Ice Blue (25 page)

Turning to the liquor trolley beside the long
white sofa, Madge poured herself a glass of brandy.
Unselfconscious, she swallowed half of it at a gulp, as if Kate
were a tradesperson or some other nonentity. Then her head swiveled
back to Kate, her smile a parody of the gracious hostess. “Do you
prefer your gin straight, or submerged in fizzy soda?”

Kate let it go. She was determined not to
lose her self-control again. “You discovered your husband was
illegally liquidating his own business, didn’t you, Mrs.
Comfrey?”

“He boasted of it.” Madge sneered again. “You
wouldn’t believe a man impotent for ten years could think with his
dick, but such is the miracle of Viagra. Oh, yes, he was
rapturously in love with Ivy, taking our life savings – the
millions he could never have earned without me by his side – and
concealing it in her ludicrous vitamin company. Quite a nest egg
for their future wedded life. I must say, Ginny and I had a laugh
at the notion of Ivy setting up house for Mal. Fitted carpet in
every room, three-piece suites of furniture, and a print of Monet’s
Water Lilies
in a ‘living room,’ no doubt.
You’ve been personal with me, Detective, so I’ll be personal with
you. Does it follow, to your sort’s way of thinking, that once
you’ve married up, you’ll be welcomed as a member of the new class?
That your husband’s old friends will teach you how to dress, speak,
entertain, and so on, without continually giving offense?”

“You tell me. Didn’t you try to move up the
ladder by marrying Tony Hetheridge? Didn’t Ginny Rowland go from
whore to financier’s wife?”

“Ah, but Ginny was brilliant at
transformation. Too damned smart for her own good, if you ask me,”
Madge added with a chuckle.

Recognizing the germ of a confession within
that sound, Kate’s skin prickled into gooseflesh. There was
something hypnotically cobra-like in Madge’s manner, in how she
alluded to murder in those plummy tones, as if Kate were the one
who ought to be ashamed of herself. Was that why Kate still hovered
beside the cold hearth, too intimidated to sit down without
invitation, neglecting even to take notes? Without Hetheridge’s
presence to span the class abyss, was she incapable of seizing
control?

A faint noise, like a door closing at the
back of the house, startled Kate. Madge, refilling her glass,
didn’t seem to notice. Perhaps the Comfreys’ cleaner was still
rattling around the place, boxing up whatnots before the estate
agent arrived?

“I like the way you call your superior
‘Tony.’” Madge saw Kate open her mouth to speak, but cut across her
without a flicker of apology. “Ginny told me she teased him about
you and that other detective, the blackie, and Tony came over all
baronial. Huffed he was Lord Hetheridge, thank you very much, and
not to be mocked. It amuses Tony to play the egalitarian, but make
no mistake – he’s nearly as complete a rotter as Malcolm ever was.
The only difference between the aristocracy and Mal’s sort is, the
aristocrats prize blood above all. They never turn on their
own.”

“So that’s why you killed Mr. Comfrey?” This
time, Kate interrupted Madge, vowels emphasized as her East End
accent escaped. “Because he turned on you and Jules? Except, of
course, he couldn’t really count Jules as blood, could he? Not when
she’s CS Hetheridge’s daughter.”

“I have Ginny to thank for Mal hearing of
that.” Madge looked almost sad. “Smart as she was, Ginny was
greedy, too. She resorted to blackmail – first with Mal, then with
me. That’s why our friendship ended on a cool note.”

Such masterful understatement would usually
force at least a grudging smile from Kate. But she was stung too
deeply by Madge’s barbs to do anything but accuse in a monotone,
“So you shot her in the back.”

“Couldn’t manage it any other way,” Madge
admitted with brittle good humor. “Quite different with Mal, I
assure you. With him, it wasn’t about extortion, or keeping out of
prison. It was about beating that bloody triumphant look off his
face.

“He never got out of his chair, you know,”
Madge went on, describing her victim’s behavior as another
Belgravia housewife might recount a shop girl’s abominable cheek.
“Just put aside his book and told me his plans. He was so proud of
scheming up a way to cast me off, marry Ivy, and leave Jules and me
with nothing but crumbs.

“I demanded to know why. He said I was old.”
Madge’s lips compressed into a dangerous slash. “As if he wasn’t!
And he said things about Jules so heartless, they made my skin
crawl. He went on and on, doing what he loved best to someone he no
longer loved at all.”

A second door opened somewhere, the sound of
a voice, a scrape and a thump. What if the cleaner popped in to say
her goodbyes, prompting Madge to recall herself and demand a
solicitor? Moments ago, Kate would have cursed an interruption. Now
something in Madge’s war-paint, in the mad light of her pale blue
eyes, made Kate almost wish someone would wander in.

“Maybe you just meant to threaten your
husband, and things got out of hand?” Kate offered, eyes on the
parlor door. “Maybe you didn’t mean to kill him?”

“I meant to walk away.” Madge downed another
gulp of brandy. “That’s what he couldn’t endure. He called me back,
like a headmaster summoning a schoolboy. When he finished dressing
me down, I was ill. Violently ill, heaving up my guts while he
laughed.”

“Mum!” It was Jules. Madge didn’t answer,
didn’t even seem to hear, still holding Kate’s gaze with increasing
intensity.

“When I composed myself, Malcolm said he’d
pack his bags in the morning. In the meantime, he’d finish his
drink. ‘The fire’s dying,’ he said. He pointed to the fireplace and
said, ‘Stir it up before you go.’”

“Mum!” Jules called again, louder.

“Oi! Madge!” Kevin shouted. Raucous laughter
followed.

“I never felt out of control,” Madge
continued defiantly, as if Kate counted on such an excuse. “Just
done with him. Done with Malcolm Comfrey taking up space on this
earth. So I stirred up the fire and hit him with the poker until my
arm ached, until his blood stuck to my face and hair. Then I drove
the poker into his skull. He was still alive. Gurgled a bit, with
the poker hanging out of his eye socket. I watched him die. And
felt … nothing. Everything. But not sorry.”

“Mum!” The door banged open as Jules bounded
into the parlor. “Kevin and I are starving! Want us to bring you
back a take-away curry?”

Jules wore her KEVIN’S TOY t-shirt and ripped
blue jeans. Her resemblance to Hetheridge was obvious, now that
Kate expected it, despite the girl’s dilated pupils and loopy grin.
Kevin Whitley, appearing at Jules’s shoulder, also looked in the
grip of some marvelous diversion.

Jules recognized Kate. The girl’s features,
briefly happy, reassumed their natural sullen look. “What’s she
doing here, Mum? Aren’t we suing Scotland Yard?”

“Was it Jules who helped conceal your guilt?”
Kate prodded Madge. “Or was it Kevin?”

That contemptuous curl of the lips again;
that mad light in the eyes. “They’re innocent, Detective. Haven’t
you been listening?”

“What’s she on about?” Kevin demanded of
Kate.

“Mrs. Comfrey told me she killed her husband.
I want to know how she concealed the evidence.”

Jules made a high-pitched noise of denial.
Kevin, more practical despite his drug
du
jour
, was outraged. “She can’t do this to you, Madge. Call a
solicitor! Don’t say noffink else!”

Madge shook her head. Swallowing the remains
of her drink, she set the glass back on the liquor trolley with a
thump of finality.

“I don’t need a solicitor.” Madge reached
into the front pocket of her dress, withdrawing a black snub-nosed
pistol. “I have everything under control.”

“’ang on!” Kevin cried. “That’s mine!”

Kate’s throat constricted as her stomach gave
a steep, sickening lurch. As Madge braced her right hand with her
left, keeping the gun level, Kate heard something small and
metallic clatter to the floor. Her smart phone had fallen – because
her fingers had forgotten to clasp it.

“Watch it, Detective. I was shaky with Ginny.
Won’t be shaky with you.”

“Mum!” Jules cried.

“M-mrs. Comfrey,” Kate said, horrified at how
her voice shook and determined to speak regardless. “Put down the
gun. You won’t commit a third murder right in front of your
daughter.”

Madge spared trembling, white-faced Jules a
glance. “You’re nothing to her,” she said, locking gazes with Kate
again. “And she needn’t look. It’ll all be done in the blink of an
eye.”

“Mum, I don’t care if you killed Dad!” Jules
darted close to Madge, almost close enough to shield Kate from the
gun barrel. “I’m glad you did! He deserved it. But you didn’t kill
Ginny. You couldn’t have.”

“I never killed your father, darling. I
should have told you long ago – you were Malcolm’s in name only.”
The gun wavered as Madge took on a wheedling tone. “As for Ginny –
I would have fixed things differently, I promise. I only took along
Charlie’s shooter for self-defense. But she’d guessed about
Malcolm, and said if I didn’t pay up, she’d sell the story to the
tabloids. I had no choice.”

“In name only?” Jules repeated dully, eyes
brimming with tears.

Hope surged in Kate. If Jules rushed to her
mother, blocking Madge’s aim, it could provide Kate’s only chance
to escape. But even as Kate prepared to run, Kevin pushed Jules
aside, lunging for the pistol.

“Give me that!”

The gun went off. Kate’s ears rang and she
tasted bile. But she managed to keep her feet, even as Jules
dropped to her knees with a wail and Kevin blundered into the
liquor trolley, sending it crashing to the floor. Only Madge
remained calm, bracing her right hand as she again trained the
weapon on Kate.

“That’s mine,” Kevin howled again, kicking
himself free of the liquor trolley with another loud crash. “You
stole it, you mad bat!”

Kate tore her gaze from the gun long enough
to glance at Jules. The girl was back on her feet, fists pressed
against her mouth to hold in the sobs, but physically unharmed. No
bullet hole marred any of the walls Kate could see – which meant it
was probably lodged in the plaster behind her head.

Jules’s half-muffled sobs escalated in pitch.
“Oh, for God’s sake, darling, go,” Madge snapped. “No one will ever
be able to prove you two witnessed any of this. I’ll be in touch
once I reach the Continent. I mean it, Kev!” she said louder, when
he seemed poised to lunge for his weapon again. “Take Jules and
go!”

“If you want to help Mrs. Comfrey, one of you
should stay here,” Kate said, fighting to keep her voice steady.
Her bowels had gone liquid. “The other should call 999…”

“Oh, come off it.” Madge took a step toward
Kate, lifting the pistol and cocking the hammer.

Jules, face blotchy and eyes red, took a last
look at Kate over her shoulder. Then Kevin pulled her through the
doorway, and they were gone.

“Killing me won’t change things for you,”
Kate said, the words tumbling out as she realized neither Jules nor
Kevin would call anyone on her behalf. “And murdering a police
officer will destroy your chance for a light sentence.”

“I won’t get a light sentence. I’ll get life.
Besides – you underestimate me,” Madge smiled. “When it comes to
killing, I seem to be a gifted amateur. All my life, I’ve been a
good girl. Even when his Lordship pushed me aside, did I force him
to pay me off or marry me? No. I found another man to provide the
only thing I ever wanted – security. If Malcolm hadn’t tried to
deny me what was mine, I would have let him go. As it was, I quite
enjoyed taking his life. Perhaps I’ll enjoy taking yours, too.”

“Not as much as you’d enjoy taking mine,
Madge. Let Sergeant Wakefield go. It’s me you have a grudge
against.”

Kate didn’t dare turn, but she would have
known that voice anywhere.

“Let the sergeant go. Let me take her place,”
Hetheridge said. “Madge, I’m making you a serious offer.”

“Why would I do that?”

“She has no history with you. She’s done
nothing to harm you. You and I are the ones with unfinished
business.”

For the first time, Madge looked uncertain.
“Why bargain? I have five bullets. I could shoot you both.”

“One of us would make it across the room
before the second shot,” Hetheridge said. “You’ll lose control if
you get greedy, Madge.”

“Are you lecturing me again?” Madge’s voice
trembled with anger. “That’s why I mix painkillers with my Valium.
Because men like you have treated me like rubbish all my life. And
that’s why I kept Jules from you, Tony. Because I never wanted her
father to reject her as heartlessly as he rejected me, once the
novelty of her existence wore off.”

“Madge.” From behind her, Kate heard
Hetheridge take a measured step forward. “I’m sorry for what I did
to you. Truly sorry. Let Sergeant Wakefield go.”

“Come closer,” Madge said.

Hetheridge took one step past Kate, then
another. He did not look back at her. He came to a halt less than a
meter from the gun, which Madge pointed at his face.

“You can go,” Madge said to Kate, her eyes on
Hetheridge.

Kate couldn’t move. She didn’t want to. All
she could do, even in the grip of terror, was try and calculate
some superhuman way she could reach the gun and wrestle it away
before Madge could pull the trigger.

“Go,” Hetheridge said.

Kate couldn’t make herself move.

“
Go now
!” Hetheridge roared.

Kate’s body responded quicker than her brain.
First she was stumbling, then running, escaping the house the way
she’d come. Bursting out of the double doors, she hit the front
steps, falling into the arms of Paul Bhar. Superintendent Jackson’s
second unit had set up camp on the Comfreys’ front lawn. A
van-based command center was parked on the street while several
panda cars, blue lights flashing, were positioned to impede
traffic.