The Chemistry of Death dh-1

by Simon Beckett

  The mention of his dead wife threw me. Henry saw my confusion.

  'Oh, I don't mean physically,' he said, irritably. 'Diana had far more class, I'll give her that. But they were two of a kind in other ways, believe me. Both arrogant; thought they were better than anyone else. Typical bloody women! They're all the same! Bleed you dry and then laugh at you!'

  'But you loved Diana-'

  'Diana was a whore!' he roared. 'A fucking whore!'

  His face was contorted almost beyond recognition. I wondered how I could have missed such a depth of bitterness for so long. Janice had hinted more than once that the marriage hadn't been a happy one, but I'd dismissed it as jealousy.

  I'd been wrong.

  'I gave everything up for her!' Henry spat. 'You want to know why I became a GP instead of a psychologist? Because she got pregnant, so I had to get a job. And shall I tell you what's really funny? I was in such a hurry I didn't bother finishing my training.'

  He seemed to take a perverse pleasure from the confession.

  'That's right. I'm not even a qualified doctor. You think I stayed in this shithole of a village from choice? The only reason I chose here in the first place was because the old sot who ran the practice was too addled to check my qualifications.' He gave a bitter laugh. 'Don't think the irony escaped me when I found out you'd been less than honest as well. But the difference between you and me was that once I'd come here I was trapped. I couldn't leave, couldn't walk into another job without risking being found out. You wonder that I hate this place? Manham's my fucking prison!'

  He cocked an eyebrow at me, a twisted parody of the Henry I thought I knew.

  'And did dear Diana stand by me, do you think? Oh, no! It was all my fault! My fault she miscarried! My fault she couldn't have any more children! My fault she started fucking other men!'

  Perhaps it was the drug heightening my senses, but suddenly I knew where this was leading.

  'The grave in the woods… The dead student…'

  That brought him up short. He looked suddenly tired. 'Christ, when they found him, after all these years…' He shook off the memory. 'Yes, he was one of Diana's. I'd thought I'd been hardened to anything she did by then. But he was different from the usual oafs. Intelligent, good-looking. And so bloody young. He'd got his whole life, his whole career in front of him, and what had I got?'

  'So you killed him…'

  'Not intentionally. I went out to where he was camping, offered him money to leave. But he wouldn't take it. Bloody fool thought it was a real love affair. Of course, I set him right, told him what a round-heeled little bitch Diana really was. We argued. One thing just led to another.'

  He gave a shrug, absolving himself of responsibility.

  'Everyone assumed he'd just upped sticks and left. Even Diana. Plenty more where he came from, that was her philosophy. Nothing had changed. I was still the village cuckold, a laughing stock. And finally, one night when I was driving us back from a dinner party, I had enough. There was a stone bridge, and instead of turning onto it I put my foot down.'

  All the animation he'd been showing seemed to drain out of him. He slumped on the chair, looking old and exhausted.

  'Except I lost my nerve. Tried to turn at the last second. Too late, of course. So that was the famous accident. Just another bloody cock-up. And even then Diana got the laugh over me. At least she was killed outright, not left like this!'

  He struck himself on the leg.

  'Useless! Living in Manham had been bad enough before, but now I looked at all the people here, my flock, with their pathetic little lives still intact, all sneering behind my back, and I felt such… such loathing! I tell you, David, there were times when I wanted to kill the lot of 'em! Every one! But I didn't have the guts. Any more than I had to kill myself, come to that. And then Mason turned up on my doorstep, like a cat bringing a bird to its owner. My very own golem!'

  There was an expression almost of wonderment on his face. He stared across at me with renewed intensity.

  'Clay, David, that's what he was. Not an ounce of conscience or thought for consequences. Just waiting for me to mould him, to tell him what to do. Can you imagine what that was like? How bloody exhilarating it was? When I stood in that cellar and looked at Sally Palmer, I felt powerful! For the first time in years I didn't feel like a pathetic cripple. I looked at this woman who'd always been so patronizing and arrogant, crying and covered in blood and snot, and I felt strong!'

  His eyes shone with an unholy light. But for all the madness of his actions, they were terrifyingly sane.

  'I knew here was my chance. Not just to hit back at Manham, but to debase, to exorcize Diana's memory as well! She'd always prided herself on her dancing, so I gave Mason her wedding dress and the music box I'd bought her on our honeymoon. God, I hated that thing! I'd hear it playing "Clair de Lune" over and over while she got ready to meet whoever she happened to be fucking that day. So I told Mason to make the Palmer woman wear the dress, and then wait outside. And I went down there and watched her dance, so scared she could barely move. Watched her humiliated! That was all, but I can't tell you how cathartic it was! It almost didn't matter that it wasn't Diana herself!'

  'You're sick, Henry… You need help…'

  'Oh, don't be so bloody pious!' he snapped. 'Mason was going to kill her anyway. And once he'd blooded himself do you really think he was going to stop? If it's any consolation, at least he didn't rape them. He liked to look but daren't touch. I'm not saying he wouldn't have got round to it eventually, but in an odd way he was almost afraid of women.' The thought seemed to amuse him. 'Ironic, really.'

  'He tortured them!' I shouted.

  Henry shrugged, but he wouldn't meet my gaze. 'The worst of it happened after they were dead. The swan wings, the baby rabbits…' He gave a grimace of distaste. 'All part of Mason's ritual thing again. Even the wedding dress became part of it for him. After he'd done something once, it was set in stone. You know the only reason he kept them alive for three days? Because that's when he killed the first one. Lost his temper when she tried to escape, otherwise it could just as easily have been four or five.'

  So that was why Sally Palmer had been beaten but Lyn Metcalf hadn't. Not out of any attempt to conceal her identity. Just the temper tantrum of a madman.

  I gripped the arms of the chair as I remembered Henry's advice to me before the police raid on the windmill. Don't you think you ought to prepare yourself? He knew they were going to the wrong place, knew what was going to happen to Jenny. If I could have, I would have killed him there and then.

  'Why Jenny?' I croaked. 'Why her?'

  He tried for insouciance, but didn't make it. 'The same reason as Lyn Metcalf. She just caught Mason's eye.'

  'Liar!'

  'All right, I felt betrayed!' he yelled. 'I thought of you like a son! You were the only decent thing about this entire rotten fucking place, and then you met her! I knew it was only a matter of time before you left, started a new life. It made me feel so bloody old! And then when you told me you'd been helping the police, sneaking around behind my back, I just… just…'

  He broke off. Slowly, so as not to alert him, I tried to shift my position in the wheelchair, trying to ignore the way it made the room swoop and tilt around me.

  'I never wanted you hurt though, David,' he insisted. 'The night when Mason came round for more chloroform, the "burglary"? I was there in the study when you almost walked in, but I swear I didn't know he'd tried to cut you. Not until I saw you afterwards, when you thought I was just coming down the hallway. And the next morning, when you found me trying to get into the dinghy?'

  He gave me a glance that held both apology and pride.

  'I wasn't trying to get in. I was getting out.'

  It was obvious now I thought about it. Both Henry's and Mason's houses bordered the lake, and unless anyone was actually looking for it, at night there was little chance of anyone noticing a small boat silently making its way across the water.

 
'I'd been to call him off,' Henry went on. 'Tell him I'd changed my mind. Took me hours, but he didn't have a phone so there was no other way. But it was a waste of time. Once Mason was set on something there was no budging him. Like leaving the bodies out on the marsh. I tried to get him to get rid of them properly, but he wasn't interested. He'd just look at you with that empty bloody stare and do it anyway.'

  'So you let him take Jenny… And you went and… and watched her…'

  He raised his hands, then let them fall, helplessly. 'I never expected it to turn out like this. Please believe me, David, I never wanted you hurt!'

  He was searching my face, desperate for some sign of understanding. After a moment I saw the hope go out of his eyes. He gave a crooked smile.

  'Yes, well, life never turns out how we want, does it?'

  Suddenly, he slammed his hand down on the table.

  'Dammit, David, why couldn't you have made sure Mason was dead? I might have taken my chances then, even with the girl! But now I don't have any choice!'

  His frustration echoed around the hallway. He passed his hand over his face, then sat motionless, staring into space. After a while he seemed to rouse himself.

  'Let's get this over with,' he said, dully.

  As he started to push himself to his feet, I gathered all my strength and lunged out of the wheelchair at him.

  31

  It was a feeble attempt. My legs gave way immediately, dumping me onto the hallway floor as the chair clattered onto its side behind me. The sudden movement had set the room spinning again. I squeezed my eyes shut as it canted at a crazy angle, any hope of rebellion swiftly ended.

  'Oh, David, David,' Henry said, sadly.

  I lay there as the floor wheeled and swooped, helplessly waiting for the prick of the needle and the final blackness that would follow it. Nothing came. I opened my eyes, tried to focus on him through the vertigo. He was staring down at me with something like concern, the syringe held uncertainly in one hand.

  'You're only making it worse. If I give you this it'll kill you. Please don't make me.'

  'Going to anyway…' I slurred.

  I tried to push myself up. There was no strength in my arms, and the sudden exertion had set my head pounding. I collapsed back to the floor as a haze began to creep into my vision. Through it I saw Henry reach down and take hold of my wrist. I had no strength to pull free, could only watch as he put the needle against the soft skin of my forearm. I tried to ready myself, determined to resist the drug even though I knew it would be futile.

  But Henry didn't depress the syringe. Slowly, he took it away again.

  'I can't, not like this,' he mumbled.

  He tucked the syringe back in his pocket. The mist was spreading across my vision now, darkening the hallway. I felt consciousness drifting away again. No! I resisted but it slipped through my fingers no matter how hard I tried to hold on. The world disappeared except for a huge, rhythmic booming. I dimly recognized it as my heartbeat.

  From a long way away, I felt myself being lifted. I became aware of a sense of movement. I opened my eyes, shut them again as a shifting kaleidoscope of colours and shapes brought a queasy wave of nausea. I fought it down, determined not to black out again. There was a bump, and then I felt cool air against my face. I opened my eyes to see an indigo night sky domed above me. Its stars and constellations seemed crystal bright, appearing and disappearing behind the torn clouds that raced across it on invisible winds.

  I breathed deeply, trying to clear my head. Ahead of me was the Land Rover. The chair was bumping towards it unevenly, its wheels crunching over the driveway's gravel. Now my senses seemed to have been honed to an uncanny clarity. I heard the rustle of branches in the wind, smelled the loamy scent of wet earth. The scratches and mud splashes on the Land Rover seemed as big as continents.

  The drive was on an incline, and I could hear Henry panting as he struggled to push me up it. He went around to the back of the car and stopped, gasping for breath. I knew I should try to move, but the knowledge didn't seem to extend to my limbs. When he'd recovered, Henry began making his way around the chair, supporting himself on it until he could transfer his grip to the car. He moved awkwardly, his legs wooden and rigid. He swung open the Land Rover's single rear door and lowered himself until he was sitting down on the back edge. He was drenched in sweat, his exhausted pallor visible even in the moonlight.

  He looked up, chest heaving for breath. A weak smile touched his face when he saw me.

  'You… you with us again?' Still sitting on the inside edge of the Land Rover, he leaned towards me. I felt his hands under my arms. 'Last leg, now, David. Up we get.'

  Years of pushing himself about in the wheelchair had given him considerable upper body strength, and he used it now to lift me again. I thrashed weakly against him. He grunted, taking firmer hold. As he hauled me from the chair I grabbed hold of the car door. I clung on to it, so that it swung with me.

  'Come, David, don't be stupid,' he gasped, trying to prise me off it.

  I kept hold, grimly.

  'Look, bloody let go!'

  He wrenched me free, cracking my head against the edge of the door. The impact jarred me, and then I was being laid out on the hard metal floor in the back of the Land Rover.

  'Oh, God, David, I didn't mean to do that,' Henry said. He took out a handkerchief, began to dab at my forehead. The cloth came away glistening darkly. Henry stared at it, then leaned against the doorframe and covered his eyes. 'Christ, what a bloody mess.'

  My head hurt savagely, but it was a clean pain, almost refreshing after the drug-induced mist. 'Don't… Henry, don't do this…'

  'Do you think I want to? I just want it to end now. That's not too much to ask, is it?' He swayed, wearily. 'God, I'm so tired. I was going to drive you down to the lake and finish this there. Take the boat over and see to Mason. But I really don't think I can manage that now.'

  He reached behind me into the Land Rover's shadowy interior. When he straightened he was holding a length of rubber hosepipe.

  'I salvaged this from the garden while you were out. Don't think Mason will be needing it any more.' The grim attempt at humour was short-lived. He seemed to sag. 'It'll be messier if they find you here, but there's nothing else for it. With a bit of luck everyone will assume it was suicide. Not perfect, but it'll have to do.'

  The light was cut off as Henry slammed the Land Rover's back door. I heard him lock it, then he was moving around outside the car. I tried to sit up but dizziness swept over me again. I put my hand out to steady myself and touched something rough and solid. A blanket. I saw there was something underneath it and with a cold shock I realized what it was.

  Jenny.

  She was huddled on the floor behind the passenger seat. In the near-darkness only the blonde cap of her hair was visible. It was dark and matted. She wasn't moving.

  'Jenny! Jenny!'

  There was no response as I pulled the blanket from her head. Her skin was icy. Oh God, no, please God.

  The driver's door suddenly opened. Henry grunted as he eased himself into the seat.

  'Henry… Please, help me.'

  My voice was drowned out as he started the engine. It settled into a dull grumble. Henry cracked open the driver's window slightly, then twisted round to look at me. In the darkness it was difficult to make out his face.

  'I'm sorry, David. Truly. But I can't see any other way.'

  'For God's sake!'

  'Goodbye, David.'

  Awkwardly, he levered himself out and slammed the door. A moment later something snaked through the gap at the top of the window.

  It was the rubber hose. And now I understood why he'd left the engine running.

  'Henry!' I called, fear giving strength to my voice. I caught a glimpse of him passing the windscreen, heading back towards the house. I squirmed around and tried to open the rear door, even though it was locked. It didn't budge. I thought I could smell the exhaust fumes already. Come on! Think! I began dra
gging myself towards the cab, where the rubber pipe was jutting through the window. The impassable barricade of the driver and passenger seats rose up before me. I tried to use them to pull myself up and felt the fog closing in on me. I collapsed weakly into the back again. No! Don't black out! I turned my head, saw the still unmoving shape of Jenny, and fought off the rising blackness.

  I tried again. There was a slim gap between the seats. I succeeded in hooking my arm through it and managed to heave myself partway up. I could feel unconsciousness hovering behind my eyes, threatening to engulf me again. I paused, my heart hammering painfully, until it had passed. I heaved myself further up, clenching my teeth as the Land Rover seemed to yaw and pitch under me. Come on! Now I was wedged partway through the gap, my chest resting on the utility box fixed between the seats. The car keys hung in the ignition, but they might as well have been a mile away. I groped for the window control, knowing even that was too far. Head spinning, I looked at where the dark mouth of the rubber pipe gaped obscenely. I'd no idea if I could reach it before I was overcome by the fumes. And even if I did, what then? Henry would simply put it back, assuming he didn't just lose patience and use the rest of the diamorphine on me.

  But I couldn't think of anything else to do. I grabbed hold of the handbrake and used it to haul myself further into the gap between the seats, and as I did I saw Henry framed in the windscreen in front of me. He was leaning heavily on the wheelchair, his exhaustion evident as he slowly pushed it back towards the house.

  I was still gripping the handbrake. Without pausing to think, I let it off.

  I felt the Land Rover shift slightly. But even though the driveway sloped down towards the house it didn't move. I threw my weight forward, trying to break the inertia that held the car in place, but it had no effect. My gaze fell on the automatic transmission. It was nestling in park as the engine idly pumped its exhaust into the cab.

  I strained forward and pushed the lever into drive.