Stratton got up and walked round the table to put a hand on his shoulder. ‘It’s all right, Michael. You’ve done very well, explaining. Now, I see you haven’t drunk your tea – perhaps you’d prefer some cocoa? Would you like that? Then we’re going to ask the doctor to have a look at you, and you can have a rest.’
Michael looked up at him, eyes glistening. ‘I would like some cocoa.’
‘Good. Do you know, I wouldn’t mind some myself.’ Looking over Michael’s head at Wickstead, who was staring at the boy as though transfixed, he said, ‘Do you have any cocoa?’
‘I’m not sure,’ said the policewoman, stiffly.
‘I am,’ said Ballard. ‘Mr Parsons keeps a tin in his cupboard. I’m sure if you asked him, he’d give you some.’
‘There we are, then,’ said Stratton heartily. ‘Cocoa all round, I think. And while we’re waiting, I’d just like to ask you about the bonfire in the village. You said you’d gone to see it with Miss Kirkland.’
‘Yes. I had one of the potatoes they were cooking on the fire. It had gone all hard inside so I threw most of it away.’
‘Did Miss Kirkland have one, too?’
‘I’m not sure. She went round to the other side of the fire – it was a big one, with people putting things on all the time, like wood and old furniture and stuff.’
‘Did she have anything with her?’
‘Well, she had her bag, and she had a small case, like a suitcase. She said it was old things we wanted to get rid of – you know, if they were broken.’
‘Did she show them to you?’
‘No, she just went and emptied them on the fire.’
‘And you didn’t see her do that?’
‘She was on the other side. Is it important?’
‘We’re not sure.’
‘You spend quite a lot of time with Miss Kirkland, don’t you? Do you like her?’
Michael looked surprised. ‘I suppose so. Miss Kirkland’s very clever, and she does everything right, but she’s quite serious … I don’t think she liked my mother very much, really. It was because she used to look after Mr Roth until we came along, and then he asked my mother to do it.’
‘What sort of looking after?’
‘Well, he has funny turns sometimes at night, so Miss Kirkland used to sleep at the foot of his bed so that she could give him medicine and help him get back to sleep. She told me it was because he took other people’s pain and suffering away from them, so that it made him ill, instead.’ Obviously, thought Stratton, the ‘strange episodes’ Roth had mentioned to him, that sounded like epilepsy, hadn’t really gone away at all. ‘Miss Kirkland was very angry when my mother had a bed put in his room for herself.’
‘Did they have a row about it?’
‘They never have rows if they don’t like things. They just accept them – or that’s what they pretend.’ And under that smug, polite surface, Stratton added to himself, there’s a massive, roiling undercurrent of resentment and fury and Lord knows what else. ‘I asked my mother why Miss Kirkland was so cross about it and she said that before, she had slept on the floor of Mr Roth’s room because she thought that a person should suffer if they wanted to make spiritual progress. My mother said it was nonsense. She said Miss Kirkland should have become a nun if she wanted to do things like that.’
‘What did you think about that?’
‘I thought she was right. A couple of times when I was ill, Miss Kirkland slept on the floor of my room, and I didn’t like it. If I woke up in the night, I’d find her staring at me. I told Mr Roth and he said she was devoted to us and it was her way of showing it and we had to be nice to her. I felt she could see what I was thinking – if it was about wanting to go out to play or fly in an aeroplane or something – and that was bad enough, but if she could see my dreams as well, that was worse, because you can’t stop dreams, can you? When she was there I didn’t want to go to sleep in case I was doing wrong without knowing it and she might tell Mr Roth and then I’d be in trouble.’
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
When Michael had signed the statement and the cocoa arrived, Stratton, who badly needed some time alone, excused himself and went to stand outside on the porch under the lamp, smoking and gazing out into the wet darkness. He felt exhausted. What poor old Ballard must be feeling like was anybody’s guess. And as for Michael …
Stratton thought how many of the taken-for-granted pleasures of childhood had been denied him. During what must have been hours and hours of stupefying non-activity waiting for the next pearl of wisdom to fall from Roth’s lips, he’d been denied even the pleasure of day-dreaming because the bloody man had managed to police his private thoughts. With little, or severely curtailed, interior life, how the hell would you know who you were? Not that a ten-year-old did know, of course – too young – but Roth appeared to have had a damn good go at short-circuiting the process of him ever finding out. He’d seen enough abused children in his time, maltreated, starved, violated, sometimes deliberately, sometimes through ignorance and neglect, but never anything like this. This child had been put in a position where, at one moment he believed he was some sort of living God, and, at the next he was in the depths of despair about being able to live up to Roth’s billing, never mind his mother’s. Coercion, indulgence and the omnipresent, unspoken threat of the total withdrawal of affection, nurture and every other bloody thing if he didn’t comply – not to mention living in the human equivalent of a goldfish bowl … It was enough to drive anybody stark, staring mad.
He’d see what the doctor had to say about Michael, and then they’d need to take a statement from Miss Kirkland. I know what I’d like to do to her, Stratton thought savagely. I’d like to grab her by her scrawny little neck and shake her till her teeth rattle. Taking a mental step back from this – no good steaming in there with his fists clenched, after all – he supposed that, in a way, she was a victim of Roth, too. But if she was, she’d been a willing one, coming to the Foundation of her own volition. That was also true of Mary/Ananda, although whether she was a victim of anyone but herself was a moot point. Poor Michael, on the other hand, hadn’t had any choice in the matter.
Pausing only to ask Adlard to return to the Foundation and collect some clothes and washing things for Michael, Stratton went back to the interview room to find an elderly man with a lugubrious expression and a carbuncular nose waiting for him.
‘DI Stratton.’
‘Dr Sidgwick. I’m afraid it’s too late to make alternative arrangements for the boy, but I’ve given him something to help him sleep, and Mrs Dane’s getting him settled down.’
‘What’s your opinion?’
‘Well, he’s obviously upset, but that’s hardly surprising. Mrs Dane said he was surprisingly lucid – quite a vocabulary for a child of his age, she said.’
‘Not so surprising when you remember he’s grown up with only adults for company. Adults who seem to spend most of their time speaking in platitudes.’ The doctor raised an enquiring eyebrow. ‘Have you ever been to the Foundation?’ asked Stratton. ‘In a professional capacity, I mean.’
‘Several times. Can’t say I ever thought much about it, but … they really are something, aren’t they? As to the boy’s mental state … He’ll have to be seen by a specialist, of course, but only time will tell. That and where he’s placed. If he ends up in a borstal – when he’s a bit older, I mean – I’m afraid he’s doomed. He’ll either get himself killed, commit suicide, or end up in a mental institution for life. Poor little chap. Judging from what DI Ballard said, life’s not going to be easy for that young man, whatever happens. Honestly,’ he gave a wheezy sigh. ‘It makes you despair of humanity.’
‘Thanks for looking on the bright side,’ murmured Stratton as he went down the corridor to find Ballard and Parsons. Sidgwick did have a point, though. The thought of Michael, six years hence, surrounded by callous, jeering young thugs, was awful. If that happened, God knew how he’d end up … Just have to pray that someone furth
er up the line’s got some sense, he thought.
Ballard and Parsons were waiting for him outside the cells. ‘How’s Miss Kirkland?’ he asked.
‘Not a peep out of her,’ said Parsons. ‘Last I looked, she was sitting there, bolt upright, with her eyes shut.’
‘Floating on an astral plane,’ said Ballard.
‘Well,’ said Stratton, ‘let’s hope she’s making the most of it, because she’s about to come down to earth with a bump.’
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
‘It was Mr Dunning, wasn’t it?’ Miss Kirkland smiled benevolently at a knothole in the table as she said this.
‘Mr Dunning saw you in the wood with Mrs Aylett,’ said Stratton. ‘We also have two witnesses who saw you near Jeremy Lloyd’s address in London on the night he was killed. And we found this.’ Stratton pushed forward the bag containing the debris from the bonfire. ‘We believe that you removed Mrs Aylett’s handbag after you killed her, and placed it on the village bonfire on the night of November the fifth. We also believe that the remains of this bag will show that it is identical to one purchased by Mrs Aylett’s sister, Mrs Curtin, who confirms that they bought the two articles at the same time. What do you have to say about it?’
‘Well, gentlemen.’ Miss Kirkland looked up, smile now on full beam. ‘There’s no sense in beating about the bush. I killed Mr Lloyd. I also killed Mrs Aylett, and afterwards I disposed of her handbag in the way you have mentioned. I threw the gun into the lake.’
‘How did you obtain it?’
‘From Mr Tynan. He’s got quite a collection, as I’m sure you know. Mr Roth had asked me to deliver some papers to him. I was to leave them in his study. I entered the house from the back, and while I was there I went into the gun room – there was no difficulty as it wasn’t locked – and took what I needed. The staff were busy elsewhere, and nobody saw me.’
Stratton raised his eyebrows at Ballard, who shook his head and murmured, ‘Told me they were all present and correct – obviously hadn’t looked properly.’
‘When did you do this?’
‘Two or three days before Mrs Aylett’s arrival.’
‘Were you expecting her?’
‘I had an idea that she would come, yes.’
‘Because Lloyd had told you?’
‘Yes. I’d received some correspondence from Jeremy Lloyd during the preceding months. One would not usually communicate with anybody who has left – it is neither desirable nor helpful – but I made an exception in this particular instance.’
‘Did you send him money?’
‘Yes, I did. I felt he’d been rather hard done by. Ananda had done her best to make it impossible for him to continue at the Foundation, and her treatment of him had left him unhappy and embittered, and, as she had taken over the secretarial work for Mr Roth, he felt that he wasn’t required in that capacity, either. She really had taken against him, Inspector. In part, I think, it was because he was the only man who was immune to her …’ Miss Kirkland’s mouth twisted slightly, ‘her charms.’
‘And Lloyd told you he’d discovered that Michael was not Ananda’s child,’ said Stratton.
‘Yes. He said he had evidence. That he intended to expose Mr Roth. He was very angry, Inspector, and he must have thought I would be, well, sympathetic to his cause. I went to London with the intention of persuading him not to contact Mrs Aylett. He told me that he’d sent her a letter that morning, and that he was planning to include the information in the book he was writing about the work of the Foundation. We argued, and I’m afraid … Well, it was as you saw. The scissors were on the desk, Inspector. I picked them up, and … It was as if someone else, someone quite outside myself, was acting and I was merely watching her do it. That, I believe, was what gave me the physical strength to kill him.’ She nodded solemnly. ‘Afterwards, I searched the room and took a parcel of manuscript I found in a suitcase under the bed, and then I left.’
‘Do you have the parcel?’
‘I didn’t care to see what it contained. I burnt it without opening it.’
‘If you had,’ said Stratton, ‘you might have seen Billy Aylett’s birth certificate and realised he couldn’t have been Michael – because you didn’t know about the dates, did you? You didn’t realise until you heard me talk to Michael about it.’
Miss Kirkland shook her head. ‘I considered that my first duty was to make sure that nothing should undermine the Work. I felt there was no other course of action open to me. The Maitreya had to remain inviolate – the students were not ready for … not ready to hear anything like that. What mattered was to act directly, with indifference. I sought guidance—’
‘From Roth?’
‘From a work of scripture called the Bhagavad Gita. It is a conversation between the prince Arjuna and the Lord Krishna that takes place at the start of a great battle. Arjuna is in moral turmoil because he will have to fight and kill members of his own family, and Krishna explains his duties by saying that death involves only the shedding of the body; mortality is illusory, but the soul is permanent and cannot die. It is Arjuna’s duty to uphold the path of Dharma, which is duty in accordance with Divine Law, through warfare. He must perform this duty for the greater good, without any attachment to the results. I took great strength from those words. Ananda,’ she sounded scornful, ‘had swanned off somewhere, as she was in the habit of doing, and my duty was to protect Mr Roth and the members of the Foundation. I was determined not to fail them.’
‘And determined to show Roth that he needed you more than Ananda,’ said Stratton.
For the first time, Miss Kirkland looked rattled. ‘I was his helpmeet from the beginning. Others came and went, but I remained by his side. That was my place.’
‘But when Ananda came along, Mr Roth thought it was her place.’
‘She had her duties, yes. Mine were to oversee the welfare of the students in our care. It was a great responsibility.’
‘But you resented not having exclusive access to Mr Roth.’
‘I needed to speak to him about the students. To ask his advice. Ananda made it very difficult for me.’
‘And Roth preferred her company to yours.’
‘Mr Roth was a wise man. I never questioned his devotion to her.’
‘Roth tried to protect her, didn’t he?’ Miss Kirkland looked puzzled. ‘When he told you not to tell us that Ananda had come to see him. He wanted to give her time to get away – he’d no idea she was going to come back, of course. But he didn’t try to protect you, did he?’
Miss Kirkland was frowning deeply, shaking her head. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘He knew you’d been listening, and he knew you’d spoken to me. I asked him if Ananda had said anything about the deaths of Lloyd and Mrs Aylett. I think that’s when he realised what you’d done. He could have shielded you by blaming Ananda for them, but he didn’t.’
Miss Kirkland looked at him in alarm. ‘He didn’t know!’
‘As you yourself said, Miss Kirkland, some knowledge comes from the heart …’
She shook her head with a frantic look – someone trying to fit pieces into a jigsaw that kept reassembling itself under their hands. ‘You’re twisting my words!’
‘Not at all,’ said Stratton, mildly. ‘And it seems to me that, far from remaining unattached from the results of your actions, self-preservation has been uppermost in your mind from the very beginning.’
‘No, Inspector. You see, I am not important. I am merely the instrument in this.’
‘But nobody made you do it. And – despite what you’ve just told us – you consider yourself to be mentally competent, don’t you? You know the difference between right and wrong?’
Miss Kirkland stared at him with outraged eyes. ‘Of course!’
‘In that case,’ said Stratton, ‘you must be aware that you are facing a lengthy prison sentence at best, and, at worst, the ultimate sanction of the law. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that, whatever your philosophy may s
ay on the matter, the Bible says “thou shalt not kill” and the law of this country agrees with it. And you won’t get away with it because you acted on duff information from Lloyd, either. Now, perhaps you would like to tell us exactly how you went about killing Mrs Aylett?’
Miss Kirkland took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘I wasn’t sure when she’d come, so I kept a lookout from my room. It’s at the front of the house and you can see across the garden to the woods, which aren’t too thick at this time of year. I said I was unwell and wasn’t to be disturbed. Of course, I didn’t know what Mrs Aylett looked like, but I know most of the villagers by sight and we don’t get too many strangers visiting, so I felt reasonably confident. I have a pair of binoculars – I used to be a keen birdwatcher, Inspector – which was a help. When I saw her coming down the road, I went to intercept her. I had the gun in my handbag. I made it seem as if it was a chance meeting – in fact, it was she who stopped me to ask for directions. She had very little idea of what the Foundation was; in fact,’ Miss Kirkland chuckled, ‘she appeared to think it was some sort of boarding school. It was easy enough to get her to tell me why she’d come, and when I suggested I escort her, and we take a short cut through the woods, she agreed quite readily. I think she was glad to have someone to talk to, because she told me the whole story. To be honest, Inspector, I felt quite sorry for her – for her weakness and lack of discrimination. That was what had brought her to this point, you see.’
A Willing Victim Page 35