If It Bleeds

by Bernie Crosthwaite

He made it sound as if Lara had deliberately inconvenienced him.

  “I removed the bin liners and left her on the bench, jacket open, plenty of blood. Then I had to go back to the flat and clean up the spillage, plus any evidence of my fingerprints. It all took time, more time than I expected. Around half past eight I rang Charmaine, told her I was up at the hospital, which was almost true.”

  “There was no blood contamination scare, was there? Another lie.”

  “OK. I admit fibbing is sometimes necessary. Satisfied? I got to work around the time some jogger found the body and rang the police. Fred rang Tony and the rest is history. It all worked like a well-made watch. But there was something I hadn’t planned for.”

  “What?” I asked impatiently.

  “You and I went to the park to cover the story, and only then did I find out what Lara refused to tell me.”

  “The name of her boyfriend?”

  “And the fact he was your son. That was quite a shock.”

  “It didn’t stop you trying to implicate him, did it?”

  “No, Jude,” he said coldly. “It didn’t.”

  “You kept Lara’s bracelet and planted it on Daniel. How?”

  “When I heard about his asthma attack I went to the hospital, remember? Matt Dryden, the good guy, visiting the sick. Daniel was asleep, you were having a tetanus injection. So I just slipped the bracelet into the pocket of the jeans hanging up in the cupboard.”

  “If the police had found it they’d have arrested him.”

  “It would have been a sort of sweet justice, don’t you think?”

  My blood boiled at Matt’s notion of justice.

  “Do you know what the most exciting feeling in the world is, Jude?”

  I made a huge effort to keep my voice level. “Killing someone?”

  “No. The best bit is afterwards. The police, the SOCO team, the doctor, the ambulance, the press conference, the sheer electricity in the newsroom, the buzz of excitement and fear in the whole town, and when the story’s as big as this one, the whole country.”

  He fell silent, and I knew he was revelling in the mayhem that he had caused.

  “Then you started interfering,” he said harshly. “I wasn’t too worried when you were just floundering about, but soon I could feel how close you were, like someone breathing down my neck. You only had to put all the pieces together —”

  “And one of those pieces was the river print. So you stole it?”

  “It showed my house for sale last spring by Kerwin and Black. Lara sold me the house, but I knew the police were only checking her work records for the last six months, so I reckoned I was in the clear there. That picture was the only thing that connected me to Lara.”

  “I might not have realised it was gone if I hadn’t resigned and decided to take all my personal stuff home. Your luck ran out.”

  “I don’t know about that. Having sex with you in a lift was a stroke of luck. An unexpected bonus of keeping you close.”

  I wanted to hit him but kept my hands by my sides. “Keeping me close? You pushed me in the river! You wanted me to die!”

  “You just wouldn’t give up, Jude.”

  “Why did you have to kill Hayley’s ferret?”

  “If I couldn’t get rid of you I thought I could frighten you off. Then I had an even better idea. When Laverack turned up I knew luck was back on my side. It wasn’t difficult to insinuate to him that you hated Lara. What I don’t understand is, why did they let you go?”

  “They didn’t.”

  “I couldn’t believe it when you turned up just after I’d set fire to my house.”

  “Wasn’t that a pretty drastic way of deflecting suspicion?”

  “I’m insured. And I love fire engines. It was all very exciting. Not least seeing you trying to rescue me.”

  “You were watching?”

  “The whole time. I saw you choking your guts up. Perhaps you’ll die of smoke inhalation, I thought. But no, Miss Indestructible sat on the kerb and wept her heart out for me. I was touched.”

  “Then you followed me?”

  “It was easy. When you called at that bungalow and Stan opened the door, I guessed you wanted his key card to get back into this building. And why else, but to find that bloody photo? So I drove straight here to beat you to it. I’ve been searching for it in the system so I could erase it for good. I’d have found it if Harrison didn’t have spaghetti for brains.”

  He laughed, but there was no trace of amusement in the harsh sound. “Then I heard a car. I saw you and Stan get out. What took you so long, by the way?” Without waiting for an answer Matt carried on. “I realised you might find the print and make the connection, but I was going to make sure you never got the chance to tell anyone.”

  “This is between you and me, Matt. Why kill Stan?”

  “I knew you were going to die, Jude, and I couldn’t risk Stan seeing me. When I stepped out of the shadows onto the glass bridge he looked like he’d seen a ghost. Did you tell him I’d perished in the fire? He started yelling for you. He could move fast for a big man.”

  “You disgust me.”

  “I should care? It’s odd — killing Stan was easy, much easier than Lara. Which is why I’m hoping dealing with you will be a picnic, possibly even a pleasure. I’m going to make it look like suicide. A dive from one of those walkways up there, I think. Just like Adam Keele and his high-wire act without a safety net. I’ll even write your suicide note. I can see the headlines now: I Killed My Son’s Girlfriend — Mother’s Shocking Message from the Grave.”

  “And Daniel?”

  “Don’t worry about Daniel.”

  “I’ve told the police.”

  “What?”

  “I rang them. As soon as I realised the significance of the print. They’ll be on their way soon.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “I gave them your name. If anything happens to me… or Daniel…”

  “You liar!”

  “They’ll be here any minute now. It’s Saturday night — they must be snowed under with fights and vandalism, but they won’t be long.”

  Matt stepped sharply up to me, blocking my way. I held my breath, wondering if he could hear the thudding of the blood in my veins.

  “If you are telling the truth, I’d better get on with it.”

  Twenty-eight

  He gripped me by the arm. He was young and strong and though I struggled, I felt myself weakening. Lara had experienced this too, this sense of fear and powerlessness. But she had fought back. And she was smaller and lighter than me.

  With a surge of fury I thrust my arms upwards. Matt was taken by surprise and almost lost his hold on me. I head-butted him in the chest. He expelled air like a punctured tyre. But his grip tightened. I twisted furiously, stamping on his shoeless feet, punching him with my free arm. As he dragged me along I resisted so that my arm was wrenched nearly out of its socket. I screamed with pain. I lowered my head again, aiming for his solar plexus this time. He must have guessed my plan because he hollowed his torso to avoid the blow. This brought his head down lower, and as I rose up from my abortive strike, the back of my head connected with his nose with a juddering crunch. It was his turn to scream. For a split second his hold on me loosened.

  I darted away. I knew it was my last chance. If he caught me now that would be the end of it. They’d find my body and the note. The police would wrap up the case and stamp Closed on it. I couldn’t let that happen, not only for my sake and Daniel’s but for Lara and Adam and Stan. They deserved one last mark of respect — justice.

  I kept running, staggering blindly in the dark, lurching under the elevated conveyor belt, trying to reach the control room. I heard heavy breathing up ahead. Matt must have dodged around the machines in front of me, cutting off my escape route. He’d be ready for me this time. If I tried to rush past, arms would grab me like tentacles. I could kick and scream for all I was worth. Who would hear me?

  I pulled the Nikon forward
, which even in the dark I knew better than my own face. I reached into the pocket on the strap, took out the attachment and slotted it on to the shoe on the left-hand side of the camera. I pointed it in the direction of the approaching figure and pressed.

  The single flash was enough. Matt’s hands flew up to shield his eyes. I bent low and barged forward, crashing into his knees like a front row forward. I heard his head thud against the concrete floor. He moaned loudly. I stumbled over the flying legs and fell headlong. I scrambled to my feet and began to zigzag between the machines.

  Once again I heard his footsteps, more shambling now, running a roughly parallel course to mine. He stepped out ahead of me. Just beyond him I could see the glow of Stan’s control room. I knew the door was locked and Matt had the key. To my right was the paper store. I veered into it. The towers of paper reared up in front of me like mountain peaks.

  Behind me came the reek of fresh salty sweat and the sound of laboured breathing. Light flooded the room, picking me out like a target. I was trapped.

  Only one way to go.

  I ran towards the pillar nearest the back wall and dragged myself on to the first giant toilet roll. They weren’t stacked perfectly, there were tiny footholds between each one. It meant taking huge steps, clinging on like a fly as my bare feet reached for each gap, then hauling myself upwards. Trees, cricket pavilions, now paper stacks. What next, Everest? My hysterical giggle nearly dislodged me.

  I was halfway up the tower when I heard Matt’s panting breath behind me. I glanced down. He was climbing awkwardly but frighteningly fast. There was only the depth of one web of paper between us now. I looked up. There was an open ventilation window in the wall between the paper store and the press hall, and I gauged it was just above the control room.

  Something grabbed at my foot. I kicked out as viciously as I could. Matt screamed. I saw him take a flying leap backwards, his arms circling like propeller blades. He plummeted down on to the hard floor. He lay very still.

  Gasping for breath, I struggled up the last few rolls of paper. By stretching up I could just reach the vent. I hauled myself through it, and lay balanced on my stomach on the frame, like a gymnast on a bar. I looked down. I was right. The glass roof of Stan’s office was directly below me.

  Holding the side of the vent to keep my balance, I swung my legs over so that I was now sitting on the narrow frame. Taking a gasp of air I let my body hurtle downwards, feet first. A high-wire dive without a safety net. I smashed through the glass, praying I wouldn’t land on Daniel. As I hit the floor I heard the sound of cracking bones and knew from the searing agony in my ribs and ankle that they were mine, not his.

  The booth was empty. Daniel wasn’t here. Bewildered, I started crawling round the floor looking for him, cutting my hands and knees on the broken glass.

  I heard a key scrape in the lock. It swung open. Like me, Matt was crawling on all fours, his bloodshot eyes dark and murderous.

  “What have you done with Daniel?”

  A strange noise came from Matt’s mouth, the same stertorous breathing I’d heard on the glass bridge. It ended in a hideous throaty chuckle.

  “Pretty good imitation, eh? Made you come into the press hall, didn’t it?”

  “He was never here?” I didn’t know whether to cry at being so easily duped, or cheer to the rafters because Daniel was safe.

  “More’s the pity. I’d have dealt with him too. Now that would have been fun. Still, soon he’s going to find out that his mother murdered his girlfriend and then killed herself. He’ll have to live with that for the rest of his life. I reckon that’s punishment enough for taking Lara from me.”

  He began to crawl towards me.

  Despite the knives of pain in my legs I dragged myself up. I pulled the camera strap over my head and held the huge heavy Nikon in both hands.

  “I hate to do this to an old friend, but…” I smashed the camera down on his skull. “I meant the camera of course, not you.”

  Nothing to fear. Nothing.

  Twenty-nine

  “I’m going to miss you.”

  “I’ll bring my washing home every now and then, promise,” said Daniel.

  “Can’t wait.”

  He zipped up his holdall and heaved it from the bed on to the floor. He’d grown his hair over the summer and taken to wearing nothing but black. He looked every inch the art student. I could see from the excitement on his face that he was looking forward to college. Many months ago he hadn’t believed me when I told him time healed almost anything. I knew he’d never forget Lara, any more than I would, but we didn’t talk about her as much as we used to.

  As for me, time had healed my lacerations and broken ankle and cracked ribs, but that night in the printworks still felt like yesterday. While my bones were mending it had been agony to laugh, and in just the same way, it hurt too much to think about the things I went through. That’s why I tried very hard not to. And for about five or ten minutes a day, I succeeded.

  I shivered. It was September. I’d soon have to put the heating on in this draughty old house and face another winter. When the media circus finally left town, and left me alone, I’d toyed with the idea of selling the place, maybe moving to the countryside. But I’d decided I loved this crumbling pile, or to be more exact, I loved being alive to see and touch all the old familiar things I thought I might never see or touch again.

  “What are you going to do, Mum?”

  “There are various options.”

  “Such as?”

  “Let’s see. I could open a cookery school…”

  “Yeah, right. Lesson One: How to Open a Tin.”

  “And Lesson Two: Finding Your Way Round a Microwave.”

  “Not forgetting Lesson Three: The Best Way to Order Takeaway Pizza.”

  We laughed. We hadn’t done that for a long time.

  “Seriously, Mum. When I’m gone, you can’t just hang around doing nothing.”

  “I don’t intend to. Now everything’s quietened down, I’ll… I’ll climb Kilimanjaro.” No, not that. It reminded me of tall pillars of white paper. “Or I could open a shop. A really good photographic suppliers, with gallery space to display the best local photographers.”

  “Including you?”

  “Why not? I’m pretty good.” I took pictures that helped nail a killer, I nearly added. Don’t go there, I told myself sternly.

  “Hey, that’s not a bad idea actually. Wait, I’ve got an idea for the name of your shop… Jude the Obscura.”

  More laughter. This was what I was going to miss more than anything.

  I looked at the clock on Daniel’s bedside table. “You ready?”

  “Why not?”

  Suddenly he looked nervous, aware he was going to be a new boy all over again. I held him by the shoulders.

  “You’ll be fine.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll be fine too.” I thrust my hands into my jeans pockets. My fingers touched the letter, the one I’d received that morning. I caught my breath. The pain was always there, waiting on the threshold.

  “Are you all right, Mum, really?”

  “I was just thinking about Matt. He wasn’t much older than you.”

  “He seemed such a nice guy,” Daniel said bitterly.

  “I thought so too.”

  “Do you remember when he came to see me in hospital? He was funny, he told me jokes and cheered me up. I thought he was really kind.”

  “He was kind to me too.”

  “Apart from trying to kill you.”

  “Apart from that, yes.”

  “It was all an act, wasn’t it? Underneath he was completely ruthless.”

  “Psychopaths usually are. He sorted out what he wanted and the quickest route to getting it. He’d found being charming was an extremely efficient means to an end. The feelings of other people didn’t come into it.”

  I stared out of the window into the back garden. The gap in the hedge had been filled in by the new owne
rs, Howard and Tim, who worked in local government and bred West Highland terriers. Rob and Denise had got divorced and gone their separate ways, Hayley sharing her time between her parents. I hardly ever saw them these days, though I knew I would never get out of my mind the distraught look on Hayley’s face when she realised her pet ferret was dead. Matt had no idea what he’d done to an innocent seven-year-old girl.

  Daniel joined me at the window and hugged me awkwardly, all arms and elbows. “Don’t think about it anymore, Mum. It’s over now.”

  I forced a smile. “You’re right.”

  But he was wrong. I thought about little else and I didn’t know when it was going to stop.

  “OK. Bring your bags down to the car. We’d better get a move on. It’s going to be a long drive.”

  *

  It was nearly midnight when I got back. Before I went to bed I checked my emails. I thought Daniel might have sent me a message to say he’d already made a dozen friends and got drunk in the union bar. He hadn’t.

  But there was an email from Tony Quinnell, asking me to come into the office tomorrow. He wanted to have a chat.

  I switched off the computer, wondering what that was all about.

  *

  I was still wondering the next day as I sat in his office, facing him across the wide wooden desk. He looked less wolfish and hollow-chested. I’d heard the rumour that his partner was pregnant, and the prospective new father was trying to give up smoking and get fit. But the nicotine stains on his fingers were still there, a souvenir of the past, inerasable.

  A graph on a chart behind him showed how sales of the Ravenbridge Evening Post had gone through the roof. Murder was good for business, and how efficient to have your own in-house killer.

  I’d done everything the police asked me to do, but when it was all over I’d refused all offers to do interviews, especially the ones involving money. Of course that didn’t stop me being written about and discussed. I was praised for my dogged persistence and lack of concern for my own personal safety — and castigated for exactly the same things. Foolhardy was the word used most often, and the public were urged not to follow my example. I still occasionally got letters from people who wanted me to sell my story. Tony had practically gone down on his bended knee, but I was adamant. He hadn’t spoken to me since.