The Evil Beneath

by A J Waines

  My eyes darted around me in a futile bid to try to find something I could use as a weapon, but I didn’t have time. Lynn kicked my shin hard, then knelt down, her face right next to mine filling up all the space with a blurred leering image. I wriggled and kicked out, but I was trapped under Billy and my arms were going numb.

  Come on, think. There has to be something. Use your knowledge, Juliet. Use your experience. My mind kept being tugged back to Billy. He was the weak link. So far, he’d followed Lynn’s instructions, but he hadn’t hurt me. He hadn’t acted independently. He was my one final unexplored point of leverage. I had to win him over. Think. Pull it together.

  I knew there was one difference between the other women they’d killed and me - and that was we’d already met at the police station. We’d spoken. We’d made a connection. A connection! Suddenly, an idea came to me.

  ‘Billy, do you remember me?’

  He looked confused.

  ‘Do you remember you were in a room and there was music playing? You remember the Federal Jackdaws, Billy?’

  His face brightened up. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Which song is your favourite?’

  ‘COME ON, Billy, let’s get this over with,’ said Lynn, her hands closing in around my neck. Instead, he straightened up and sat back on his haunches.

  ‘Special People, he said.

  Without his weight on my shoulders, I was able to work my hands free.

  ‘Billy!’ screamed his mother.

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ I said. ‘I like that one, too. How about Body-Snatchers?’ I’d been cursing that song for days; it had been jangling over and over on a loop inside my head. I now had all my hopes pinned on it saving my life.

  Billy took hold of his mother fingers and pulled them away from my neck ‘In a minute, Mum,’ he said.

  Here goes. It was my final hope. My last chance to try to swing things in my favour. I started singing the song, hoping with all my might that he’d recognise the wobbly, breathy sound; hoping he’d respond, even if it only bought me more time. He started bouncing his head.

  ‘BILLY!’ shouted Lynn, she tried to make his hands press down on my arms, but I had twisted round and was clapping now, my legs still trapped under him on the floor. Billy ignored her. His irises were floating under his eyelids and he was rocking now to the beat. He saw me clapping and joined in. At least he was now doing something else with his hands. Lynn got to her feet, pulled my hair out from under my head and stamped her foot on it. I cried out in pain and stopped clapping.

  ‘No, Mum - good song,’ he said. He stretched upwards. He was trying to make her clap and she flapped him away. She wasn’t having any of it.

  ‘Stupid boy - what are you doing?!’

  She shifted her foot from my hair and knelt down, sliding her hands around my neck again in one slick movement. She meant business this time. Her vice-like grip was crushing my windpipe. I started gagging and kicking my legs, writhing like a beetle. I was slapping my hand on the floor, barely able to breathe, but desperate to keep the beat going.

  Billy took hold of his mother’s hands and tried to prise them from my neck. At the same time, I shoved her hard. The combined weight of the two of us was enough to push Lynn aside and I managed to wriggle out from between Billy’s knees. Lynn shook herself lose and instantly gave Billy a hard slap across the face.

  ‘Leave him alone,’ I shouted. I started running towards the stairs, desperate to find some place of respite until Angela got back. I had to pray that she wasn’t part of this murderous campaign, but I had no way of knowing. Lynn was already right behind me, lashing out with well-placed fists on my shoulders. I turned to fend her off, but she bundled me between two boat racks, trapping me so she could punch me as hard as she liked. I was helpless: she was too big and strong for me.

  ‘Get the keys from her pocket,’ I screamed at Billy. ‘Get the door open.’ I was trying to break free as Lynn continued to batter my face, chest and solar plexus. I bent away from her, my head down, trying to protect myself and suddenly she landed a solid punch in my spleen. I felt an excruciating pain in my side and hit the floor again. Lynn was on top of me ready to smash my face into the floor. She’d pulled my arms behind my back so I had no way of defending myself. I held my breath, waiting for the searing pain I knew would shoot through my front teeth, as they crunched against the hard surface. I waited. Waited.

  Nothing happened. Instead, there was a kafuffle behind me and next thing I knew, Lynn’s head crashed down beside mine pressed to the floor. Billy was on top of her holding her down. He’d left the keys on the floor beside me. I struggled to my feet and rushed to the front door.

  I ran out down to the river, still clutching the keys, desperate to find a passer-by. Angela hadn’t returned, but a boat was heading towards the embankment. I rushed up behind two men walking a collie dog, but before I opened my mouth, I saw Brad followed by three uniformed officers, sprinting my way.

  ‘In there, quick,’ I shouted, dragging his arm.

  They disappeared into the boathouse and I left them to do their job. I collapsed against a wall, breathing hard, wiping blood from my face. I was shattered.

  Lynn and Billy both emerged a few moments later, their hands behind their backs, already cuffed.

  ‘She planned it all… the fire…the murders…everything,’ I croaked.

  ‘Okay, guys, you can take it from here,’ said Brad. The three officers led them both towards a police van parked on the boat ramp.

  Brad stared at my battered face and mottled neck. ‘Hell - you look dreadful. Are you okay?’ He took his handkerchief and wiped the blood from under my nose. A female police officer came up to me, holding a blanket.

  My stomach churned as I conjured up an image of the sodden bundle of clothes being regurgitated from the sewer, as though from the belly of a giant whale. I knew it could have been me.

  ‘Lynn’s daughter, Angela, is out there on a boat,’ I said, pointing to the river. He turned and squinted into the distance. ‘I’m not sure if she’s involved or not.’

  ‘Get two men onto the water,’ shouted Brad to a group of officers emerging from a squad car that had just squealed to a halt beside us. ‘Take a couple of these boats, guys, quick as you can.’

  Angela, however, was rapidly steering a path towards us.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she said, innocently, as she drew alongside us in the water. I let out a sigh of relief. One of the officers started explaining to her what had happened as she climbed out of the boat. Even though there was barely any light left now in the sky, I saw the way her jaw fell and the colour blanched from her face. What she was hearing was definitely news to her.

  ‘How did you know I was here?’ I asked Brad, refusing to let go of his arm.

  ‘WPC Kenton hadn’t done her usual timed check-in. We knew where her last position was and when our officer found her tied up, she managed to tell us what had happened.’

  ‘Is she okay?’

  ‘She was left gagged in the boot of her car - she’ll have a headache for a day or so, but she’ll be okay. She said you’d been heading for one of the boathouses.’

  ‘Where’s a knight in shining armour, when you need one?’ I said.

  ‘I was almost there,’ he said, defensively, ‘give or take a few minutes.’

  ‘Is that right?’

  ‘It’s always almost, with us, isn’t it?’ he said, giving me that sideways look that still managed to set off fireworks inside my stomach, even in my condition. I bent forward still catching my breath, my entire body aching from the attack. ‘Always taking things into your own hands, aren’t you?’

  I rolled my eyes at him and burst into tears.

  EPILOGUE

  Two weeks later

  Brad was waiting by a fountain in Trafalgar Square. It was a bitter November evening again, but for once, I didn’t feel the cold. We’d planned to go to the Beatles to Bowie exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery, have supper in Soho and then…who knows?
We hadn’t planned the rest.

  We had both had our own separate debriefing about the case; me, through my therapy, Brad as standard procedure at work, but we still felt a need to talk about it. Besides, it was what had brought us together.

  ‘Did you find out any more about that aggressive guy I spotted at Andrew’s presentation?’ I said. ‘The one who went for me outside Fairways Clinic.’

  Brad had his arm around me, holding me close. ‘Reg McGuire, aka Damon Hartnell, is a real trouble-maker. He was in a cell in Spain on two of the murder dates.’

  ‘What was he doing at Andrew’s ceremony?’

  ‘Had fingers in many pies, apparently. He was a Pro-life agitator only in his spare time - his main career was in fraud and fencing stolen art. He was there to get some inside information about an auction coming up at Christie’s. There were plenty of top art people there, including their head of sales for contemporary art.’

  I tutted. We were silent for a while.

  ‘What about Leyton Meade?’ I said.

  ‘We watched him for days, but he didn’t put a foot wrong. He’s gone travelling again.’ He sucked air through his teeth. ‘I’m sorry about Cheryl - there was something about her that made my skin crawl.’

  I laughed. ‘She unnerved me too, with the details she knew at times - but she only ever wanted to help.’ He slipped his fingers inside my glove and stroked my wrist. ‘I found out more about Lynn’s obsession with continuing her bloodline,’ I said. ‘It’s a pathological form of Parturiphilia, apparently - a fixation with childbirth, due to an obsession with securing the genetic line. Her sense of outrage at failing to do so was so great it convinced her to kill in revenge.’

  ‘I hope that won’t make her unfit to plead.’

  ‘I very much doubt it. She knew exactly what she was doing. Where ever she ends up - I hope it will be for life.’

  ‘If only we’d made the link between William Jones and Norwich, sooner,’ he said, rubbing his cheek. ‘Lynn moved around a lot and she alternated between Jessop and Jones at various times. We lost track of him. We should have made the link to you and got to Lynn before —

  I pressed my finger over his lips.

  ‘Don’t —’

  In the two weeks since Billy and Lynn were arrested, I’d gone back to Norwich to try to find some closure. It was great going places now without a police car on my tail. I had a newfound sense of freedom and tremendous relief, knowing it was all over. I went to tell Mr Knightly that it was thanks to his observations about the windows being open, that the seeds of doubt about the fire had been sewn in the first place.

  ‘It’s not often at my age that you get to make a difference to people’s lives,’ he said. ‘In a good way, I mean.’ He pulled a large grubby handkerchief out of his sleeve and blew into it. I noticed his pullover was on inside out. ‘I’m sorry about Luke, but I’m glad you know what really happened - and people are going to jail for it.’

  He asked if I’d like to see more photos and I said I’d be delighted. We went through every shot, this time. I was glad to. I gave him a big hug when I left, knowing I’d never see him again.

  ‘What did your parents say,’ Brad said, ‘when you told them about the fire?’

  ‘My mother couldn’t stop crying. I couldn’t get a sensible word out of her. For nearly twenty years she’s been carrying the guilt of believing she was the one who caused Luke’s death. Terrible burden to bear - about your own son. The one upside is that she doesn’t need to carry that guilt anymore.

  ‘And your Dad?’

  ‘I have a feeling my Dad knew all along about Luke’s bullying. I think he’d been trying to tell me. My Mum is in denial about it, though. She’s having to reprocess Luke’s death as murder - I don’t think she can take the other part in, yet.’

  ‘And you?’

  I watched the bubbles in the spray of the fountain explode one by one. ‘It’s very sad, but Luke wasn’t the angel we all made him out to be. Nostalgia had coloured our view of him. Death does that. It tends to strip away the wrongdoings.’ I hid my face inside Brad’s jacket. ‘I’ve got some reprocessing of my own to do about Luke. Right now, he feels like a stranger, like everyone is talking about someone else. He was my older brother and he never bullied me.’ I swallowed hard. ‘Never.’

  ‘The killers were mother and son - who would have thought it?’ he said. ‘How come William didn’t crack under pressure in the police station? How come he didn’t give the whole thing away?’

  ‘I think everyone was so aware of his condition - and that solicitor was so fierce - that none of us asked the right questions. He was easy-led, but he had a pact with his Mum. He adores her. She must have found a way to make sure he didn’t reveal anything incriminating. Perhaps made it into a game. I also think she must have told him as little as possible. She was very clever, too.’ I hesitated. ‘One thing puzzles me - neither Lynn, nor Billy wore size ten shoes.’

  ‘She’d got Billy to wear shoes a size too big on the days they committed the murders,’ he said. ‘Just in case we managed to get any prints from the crime scene. She’d picked up a few pairs at a charity shop and then got rid of them each time. That’s where she got your clothes.’ He let out a long breath. ‘You held up really well, you know,’ he said, trailing a finger down my cheek. It sent goose-bumps into places on my body I didn’t know I had. I nestled against his neck and we leant against the fountain, watching tourists, friends, families; their arms around each other, laughing, taking snaps.

  ‘We’ve got some getting-to-know-each-other to do,’ I said, stroking my fingers gently under his eyes, gazing into their luminous blue.

  ‘Yup. Sounds good.’

  A trilling sound came from Brad’s pocket. He checked the number. I knew what was coming.

  ‘Sorry. I’ve got to take this.’ He held my hand distractedly as he spoke in single syllables. ‘Yes…No…When..? And..? Now..?’ His grip tightened and he gave me a forlorn look. ‘I don’t believe it. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I asked for one evening’s grace, but Roxland and McKinery have been called out to an emergency.’ He thrust his hands onto his hips. ‘I’ve got to go.’

  ‘This is becoming a habit,’ I said. ‘Just as well I’m not the clingy type.’

  ‘I’m really sorry. A stabbing in The Broadway Centre.’

  He pressed my hands together and kissed them. ‘I’ll call you soon. We will…you know, get a chance soon, I promise, to spend some time together.’

  He pulled away from me and broke into a jog towards the Tube, then turned and blew a kiss before he disappeared underground.

  I sat for a while on the edge of the fountain watching the water pound into the basin, getting splashed. Water; the means Luke found to persecute Billy. Water; the substance that carried those victims and cradled them in their final resting places. I took off my glove and ran my hand along the marble, collecting a tiny droplet on my finger. I watched it dribble down into my palm. Water; that cleansing, powerful, life-giving substance.

  I thought about the Thames, the lifeblood of the city.

  I’d made friends with it again.

  THE END

  Acknowledgements

  For being my very first reader and for encouraging me to aim high, I’d like to thank Mike Holmes. Also, my wonderful sister, Ruth Holmes, for being my anchor and advisor.

  Thank you also to the following:

  Jo Dorrell for her creative insight, unquenchable interest and humour.

  My terrific agent Caradoc King, who together with Louise Lammont, Mildred Yuan and Linda Shaughnessy have given me five-star treatment in their guidance and editing expertise.

  Kerry Jarrett, Anna Kiff, Helen Greathead, Chris Best, Belinda Bavin, Nigel Hartley, Jackie Brady and Sandy James for regular morale-boosting.

  London sewer experts, Tim Newbury and Luke, for imparting their invaluable knowledge of the underground River Fleet.

  My parents, Gordon and Mary Waines, for their unfailing support in wha
tever I try my hand at.

  And my biggest thanks of all go to Matthew, my amazing husband. Without his unflagging support, I would not have got past first post.