Each Man Kills

by David Barry

  ‘Yes, yes, yes,’ Lambert said impatiently, his eyes ablaze with excitement. ‘And?’

  ‘Well, Evans must have had access to a photocopier because some of the ancient stone circles going north have been eliminated.’

  Lambert swung his legs out of bed and grabbed his underpants from the floor where he’d dropped them.

  ‘Show me. Quickly.’

  Chapter 27

  Gwyneth watched Gary Evans as he lay sleeping. She was tormented by a fear buried deep inside, a fear that remained disturbingly out of reach. What was it? If only she could bring it to the surface, she might be able to deal with it. But her brain was cluttered by random thoughts and memories that skipped about in a disorderly fashion. She thought of her schooldays. Her first fumbling love affair. Memories of places, of sunsets and castles. She was a romantic. A sensualist and a pantheist. In love with nature. So what was she doing making love to a trained killer? A man who thought no more about blowing out another man’s brains than someone swatting a fly. Yet he’d been a considerate lover. And she found the notion of attentive lover and ruthless killer highly disturbing.

  He’d spent ages in the bathroom preparing himself. He even borrowed her delicate razor and shaved his three-day growth several times before he seemed satisfied with the smoothness. When he eventually did slip quietly beneath the duvet, he held her tight, and kissed her slowly and gently, taking his time. He knew what he was doing and did all the right things for her. But there was something coldly efficient about his lovemaking: a trained expert going through the motions. When they climaxed together, she cried out with agonising pleasure; but he remained silent, clenching his teeth.

  He opened his eyes suddenly, as if he’d been pretending to be asleep. She reached out and stroked his cheek.

  ‘Gary,’ she said softly. ‘Thank you for last night. But. . .’

  ‘But?’ he questioned as he sat up.

  ‘What happens now?’

  He ignored the question. His glazed look accentuated the silence.

  ‘Gary, if there’s anything you want to tell me, I promise I won’t...I’ll keep it to myself. I promise.’

  ‘Confession time, like? Good for the soul and that?’

  ‘Well - it might help. Help you to come to terms with everything. That farmer, Gary. Who was he?’

  ‘I never knew him. Never. He was just flesh and blood, that’s all.’

  A beat. Somewhere in her subconscious she had known all along. It had been lying beneath the surface, waiting for the trigger that would unleash the horror of his crime. It was like a stinging slap.

  ‘My God! He was your father, wasn’t he? You killed your own father.’

  Apart from a nervous tic in his cheek, Evans’s face showed no emotion.

  ‘He raped my mother. The bastard raped her. She never reported it. She came to live in Swansea and married my stepfather. For years I thought he was my real father.’

  ‘What was he like? Your stepfather?’

  ‘Want me to quote Exodus, chapter and verse? Or Jeremiah? A good beating can do wonders for the memory. I had to have it word perfect for the bastard.’

  Gwyneth leant towards him, kissed his forehead tenderly and squeezed his hand. ‘Poor Gary. It sounds as if he was...mentally unstable. It’s hard to believe bible-thumping bigots like that still exist. When did you discover he wasn’t your real father?’

  ‘He was killed in an accident. Or maybe it wasn’t an accident.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘He was a roofer. Maybe someone he worked with gave him the elbow.’ Evans laughed bitterly. ‘That’s what I’d have done.’

  ‘So that’s when your mother told you he was really your stepfather.’

  ‘It let me off the hook. Saved me having to attend the funeral. I celebrated with me mates instead. Champagne all round.’

  ‘What else did your mother tell you? Did she tell you who your real father was?’

  Evans shook his head. ‘She told me about the rape. How he took her by force when she was a young girl. But she wouldn’t tell me who he was. I think she knew what I’d do.’

  ‘How did you find out eventually?’

  ‘Just months ago. She was dying of cancer. She had almost gone and the secret was almost gone with her. Then, as she was dying, she told me his name. And the name of the farm.’

  ‘Why did she do that, d’you think?’

  ‘Maybe she wanted revenge after all. Human nature.’

  Gwyneth frowned and was silent. She thought about Gary’s mother and wondered why she didn’t take the knowledge into the grave with her. That way her son would not be a wanted man on the run from the police. It seemed cruel and pointless. But then again, perhaps his mother hadn’t been aware of what she was saying as she slipped into unconsciousness and death.

  ‘I don’t regret killing that bastard. I saw the way he lived. He was nothing but an animal. The lowest of the low. And I couldn’t get rid of the pictures in my head. That disgusting drunken old bastard with my mother.’

  ‘You loved her very much, didn’t you, Gary?’

  ‘Yes, when she wasn’t with that other bastard. My stepfather. If I’d have known back then he wasn’t my real father, I think I’d have topped him.’

  ‘How long is it since your stepfather died?’

  ‘About four years ago.’

  She thought about Gary’s mother telling him about the rape, and she tried to imagine what it must have been like for him. It had surely festered over the years, driven him mad probably, turned him into an efficient fighting machine and a killer. Perhaps the men he killed as a soldier and mercenary were father substitutes.

  ‘So you took your revenge on your real father,’ she said

  ‘I couldn’t go through with it,’ he said, and his voice rose in anger as he thought about it. ‘All those years of training, freeing the mind of emotion, and I couldn’t go through with it.’

  ‘Gary, are you telling me you didn’t kill him?’

  He looked deep into her eyes and said, ‘Oh, I killed him all right. I killed him.’

  Chapter 28

  ‘See the faint smudges on the photocopy,’ said Helen. ‘It looks as if he Tipp-exed over the originals, then photocopied them.’

  Lambert stared hard at the map laid out across the coffee table. ‘No, I can’t see anything.’

  ‘I think you’ve reached that age when you need to wear reading glasses.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with my eyesight.’

  ‘Well, you’ll just have to take my word for it then.’ Helen stabbed her index finger at a spot on the map. ‘These ancient sites have been erased, so have these ley lines. Have a look at the same spot in Natasha’s book.’

  Lambert felt his stomach lurch. ‘Christ! These lines go north.’

  ‘Exactly,’ agreed Helen. ‘Up to this ancient site outside Aberystwyth. D’you suppose that’s where he’s heading?’

  But Lambert wasn’t listening to her. He was already clicking Contacts on his mobile.

  ***

  Evans sat upright in bed, watching the brightness of the day growing behind the thin curtains. Gwyneth knew it was borrowed time now.

  ‘Gary,’ she began tentatively, her voice tremulous and small. ‘I’m sure if they knew why you killed him...about your mother...and the rape...and what it’s done to you...’

  Evans interrupted her. ‘No. I’m not going back to that...asylum.’

  ‘You might not have to. That’s what I’m saying.’

  ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘But what’s the alternative?’

  He was silent, his features frozen; a face carved out of granite.

  ‘But you’re still young, Gary. You’ve got your whole life before you.’

  His eyes
had become cold and distant. She felt herself starting to panic.

  ‘I’m sure they’ll understand, once they know the reason you killed him.’

  ‘No. Don’t you understand? I’m a soldier.’

  His words ground into her. Why? she asked herself. Why had she become his lover knowing deep down that it was just for one night?

  ***

  Lambert swung open the front door, then stopped and looked back at Helen. ‘Thanks for your help, sweetheart.’

  ‘And?’ she said.

  ‘And for the lovemaking. As good as it always was. In other words, out of this world.’

  ‘Flatterer.’

  ‘Listen, I don’t have time to talk now, but for Natasha’s sake...’

  She shook her head disbelievingly. ‘That’s moral blackmail.’

  He gestured helplessly, hands palms up.

  ‘And Natasha’s a young adult,’ she added.

  ‘Please, Helen. Please. Don’t let’s chuck it all away.’

  She found his wheedling tone annoying and she shook her head forcefully. ‘No, Harry. It won’t work.’

  ‘Even murderers get a second chance now.’

  ‘Yes but they can change. Whereas you-’

  ‘I give you my word, sweetheart...’

  She laughed humourlessly. ‘Your word!’

  ‘Just offer me a glimmer of hope and I promise I’ll change. Just tell me I’ve got a chance.’

  She held the balance of power now and she intended to make the most of it.

  ‘OK,’ she said. ‘We’ll see.’

  Lambert gave her a grin before vanishing into the gloomy morning after.

  ***

  Uninhibited in his nakedness, Evans climbed out of bed and walked over to the window.

  ‘It’s getting light,’ he said.

  She watched his body movement. He was like a prowling jungle cat, nerves tense and coiled, ready to spring into action. She shivered, wanting him back in the warm and comforting bed beside her.

  ‘Gary, please, come back to bed. I want you to hold me again.’

  Evans ignored her and drew back the curtains a fraction. Across the other side of the road, he saw a blue-uniformed figure slipping behind a tree. He squinted and focussed on the tree, staring at it for ages. Then he saw a rifle barrel sliding into place beside the tree trunk. He let the curtain fall back into place, grabbed his clothes and began to dress hurriedly.

  Gwyneth sensed the impending danger, saw the bayonet glint in his eyes.

  ‘Gary! What is it?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he told her. ‘You’ll be all right.’

  He finished dressing and started downstairs. She leapt out of bed, scrambled into her denims and a sweatshirt and followed him.

  Chapter 29

  It took Lambert ten minutes to get to the central police station. He abandoned his car in the car park, leaving the keys in the ignition, in case any of the staff needed to move it, and ran over to join Ellis and Wallace, who were waiting by the high-powered Rover. Lambert threw open the rear door and was about to get in when he heard Ellis telling Wallace, ‘Give me the keys, Kevin. I’ll drive.’

  Wallace looked like a child about to lose a bag of sweets and started to protest. ‘Yes, but...’

  ‘Quick!’ snapped Ellis urgently, snapping his fingers at the young detective. ‘We haven’t got time to argue, Constable.’

  Wallace still hesitated, knowing Ellis was now pulling rank on him, and looked towards Lambert for help. ‘But Sergeant Ellis has got a problem with speed, sir.’

  Lambert glanced at Ellis’s tense, determined face. He had to make a split-second decision. He didn’t have time to indulge Kevin’s wounded feelings.

  ‘OK,’ he said. ‘You drive, Tony.’

  Lambert caught Wallace’s sick expression before diving into the back seat. Ellis gunned the accelerator and they screeched out of the courtyard, the needle touching sixty in a moment.

  ‘At least there’s not much on the road yet,’ said Ellis, swerving to avoid a postman on a bicycle.

  He drove fast but skilfully, and Lambert wondered where he’d gained the experience. Maybe he hadn’t. Perhaps this was a previously undiscovered prowess brought on by the adrenaline rush. Tyres screeched and burned as he raced the car over a roundabout just outside Swansea and then took it up to one hundred and twenty miles an hour on the M4.

  DC Wallace shrank down into his seat and he pressed his foot hard to the floor, stamping on an imaginary brake. Like many a fast driver, Wallace was a terrible passenger and hated being driven at speed. He could feel a lump in his throat like a boiled egg and he wondered if he could keep down the piece of toast he’d hurriedly eaten for breakfast.

  ‘I hope this isn’t a wild goose chase, Harry,’ he said, trying to disguise the tremor in his voice. He spoke mainly for his own benefit, to stop himself imagining the consequences of Ellis’s driving. ‘I mean, why would he want to go to this librarian’s house?’

  Lambert, his legs aching from the pressure of keeping them pressed to the floor to stop himself being hurtled about on the back seat like the Waltzer at Barry Island, said, ‘I’ve no idea, Kevin. But I think that’s where he’s gone. I tried ringing her and there was no reply. What does that suggest to you?’

  ‘That the phone’s been unplugged?’ offered Wallace.

  Lambert stared at his reflection in the driving mirror. His face was drawn and pale and there were purple bags under his eyes. He felt responsible for Gwyneth Chandler’s safety. He should have acted on Helen’s information sooner instead of being sidetracked into spending the night in bed with her. Was trying to repair a broken marriage an excuse for falling down on the job? Possibly. If there was a slim chance that she might take him back. But he had to own up to the fact that his first thoughts on seeing Helen last night had been purely carnal.

  ‘Think he’ll use her as a hostage, sir?’ asked Ellis.

  ‘I should think it’s almost inevitable,’ answered Wallace through gritted teeth as Ellis accelerated out of a bend.

  Lambert snapped at him, ‘Speculation DC Wallace. And didn’t I ask you to do something for me before you came down with your...“virus”?’

  He gave heavy emphasis to ‘virus’, suspecting that it was Wallace’s excuse for a hangover.

  ‘I managed to get the...’ began Wallace, while Ellis slammed the gear into third as they hurtled towards a T-junction...‘info yesterday afternoon...’ The engine whined protestingly as they screeched to a halt, then they turned sharp right and Ellis stamped on the accelerator. ‘I felt a bit better by the afternoon, like.’ He took a sheaf of papers out of his pocket and handed them over. ‘Copies of his bank statement. Had to get a magistrate’s warrant to get it.’

  Lambert glanced at the statements. ‘So, fifteen grand went out of Evans’s account just before we pulled him in.’

  Wallace chuckled. ‘And that’s not all. Have a look at the next sheet. That’ll tell you who the recipient was.’

  Chapter 30

  Evans put on his anorak, took the cap gun out of the pocket and weighed it in his hand. It seemed ridiculously light. But from a distance it would look real enough. Gwyneth came hurriedly down the stairs and took a pace back when she saw the gun.

  ‘Gary, what...what are you doing?’

  ‘Sit down at the table. I told you: you’ll be OK.’

  She was glad he’d ordered her to sit. There was no strength left in her legs and she could taste sickness on the back of her tongue. She sank into one of the chairs and swallowed rapidly. Tears of alarm began to blur her vision.

  Evans went over to one of the windows and looked out of a chink in the curtain. A loudhailer burst through the still morning.

  ‘Gary Evans. Can you hear me? Can you hear me, Gary? We know
you’re in there. We want you to give yourself up. We can settle this without anyone getting hurt. If you’re armed, put your weapon down and come out with your hands on your head. We can sort this out without anyone getting hurt. D’you understand, Gary? We want to help you.’

  Through her tears, Gwyneth watched Evans as he considered this.

  ‘Please, Gary,’ she said. ‘You can’t fight them all. Not single-handed.’

  He turned and grinned at her. The grin was more of a grimace, an expression of pain. ‘That’s what I’m here for,’ he said.

  ***

  ‘Hold tight,’ shouted Ellis as the car sped towards a hump in the road.

  Wallace dug his nails into his palms as the front wheels left the road. The car bounced back down onto the tarmac and he unclenched his fists. Lambert peered at a signpost as it flew past.

  ‘Not far now. Five minutes top whack.’

  ‘D’you think he’s armed, sir?’ asked Ellis.

  ‘Well, if he is, we’ve got the Seventh Cavalry surrounding him.’

  ‘Think there’s any chance we could take him by surprise?’

  ‘I doubt it. I think he’s expecting us.’

  Wallace turned his head towards Lambert with a questioning frown.

  ‘You see,’ Lambert explained, ‘we’ve done everything he wanted us to do. Right from the word go.’

  ***

  The croaking voice from the loudhailer repeated almost verbatim the same message. Evans stared at Gwyneth. He seemed to be deliberating. She wondered if there was a chance he still might be persuaded to give himself up. He opened his mouth to speak, but his voice seemed to catch in his throat. She waited.

  ‘When we made love last night,’ he said, ‘is there any possibility you could have a baby?’

  Dazed and confused, she shook her head. ‘After I had my second daughter, I got myself sterilised.’

  ‘Good. That’s as it should be.’

  The enormity of what he was about to do was like the stab of an ice pick in her spine. But before she could summon the strength to speak, he waved the gun in her direction and screamed,