Blood Notes, page 25
He grinned, so pleased with himself. ‘All I had to do was unhook this,’ he pointed to the dangling cannula, fixed with a plaster into his vein, ‘wait for him to move and walk out. They didn’t think I could walk, yet here I am spending the night with you, Steph. How risqué is that?’ His voice had become a whisper. He was enjoying this.
Here was one manipulative conman. She’d been well and truly taken in for weeks. In the police station she’d glimpsed the cold monster behind his astonishing talent, but to pull off something like this? How she’d underestimated him. The rain battered against the window, followed by the deep echo of thunder in the distance. She flexed her shoulders slightly, as the pain in her arm sockets was becoming unbearable.
‘It won’t be long, Steph. I’ll undo them soon.’
She breathed in deeply, trying to keep calm and to hide the sickening fear in the depths of her stomach. ‘Why are you doing this to me, Edmund?’
He took another sip of water. ‘In the police station you wanted to know what happened. Well, I’m here to tell you before I—’
‘Before you what?’
Her shoulders were throbbing, and she wanted to go to the loo. She ached in all her joints – her hips, her knees, her elbows – everywhere. She wanted to move but the knots were tight, and she was stuck, flat on her back. ‘Tell me what happened if that’s what you want.’
‘I thought it was what you wanted too, Steph. You said it was. It’s quite simple. It was Mother. Mother confessed, didn’t she? She was behind it all.’
‘Behind it?’
‘She made me do it. She’s controlled me always – turned me into what she wanted me to be. When people started getting in the way of what she wanted, they had to go.’
Blaming his mother was the obvious move. Yet there was enough truth in it to sound convincing. Steph had seen Imogen’s controlling behaviour only too often at college, and she’d heard her say something similar the night she’d confessed. She decided to push him. She had nothing to lose, had she?
‘What do you mean, “in the way”? Justine never got in your way. Your mother wasn’t threatened by her.’
‘She was. After the concert, Mother was really annoyed when she heard Justine play so well and I’m afraid – well, it didn’t help when I told Mother I wanted to form a duo with her. You see, I’d already told her that Justine kept demanding Harriet’s time. We’d be practising, and Justine would appear at the door with that spaniel begging look. I mean, I’d only just found Harriet, and Justine wanted to take her away from me.’
His calm speech with its confiding tone horrified her. He made it all sound reasonable and perfectly normal. All the more shocking as he sat beside her bed while she was trussed up and so vulnerable. Now he’d launched into his explanation, he spoke rapidly.
‘Justine said we’d share Harriet’s time. Share? No. I realised then she wouldn’t leave Harriet alone, so I suppose in the end, it was her own fault. That morning she looked so pretty – her curls bounced in the sunlight and she smiled as she came through the door.’
He spoke as if in a dream, re-living that warm autumn morning. He talked to himself, not to her, and seemed lost in the memory of that moment, a moment to relish. It had become his story, not his mother’s. Her stomach clenched as his voice chilled her. She was afraid he wouldn’t let her go. She had to get out of this. They both jumped as a flash of lightning lit up the room, and the crack of thunder made the house tremble. While he wasn’t looking at her, she moved her wrist and folded her right hand over the knot. It was slippery material – perhaps she could work it loose.
‘I remember asking myself – perhaps it would work, the two of us? She was so pretty – her hair smelled of rosemary. But it wouldn’t have worked, would it? She wouldn’t let go of Harriet. Mother gave me the money to buy grapefruit juice and croissants on the way to college. I’d even got napkins and glasses.’
He smiled, recalling the treat he’d prepared for Justine. His words in their everyday tone made Steph’s flesh crawl. How could she ever have admired him? Her second finger forced its way into the core of the knot. Any movement shot electricity up her arm, but she stopped herself from crying out by biting hard on her tongue. Lost in his story, he didn’t appear to notice.
‘We ate and drank and planned our futures together. As we talked, she became drowsy. The drugs didn’t taste in the grapefruit juice. She yawned, shook her curls and tried to keep awake, but very slowly her head went down to her chest. At last, she slept—’
‘Where did you get the drugs?’ Steph kept her eyes on his so he wouldn’t get distracted and look at her right hand.
‘Mother’s bedside drawer. The doctor gave them to her when she couldn’t sleep.’ Clearly, he was annoyed that she’d interrupted his story. He frowned at her; she held still. He tutted and continued as if he’d been interrupted by an irritating child. ‘I like to think her last thoughts were happy, as she dreamed of us playing Mozart and Bach together.’
He stopped and looked down at Steph. Her hand froze and she held his gaze. ‘She was good, but not as good as me. Mother was afraid she’d get in the way because she wanted Harriet to spend time with her – time that should be mine.’ He looked into Steph’s eyes, expecting affirmation. Even in this appalling situation he needed and expected her support. How had she not seen this before?
‘I see.’ She nodded and hoped that would be sufficient. She had to keep him talking to give her enough time.
‘You do, don’t you? I was right, wasn’t I?’ Not waiting for any response, he continued, ‘I took the craft knife. It had a new blade – she wouldn’t have felt it – she was in a deep sleep when I ran it along her veins. I hardly touched her – she started bleeding. She wouldn’t have felt it, would she?’ Again, there was that look. The look of a child needing approval, or Derek desperate for a treat. She felt sick and all her joints were throbbing. Was he going to do that to her? ‘It wouldn’t have hurt, would it?’ His voice grew louder.
‘No.’
‘No, it wouldn’t have hurt her, and in the long run it was the best thing. Underneath she knew she wasn’t good enough to get to the very top of the pyramid. The music world’s tough, you know, and she would have been second or even third class. I saved her all those years of failure.’
Horrified by this easy justification of his actions, she struggled to keep her expression neutral. It was surreal – Edmund was chatting to her as if they were sitting over a coffee, when he was calmly describing the vicious murder of a beautiful young woman. She felt bile moving up her chest and swallowed hard, trying to keep it down. She must keep control and not panic. Was her arm coming out of its socket? It felt so taut, and once again as she fiddled with the knot, the pain was excruciating and it felt as if she’d torn something. She took a deep breath and tried to keep her voice level to reflect his.
‘Right – and Margaret?’
‘Margaret? Now Margaret was jealous of Harriet, who was a much better teacher. One day Margaret nagged Harriet so much she cried – sobbed – real tears. Harriet didn’t deserve to have that old woman interfering all the time.’
He wriggled, sat up straighter on the chair and took another sip of water. The bins clattered outside as they were blown over. Steph winced as she tried to hold out against the relentless pain that shot through muscles she didn’t know she had. Even through the pain she noticed how the influence of his mother was slowly disappearing from his account.
‘One evening, I saw Margaret taking photos of Harriet and me in the beach house. You were there too. She threatened Harriet. She was going to say we were doing vile, dirty things. All lies. She said she’d tell Mother, who knew anyway, and the Principal, who didn’t. I had to do something before she limped to Mr Bryant.’
‘So, you—?’
‘I didn’t push her hard; it was more of nudge and she tumbled down the stairs.’
The unemotional, factual way in which he described these attacks turned her stomach. If he could do that to them, what could he do to her? He didn’t appear to have emotions at all. He’d disposed of these women as if they were inconvenient objects, not people.
‘And then?’ Exhausted, she held onto his eyes. Her finger was now inside the knot, and she rotated it, making the hole at the centre larger.
‘I went back to my practice, of course. Anyway, she hasn’t died, has she? She’s asleep, in a coma. She’s not in pain, is she?’
‘Is that important?’
‘Yes – of course it is. I didn’t want to hurt her, but to keep her quiet. Now she’s asleep. No more shaking, and her Parkinson’s won’t stop her from playing the piano, will it?’
‘I suppose not.’ She tried to smile, approving his kindness to Margaret in cutting short her pain. Keep him talking. Agree with him. Don’t judge or criticise.
‘She would have hated not being able to play her piano, not walking on the beach with that little dog. It was only a few moments, not years of pain and shaking and her life closing in on her. Now she’ll sleep, until one day when she stops.’
He paused and looked down at Steph once again. She nodded, pushing down the revulsion she felt, and dragged up positive thoughts, which she hoped would appear on her face. Re-assured, he sat back, cleared his throat and fiddled with a toggle on his navy hoodie. For the first time she noticed the logo across the top: ‘Edinburgh Medical School’ beneath a blue St Andrew’s cross that mirrored her spreadeagled position. So, it wasn’t only the scalpel that he’d stolen? A second finger was now working away at the inside of the knot, but it was such slow progress. She was not sure how much longer she could tolerate this pain. She must carry on, keep him talking.
‘And Harriet?’
‘Harriet… I loved Harriet. She was my first love. So special. On the night of the flood, I thought we’d sleep together but Harriet laughed at me. She opened the door to some pokey spare room – smelly, damp, with a stained camp bed – I thought we’d be in her bed together. But she stood outside her bedroom door and laughed. She laughed at me! Told me I had a crush on her and that she didn’t sleep with students and to be a “good boy” and go into the spare room. She called me a “good boy” like you tell Derek.’
‘You must have been upset.’ Her sympathetic tone almost choked her but prompted him to reveal more.
‘I was. So upset, I was awake all night. How could she laugh at me? She hurt me. The next night, when you saw me, I took her a bottle of wine. We drank a glass together, then I left. I slept very well that night, but she drank the rest of the bottle and never woke up. I left the beach door open so she could hear the sea. I thought it was a kind thing to do after what she’d done to me. She’d spoilt it all.’
‘I see.’
‘I hope you do.’ A hint of aggression had crept into his voice. He turned to her and searched her face for a reaction. Shocked, sick, horrified – she wasn’t sure she could find a word to describe the pit that his story had pushed her into. The dispassionate way he talked about such vile acts was repulsive. No remorse, but he justified his acts as necessary and blamed his victims for forcing him to kill them. She hid it all and fixed her face while he frowned and appeared to be thinking about what to say next.
‘You know, I did all of it because of Mother. She wanted me to be a great cellist and made sure nothing and no one got in my way. I deserve to be pitied, not to be punished for what she drove me to do. Don’t you agree?’
She didn’t reply quickly enough, so he prodded her left arm; she winced and cried out loud. ‘Don’t you agree?’ he said, about to shove her again.
‘Yes,’ she screamed out. The pain made her feel faint. She didn’t care what he did; all she wanted was for the pain to stop.
He stood and grabbed the knife. ‘Now you agree. But you didn’t, did you? Not in the police station. You didn’t agree there. You betrayed me. You know what happens to traitors, don’t you? They used to hang, draw and quarter them.’
He moved the scalpel closer to her, ran the tip up her stomach towards her neck. Clearly, he was enjoying his power over her, and she was terrified that he would go through with it. There was another blast of thunder and a car door slammed somewhere outside.
‘I won’t say anything, Edmund, I promise. Please. Please let me go. I’ll drive you wherever you want.’
He rotated the blade in the air over her left breast, getting closer to her on each circuit. It sliced through the blue cotton of Hale’s shirt, and her nipple, then her breast, emerged through the hole. He ran the sharp tip around it and grinned at her. She wanted to throw up. He stood back a little, admiring her breast as if considering what to do.
‘But that would be silly, wouldn’t it, leaving you here to tell Hale?’
Once again in slow motion he moved closer, the knife moving up towards her throat. She tensed, closed her eyes, waiting to feel the bite of the knife.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Steph
‘Drop that knife!’
Hale! As Edmund swung around, Hale smashed his right arm and the knife clattered to the floor. He grabbed Edmund’s wrist, twisted him round, pushed him to the ground and handcuffed him to the bed post. Edmund sat on the floor, shocked. He looked up at Hale puzzled, clearly not sure what had happened. ‘But you shouldn’t be here – you’re at a conference.’
Hale moved to the top of the bed and with great care undid the knots that tied Steph’s hands. She gasped as she moved her arms down to her chest, covering up her exposed breast. Hale freed her feet. ‘Look at the weather, lad. The storm is even stronger in Norfolk. The River Yare burst its banks and I was turned back. Decided to go tomorrow morning early. Good job I did, eh?’
As gently as possible, Hale put his arm around Steph’s shoulders and supported her as she struggled to sit on the side of the bed. Pins and needles made it difficult for her to stand and impossible to walk, but with Hale’s support she shuffled to the sitting room away from Edmund, now manacled to the bed. On the way, Hale grabbed her bath robe and wrapped it around her. She shook and shivered as the shock of what could have happened hit her. She stumbled into Hale, who carried her to the armchair and lowered her down. A frantic scratching from the coat cupboard prompted Hale to open the door, and Derek bounced out.
‘Derek?’
‘He’s fine. Look at him.’
With difficulty she turned her body, as she couldn’t move her neck, to see him wagging his tail. He put his head on her knee, waiting for her to stroke his ears. She winced, as any touch was hell, and she couldn’t stop shaking. Hale tucked a duvet over her and handed her a glass of whisky. She sipped it and gasped as she lifted her hand to her mouth. Every move was excruciating.
She sat, numb but racked with pain and shock. How could she be numb and in pain at the same time? The torture she’d been through was just starting to hit her. She could have died. Another minute and he would have cut her throat, she was sure. He would have slaughtered her like he had the others. She could hear Hale on his mobile, calling it in.
As usual she started to blame herself. How could she have prevented what happened? No, stop! This time she was not going to take emotional responsibility for Edmund’s cruelty. What he did was hatched in his own warped mind. She was the victim and had been helpless against his brutality. Although she should have seen through him earlier, shouldn’t she?
Phone call finished, Hale came and sat on the arm of her chair, draping his arm over her shoulders. Her sharp intake of breath as he jiggled her shoulder prompted him to move.
‘Sorry.’ He sat in the armchair opposite. ‘You’ve been through hell. If that storm hadn’t happened, you might…’
‘Don’t. What could have happened is starting to hit me. I thought he might let me go, but when he cut your shirt, I knew there was no way out.’ She sipped the Scotch, wallowing in the warmth as it hit her stomach.
‘Look at you – shaking. It’s the shock. Would you prefer a hot drink?’
‘No, this is fine. Thanks.’
Hale had pushed himself halfway out of his chair but sat back again. ‘You should have heard me curse when I had to turn back, but when I came in and heard what was happening… Oh Steph! I can’t bear to think what might have happened – should I get you to A&E?’
‘No way. I’ll be fine.’
His head on one side, he looked across quizzically, then nodded.
‘How did he get in?’
‘Typical policeman eh, Hale?’
She held out her glass. He leaned forward and topped it up. At last the alcohol was working, relaxing her stressed muscles and taking away the pain in her joints. ‘If you must know, I left the window open after my bath.’
‘What? I don’t believe it! How could you be so stupid?’
‘Come on, it’s at the back of the house.’
‘Oh, burglars only come to the front, do they?’
‘Stop it!’
‘Honestly, I’m—’
Their bickering was interrupted by the arrival of a car outside her house. Hale went to the door and had a mumbled conversation with two uniformed police officers, who went through to the bedroom and re-appeared holding both arms of a handcuffed Edmund. He looked across at her in desperation. ‘Tell them, Steph. I wouldn’t have hurt you. You do know that, don’t you?’
She lowered her head and couldn’t bring herself to look at him. As the door clicked shut, she felt safe at last. Hale stood beside her and stroked her hair, taking care not to jolt her. ‘Are you really all right?’ He bent down and kissed her on the top of her head.
‘He confessed to it all, you know. It was horrific. He killed Justine and Harriet and pushed Margaret down the stairs, and made it sound as if it was all their fault. It was amazing – he expected me to be on his side and agree that he had no choice. How could he?’
She placed the empty glass on the table to her left. Hale immediately topped it up, while she rubbed her right arm joint, trying to sooth the electric shocks. Another sip helped.
