Neil told me to go home to get some rest. He said we had a lot to do when he got back.
To be honest, I didn’t want to leave him there at the police station.
If I had known what he had been doing, trying to find the guy who attacked me, I would have been angry with him. I would have told him to stop being so bloody childish and to get over it. Especially once I found out that the sole reason the attacker had come back to our house was to warn Neil off.
But a part of me … quite a large part, was proud. Proud of what he had done. Proud of him as a husband and as a father to Michael and Rose. If I had been able to take a step back and think about things properly, I should probably have known that he was like that. From the first time we met, when he came to my rescue in a bar, he had always been protective. Not vengeful, but certainly protective.
This had all been too much for him. Revenge had to form a part of what had happened. He must have felt bad that he hadn’t been there when I had been attacked. Hadn’t been there to protect me. He hadn’t been able to stop it. So the only way he could deal with it, was to go on the attack himself. Hunt the man down and protect me retrospectively.
Of course I felt proud.
And I felt like a witch. For what I had considered him capable of. Abduction, rape, murder. Conspiracy, disloyalty, unfaithfulness.
Even the police apparently only considered people capable of drug use, knife possession, gun-slinging and assault.
Either I was unusually and imaginatively suspicious, or the police were spectacularly naive and hopeful when it came to what human beings were capable of.
I had been at home for four hours, asleep on the sofa with the broken phone next to me, before I woke to the sound of a key in the front door. I ran to Neil and threw my arms around him. He winced, but didn’t cry out. I stood back and undid his shirt buttons. He tried to stop me, but he was tired. I took his shirt off and pulled him gently into the living-room.
My lips trembled and I shook my head. Little movements, left then right. I didn’t breath in or out. I swallowed once and tried to smother the sob that seemed to be trying to escape my throat.
His body was covered in scratches. Dried blood, raw wounds, seeping gashes. On his chest, his arms, his back, his shoulders. It looked as though I hadn’t missed a single bit of him during the onslaught.
I forced myself to look into his eyes. Mine misted over. I had to blink several times just to get the focus back. I lifted his hands to my mouth and kissed them.
‘Neil … I,’
He put his hand back to my mouth, stopping my words.
‘We need to find your parents,’ he said. ‘But I really need to shower and sleep. It’s been a long couple of days.’
I sat on the bed while he showered, listening to his involuntary grunts and noises, presumably as the soap and water touched those tender wounds on his body. He didn’t know I was there, and I went back downstairs before he finished. I came back up half an hour later to find him asleep in the bed. I was pleased I had changed the sheets. I wondered whether I would need to change them again in the morning. His wounds would definitely take a while to heal.
I showered and joined him in bed. I listened to his snores, deep and penetrating. They made me feel safe. Made the world seem right again. He sounded contented. His heavy breathing rattled through me for what seemed like hours until I eventually drifted off.
But the world wasn’t right.
In my sleep I killed again.
In the morning we both slept in. Neil woke before me. I heard him in the shower. Less grunts and noises than the night before, but he was obviously still in pain. I pulled back the quilt and looked at his side of the sheet. A few stains from the wounds. Not as many as I was expecting, but more than I had hoped. I climbed out of bed, pulling the sheet off with me. I had a new sheet on before he came out of the en-suite.
He rang his office and told them he was sick.
Over breakfast he explained what had happened at the police station.
‘It almost felt like they were on my side,’ he said. ‘Some of the time.’
He had been released on bail pending further investigations.
‘They need to question the bloke in hospital,’ he said. ‘Get his side of the story. Which will no doubt be bollocks.’
I couldn’t help staring at the marks on his face. I wanted to keep him here at home. Not let him go out anywhere. Not yet. I knew it was partly because I needed him with me. But it was also because I didn’t want anyone else to see what I had done to him. I wanted to hide him until the scars and scratches had gone, and with them my guilt.
‘I had the dream again,’ I said. ‘Last night. I killed again. Attacked, raped and killed. Then I dragged her body. Dragged it across the grass. Dragged it until the grass ran out. Until the earth ran out. Until there was nothing below us, then I let her body fall. Her and her dog, still wrapped around her wrist. The dog whined as it was pulled off the earth into nothingness.’
‘Have you had a date through for this bloody assessment thing?’ he said.
I shook my head.
‘Then we still have time to get this sorted. I’d like to help … if you want me to?’
‘My dad offered to drive me down to Cornwall, to find my parents. I’d prefer it if it was you.’
He smiled and took a large bite out of his toast.
‘Do you know where we’re going?’ he said. ‘Cornwall’s quite a big place.’
‘I have an idea. But it means a bit of subterfuge. Not sure it’s strictly legal for someone who works in a respected bank.’
‘Haven’t you heard?’ he said. ‘I’m a dangerous criminal. I’m known to the “feds”.’
‘The “feds”?’
‘I heard Michael say it.’
‘Well that makes two of us known to them,’ I said. ‘You’re the violent criminal and I’m the fucking lunatic. We should do well in Cornwall.’
I had searched on the Headland Park Golf Course website again, just to see if I could find any additional mention of Richard Lapton. I checked for photographs too. There were none. I also did another search for Amelie Lapton. Still nothing.
I had worked out that the journey by car from our house to the golf club would take about three hours. I rang Abi and asked if she was still OK with the kids.
‘I’m fine, Chris,’ she said. ‘And the kids are having a lovely time. I think all four of them are treating it as a holiday.’
‘This will all be over soon,’ I said. ‘Thank you so much for everything you’ve done. I don’t know how I’d cope without you.’
I watched Neil making sandwiches for the journey, choosing what to wear, rushing about the place like a child. It made me wish I had gone with him to the Andes. He seemed energised by the thought of an adventure. On the journey I outlined my plan.
‘I thought we could pretend to be friends of his,’ I said. ‘Looking for our old friend.’
Neil looked at me and smiled. Sneered really. ‘And that’s the plan?’
I smiled back at him.
‘Chris, that’s shit,’ he said.
‘It’s all I could think of.’
‘Well it’s shit. We need to think of something better.’
I looked out of the car window for a while, nibbling my bottom lip and sulking. For some reason I had considered my plan not only brilliant, but also completely foolproof. I now felt like I had at school when I shot my hand up, convinced I knew the answer to a question from my English teacher, only to find that my answer was wrong.
I risked a peek at Neil. He still sported the smug grin he’d had when I first turned to look out of the window. I punched him on the leg. Gently, so as not to hurt him any more than I already had.
‘It seemed like a good idea,’ I said.
His smug grin became a full laugh. Which rippled over to my sulking lips, changing them too. First a smile, then a share in the laughter.
‘I probably wouldn’t make much of a detective, would I?’ I said.
Despite the derision with which my plan had been received, Neil wasn’t able to come up with anything much better, although we finally settled on his idea. To be honest, I thought it sounded like my idea, just with different characters.
‘We can say we’re from the bank,’ Neil said. ‘I’ve got some of my business cards in the car, so it will carry some weight. We can say that a relative has died and we’re trying to locate immediate family. We believe that Richard Lapton might be in line for something, as long as we can verify that he is who we think he is.’
I punched him on the leg again.
‘Ha! I knew it was better than yours,’ he said.
‘You’ve just taken my idea and changed tiny little bits of it to make it sound like it’s your idea.’
The smug grin stayed with him for longer than I had ever seen it before. As I looked at his face, I wished I could turn the clock back. Just long enough to file my nails down to nothing and to put tape over my mouth. Just long enough to look at myself in the mirror and give myself a damn good talking to. Long enough to come up with a better idea than his for finding Richard Lapton.
We pulled into the car park at Headland Park Golf Club just after 1pm. I was surprised how many cars were parked there. It was a windy day, drizzle filled the air. I wouldn’t even have gone for a walk in it, let alone played a game. As we drove slowly past the cars I wondered if any of them belonged to Richard Lapton. My heart started pounding hard. I put one of my fingers to my mouth and chewed on an already jagged fingernail. Neil put his hand on my leg.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I’m here too.’
We pulled into a spare parking space and stopped. Neil turned off the engine and looked over at me. I had one hand pushed hard against the dashboard, as though in readiness for a crash, and the other hand resting on my chest. Despite the power with which my heart was thumping away, I couldn’t feel any beat through my chest. It was as though my heart had shrunk deeper within me. Hiding somewhere. Fearful and hiding.
Neil reached across to the glove box and pulled out a couple of business cards.
‘They’re both the same,’ he said, passing one to me, ‘but if I show my one first, you can just flash your one so they see the bank logo. Just stick your thumb over the name part.’
Had he done this before? Perhaps he really did have a secret life full of deception and subterfuge.
‘Did you happen to see the name of the club secretary on that website?’
I shook my head.
‘Should I have?’ I said.
‘I think the club secretary is the one in charge,’ he said. ‘Perhaps we should have rung first to try to get an appointment. We may have rushed at this a bit.’
‘That’s what I do,’ I said. ‘That’s why you married me.’
He raised his eyebrows. This time I knew exactly what they meant.
‘That’s not why I married you,’ he said.
I was bored with punching him on the leg, so I gave him a look instead.
‘Come on,’ I said. ‘Let’s just go.’
The first thing that struck me as we walked through the main doors of the golf club was the smell of beer. Beer and wood. And a fire. It was as though we had stepped back in time and found ourselves in an old country tavern. Black painted beams and internal leaded glass on every door added to the time travel experience. But this old fashioned world appeared strangely uninhabited by humans. Or any living thing. Either all the occupants of the cars outside had all been sucked into a black hole somewhere hidden on the premises, that we too were about to fall into, or they were out getting windswept and wet on the golf course. Given the choice, personally I would have chosen the black hole.
‘I wonder where everyone is?’ Neil said.
I was about to let him in on my theory, when a black painted wooden door opened to our left. A middle aged woman with black hair glided through the door. I wondered if her hair had been styled to match the decor. Both in colour and design. She looked surprised and a little alarmed to see us.
‘Can I help you?’ she said.
Neil stretched out his hand.
‘My name is Neil Marsden,’ he said. ‘This is my colleague, Christine.’
I nodded at her and smiled.
‘We’re looking for the club secretary,’ he said.
He handed her his business card, which she studied closely.
‘I’m the club secretary,’ she said. ‘Marjorie Powell.’
Neil smiled at her.
‘Thank you, Mrs Powell,’ he said. ‘We’re trying to establish the location of a Mr Richard Lapton. The bank has been asked to verify him. It appears that someone who may be a relative of Mr Lapton, has sadly passed away leaving a not insubstantial amount of money in their bank account. We believe that Mr Lapton may have some entitlement.’
I was impressed. If it had been me who was the club secretary I would be spilling all I knew about Richard Lapton already. It made me realise how much you could get away with by using big words and loads of front.
Marjorie Powell took another look at Neil’s card. I held mine in view, with my finger resting over Neil’s name.
‘And what brought you here?’ she said. ‘You’ve come a long way.’
‘In the research we’ve managed to complete so far,’ Neil said, ‘we’ve traced quite a few Richard Laptons. You’d be surprised how many there are. But one of my colleagues came up with a Richard Lapton registered at this golf club — and that’s why we’re here.’
Marjorie handed the card back to Neil.
‘My office is up here,’ she said, moving back through the door she had just been coming out of. ‘Would you like to come up?’
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