The Other Child (60 page)

Leslie knew what was coming next. ‘So he acted as if he were in the wrong place, and left.'

‘Lovely situation, isn't it?' said Gwen. ‘You've just told the waiter you're waiting for someone. Now you have to explain to him somehow that the person can't unfortunately make it. You pay for the glass of water which you've been holding the whole time, get up and leave. You feel the staffs pitying looks. They understand too and feel sorry for you. You creep back home. Humiliated. Rejected. And your hatred grows. It becomes stronger than anything else. It even becomes stronger than your pain at some point. The time comes when you have the feeling that you are nothing but hate. And you think that you're going to explode, unless something happens.'

Leslie understood. She understood what had been building up in Gwen. She knew that hate which is hidden behind such a smooth and smiling surface for so long becomes a tornado, highly unpredictable. Yet she felt compelled to question the logic which Gwen saw and based her actions on.

It might not be sensible to raise objections to a mentally ill woman who is facing you with a revolver, but she did it anyway. An instinct told her that one thing should not happen in any case: the conversation should not be interrupted.

‘Two things, Gwen, that I don't get,' she said. ‘First, why blame Fiona and Chad for all of that? And secondly, why didn't you ever think of trying to find a way out of your situation, apart from finding the perfect man? Why not an education? A job? Your own money and independence? That's the direction you should have taken.'

Gwen looked at her in astonishment. ‘I could never have done that,' she said, and seemed really surprised that Leslie could have such an idea. She was so astonished that Leslie understood now. It would be nearly impossible, in the short term, to make Gwen realise that she was intelligent and capable, and that she could have learnt a career like any other person and gone her own way. Probably months of effort could not do it. It would certainly need a very well trained psychologist. Decades of Gwen's life would need to be worked through too, starting with her earliest childhood, and there would be no guarantee whether even that would be of help.

‘Oh Gwen,' she said gently. She did not insist on an answer to her first question. It was now clear to her. Gwen's hatred of Fiona and Chad, and her blaming of them, had led in the end to the murders. The self-doubt that ruled her life, her fear of really living and her inability to take responsibility for herself and her future – these were at the bottom of her hatred. Her life was pure pain, uncertainty and a feeling of constant inferiority. Her experience was of being rejected constantly. She was clever enough to realise that her life had been determined in her childhood by her indifferent father and by Fiona, who had destroyed her parents' marriage over the years. Add to that the death of her mother, which she probably rightly attributed to the unfulfilled and therefore unending affair between Chad and Fiona. In casting blame, Gwen was not mentally ill. The reasons for blame seemed completely logical to Leslie. But the course of action that Gwen chose, that was sick. Yet for someone like her, who had felt like her back was against a wall for all her life, it was the only way out, however bitter it was.

Gwen had not been able to bear it any longer. And she had begun to fight back.

‘As I said, I spent many hours at the computer,' said Gwen. ‘And so I came across the mails your gran sent to my dad. I could hardly believe what I read. And yet what happened to poor Brian Somerville was just like them. It fitted my dad's autism, and Fiona's almost sick selfishness. If you couldn't defend yourself against them, you'd go under. That's what they were like. What they were always like.'

‘And you thought you could use Brian and Semira for your plan,' stated Leslie, not without bitterness. It seemed particularly tragic to her that these two people, who each in their own way had suffered so much, were then used as pawns by a mentally ill murderer.

‘It was a perfect opportunity,' said Gwen.

‘Did you plan to frame Dave right from the start?' asked Leslie. Dave had certainly, she thought to herself, done a fine job of making himself look suspicious. Panicking that he could be found guilty, he had tangled himself up in ever more lies. First he had not said that he had left his house a second time on the night of the crime, and when that story was blown, he had made it worse by making up the night spent with his ex. It had been easy for Gwen to put him in a rather suspicious light.

Gwen shook her head energetically. ‘No. Only after I gradually realised that he … was not serious about me. I'm not stupid, you know. I bet you all asked yourselves how I could be presumptuous enough to think that a guy like Dave would really be interested in me. Probably each of you urged the others to open the eyes of the poor, naive girl that I am! You were all worried about me, and about the rude awakening that I would have one day … But, frankly, Leslie, I'm not half as stupid as you all took me to be. From the first moment I could see that Dave wasn't the typical guy to be courting a woman like me, and I watched him closely. I didn't need your gran's help to get the idea that he might just be after my property. More and more things suggested it. And that hurt. Because you know, in spite of all my scepticism and reservations, I had fallen in love with him. It was a wonderful time with him. His attention and his efforts – even if they weren't really done for me – were something special. I hadn't ever experienced anything like it. It was beautiful. There were moments I could really enjoy. They were out of a dream.'

She sounded sad. I could glimpse the old Gwen, the one who was always a little melancholic and willing to please.

And Leslie thought: we didn't see that she was mad. But why didn't we at least notice how sad she was?

‘Why did you shoot him?' she asked. ‘It puts paid to your plan to frame him for the crimes against Fiona and Chad.'

‘There was nothing else I could do,' said Gwen. ‘Sitting in a room with him, having to say goodbye and feeling how he was straining to get away from me, seeing that he was only sitting out the few hours out of decency, while inside he was quivering to go, because he couldn't stand me any longer, because he wanted to get away, away … It hurt so much. It hurt so bad. I couldn't let him go. I wouldn't have been able to bear it.'

‘You persuaded him to walk down to the beach with you?'

‘I said I had to go out. I asked him to come too. He didn't want to, but I think he felt sorry for me. So he came. I think his only concern was to end things decently. And part of that was not leaving me on my own after breaking off the engagement. He wandered down to the bay in complete resignation. I had stowed away the gun. I didn't know what I would do, but I knew I wasn't going to let him walk away.'

‘Are you sure he's still alive?' asked Leslie.

‘No idea. He was alive when I left. Either he'll bleed to death or the tide will take him. I don't care either way. It doesn't matter any more, does it?'

She said it with a resigned voice. Leslie grasped the opportunity. ‘It does matter, Gwen,' she said urgently. ‘Your father is still alive. Dave might still be alive too. Let's call for an ambulance. Please. You can still save both of them. It's—then it wouldn't be two murders which you—'

Gwen interrupted her with irritation. ‘No, just Fiona's murder and two attempted murders. Do you think that'll help me much? Do you think prison will feel nicer? Rubbish, Leslie. And you know it!'

Leslie could see that Gwen was a complete contradiction right then. On the one hand she had a good understanding of her situation. She knew she would end up in prison, and she was resolved to try to prevent that. At the same time she did not seem to grasp the mess she was in. Did she seriously think she could get out of this untouched? Shoot down her father, Dave, Leslie, and then carry on as if nothing had happened, without any police suspicion alighting on her?

Everything she had done revealed two sides. On the one hand, she had calmly made sure people around her knew about Brian Somerville's story, ensuring a motive for the murders of Chad and Fiona was getting around and would sooner or later reach the police. She had also thought carefully about how to increase the suspicion which was in any case already falling on Dave. And then she had suddenly sabotaged herself, by losing control of her emotions and shooting Dave, unable to accept and bear his leaving her.

She was more sophisticated, knowing and tactically clever than anyone had given her credit for, but she was not as calm and untouched as she would have liked to be. She remained unpredictable to others – and to herself.

That made her, as Leslie realised with a shiver of fear, a terrifying and highly dangerous enemy. You could never foresee what the next moment would bring.

‘I left Dave lying there and came back to the farm,' said Gwen indifferently, as if she were recounting some minor occurrence. ‘And then I saw a torch beam roaming around. You were going towards the bay, but I thought: who cares, even if she finds Dave, she'll have to come back here. You never get reception on your mobile, which has its up side, as we can see. My father had locked the front door, just as you asked him to, I imagine, but of course he opened it when he heard my voice. And after I had put him out of action, I just had to wait for you. I sat at the top of the stairs. I took the precaution of taking the key out of the study door. I thought you'd try to call from there.'

‘Very clever, Gwen,' said Leslie. ‘You really thought it all through in advance.'

‘Yes, stupid, naive little Gwen. You all underestimated me. For thirty years. You should all have kept a sharper eye on me!'

Leslie wondered what to say to that. Should she recognise their guilt, although it was no justification for Gwen's actions? In any case, she had the feeling it would do no good. Gwen was not in her right mind. It was not a question of making amends and showing understanding. Gwen had edged herself into a dead end. In her skewed perspective there was only one way out, and it chilled Leslie.

Gwen seemed to be having just the same thought. Pensively she said, ‘What am I to do with you now, Leslie? We can't just stand here all night and chat. After all, we never had much to say to one another. Nor do we now.'

I arranged to meet DI Almond,' Leslie said. ‘I was supposed to be there hours ago. She'll be surprised I didn't come, and look for me.'

Gwen smiled. It was a cruel smile that seemed to take pleasure in the idea of pain.

‘Then it's time I came up with something for you,' she replied.

20

Valerie Almond's bad feeling was increasing with every minute of the evening. She had waited in the pizzeria for a long time, had tried repeatedly to reach Leslie on her mobile, but Leslie was unavailable. In the end she drove home, but she could not switch off. She called Fiona Barnes's flat several times, but no one answered there either. By about half past nine she could bear it no longer. She jumped in her car and drove over to Prince of Wales Terrace. She thought it unlikely that Leslie would be there, for there was no reason for her not to answer the phone, but she just wanted to check.

A simple reflex, she thought as she manoeuvred her car into a space. I feel helpless, so I'm just doing something. Because it's better than sitting around.

She got out. She felt anxious because she had not heard from Leslie, who had wanted to tell her something urgent to do with her grandmother's murder. She had sounded nervous, and had said she would be at the pizzeria in twenty minutes' time. She knew Scarborough well. She had grown up here. So Valerie could be sure she had not got lost. And if she had, why wouldn't she have called?

Something wasn't right, thought Valerie.

There was still no sign of Dave Tanner. And now Leslie seemed to have disappeared too.

A man was standing in front of the entrance to the enormous building. Valerie wondered why he was hanging around here at night. Not that he looked like someone up to no good. Instead he looked rather bewildered.

She stepped past him and rang the doorbell by Fiona Barnes's name.

‘No one's there,' said the man behind her.

Valerie turned around. ‘No? Did you also want to go to the late Mrs Barnes's flat?'

‘I've rung three times, but …' The man shrugged. Then he introduced himself. ‘Dr Stephen Cramer. I wanted to see my wife … my ex-wife. Leslie Cramer. But she doesn't seem to be there. There's no light on.'

‘Detective Inspector Valerie Almond,' said Valerie, holding out her ID. He glanced at it briefly. ‘I wanted to see Mrs Cramer too.'

He looked worried. ‘I looked around,' he said. ‘Her car isn't here.'

‘You don't have a key to the flat, do you?'

‘No. I'm staying at the Crown Spa Hotel, a little down the road. I haven't seen Leslie for two days now.'

‘Is that unusual?'

He hesitated. ‘Well … she knows where to find me. Maybe she doesn't see any need to. But where is she now? At this time of night?'

Valerie had the impression that Leslie's ex was still brooding on the divorce. No doubt he had spent the last two days in his hotel, hoping and waiting for his former wife to appear – something which she had obviously not considered doing for a minute. Now unable to bear it any longer, he had come to snoop, and the fact that she was not sitting at home like a good girl was the last straw for him.

Poor boy, thought Valerie.

He suddenly became aware that it was not usual to meet a senior police officer late at night outside his ex-wife's door, and that the police officer had to discuss something with her that could not wait until the next day. ‘Has something happened?' he asked in alarm.

‘Do you know where Dave Tanner is?' asked Valerie.

Stephen frowned. ‘Dave Tanner? Gwen Beckett's fiance? No idea, why?'