mouth. She doesn’t scream. Satisfied, he takes his place under the table. His altar. He is completely hidden by the voluminous tablecloth. Then, presumably after more pressure from the knife, Nicole calls out, ‘It’s fine, DC Huhne. Dan’s coming to let you in.’
‘And what do I say about the fact I’m covered in tea?’ Nicole asks quietly.
‘Nothing,’ says Adam, from under the table.
‘And what if I say to Dan that I’ll tell Huhne about the girl in the flats if he doesn’t tell her everything?’ asks Nicole.
The answer is her wince and silent exclamation. The knife is doing its work.
I walk along the corridor as I’ve been told.
‘I couldn’t find the keys,’ I shout, jangling them around. You can hear keys on the other side of a door. I know, from Feltham.
I wonder, when I get to the front door, if back in the dining room Adam is concerned whether his trust in me is well placed. Or his trust in the knife.
Chapter 7
When I open the door, I see I was right to think that Huhne wouldn’t trust me. Her eyes narrow as soon as she sees me.
‘What kept you, Mr Millard?’ she asks. ‘Busy drawing?’
Oh. The picture. Of Huhne’s family dying. I’d forgotten about that. I rather wish I hadn’t done that now.
She pushes pass me, shoving something into my chest as she does so. It’s a ball of paper. The picture. I let it drop.
‘I couldn’t find the keys,’ I repeat, sticking to my story, following her.
‘You and your keys,’ she says, as if we have an in-joke.
The only joke we would have about keys is if she has found Ally’s, in my stuff. And that wouldn’t be funny.
‘Where’s Nicole?’ asks Huhne. She continues down the hall to the kitchen, towards the partially bound, indirectly gagged Nicole. Will Huhne notice? Shall I tell her? I could do a big reveal: beneath that table, DC Huhne, is a wife killer.
‘She’s through here.’ I push past her, lead the way. Huhne follows, close behind.
I enter the room first. Nicole wears a fixed Broadway smile. I stand to one side to let Huhne experience it.
‘See, DC Huhne,’ says Nicole. ‘I’m fine. Dan’s just been feeding me dinner.’
Huhne nods. I see her eyes flick over the balls of spat-out fish fingers spread over the table, and the sabre. Then I see her see the tea stains on Nicole’s top.
‘What’s happened to you?’ Huhne asks. ‘Spilt something?’
‘Nothing,’ says Nicole, as she’s been told.
‘Right,’ says Huhne. ‘If you say so. Any food left?’ she asks.
‘No,’ I say, as Nicole says, ‘Yes.’
I see Nicole wince slightly, then change her answer to ‘No’.
DC Huhne is clearly a woman who believes in taking the first answer, because she sits down at the table, taking my place. Her feet, with their nail, must be almost brushing against Adam as she puts them under the table. I stay standing.
‘Fish fingers, is it?’ asks DC Huhne. ‘My favourite.’
She picks one up from my plate, and bites into it. Nicole and I watch her.
‘So, Nicole,’ says DC Huhne, fake-conversationally, ‘what was it you wanted to talk about?’
Nicole is doing the fake smile again.
‘I got it wrong, DC Huhne. Dan’s not a killer,’ Nicole says.
I look at DC Huhne. She looks at me. We share a moment. One I do not want.
‘No?’ says DC Huhne.
‘No,’ says Nicole.
I don’t know if we’re talking about Helen or Ally. How many of her suspicions has Nicole already shared? Which ones is she now trying to set aside?
DC Huhne leans forward across the table. I look at her feet, to see if they have edged further under the table. No. She has moved them back. The nail sticks out of the heel, ready to snag anything close to it. I think of Adam, under the table, preparing to be crucified.
‘So,’ says DC Huhne, ‘is someone else on the hook?’
Nicole now could end it all. She could say Adam’s name. Would he then stab her in the stomach? Or would he leap up, from under the table, proclaim his innocence or kill us all, or both? Will he not do that anyway, eventually?
Nicole must be having the same thoughts, because she remains silent. Then she gasps. Adam is making choices for her.
‘I got it wrong,’ says Nicole. ‘It wasn’t a murder, it was an accident.’
Helen, then. We are still talking about Helen.
‘Really?’ says DC Huhne, nodding. ‘And how did you deduce that?’
‘Dan told me,’ says Nicole.
DC Huhne raises an eyebrow. ‘We should have you on the force, Nicole. Your powers of investigation would be unrivalled. Twinned with Mr Millard’s research tools, you’d be unstoppable.’ She has been taking sarcasm classes from DS Pearce.
‘And he showed me his diary,’ Nicole adds.
No. No, that is not right or good. DC Huhne is not the target audience for book three. Nicole should not say that. I will Adam to ply the knife, to silence her, to stop the word-of-mouth spread for a book that was never meant to emerge into the world.
DC Huhne turns to me.
‘A diary, Mr Millard? I thought you wrote picture books. Was it a work of fiction or is there a bit of contemporaneous fact in there? Help us all stick to reality?’
I should have a lawyer, I should not be interrogated. I cannot confess to the diary. If she reads the diary, she will not understand. She is a narrow woman, narrower than Nicole. She sees right and wrong, and she enforces the law. She does not, I am sure, understand love.
So I shrug. That seems the best answer.
‘Oh, Mr Millard, don’t be coy. I’d love to see some of your writing. Or perhaps, some more of your writing. To go with my lovely picture.�
��
Again, there is a moment. I think of Luke, of his writing, the note, left behind. She, I am sure, thinks of it too.
‘DC Huhne,’ says Nicole, ‘it’s fine. Adam wasn’t the one to kill Helen. He writes a diary. That’s not a crime. I’M BOUND to say – ah!’
We both noticed Nicole’s word play, her emphasis. But Adam reacted first.
‘What I mean, DC Huhne,’ says Nicole, her voice shaking, ‘is that you should leave. It’s late. I’m fine. Dan is taking care of me. Adam will be along to get me soon.’
Which is true, of course. Because once DC Huhne has gone, Adam will get Nicole.
DC Huhne nods. She rises to her feet. The napkin floats from her lap. If she bends down to pick it up, she will be level with Adam. Any move by him to suppress Nicole will be obvious. Nicole sits up straighter, as far as her restraints will allow.
I spring round the table. ‘Allow me!’ I say, snatching up the napkin.
Nicole slumps in her chair as Huhne stands up.
DC Huhne pauses, and takes the napkin from me. Rather than put it bag on the table, she puts it in those deep mac pockets. I see it featuring in court, as an exhibit, next to another napkin, with writing on. I wonder if the judge will like the floral decoration, whether shared taste would make the sentence more lenient.
Huhne looks at me. I doubt I’ll have to wait long to find out.
‘Well, I’m glad you’re safe, Nicole.’ Huhne turns to me. ‘I’ll take my leave then, for now, Mr Millard.’
Huhne walks out of the room, back into the corridor. I follow her, with some notion of playing host. Her left heel clacks against the floor.
‘You should get that fixed, DC Huhne,’ I say.
‘I’ve got other priorities, right now, Mr Millard,’ she replies, approaching the front door. She lets herself out, without needing keys.
‘It’s on the latch,’ I say, too late.
DC Huhne steps over the threshold.
‘This is not the end, Mr Millard,’ she says.
I have just shut the door when, from the kitchen, there is a crash and a scream.