In Denial (5 page)

They would find the Lexus first.

He was not going to hide it - what would be the point? It wasn’t because he didn’t want to be found. It was his life; he had decided to take it and once taken it did not matter a jot.

He would sleep well.

The bed looked really comfortable.

He smiled to himself. ‘The condemned man had a good night’s sleep.’

Condemned?

As the murderer drew the blade across Lucinda’s throat he had ensured the death of someone else who was at that point one hundred and forty miles away. He had not killed three people that night; he had killed four because, as sure as the earth was round, he would be responsible for Adam’s death too. It wouldn’t be suicide it would be murder by proxy.

But he didn’t really blame the man.

As he had told himself on so many occasions, he blamed society.

The police? Their rush of enthusiasm was followed by disappointment when Adam’s alibis were supported. DC Tilsey was convinced it was a cut-and-dried case - a misplaced and maybe unintentional witticism that was not lost on Adam when it had been stated in front of him - of husband kills wife and kids. DC Tilsey couldn’t hide his disillusionment and disappointment when even he had to admit that Adam could not have been the murderer.

The pathologist put the times of deaths down to between midnight and three o’clock on the Friday morning. Adam was at a corporate dinner on the Thursday evening and he and two other younger accountants left The Dorchester at just after ten-thirty.

Adam didn’t want to go on to a nightclub so he went back to his small flat and called Lucinda at eleven before going to sleep. Perhaps the police could have intimated he’d had time to drive to Ashbourne, murder his family and then return to London.

However, a small incident - which at the time was insignificant - proved such a journey would have been impossible. At just after midnight, Mrs Gladys Moules, a woman in her late sixties who lived in the flat above him, banged on his door in quite a state. Ginger, her old, smelly and moth-eaten neutered Tom was stuck up a tree, the branches of which were a matter of feet from her window. Adam spent over an hour with her attempting to coax the cat back into the flat. Eventually he succeeded and in payment was scratched on his arm. Mrs Moules confirmed his account of events, and he was able to show the police the aftermath of the scratches.

Once he was taken off the suspect list, the funerals in the past, the house having already been given back to him, the carpet having been replaced in the living room, the bed linen and mattresses disposed of and replaced, he was ready to do something. But so soon after saying goodbye he had no idea what. He had paid off all debts - this amounted to a couple of credit card bills of less than two hundred pounds - and he’d revised his will.

The will was the most difficult part.

Lucinda was the sole beneficiary with instructions to give to Charlotte and Timothy what she thought appropriate.

It had to be changed.

Lucinda’s parents had paid off the mortgage many years previously. They owned a very successful restaurant business and for them a few hundred thousand pounds were the least they could do for their only daughter - and son.

The revised will was written, witnessed by a near neighbour who signed without reading anything and then Adam left it on his desk in the study. He didn’t leave a note, as with so many other things there was no point.

There was still a sole beneficiary but this time it was Mrs Gladys Moules and her cat.

*  *  *

Adam slept well.

His first thoughts after he woke at just after seven o’clock were rational and welcome because perhaps the day had finally come. He did not feel scared, he did not even feel apprehensive, he was at peace with his world and soon he would be at peace with everyone else’s as well. If it turned out to be the right day, he would not be waking again. This could be the last time he opened his eyes and wished that this day had come a lot sooner.

He even smiled.

Nobody would understand, so what was the point of trying to explain. He had gone to sleep confident that all loose ends were taken care of and there was nothing more he could do, especially not for Mrs Gladys Moules.

He was ready.

After showering, he packed the small weekend bag he’d brought with him, made sure there was nothing left in the room and then, after putting a hundred and thirty-five pounds in cash in one of the drawers for Doris, he went out to the Lexus and threw the bag in the boot. Peering up at the sky he was delighted to see that it was going to be the clear blue he had hoped for, accompanied by a slight breeze but from the north. It was going to be the beautiful autumnal day he had prayed for in more ways than one. All he had to do now was enjoy the smoked haddock and poached eggs Doris promised him, and then he would willingly head off to find the right place.

At exactly eight-thirty Doris greeted him with a ‘Morning, Mr Harrison,’ placing a plate in front of him on which there were two large portions of smoked haddock with a bright yellow and white freshly poached egg on each piece of fish.

‘
This looks wonderful, Doris. Thank you very much.’

‘
It’s my pleasure. Tea or coffee?’

‘
Coffee please.’

‘
And would you like some fruit juice?’

‘
Please, grapefruit if you have it.’

‘
I have. It would normally be laid out but the snug is too small.’

‘
Of course.’ Adam picked up the fish knife and fork.

A few moments later she came back with the coffee and fruit juice. ‘Saw you putting your bag in the car,’ she commented. ‘Does it mean you’re leaving early?’

‘
No, no, Doris. This really is good, you know. No, I’m popping back down to Glasgow this morning and my papers are in the bag.’ He did not look at her as he spoke.

‘
Are you now?’

Adam sensed her scepticism. ‘Before I leave this morning I’m going to give you the cash for the three days I’ll be staying. I know that so many people are untrustworthy nowadays.’ He would retrieve the money he left for her in the drawer. He hadn’t expected to be seen when he put the bag in his car.

‘
There’s no need, Mr Harrison, I ...’

‘
No, I insist. It’ll keep my conscience clear.’

‘
Well, if you insist.’

‘
I do.’

‘
Right, I’ll leave you to enjoy your meal. You’ll be back for dinner this evening?’

‘
Yes, of course.’

‘
Dinner about eight then?’

‘
Eight will be fine.’ He didn’t like lying but there was no point in arousing unnecessary suspicions.

He drove slowly south down the A82 until he picked up the signs for Balloch after which he joined the Old Military Road to Drymen. The road to the Loch Lomond Park Centre was good but not that busy. He passed perhaps three other cars coming the other way, and noticed just one car in his rear view mirror.

He parked the Lexus in the Balmaha Visitors’ Centre car park, locked it before patting it affectionately on the wing and set off on foot along the Rowerdennan road that led up the east coast of the loch. He’d noted the sign which told him the road did not go beyond Rowerdennan. He didn’t need a road that went anywhere; his road just needed to come to an end.

As he’d thought earlier, his expectations of a beautiful autumnal day were satisfied and as he walked through the pines he found himself whistling. There were not that many thoughts going through his head other than the need to fulfil the goal he had set himself. He could see the water - his resting place - glistening through the trees. He was never in any doubt as to how he was going to kill himself. As soon as he’d decided on the location, the method simply fell into place. He had heard that drowning was not a painful way to die although he had to smile when he wondered how many people who'd drowned had been asked for their opinion.

After walking what he guessed was about a mile to where the road was closer to the water, he stopped. There was a small island out in the loch to his left - probably the one he'd looked at the previous day - and beyond it he thought he could just make out the roof of The Colcorran Arms on the opposite bank. He left the road and walked down a small track towards the shoreline.

Sitting down on the trunk of a felled tree, he began the hour he had given himself to reflect on his life and more importantly on the loss of his family. He saw their faces, could hear their laughter, their chatter; there was nothing he could not remember.

In the beginning he had cried, he had screamed; he had done everything in his power to rid himself of the utter desolation that had engulfed him, but all to no avail.

He could not cry any more.

He was drained of all emotions; his feelings were subsumed by the need to bring it all to a close. Nothing was ever going to get better; there wasn’t a light at the end of this dark tunnel, not even a glimmer.

Adam lifted his face to the warmth of the sun. He could smell the pine and hear the water lapping against the shore fifty yards away.

He would be ready soon.

He closed his eyes.

*  *  *

‘
It’s perfect isn’t it?’

It wasn’t Lucinda’s voice but it didn’t matter.

Imagining anybody telling him it was perfect was what he needed to hear. It was perfect and in a matter of minutes the perfection would take him and do with him whatever it wished.

It would all be over.

He rose to his feet and looked across the water: he could feel it beckoning him.

‘
It’s on days like these it’s grand to be alive.’

Adam stopped.

That hadn’t been his imagination.

He wanted to turn his head but if he did and there was somebody there his dream would be shattered. He had planned this day, this hour and this minute for so long it must not be interrupted.

But his imagination was not that creative.

It was a feminine voice: a soft, feminine, educated voice. Dare he turn round or had it still been his imagination playing its final trick.

‘
The air is so clean, the smells so natural.’

Adam slowly turned his head.

Sitting about ten feet away on the stump of the same felled tree was a young woman looking straight at him. As their eyes met, she smiled. She had shoulder length blonde hair, an oval face and the largest blue eyes Adam had ever seen. The smile stayed on her lips as his gaze moved down her long, slender neck to the clerical collar. Was it a clerical collar or perhaps the top of a polo neck sweater?

His eyes darted back to her face.

‘
You’re not dreaming,’ she said, the Scottish accent soft and soothing. ‘I am what I appear to be.’

He had to be dreaming. He was in the middle of nowhere. ‘I wasn’t expecting to see anyone else out here,’ he ventured.

‘
I thought that might be the case,’ she said, ‘so I’m sorry if I’ve disturbed your solitude but …’

‘
Are you real?’ Adam asked, interrupting her.

‘
Oh, yes. As I said I am what I appear to be.’

‘
But you’re a priest!’

A small hand touched the clerical collar. ‘Yes, ordained three years ago in Edinburgh and sent to the wilds of Loch Lomond to do my worst.’

‘
But what …?’

‘…
am I doing here?’

Adam nodded.

‘
I came to talk to you.’ Leaning forward she clasped her hands in front of her.

‘
But we’re miles from anywhere and why would you want to talk to me?’

‘
Because someone else thought you might want to talk.’

Adam shook his head. ‘This is barely credible. Why would …? I came here for a bit of peace and quiet. Who …?’

‘
Really, Mr Harrison? Is that really the reason you came here?’

Adam frowned. ‘How do you know my name?’

‘
I know your name is Adam Harrison. I know you came to Loch Lomond from Ashbourne in Derbyshire yesterday and I know you’re supposed to be in Glasgow today.’

‘
Doris? Did Doris tell you all this?’

‘
If you are referring to Doris McIlvoy of The Colcorran Arms in Luss then yes, Doris did have something to do with it.’

‘
But what …?’

The young woman held out her hands. ‘Before we go into that, I know who you are but you don’t know who I am. My name is Gabrielle Brooks and where you stayed last night falls within my parish. As I said, I’ve been there for three years.’