Helen shrugged. ‘What can I do? Hope he comes back, I guess.’
‘He’ll probably try to tell you he’s safe. People usually do that.’
‘And if he doesn’t?’
Berenice held the door open for her. ‘I’ll put out a shout if you like. At least we can try to find out where he’s hiding. But we don’t extend to marriage guidance.’
Helen gave her a thin smile.
‘And even if we did – ’ Berenice held out her hand. ‘ – I’m not the person to ask.’
She saw Helen out to her car, returned to her office. She sat in the silence, in the pool of light from her anglepoise lamp.
The notes of hate mail were spread out in front of her, all with their clumsy red words predicting disaster. She picked up the last one. The handwriting was different. Neater.
Found by Iain Hendrickson, she thought. And what if he’d written it himself? What if he’d thought of a way to keep the heat off him. After Murdo’s death.
In her mind, she saw the beach. Two men, shouting, fighting. One blow, two blows to the head. And then one carries the other, his arm swinging, as Tobias said. And he carries him, somehow, all the way up Hank’s Tower.
She picked up the book. And if I’m right, she thought, the answer is here.
‘Amelia Voake,’ she said, out loud, poring over the writings. She flicked to the last few pages.
‘I have no husband. I have no child. I, Amelia van Mielen, am once more alone. With these pages I finish my story.’
‘I have no child…’
Berenice held the funeral photograph in the palm of her hand. She recalled Virginia’s words, all those days ago, sitting in the interrogation room downstairs, ‘I couldn’t have loved that child more…’
The unbearable pain of the loss of a child. The destructive force of a mother’s grief.
Her desk phone shrilled. ‘Killick,’ she said, hearing the duty sergeant ask if she’d be sleeping at HQ that night.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m off home. Don’t suppose I’ll sleep, but I’m off home anyway. Yeah. Ta. Night.’
She gathered up her coat, her bag, her car keys.
I know I’m right, she thought.
The night was cold and clear, and gave way to a crisp bright dawn. At nine o’clock, Berenice drove through the gates of the lab and parked in the visitor’s car park.
‘DI Killick,’ she said to the young woman on reception. ‘I want to speak to Dr. Merletti. The hospital said she’d come straight back to work.’
She was shown into a waiting area. A young man appeared. ‘Dr. Merletti is in the engineering sheds. She said would you mind joining her there.’
‘I don’t mind where I go.’ Berenice followed him along the sunlit corridor, out of a door, through a yard, then through a huge industrial doorway.
They were standing in something like an aircraft hangar. Huge steel trolleys wheeled past. She saw workbenches, shining metal.
From the groups of white-coated people, Elizabeth emerged. Even with one arm in a sling, she looked groomed and smart. She smiled at Berenice. ‘Glad it’s over, are you? Has he confessed?’
‘You look well,’ Berenice said.
‘I was lucky.’ She shrugged.
‘And brave.’
Elizabeth glanced at her. ‘That too. Perhaps. At the time I didn’t think. I just saw that poor child in danger and I – ’ she shuddered. ‘Well, it turned out OK. Let’s go somewhere we can talk.
‘Back at work.’ Berenice glanced around the huge space as they walked through the hangar. ‘I thought it was all about the maths.’
Elizabeth smiled. ‘You can’t prove the maths without the right kit.’
‘And this is the kit?’
They passed two white-coated men, bent over a bench on which was placed a huge metallic hexagonal shaped tube.
‘Electro-magnets,’ Elizabeth said. ‘You can’t just buy them in Homebase.’ She pushed at two swing doors. It was a quieter space, stacked with bits of furniture, and clear plastic boxes that seemed to hold nuts and bolts. ‘So.’ Elizabeth leaned against the table. ‘How can I help?’
Berenice took the funeral photo from her pocket and held it out to her.
Elizabeth glanced at it. ‘What’s – Oh. Oh God.’
Berenice watched her. ‘You’re there. In the corner there.’
‘Of course… Jacob’s funeral…’ Her voice was shaking. The colour had drained from her face. ‘Of course I’m there.’
‘He was your son.’
The words hung in the air.
‘Yes,’ Elizabeth said. ‘He was my son.’ She sank down onto a plastic chair.
‘Why did you lie?’
Elizabeth looked up at her. She was empty-eyed, grey-faced. Her lips moved, but no words came.
Berenice tried again. ‘You didn’t tell - ’
Elizabeth’s eyes blazed sudden fury. ‘Is there any reason why I should? Is it the kind of thing you go around telling people you hardly know?’
Berenice sat down next to her. ‘Why did you give your baby away?’
Elizabeth raised her head. ‘Are you a mother?’ Her voice was oddly sharp.
Berenice shook her head.
‘Have you ever loved a man? I mean, really loved a man?’
Berenice hesitated. She shook her head.
‘When I saw the situation clearly – when I looked at it for what it was…’ Her voice was firmer now. ‘When I realized that Murdo was never going to leave her… I thought to myself, what do I want? And I realized that it was all wrong, to have the child but – but not to have him…’ She met her gaze. ‘It was all wrong,’ she repeated.
Berenice was silent.
‘Do you think I’m unnatural? Not a proper woman… to give away one’s child?’
Berenice spoke quietly. ‘As you say – I know nothing about it.’
‘I got used to it, of course,’ Elizabeth went on. ‘That look in people’s eyes, that flicker of judgement, as if I’d been weighed up and found wanting…’
‘Was it - ?’ Berenice hesitated.
‘What?’
‘Was it your idea or his?’
The poise faltered slightly. ‘We were as one,’ she said.
‘You and Murdo?’
‘We adored each other. We had to find a solution…’
‘But you weren’t going to raise him, this baby?’
Elizabeth smoothed her skirt on her knees. ‘Murdo made it clear…’
Berenice waited.
Elizabeth met her eyes. ‘We needed a solution. And he came up with one.’
‘To adopt the baby? To raise it with his wife?’
‘She’d always wanted children. She was an excellent mother, too.’
‘But why…?’
‘Why what?’ Elizabeth was upright, now, her tone matter-of-fact. ‘You mean, why didn’t he leave? Why didn’t he and I run away, raise the child together?’
‘If he loved you as you say…’
Elizabeth shook her head. ‘It wasn’t just Murdo. If you knew about my upbringing, the pain I saw my mother bear…’ She breathed. ‘It killed her in the end.’
‘And you felt as if you were to blame?’
Elizabeth threw her a cold, blank look. ‘I’d always known I wasn’t cut out for motherhood, that’s all.’
Berenice nodded. ‘I know the feeling,’ she said.
A burst of distant noise, electrical, drilling of some kind.
‘So - ?’
Elizabeth sighed. ‘Murdo talked to his wife. She accepted it. More than that, she was happy, I think. It solved a lot of problems. And she won, after all.’
‘You mean, she ended up with Murdo?’
‘That’s winning, isn’t it?’
‘And you went to Italy.’
Elizabeth nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘Did you ever come back – I mean, in between - ’
‘No.’
‘Apart from for the funeral.’ Berenice flicked the photograp
h between her fingers.
‘Apart from that. I caught the next flight back to Rome.’
Berenice gazed at the image, the tiny coffin, the white flowers. ‘Jacob,’ she said.
Elizabeth’s gaze was unblinking. ‘Jacob,’ she said.
‘So – what happened next?’
‘It was the end of Murdo and me. We were both heartbroken, of course.’
‘And Iain?’
Elizabeth flashed her a glance. ‘Iain?’
‘You’d had an affair with him.’
She shrugged. ‘Sort of. On and off.’
‘But nothing serious? Not like you and Murdo?’
‘Oh, no.’ Her tone was emphatic. ‘Nothing like me and Murdo. Iain had hopes of me. But I went to the new lab, started a new life.’
‘Met your husband,’ Berenice said.
‘Yes.’
‘Until…’
Elizabeth crossed one neat shoe over the other. ‘You know the rest. A job came up here. My marriage was over. So I came back.’
‘And you and Murdo?’
Elizabeth fixed her with a look. ‘You say you’ve been in love? Can you imagine, after all those years, of silence, of nothing… to set eyes on each other again? It was wonderful.’
‘Until he died.’
A nod of her head. ‘Yes,’ she said.
The drilling noise erupted, briefly, then faded away.
Berenice shifted on the hard plastic chair. ‘Going back some years… what did Murdo think about you and Iain?’
A brief smile, a shrug.
‘He knew you were sleeping with Iain?
‘He didn’t care. He knew I loved him more than life itself.’
‘Do you remember telling me, about Murdo? About their difficulties in conceiving?’
Elizabeth raised her eyes, slowly. She stared at her.
‘Was it, perhaps, more than difficulties? More like, impossibility?’
Elizabeth’s gaze didn’t falter.
‘You did know, didn’t you,’ Berenice went on. ‘And Murdo knew too. So this baby, this miraculous baby – ’
‘No.’ It was almost a shout.
‘This child - ’
‘He was our child.’ Her voice was loud. ‘I wasn’t going to have it any other way…’
‘He was Iain’s son.’
Elizabeth clapped her hand across her mouth. She stared, mutely, at Berenice.
‘You knew. And Murdo knew. But Iain trusted you… he trusted you to tell him the truth.’
Elizabeth was shaking her head, her hand still covering her lips.
‘And then came the day, not that long ago, when Virginia found out, that the child she’d accepted as her husband’s, her beloved husband’s - and raised, and mourned for all these years, was the child of another man.’
Elizabeth took her hand away from her mouth. She sat, her breathing shallow, staring at her lap. At length, she spoke. ‘I wished it was his,’ she said. ‘The baby. I wanted it to be Murdo’s.’
‘But Iain must have had suspicions… the timing….?’
‘He asked me. I said no. We all signed… we all signed documents.’ Her voice was small. ‘They were similar men. The baby… he looked like both of them.’ Elizabeth glanced up at her. ‘I loved Murdo. I loved him more than I’ve ever loved anyone, before or since. But – but he was never mine. When I found I was pregnant… I so wanted it to be his.’ She was almost whispering.
‘And Iain?’
Elizabeth gave a dismissive wave of her manicured fingers.
Berenice was silent. Then she said, ‘When did Virginia find out?’
‘I don’t know.’ Elizabeth’s voice was small.
‘She had raised your child, believing it was her husband’s. And now she’d found out that you had deceived her. And deceived her so cruelly. And all that rage, the rage of the wronged wife, multiplied by – by the sort of numbers you deal with here, must have come to the fore.’
Another brief nod.
‘So – ’ Berenice leaned against the hard back of her chair. ‘Three weeks ago, Alan and Iain are having a shouting match about the land sale, the Voake house. And in the heat of the moment, Alan suggests to Iain that he’s been misled, by you and Murdo. He talks of ghosts, and dead children. Is that what happened?’
Elizabeth was shaking her head.
‘And Murdo, attempting to calm things down, takes Iain for a walk on the beach…’
‘I wasn’t there.’ She stared, sullenly, at her lap.
‘And something that had been gathering, some truth lurking at the back of his mind, fell into focus.’
‘I told you - ’
‘I know. You weren’t there. But let’s just say, you’re Iain. And you’ve discovered that you were deceived by people who claimed to love you. And that as a result you’d been made to sign away your paternal rights to a child that was yours, a son.’
A silence. Elizabeth stared at the floor.
Berenice sighed. ‘Ghosts,’ she said. ‘As you said the other day. The shadow of the past.’
Elizabeth raised her eyes to her. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘You know the truth, Elizabeth. You know who killed Murdo.’
‘So why ask me?’ Elizabeth flashed back. ‘Sure. I know who killed Murdo. What good does that do anyone?’
Berenice got to her feet. She looked down at Elizabeth. ‘And who killed Iain?’
Elizabeth too, stood up. In her heels she was taller than Berenice. ‘If you know so much, you know the answer to that too. Like I said, Lady, we do the same job, you and me. We define our questions. We sift through the evidence until we find the right answer. And now may I go?’
She stepped past Berenice and opened the door. Berenice watched her go, watched her glide through the sun-lit shed, flanked by towering tunnel pieces and half-built magnets.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The sun was shining when Berenice’s car pulled out of the lab car park. It was still shining when she drove up the track to Virginia’s cottage and parked.
The slam of the car door. The twitch of the curtains.
She knocked on the door.
Virginia opened it.
‘What now?’ She blinked at the brightness beyond. ‘I’d heard you weren’t even on the case anymore.’
‘It’s complicated.’
‘I don’t have to ask you in.’
‘No,’ Berenice agreed. ‘You don’t.’
The two women stood there on the doorstep.
‘However,’ Berenice went on, ‘I wanted to ask you a question.’
‘Another one? Do I have to answer it?’
Berenice hesitated. Then she said, ‘Who would have wanted your husband dead?’
‘He’s been arrested – charged - ’
Berenice shook her head. ‘Not Clem. I’m not talking about him.’
Virginia gave a small shrug. She moved as if to shut the door.
‘More to the point,’ Berenice said, her foot against the edge of the door, ‘Who would have wanted Iain dead?’
Virginia’s gaze hardened. She stood, unmoving.
‘You blamed him,’ Berenice went on.
‘Why shouldn’t I?’ Her eyes flashed with sudden rage. ‘It was all his fault. Everything. It all came down to him.’
‘Not Murdo’s fault, then?’ Berenice said. ‘The affair with Elizabeth. The child who wasn’t yours? They lied to you, didn’t they – Elizabeth and Murdo – ’
‘How dare you?’ Her eyes were black with anger. ‘How dare you… He was blameless. Blameless, I tell you. Hoodwinked by that man…. That man…’ She gulped, as if more speech might choke her.
‘So Iain…’
‘Murdo was the only man I ever loved. A worthy, brave, stalwart man.’
‘And Iain killed him,’ Berenice said.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Iain killed him.’ Berenice heard her vengefulness, wondered at her rage. This tiny woman, wringing her apron between her bony hands, and that bluff, t
owering scientist… it seemed impossible.
Berenice faced her. ‘And who killed Iain?’
Virginia was motionless.
‘You were angry,’ Berenice said. ‘With Elizabeth – ’
‘No.’ The word was a shout. ‘I don’t even think about her, I don’t care about her, as far as I’m concerned she’s nothing, nothing…’
‘And you were angry with Iain. Very angry.’
Virginia swayed, put one hand against the door frame.
Berenice waited.
Virginia was breathing, fast, her eyes darting. Suddenly, she spoke. ‘He didn’t believe I’d kill him. I knew he’d be there, up at the Tower, he was there every night after Murdo… after he left us… Guilt, maybe… re-visiting things… And so, one night, I was there too. Offered him a drink. He was surprised. Let bygones be bygones, he said, he thought that’s what I was doing, sitting there with my bottle of brandy, my two glasses.’
‘The sedative…’
‘Exactly.’ She gave a small smile.
‘And then, when he was stumbling anyway…’
‘I lured him to the edge. I wanted him to know, I wanted him to understand… It was only a slight push after that…’
‘What did you say to him?’
Virginia looked at her. Her eyes were wide now, a new vulnerability… ‘Don’t you understand? I raised that child as if he were my own, because of Murdo, because I loved him. I didn’t care about her, I didn’t care how that child came to be. It was my husband’s child and that was enough for me. And then to find out he was – ’ She clapped her hand across her mouth.
‘…it was Iain’s?’ Berenice finished for her.
She waved her other hand frantically across her face. ‘No,’ she mumbled, behind her fingers. ‘No, no…’
‘When did you find out?’ Berenice asked.
She was shaking her head now, her hands clasped to the side of her face, still murmuring refusal.
‘It was then, wasn’t it?’ Berenice prompted. ‘On the tower.’
‘He wouldn’t tell me.’ She stared downwards. ‘He wouldn’t say. Whose was he, I was asking, tell me, and he said nothing, sipping on his glass, but in the end he looked me in the eyes and said, you know, Virginia. You’ve always known. And I said, did he know? Did Murdo know that it was your son? And he was looking straight at me, and he said, you know Murdo couldn’t have children, you know that Virginia… And by then his speech was slurring, and he said he felt unwell, he got up, and I said, come and look at the sea, like we used to, in the old days, and we went under the barrier and stood on the old bricks and we watched the sea crash against the rocks beneath us, and he turned to me and said, I had to do it, Ginny, believe me, I loved her so…’ She sat there, breathing, silenced.
Dying to Know (A Detective Inspector Berenice Killick Mystery) Page 29