Knife Edge (26 page)

The doorbell rang. A short, sharp ring followed by another.

'I'll get it,' I called upstairs.

There was no danger of anything else happening. Meggie was in her room and she didn't answer the door any more. Too many photographers flashing too many cameras in her face had put paid to that. I took a deep breath, then opened the door.

It was Minerva.

'What're you doing here?' I frowned.

'Hello to you too!' Minerva raised her eyebrows. 'Can I come in?'

I stepped to one side. Minerva swanned past and waited for me to shut the front door.

'Sephy, who is it?' Meggie called from upstairs.

'Minerva, my sister.'

'Oh.' Meggie appeared at the top of the stairs, looking old and, oh, so tired. 'Hello, Minerva.'

'Hello, Meggie.' Minerva smiled up at her. 'How're you?'

'OK.' Meggie nodded. 'Can I get you a cup of tea or coffee or maybe some orange juice?'

'Meggie, I'm quite capable of getting my sister a drink. You should go and get some rest.'

'I'll have a coffee, please – if it's no trouble,' Minerva said directly to Meggie.

'Sephy, would you like a drink too?'

'No thanks, Meggie.'

I frowned at Minerva, an unpleasant thought creeping into my head. Whilst Meggie trudged into the kitchen to make the drinks, I ushered Minerva into the living room, shutting the door behind me.

'Minerva, I swear if you've come here for an interview with Meggie, I'm going to kick your arse so hard you'll be wearing your bum cheeks as ear muffs,' I told her furiously.

'Charming!' Minerva sniffed. 'You've obviously been living around noughts for too long.'

'Sod you, Minerva. What d'you want?'

The door handle began to turn. I moved forward to open the door. Meggie came in carrying a tray with three mugs on it, plus a bowl of sugar and a small jug filled with milk.

'Sephy, I thought you might like a cup of jasmine green tea.' Meggie smiled at me.

'That's very kind of you,' I said, taking the tray from her hands. I held the tray out to Minerva, glaring at her all the while. For anyone else, Meggie would've asked them up front if they took milk and sugar and would've put it in their cup for them accordingly.

Not for a Hadley.

'The coffee is in the yellow mug,' said Meggie.

Minerva poured some milk into her coffee before she took her cup and sat down in the armchair. 'Won't you join us, Meggie?'

Meggie took the blue mug off the tray and sat down on the sofa. I took the last cup off the tray before sitting down next to Meggie. Minerva looked from Meggie to me and back again.

'I was in the area so I thought I'd pop in and see how my niece was doing,' smiled Minerva.

'She's upstairs, asleep,' I told her.

'Shame,' said Minerva.

Yeah, right. No appeals to just take a quick peek at her. No requests for more information about her height, weight, general appearance. Nothing. We sat in silence for several awkward moments. I wasn't going to speak first.

'Meggie, I was so sorry to hear about . . . what's happening with Jude,' said Minerva with beautifully faked sincerity.

'Thank you,' said Meggie, taking a sip of her coffee, even though it was still too hot to drink.

'Is he . . . is Jude managing to stay positive?'

'I think so. I hope so,' said Meggie. 'He has right on his side.'

'Minerva—' I warned, but she completely ignored me.

'It must be hard though. Have your neighbours been supportive?' my sister asked.

'Are you kidding?' Meggie scoffed.

The neighbours didn't even say hello to either of us any more, including Mrs Straczynski. As I learned when Callum was arrested, so-called friends consider bad luck and notoriety to be contagious.

'So what're you hoping for, Meggie?' asked Minerva.

'That justice is done.'

Enough was already too much. Time to spike Minerva's guns. She was nothing if not doggedly persistent – but then so was I.

'I hope it gets sorted out the way you want soon,' smiled Minerva.

'I hope so too,' said Meggie. 'And at least I've got Sephy fighting in my corner. I don't know what I'd do without your sister.'

'Oh yes?' Minerva said sharply. 'And how're you helping, Sephy?'

'In any way I can,' I told my sister evenly.

Minerva cast me a speculative look. 'So you're convinced Jude is innocent?'

'He told me he didn't do it,' Meggie said. 'And my boy wouldn't lie to me.'

But Meggie had made a mistake. Minerva's question was directed at me, not her.

'Have you been to see Jude then?' Minerva asked Meggie eagerly.

'Yes, we went last week when he was still in a police cell,' Meggie replied.

'Both of you?' said Minerva sharply.

'Sephy was there to lend me moral support.' Meggie smiled at me. 'But Sephy went to see Jude in prison on her own a couple of days ago. She's been so wonderful . . .'

'Sephy—'

'So, Minerva, how's your job at the
Daily Shouter
?' I interrupted. 'It must be tough working as a junior reporter, trying to fight your way up to the top of the journalistic dung heap.'

Meggie's mouth closed like a steel trap – at last. Minerva's lips tightened slightly as she considered me.

'You don't have a very high opinion of my profession, do you?' said Minerva.

'Can't say I do. You forget, I've seen you lot in action. I've been on the business end of too many stories full of distorted half-truths and vitriol to dance for joy around journalists,' I said. 'But I wish you luck with it, if that's what you really want to do.'

'Minerva, I didn't know you were a journalist at the
Daily Shouter,'
Meggie said quietly.

'Yes, she got the job a few months ago,' I told Meggie.

'You didn't tell me that,' said Meggie, giving me a curiously speculative look.

And it took me a few moments to decipher her expression. She was wondering
why
I hadn't told her. She was actually wondering.

Take another step back, Sephy.

Step back from them all.

'I'm sure you have to go now,' I said to my sister.

'Oh I—' Minerva began. And then she saw my face. 'Yes. Yes, I do have another appointment.'

'I'll tell Rose you were asking for her,' I said standing up.

Meggie went to rise also.

'No, Meggie. Don't get up,' I told her. 'I'll see Minerva to the door.'

Meggie sat back down again. I led the way to the front door, not even bothering to turn and check that Minerva was following me. I just knew she would be. She'd finally got the hint.

'Thanks for nothing, Sephy,' Minerva hissed at me as I opened the door.

'I told you that you couldn't interview Meggie. You had no business coming here if that was your only reason,' I said unrepentantly.

'You could've let me ask a few more questions,' said Minerva. 'And you didn't have to tell Meggie I was a journalist.'

'You don't need statements from us,' I told my sister. 'Do what all you lot do and make it up.'

'I thought blood was supposed to be thicker than water,' Minerva said with bitterness.

'So did I,' I replied. 'But you showed me I was wrong when you tried to blackmail me into getting Meggie to give you an interview.'

'I said I was sorry for that. You always did bear grudges.'

And as I looked at Minerva, I realized I was just wasting my breath. She just couldn't see that she'd done anything wrong. I could talk until my voice box exploded and she still wouldn't see it. So what was the point?

'Bye, Minerva,' I said. 'Don't let the door hit you on your way out.'

Minerva strode past me without another word. I slammed the door behind her. And that – as they say – was that. I turned round, and there was Meggie standing in the living-room doorway. I wondered how long she'd been standing there.

Not that it mattered.

Upstairs, Rose started to cry.

'I'll see to her if you'd like,' Meggie offered.

'No, thank you,' I said, already moving past her and up the stairs. I turned when I was halfway up them. Meggie was still watching me.

'Meggie, do you trust me?' I couldn't help asking.

She waited just a tad too long to reply. 'Yes, I do.'

But she didn't. I nodded and turned to carry on up the stairs.

Maybe Meggie was like me, always waiting to be let down. Always hoping for the best, but expecting the worst. Maybe she was just like me – too bruised and battered to believe in anyone or anything.

What's she doing? Is she talking to the papers? The TV stations? Why haven't I heard anything? Maybe she's changed her mind? What I have in mind won't work if she denies everything. I'm just going to have to go for it. Ironic really. My life, my future, lies on a knife edge – in the hands of a Cross – Persephone Hadley of all people. All she has to do is call me a liar and that's my neck stretched.

But I've got two things working for me.

Her guilt.

And her fear.

Cara was worth a hundred of Sephy. But I don't really think of Cara that much any more. I've buried her image deep down. I've forgotten her smile, the way she used to look at me, the way she spoke, her laugh – I've forgotten it all. Except when it's late at night and I finally manage to fall asleep. Then every dream has something of her in it. And I wake up sweating. And I stay awake, shivering.

But I sweat because it's too hot in my cell.

And I shiver because it's too cold.

What do they call that again? When two opposites happen at the same time and place and space. I can't remember. So I force myself to laugh.

Because in my dreams, I'm always standing over Cara – and crying.

So I laugh and laugh – until the crying stops.

Sorry, Minerva. I kept saying the words over and over again in my head. Sorry, Minerva. I broke my word. I used you. But what choice did I have? I owed it to Meggie.

I didn't have any choice.

But thinking that one phrase over and over wasn't doing any good. Because of me, Jude might go free. Because of me . . .

Stop it! Don't think about it. Think of something else.

What else could I do?
A sob broke from my lips. I tried to smother it even though I was alone, but I felt so heartsick at what I'd done. The enormity of what I was trying to do was only just beginning to sink in. And if I'd felt alone before, it was nothing to the way I felt now. I'd already contacted three different newspapers – not the
Daily Shouter
though – but two had refused to see me and although I'd been interviewed by the third, the story hadn't appeared. I'd phoned the local radio station. I'd had an interview over the phone but that hadn't been broadcast.

For which a major part of me was so grateful. With each passing hour, the reality of what I'd attempted to do pressed down on me harder and faster. Now I just wanted to forget the whole thing, turn the clock back. What on earth had I thought I was doing? All I could do was pray fervently that Jude would keep his mouth shut, that he wouldn't talk to the press about his so-called alibi. If he did say we were together on the night Cara Imega died, then what would I do? Back him up, knowing I was helping a stone-cold killer get away with murder? Or deny his story and crucify Meggie in the process? I couldn't do that to her, I just couldn't. Not when I'd been responsible for the death of one of her sons already. The rock and the hard place I stood between were crushing me to death.

I sat in the living room with my notebook and pen on my lap, whilst the TV played in the background. Rose was up in our room, fast asleep. How I envied her. Just to sleep without all the dreams I'd been having recently would've been bliss. I was so tired, I knew I wasn't thinking straight. How could I be thinking straight to provide Jude with a 'Get out of jail free' card. Jude had me right where he wanted me. And telling me he'd committed Cara Imega's murder had been a masterstroke.

Stop it! Think of something else.

But I couldn't. Jude and his words were poison, seeping into every part of me. Something else Jude said kept spinning in my head like a hated song I couldn't get out of my mind.

Erotica-exotica.

Is that why Callum turned against me and ended up hating me? Because he reckoned that's how I thought of him? Surely he knew better? Is that how everyone else regarded me and him though? Erotica-exotica.

I wrote it down all over the first clean page that I came to in my notebook. Erotica-exotica. I wrote the words upside down, sideways on, slanted writing, underlined, capitals – over and over.

Erotica-exotica . . .

And then the words started to drip from my pen without me even
thinking about it.

I close my eyes, you kiss me,
Your touch brings me no shame.
I hold on tight, you move within
As I call out your name.
I breathe you in, you hold me
Like you'll never let me go.
I look into your burning eyes
And feel our loving grow.

But it's just a fantasy,
A trick of the light.
Can you hear what I'm saying?
We take these dreams,
Pretend they're real
And give no name to the game we're playing.

I'm the lover in your hand,
Trickling through like so much sand.
You 're forbidden fruit,
I watch you fall,
You're two words that describe it all –
Erotica-exotica.

But whatever else I'd been about to write went straight out of my head when something on the TV captured my attention. Jude was being led through the gate out of prison to be surrounded immediately by a mob of journalists. I shivered. I turned up the TV volume, waiting to hear what Jude would say. There were so many journalists around him that it was difficult for the security guards on either side of him to lead him forward to the security van which was supposed to take him to court. Even now I couldn't help shaking as I watched Jude being jostled by the riot of reporters around him. Jude's face was the face of true evil, and just seeing it on the TV made me shudder. After all the things he'd told me in the prison, I felt like I'd never be clean again. He scared me. No, he petrified me.

'Jude, how're you feeling?'

'Jude, are you guilty?'

'Would you like to make a statement, Jude?'

He pulled away from the prison guard, who was trying to get him to move forward, and turned to face the horde of journalists pushing TV cameras and microphones in his face.

'Is this going out live?' he asked.

'Yes.'

My heart began to thump painfully in my chest. This was it. What would Jude do now?

'I'd just like to say one thing,' Jude began. 'I didn't kill Cara Imega. As God is my witness, I'm completely innocent. Yes, I did know her – she was a good friend – but Persephone Hadley, the daughter of Kamal Hadley, knows I didn't kill Cara. Yes, I was at Cara's house on the night in question, but then Sephy and a friend of hers came to call for me and Cara was alive when Sephy and I left Cara's house. Me and Sephy were together until well into the early hours of the morning – so I couldn't've done it.' Jude turned from the journalists before him to look directly into the TV camera. It was like he was looking directly at me with only the glass of the TV screen separating us. 'Sephy, why won't you come forward and tell the authorities the truth? I can't believe you'd let me hang for something I didn't do.'

I felt sick, gut-wrenchingly sick. What acting. Jude lied so convincingly, with just the right amount of angry bewilderment as to persuade anyone watching that he was telling the absolute truth. And who was this fictitious friend I was supposed to have turned up with? Why invent someone else to complicate matters?

'What did you and Sephy do when you left Cara Imega's house?'

Jude sighed. 'We walked and talked – mostly about my brother, Callum. We'd both decided to put the past behind us and fight to have his name cleared posthumously. He shouldn't've been hanged. You Crosses seem determined to wipe out my entire family.'

'Is Persephone Hadley your alibi, Jude?'

'Yes, I guess she is.' Jude spoke into the bank of microphones around him as he was pulled forward by one of the guards, 'I wish she wasn't because she hasn't come forward. But Sephy knows I didn't do this. I couldn't kill anyone.'

'Why d'you think she hasn't come forward?'

Jude sighed deeply again. He had the sighing act down pat. 'I honestly don't know. The only thing I can think of is that she's covering up for her friend, who we left behind at Cara's house. But I can't believe she'd let me swing for something she knows I didn't do.'

It was like my mind was closing in on itself, shutting down. I could see, hear and breathe – all the basics – but that was it. Jude's guard started pulling him forward, more urgently this time.

'Jude, d'you know who
did
kill Cara?'

Jude pulled away from his guard to turn and face the journalists again. 'Yes, I do. It was the man Sephy brought to Cara's house. His name's Andrew Dorn. He was left in Cara's house after me and Sephy left. He asked Cara if he could make a phone call because the battery in his mobile was dead. Cara was more than happy to let him use her phone, so Sephy and I left him to it. Andrew Dorn is the one who should be behind bars, not me.'

'You're convinced it was him?'

'I know it was him. Sephy already told me that Andrew Dorn works undercover for her father Kamal Hadley, but I've only just learned that Andrew Dorn is not just a member of the Liberation Militia but also one of its leaders. He's obviously some kind of double agent but I have no idea why he killed Cara. Maybe she overheard something she shouldn't whilst he was on the phone? All I know is, he did it, not me.'

I gasped – and I wasn't the only one. Camera flashes were going off so fast they looked like fireworks. I felt like a juggernaut had just flattened me. How had Jude learned about Andrew Dorn working for my father? I groaned as I realized. I'd told Callum after . . . after I escaped from him and the others in the
L.M.
when they kidnapped me. Callum must've told his brother before he died. And in one deft move, Jude had signed Andrew Dorn's death warrant. Andrew would have nowhere left to hide after this. He was as good as dead already. He'd be of no further use to the Secret Services, in fact he could be a major embarrassment. And the Liberation Militia would execute him for sure for betraying them. Jude had not only managed to wriggle off the hook and put Andrew on it, but he'd handled it so I looked like a coward and a betrayer myself. Jude was slicker than olive oil on ice. He'd set up both Andrew and me without even breaking a sweat.

'Whichever way you look at it, Andrew Dorn is a traitor and a murderer,' Jude continued. 'I don't know whether he's working for the
L.M.
and betraying the government, or vice versa. But I do know he's the one who killed Cara. The authorities must know he's the one who did it, so they must be covering up for him because he's their spy in the
L.M.
But I won't let them hang me for something I didn't do. Not without a fight—'

Jude was bundled into a security van and the doors slammed firmly behind him. The TV journalist turned to face the camera, still looking stunned, her microphone in her hand.

'There you have it,' she began. 'Jude McGregor's sensational statement about the death of Cara Imega. He categorically denies murder and has protested his innocence by giving us the name of the alleged real murderer. No doubt the police will be trying to find this man Andrew Dorn just as quickly as possible. This has been an astonishing—'

I pressed the button on the remote control to switch off the TV. I sat in the roaring silence as my heart thundered inside me. The sound of my fear was deafening. My mouth began to fill with cool, thin bile. I jumped up and rushed to the toilet, only just in time to vomit up what felt like everything I'd eaten in the last week. As I washed my mouth and hands, myriad thoughts crashed and smashed their way through my head. I'd deny it. I'd deny everything. But then I thought of the three newspapers and the radio station I'd contacted. I'd been recorded and taped saying pretty much what Jude had just said, even if none of them had used the story.

But I had no doubt that that was all about to change.

With my help, Cara Imega's murder was going to go unpunished.

With my help, Cara Imega's murderer was going to get away with it.

With my help, Meggie McGregor wasn't going to lose her son.

With my help, Andrew Dorn was a marked man. He'd be looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life.

My debt to Meggie was repaid in full. Because of me, Callum had died. Because of me, Jude was going to live.

I looked down at my hands, palms up, fingers splayed. But it wasn't water dripping down into them. My hands were awash with blood.