Doppelganger (23 page)

“Not good enough,” she whispered,
staring straight ahead. “You didn’t believe me. You needed to check up on what
I said.”

“All right. Truth is, I was
terrified, do you blame me? When I found out you were Megan, my world slipped
into orbit. Nothing made sense, nothing was rational.”

She was crying. “You should have
believed me. It’s not enough Jack...”

“I know that.” I held her hand,
squeezed it tightly, was grateful that she wasn’t pulling away. “I’ve been a
bastard. I’ve treated you badly. But let me make things right now. Please.
Please,
please
Lucy. I want to make things right. I want us to be together
from now on.”

The coldness in her eyes melted.
“I wanted to tell you everything right at the start. But I was scared. Scared
that if I told you the truth you couldn’t bear to be near me. That you would
hate me. That you’d react exactly as you
did
react.”

“At the moment we’re both under a
lot of stress.” I told her about the failed attempt on my life at the manor,
that I’d only escaped because I’d taken her to hospital. “I’m hoping that I’ve
settled the Sean Boyd danger, but I can’t be sure of anything. Thing is, Stuart’s
told the police about Dr Roger Lamelle. They’ll surely be able to find some
evidence against him.”

“They won’t. He’s always one step
ahead. And, worst of all, I think he knows that I suspect him of the Bible
Killings,” she said.

“Tell me about the night Caroline
was attacked.” I asked.

“What Caroline told you was true.
I was there.” She stared ahead, expressionlessly. “I couldn’t admit to it to
the police, but I was there. I was determined to get him. All the years I’d
suffered, and I knew beyond doubt that he was a killer, so having traced him to
Canterbury I found a flat there, and then volunteered at the hospital as a way
of following his movements. I followed him every night after work for a week.
Drove after him, got to know his routine, where he went after work, where he
lived, the places he stopped off on the way. That night was different. He drove
along a different route. I suspected something might happen. I parked a long
way behind his car, then crept out to see where he went.”

“Did Lamelle see you?”

“At the very last minute, when I
rushed towards them to stop him strangling her, he saw someone of my size and
build, but he may not have recognised me. I didn’t get too close – I didn’t
need to, because Caroline managed to break free and run.”

“Did she see you?”

“She may have done.”

“Why didn’t you go to the
police?”

“I’d have had to tell them I was
following him. And if I’d told them what had happened they wouldn’t have
believed me. Who was likely to be believed between the two of us? An unknown
hospital volunteer or a respected clinical psychiatrist? Besides, I’d have had
to tell my handler about my suspicions, and any suggestions that I was acting
like a vigilante and the terms of my release under licence would have been
automatically breached. They could have locked me up again. My only chance was
to get proof.”

“Did you follow him in
Nottingham, and Huddersfield?”

She shook her head. “I just read
about the murders in those places. It was afterwards that I discovered he was
working as a doctor there during those periods. It was when he came to
Canterbury that I decided to come there to live – I
had
to try and stop
him.
I had to do something
. And not long after he’d arrived there was
the first killing.”

“And all these years, is it him
you’ve been afraid of?”

“Yes. Jack, he kills people. He
enjoys
killing people. He’s got everyone on his side and he’s clever. What bloody hope
do I have against someone like that?”

“What happened the night he
attacked Caroline?”

“It was just as she said. He came
up behind her, so that she couldn’t see his face. I ran towards them to break
it up, he heard me, looked up and stumbled, and she was able to get away. I was
wearing dark clothes, a big hat, dark glasses. I don’t think he could see my
face as I ran towards him. As Caroline ran, I tried to intercept her, to stop
her running, to tell her it was okay, that he’d gone, but she just stared at me
and ran in a panic.”

“What happened next?”

“Caroline was running towards the
road, as you know, and Lamelle had long gone. I heard the screech of car brakes
– I imagine it was your car. I ducked out of sight. His car had already gone.”

“Does he know who you are?” I
asked her again.

“I don’t know.”

A nurse appeared behind us. I
realised that while we’d been talking, Lucy’s grip on my hand had tightened
more and more. Now she didn’t want to let me go.

“Time’s up, young man,” said the
cheery nurse. “Lucy needs her sleep now.”

“Can you forget the things I said
to you?” I asked Lucy.

“I can try.”

“Happy birthday for tomorrow.”

“Thirty eight. All my life, the
feeling I’ve had that I wouldn’t make it. And if you hadn’t saved me I would
have been dead.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.
And I’ll ring you in the morning.”

“Can you fetch me some clothes
from my flat? A spare couple of nightdresses and my dressing gown and slippers?
And my Kindle – I’ve got nothing to read.”

“Of course.”

Once I was outside the hospital
and beside my car in the car park, I flipped open my mobile and dialled the
number I still had in my contacts for Millicent Veitch. She answered on the
third ring.

“Jack? Why the hell are you
ringing me?” she snapped.

“To warn you Millicent. Your
boss, Roger Lamelle. He’s the killer you’re looking for.”

“What did you say?”

“I haven’t time to go into it.
But everything fits. You’ve been discussing the cases with him, haven’t you?
That’s why he’s always been one step ahead of the police. He never makes the
same mistake twice.”

“Have you gone mad, Jack?”

“I’m ringing to warn you, Millie.
Once the police are on to him, he’s very likely to target you. You’re in
danger.”

“No, you’re in danger, Jack. You
were a psychiatric inpatient not long ago, weren’t you? Looks as if you’re in
danger of losing your mind all over again!”

“Listen to me, Millie,
for
God’s sake listen, you silly bitch!
Stuart’s already told the police what
we know, it’s just a question of time before...”

I stopped talking as I became
aware of a shadow beside me, felt a pinprick in my arm. Then there was
blackness.

I woke up to feel the light grey
fabric of my car’s upholstery chafing my face, the aroma of the cloth filling
my consciousness. I tried to move my arms but they were tied behind my back and
my legs seemed to be bound at the ankles. I couldn’t move, because something was
strapping me firmly down against the seat. The car was cruising fast, the
rumbling of the engine throbbing through its frame, rocking and jerking me
around with the undulations in the road.

Managing to turn my head sideways
on the seat I saw a man at the wheel of my car, his hands in surgical gloves.
My head felt muzzy and it was hard to breathe. I could see the rakish profile:
dapper Lord Lucan moustache, thick dark hair, arrogant sleepy eyes, a mouth
curved into a bitter smile of arrogance as he stared intently ahead.

“Awake then?” he called across,
peering into the rear view mirror. He’d obviously altered its angle so he could
keep sight of me while he drove.

“Who are you?” I asked. “And what
the hell are you doing?”

“I’m Roger Lamelle. And I’m driving
us back to Canterbury – I found your address in your wallet.”

My voice felt hoarse. I coughed
for a long time, straining against the ropes that bound me, but there was no
hope of escape.

“You can’t get away with this.”

“With what?”

“Stealing my car. Kidnapping me.”

“The answer to your first
question is that I can certainly get away with what I’m doing. And I will.” He
smiled. “Because I’m lucky you see. Always have been.”

“So you are the Bible Killer?”

 He nodded almost to himself.
“What a stupid name that is. Why do the press have to brand everyone with a
ridiculous epithet? But you’ve guessed right. It is me that the police have
been looking for. To date I’ve killed several women in Canterbury. Not to mention
quite a few more in other towns over the past few years. But I can rest easy in
the knowledge that I’ve got the skill and the brains and the luck to keep one
step ahead of the idiots who are trying to catch me.”

Another long pause. Neither of us
saying anything. My neck felt cramped and hurt, as I strained to look at him.

“I expect you're wondering about
your girlfriend, Lucy. Or rather Megan. I’ll always think of her as Megan. I
expect she’s told you that I killed Aiden, that she was totally innocent,
hasn’t she? And you believed her?”

“Yes.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t really
matter what you believe. The truth is we both killed Aiden. I started to choke
him, she finished him off.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Do you really think that after
all that questioning by our teachers and the police they’d get it so wrong? We
both enjoyed it. But it was Megan who went through with it.”

“I still don’t believe you.”

He laughed. “Okay, you’re going
to die, you may as well know the truth I suppose. You’re probably right, though
even I can’t be certain. I
think
I knew Aiden was dead, because I felt
that thrilling few seconds when the life went out of him, but I could be wrong.
It might easily have been Megan who finished him off. But I’ve killed plenty of
people since then and do you know what? It’s the most exciting feeling in the
world. I can still remember the thrill that ran through me – there’s absolutely
nothing to compare it to. Yes, looking back on it, it was too bad for Megan
that she paid the price for Aiden Caulfield, when, in fact she played the
strangling game as merely for fun, whereas I had other ideas. But tell me, what
was I supposed to do? Everyone thought she was guilty, and I wasn’t sure at all
which of us had actually killed him. All I had to do was keep a low profile.
For goodness sake, I was a
child
, I acted like an innocent child, just
as everyone expected me to do. I strangled little Aiden and he hardly even
struggled, then Megan came over and it was too late for me to do anything but
watch and wait, so that’s what I did. It’s strange, you know I was right on the
point of telling the teacher that it could have been my fault, but something
held me back. I thought instinctively: wait, whoever’s held responsible for
killing Aiden is going to be in big trouble, so wait and see what happens. For
a long time I thought the truth would come out, I really did. But Megan was
taken away. A policeman asked me some questions, but I decided to brazen it out
and lie. And that was it. And gradually people forgot about Aiden and about
Megan.”

 “How did you know where to find
us?”

“I heard from a friend of hers at
the hospital that she was being treated at this hospital, and her boyfriend was
with her. I thought that coming down here would be the best way to find you.
And of course now that you know so much I have to deal with you permanently.”

“What about Lucy?”

“It was quite easy to finish
Megan. No one stopped me going into the ward – I wore my white coat with my
hospital ID and no one noticed I wasn’t on the staff. Megan was asleep. I added
a little something to the saline drip she was connected to. By now it should
have worked: caused a major heart attack.”

I choked back tears of impotent
fury. “Tell me something.”

“What?”

“Why do you enjoy killing
people?”

He laughed, genuinely amused.
“Jack, Jack you are priceless! That is as absurd as asking a man in a brothel
why he wants to have sex. Or a junkie why he wants to stick a needle in his
arm. There simply is no answer.”

“It gives you a thrill?”

“
Of course it gives me a thrill
.
For God’s sake man, it’s the ultimate high! You’ve got
power
, for those
seconds while their life drains away, you are God.
You are God
. And as
for the victims...” He took a hand off the wheel and waved it in the air.
“Apart from a brief period of pain and fear, it’s all over for them quite
quickly, they simply, how can I put it... They simply
cease to exist
.”
He slowed for an upcoming junction, and turned towards me for a second. “I’ll
tell you a secret that hardly anyone knows Jack, and I swear to you that this
is true: killing someone is a hell of a lot more exciting than sex or any kind
of drug I’ve ever tried. The joy is the power you have over them you see,
that’s the incredible feeling that never fails to excite me, the high to end
all highs. The tragedy is, hardly anyone understands. The ecstasy of creating
death is one of life’s best kept secrets.”

“Why is it always women?”

He shrugged, trailing a finger
along his luxuriant moustache. “Women are easy to overpower. Women are man’s
natural prey. They know it too – ultimately, they enjoy any act of aggression
towards them. Of course they wouldn’t admit it, but when it comes down to it,
women
enjoy
being dominated, they long for a man to rape them, or to
beat them. And I tell you this, Jack, when they die, they die gloriously,
in
rapture
.”

“You really believe that?”

He nodded. “It’s the natural
order of things, you see, that we in the modern world shy away from. But you
can’t stop your natural primitive instincts. They’re always there, lurking just
under the surface. The urge to hunt, to ravish...”

“To kill?”

“
Of course to kill!
Hasn’t
it ever occurred to you that our medieval ancestors thought nothing of
murdering each other? Men have been hacking each other to death for centuries,
and no one thought it was wrong. That was what  chivalrous knights of old did –
they didn’t just go around defending their maidens’ honour in carefully staged
jousts, and dignified contests of strength. They stabbed and cut and sliced
their way
through flesh!
They massacred and killed and raped, because
that’s what they
wanted
to do. It was what you did, it’s what being a
man has always been about.”

“But you’re a doctor.”

“So was Harold Shipman and Dr
Crippen. Murder’s much easier for us because we’re used to death. Everyone wondered
why Harold killed his patients. I know why. He enjoyed it.”

“Just like you do.”

“But I do it with panache. I take
my victims by surprise... Harold nudged the elderly into sleep, he didn’t
select a victim at random as I do. He wasn’t a hunter like I am. He had no
flair, no originality, no
style
... All that nonsense about having a
Bible left on the corpse with passages highlighted, to make it look like the
killer had a mania for religion. Did you know that the police have got little
Millicent working flat out to profile this ‘religious killer’, they think the
religious aspect is highly significant, and Millicent comes and tells me all
about it. She even asks for my advice! My God, how easy it’s been. The
mutilations I carried out after death were just a bit of harmless fun, a chance
to practise my old anatomy skills and bamboozle the bloody stupid police even
more, mimicking the Thomas Becket angle, I always enjoyed reading about how
they smashed his head and spread his brains across the floor of the cathedral.
It appealed to me, doing something that linked me to England’s greatest, most adored
martyr, whom Christian people still flock to worship in pilgrimage year after
year. It was the ultimate desecration of Christianity, it appealed to me to
mock the blessed St Thomas’s memory. And you see Jack, as I told you, I’m
lucky, I’ve been lucky all my life. That’s why they’ll never catch me.”

His talk was delivered at top
speed, there was a wild maniacal quality to his behaviour, as if he was high on
drugs. I wondered exactly how to categorise Lamelle’s particular type of
insanity. Sociopath? Psychopath? Delusional? Egomaniac? I really didn’t know.

“When did you realise who Lucy
was?”I asked.

“I recognised her the night I
almost killed Caroline, as someone I’d seen at the hospital, someone who was
following me. I had to find out why, who she was and how she came to know my
secret. So I made a point of looking for her around the place, and then, sure
enough, I saw her on the ward one day, got a damned good look at her. Her face
had hardly changed from when she was a child. The clincher was the foreshortened
finger on her left hand. I remembered it in the school playground, that finger.
I knew it was Megan. No doubts in my mind.”

“And you knew she was on to you?”

He nodded, slowing for the
reduced speed limit. “It would have been too much of a coincidence for her to
be working at the very same hospital as I was otherwise. I knew she suspected
me of the murders, and I knew she’d deliberately followed me to Healey’s Wood
that night.”

“To stop you.”

He didn’t reply for a moment. “Or
maybe to watch me.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know
about Megan. But when she turned up, the girl managed to break free. Ever since
I’ve been planning how to get rid of her. You know the rest.”

“So what’s your plan?”

“I found a pistol in your car’s
glove box. See? I told you I was lucky. Strange an ostensibly law-abiding guy
like you having a gun, but then maybe you’re not all you seem – so few of us
are. Your gun makes things so much simpler. For one thing it’s yours – your
fingerprints will already be on it.”

I remembered the gun that Dave
Boyd had given me. The shiny .38 snub-nose revolver that he’d loaded for me
with the magnum shells. Ironic that the weapon that had been given to me to
protect myself was going to be the means of my destruction. But, although it
didn’t matter now, my fingerprints were not on it. I’d been careful to avoid
handling it without gloves, for the very reason that I envisaged having to
abandon it after using the thing, and didn’t want to be linked to it
forensically. However, points like that were hardly relevant now.

Straining to see through the
windscreen I recognised local landmarks near home. We’d reached the outskirts
of Canterbury already. Proving that I must have been asleep for most of the
long journey.

“You’re going to shoot yourself”
he said matter-of-factly, as he switched on the indicator to turn into the road
through the woods leading to my house. “Your girlfriend successfully killed
herself, because your relationship’s over – I saw from the hospital notes she
had already taken an overdose, and what I put into her intravenous drip isn’t
traceable easily – she’ll simply have a heart attack, they’ll assume it was a
sad repercussion of the medication she took, which I happen to know can cause
these unexpected reactions. And you have business worries, I gather. In short
you have no future, your girlfriend tried to kill herself, and is not likely to
survive, so you’ve nothing to live for and you’ve decided to end it all. I
don’t imagine you’re going to be obliging enough to open your mouth to let me
blow your brains out in the classic way, but I think we can manage perfectly
well with a round into the side of your head, à la Russian Roulette. If the
single shot doesn’t kill you immediately at this range it should take out a big
chunk of your skull and I promise you won’t last long. Unfortunately I can’t
grant you the luxury of a second shot, that would stretch credulity a little
too much! You might bleed for a while, and possibly experience a great deal of
pain before the end. Once you’re dead or dying, I simply untie your hands,
clasp them around the gun’s stock and leave you holding it – or maybe let you
drop it, I don’t know which would actually happen in a suicide. I’ll play it by
ear. Of course there’s things like gunpowder residue on the fingers which won’t
be there, but I doubt they’ll spend too long doing tests like that when the
cause of death is so obvious. Even if they suspect it’s not suicide, Millicent
has told me that you have a dangerous enemy – a gangland criminal no less, a
character called Sean Boyd. So if they don’t conclude suicide, they’ll assume
it was a gangland murder made to look like suicide. Either way I’m in the
clear.”