by C J Carver
David Gilder warned Rob not to go to any police station, that the Saint was on the lookout for him and it was likely a cop on his payroll would hand him in.
With a bounty of a million pounds on his head, every criminal in the country looking for him, Rob had no choice but to disappear.
‘David helped me,’ Rob told me. ‘When I sailed my skiff into the storm, he was out at sea, waiting to pick me up. He stuck me in rehab, which is where I met Sorcha. Together, we started a new life in Ireland.’
His eyes went to Sorcha, who gave him a wry smile and said, ‘Where we would have lived happily ever after if we hadn’t gone to London.’
I said, ‘Why didn’t you tell us you were alive?’
‘David told me not to. George Abbott was watching Mum and Dad, Clara and you. He was never convinced I drowned. He’d send someone to check out Bosham from time to time, just in case. I couldn’t risk it.’
‘But you went to London.’
‘I thought we’d be safe,’ Rob said. ‘It had been twelve years… and I wanted to propose somewhere really special. But things didn’t plan out that way.’
Talk about an understatement.
‘Why didn’t you deny you worked for MI5? When I mentioned it on the water?’
He plucked at his hospital blanket. ‘I’m sorry about that. But David and I knew there was more going on than just the Saint wanting my blood – we wanted to find out what it was. It was like the more we knew, the more we didn’t, so he told me to find out what you knew and not give anything away. He was adamant. When David put it together, he didn’t want to tell you because he was worried about what she might do to you, to keep her secret safe.’
Like kill me, I thought.
‘I spoke to Etienne,’ Rob said. ‘He’s off the hook now La Familia know the cops confiscated their money. They’ve written off their boat too, thank God, but even though it looks like they’ve cleared me off their slate, I won’t be holidaying in Spain again.’
I picked up the newspaper. It was the first time we hadn’t been headline news. I flipped the pages to see we’d been relegated to page three. Byline Fredericka Covington.
DNA test shows MI5 officer was imposter.
They’d found Rachel’s DNA on the rooftop opposite Klaudia’s flat as well as inside Arun Choudhuri’s kitchen.
Seven people dead.
All murdered by my wife.
Chapter 78
‘I’ve missed you,’ she said.
I’d missed her too. I’d missed her body in my bed, the sound of her showering in the morning, brushing her teeth, the kiss she used to give me before she left for work. I missed the light sound of her footsteps on the path when she came home each Friday, the sound of her voice, excited and happy, how she’d come to me and wrap herself in my embrace. I missed the smell of her so badly I’d gone to bed with a bunch of her clothes one night, and bawled like a baby.
‘How have you been?’ I asked. I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
‘Bored.’ She looked around. ‘No matter what they try to make you believe, criminals are not intelligent.’
We were in the jail’s Visits Centre. Pale yellow walls, tables and chairs bolted to the floor. The room echoed with voices. Husbands, brothers and sisters, parents. There had to be over fifty people, all trying to make themselves heard. I hadn’t wanted to come, but my therapist had encouraged me to apply for a visit last month, and when the time came, I decided I may as well go. I still had questions that needed answering.
But now I was here, I couldn’t seem to form any words. My wife sat opposite, slim and strong, her skin glowing with good health, her eyes bright, her hair gleaming. She looked as though she’d just come back from an active holiday abroad, kayaking or skiing. I, on the other hand, looked as though I’d been on a two-month bender. Which I guessed I had since I was using alcohol to dull the pain, to help me pass out each night. Not great, but it was the only way I was managing to cope.
‘You look well,’ I managed.
She pulled a face. ‘There’s nothing to do except go to the gym. I’ve started a course in Spanish though. Te amo.’ She held my eyes. ‘It means I love you. It was the first thing I learned, in case you came and visited.’
I felt a bite of guilt and glanced away.
‘It’s okay. You’re here now.’ She ran her fingers through her hair, fluffing it up. ‘So, what’s new? Is everyone going mad to interview you? Have you sold your story for a million? You should, you know. It would make a great movie. I’d like Keira Knightley to play me. She’d be good. Fragile but tough.’
‘You’re not exactly fragile,’ I remarked, suddenly finding my voice.
She beamed as if I’d said something clever. ‘No. You’re right. Never fragile. Tough as old boots, me.’
Tough. That’s what her psychiatrist had called her. I’d seen him the week before I came. My therapist had arranged the meeting in the hope he might help me understand Susie – I couldn’t think of her as Rachel – and how things went wrong, but he didn’t do that.
He said, ‘She didn’t “go wrong”. She’s the same person before she was arrested as she is now.’
I thought that over. Couldn’t get to grips with it. I said, ‘She didn’t want to kill me.’
‘She most certainly didn’t. You were the supplier of her “normal life”. Why would she want to start again? She’d have to seduce another man, build up the relationship she wanted. It would be a lot of hard work that she didn’t want to afford. She was ambitious, am I right?’
‘She wanted to be the head of MI5.’
‘And she could well have done a good job. If she’d come into it legitimately. She has less of a moral conscience than the rest of us, which isn’t a bad thing when the chips are down and tough decisions have to be made.’
I stared at him. ‘She killed seven people.’
I could have said she’d picked seven flowers from the garden for all the effect my words had.
‘In her mind,’ he went on, ‘it was perfectly legitimate. She’d tried to control things as efficiently as she could, trying to lead things in the direction she wanted them to go, and when it didn’t work, she decided to eliminate the threats to her and her lifestyle the only way she could think of. Yes, she was ruthless, but to her she had no option.’
‘You’re saying she was cornered?’
‘That’s one way of putting it.’
He folded his hands on his lap, expression sombre.
‘Every society,’ he said, ‘needs particular individuals to do their dirty work. People who are fearless. People who aren’t afraid to make tough decisions, who aren’t scared to put themselves on the line. To be cool under fire. To stand alone, and not be distracted by an emotional conscience. If your wife hadn’t been an MI5 officer, she would have been drawn to something similar, like a soldier, or a bomb disposal expert. Even a surgeon or barrister, if she’d had the education. She has a sharp intellect that could have been incredibly useful to, say, the banking industry. Some of the most remarkable traders are sociopaths.’
I looked at Susie and said, ‘Your psychiatrist says you slept with George and Tony Abbott because it amused you. And satisfied some kind of power play.’
Her eyes flared. ‘One thing you have to understand is that was Rachel. Rachel slept with those men. Susie, that is me right now, today, slept with nobody, nobody else once she came out of hospital after the supposed mugging. Since then, the only person she’s slept with is you.’
Long silence.
Did I believe her?
She leaned forward again, expression intent. ‘You could say I’m two different people. Rachel was back then, doing things because they brought her pleasure, but now I’m Susie, who tries not to hurt anyone anymore. I was secretly in therapy for ages, learning what was expected of me as a normal person. I’ve done all right, haven’t I? I mean, we were happy? Had a good marriage?’
I couldn’t get any strength into my voice. It was an effort to keep talking, fight
ing to understand. ‘He also says you… struggle with empathy.’
A flutter of what might have been distress – irritation? – crossed her face, but it was quickly gone.
‘I know I’m not quite right,’ she said, frowning. ‘But it never bothered you before.’
I nodded in agreement. My voice was sad when I said, ‘No, it didn’t.’
Chapter 79
Susie watched Nick shrink on himself. He looked dreadful. His skin was ashen and his normally thick shiny hair had turned lacklustre and dull. She didn’t know how to lift him out of this hideous black mood. She wanted to take him by the hand and make his spirit glow, see him laugh again. She didn’t like him like this, all miserable and grey, and although she knew it was her fault, she couldn’t feel what others called guilt, or remorse.
What was the point?
She’d done her best to stop the truth from coming out, and she’d failed. She’d tried her hardest to do it without bloodshed, but in the end, that’s what it took. And it had nearly worked. So very nearly had she got away with it, and then Mark bloody Felton turned up with a gun he’d found in Nick’s glovebox, of all places. Given to him by his shit of a brother.
What she’d like to do to Rob when she got her hands on him. She couldn’t believe he was still alive. She’d shot him through the neck, normally a fatal blow, and although she’d wanted to stop and shoot both David Gilder and Rob through the head to make sure they were dead, Barry Gilder and Nick had nearly reached the tree line and she knew if she didn’t go after them straight away, she’d never find them. She’d told herself she would come back and finish the two men off. Once she’d dealt with DI Gilder and got her husband back.
She’d never wanted to hurt Nick. She knew she was different, but she’d softened her edges for him. She knew she could hurt him easily, so she was super careful, watching her words. She behaved as sensitively as she could to his feelings. She comforted him when he was hurt instead of telling him not to be a baby. She stroked his male ego until he purred. She mirrored him whenever she could.
Her first psychologist had taught her how to integrate into the world, how to hide among empaths without drawing attention to herself, and she’d done pretty well, learning to hold her tongue when people were being unbelievably stupid and swallowing any scathing comments before they erupted.
It was hard work, which was why she’d spend four nights a week in London, where she could be herself and snap and snarl at anyone she liked. But now everything had come crashing down and she was here, and he was there.
He said, ‘You threatened Helen Flynn. She was only an HR flunky at the Mayfair Group. You terrified her.’
‘Not personally,’ Susie told him. ‘I sent Ryan and Theo, two junior officers. They thought it was official because it involved the Saint. Same goes when they snatched your briefcase, and later when they picked me up in the Range Rover.’
She gave him a look of respect here, because she never thought in a million years he’d run after someone with a gun. Admiration plus, as far as she was concerned.
He said, ‘Barry Gilder said the Range Rover belonged to Rob.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘It’s all about timing, you see. I knew you’d report the number plate. So I rang good old Barry when I thought he’d be expecting a call from the PNC – Police National Computer – and all I said was, “PNC here,” and he said, “Great. The Range Rover.” If he’d said anything else I could have made an excuse about ringing the wrong cop.’
‘You bugged my car.’
‘Yes.’ She leaned forward, wanting, willing him to understand. ‘It wasn’t that I didn’t trust you, my love, I was trying to protect us.’
‘You lied about Rob working for MI5.’ His voice was tight.
She tried not to roll her eyes. She knew he wanted answers but did he have to pick at every scab?
Chapter 80
‘It was a mistake,’ Susie sighed. ‘Boy, did it come back to haunt me. I have to be honest, I never thought I’d see anyone from the funeral again, and at the time, when you asked how I knew Rob, it seemed like a good excuse for my being there. Besides, it was fun too, to see you think of your brother in another light. Doing something you were proud of.’ I did you a favour she wanted to say but she’d learned this wasn’t the right remark to make to an empath so she kept quiet.
‘And Mark Felton?’ he asked. ‘The older man I met in the café? Who was he?’
‘An actor.’
Nick gave her one of his looks that meant, go on.
‘I’ve used him a few times over the years,’ she admitted. ‘Kevin Parsons. He’s reliable and believable–’
‘He’s played an MI5 officer before?’ Nick looked appalled. ‘He could go to jail.’
‘He does it because he thinks it’s a bit of fun.’ She shook off Nick’s concern, thinking about Kevin, how useful he’d been. He’d played her father a couple of times, an older brother. He’d also joined her at Rob’s memorial as one of Rob’s work colleagues – people would have thought it strange if she’d come on her own for someone she didn’t know particularly well – and although Nick had barely glanced at Kevin back then, she’d still been relieved that he hadn’t recognised him when she’d presented him as Mark Felton. Kevin had also pretended to be her doctor in the hospital, when her parents had flown over from New Zealand after her supposed mugging. She’d paid him extremely well and as far as she was concerned, neither of them had broken any law.
She leaned back, breathing deeply, hating the stale acrid air and longing for a cold salty breeze against her face, wetting her hair, the sound of the curlews coming from the mud flats. She may never get back to Bosham, but there were other seaside places to live in the world, like Australia. Her mind drifted a bit, wondering how hard it would be to learn to surf now she was in her thirties, but she brought it back with a snap when Nick asked her about her childhood. Just as she knew he would.
She tried to lay it out honestly, because she knew if she didn’t do that and he caught her out again, it would definitely be the end of their relationship, but it was hard not to distort her story because telling lies came so naturally.
At one point, tears filled Nick’s eyes but she couldn’t think why. She’d told him about her father beating her before locking her in the cupboard beneath the stairs because she’d accidentally broken the pepper mill, a present from his grandmother, but it could have been any misdemeanour because he beat her a lot.
‘I didn’t mean to upset you,’ she said sincerely.
‘No, I don’t suppose you did.’
He studied her for a long time. Her eyes drifted to the wall clock to see that they only had five more minutes. Time behaved differently in prison. Either it sped along at a great pace, or it dragged interminably, making her want to weep at the tedium, the monotony of it all.
‘I’ve been reading up on sociopathy,’ he said, surprising her.
‘Oh?’ She raised her eyebrows.
‘Apparently you have a natural talent for duplicity.’
‘Why do you think I became a spy?’
‘You like money, power and control.’
Her eyes twinkled. ‘Why do you think I chose little rich girl Susie?’
‘You’re charming, witty and charismatic, and–’
‘Great in the sack.’
His mouth twitched and her spirit soared. He had almost smiled. It was the greatest gift he could have given her. She could build on that twitch of a smile, she thought. She could start making plans, forming strategies, tactics. Already her mind darted ahead, excitement igniting her nerve endings as brightly as fireworks.
‘I’ve signed up to be studied,’ she told him. ‘It was the prison doctor’s idea. Dr Verne knows how bored I get, so he’s lining up loads of professionals to prod and poke me. We don’t know enough about sociopathy yet but with so many of us around, it’s time to tackle the issue. We’re not all murderers and predators, you know, and now sociopaths can be identified with a brain sc
an, we need to understand the issue.
‘Personally, I don’t want to be tested one day and packed in a train the next, to be sent to a concentration camp and “cleansed”. We’re going to be the next witches if we’re not careful. Hunted down and put away. I’d like to help prevent that.’
She leaned forward, wanting to take his hand but not daring to in case he withdrew it. She didn’t want to take one step back, two steps forward. She wanted to be stepping forward all the time.
She said, ‘Dr Verne’s thinking I might have damage to my orbitofrontal cortex, and that maybe my front temporal lobe isn’t working very well. So lots of scans, which will get me out of here from time to time. Give me a break.’
She glanced at the uniformed guard standing nearby, back against the wall. He caught her eye and she gave him her death stare. The one which scared the crap out of people. He immediately looked away.
‘What will the tests do?’ Nick asked.
She heard the subtext. She wasn’t stupid.
‘There’s no treatment, if that’s what you’re asking. I can’t be cured.’
The bell rang to signal the end of visiting time.
They both got to their feet.
‘I’m sorry you’re in here,’ Nick said. He looked miserable.
‘My own fault.’ She shrugged. ‘But it was a good ride while it lasted. It beat cleaning offices, I can tell you.’
His expression altered, indicating he’d just remembered something.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘How did you get an induction interview? I would have thought the security services…’ He trailed off. Gave a sigh. ‘You lied.’
‘Of course.’ She gave him a cheerful smile.
For a second, the warmth in his eyes nearly flickered out, but then it steadied.
He smiled back.
‘I should have guessed,’ he said wryly. The smile remained. ‘Because what else would a sociopath do?’