Tide of Death, page 18
'I'd planned that a long time ago, I just had to speed things up a bit.'
'Does Melissa know you're her twin?' Horton wondered if she was still alive. He prayed she was.
'She does now. Or rather she did before she tragically took her own life.' The gun wavered for a second. 'I told her. I think I'll tell you before you die in tragic circumstances. A drowning accident might be suitable.'
'Don't bother. I know most of it. Your mother took Melissa out of Barnados when she met Randall Simpson because he had admitted to her he couldn't have children. You'd already been adopted.'
'Yes by Agnes and Bert Parnham. But it wasn't an official adoption. My mother was billeted with them during the war. When she got pregnant after the war she returned to stay with them, handing me over to the Parnhams as soon as I was born and putting Melissa into Barnados. I was condemned to spend my childhood and youth growing up in poverty whilst she had everything.'
Horton doubted Parnham's upbringing had been as bleak as that but it had been poor compared to Melissa. 'When did you find out about Melissa?' Again the flash of lightning and roar of thunder. Horton prayed they'd be struck by a thunderbolt, if it didn't kill them it might give him a chance of escape.
Parnham was saying calmly and evenly, 'I found a letter when my adoptive mother died just over ten years ago. It was from my birth mother crowing about her new life. It gave me enough information about Randall Simpson to identify him and track down Melissa.'
'The false biography.'
'I see you have been busy.'
'But why kill the others? Roger Thurlow, all right, I can see your twisted reasoning there, you wanted the blame to fall on Melissa. But why kill Culven and Lucy Richardson?'
'Oh I didn't intend to kill the girl,' he said airily, 'She brought it on herself really. I thought she might have seen me dump Roger in the tower. Still, she was only a tart.'
Horton tensed and his fists curled behind his back but what good was that!
Parnham smiled. 'Roger was my intended victim all along. By killing him and framing Melissa I would destroy her comfortable life. I wanted her to know what it felt like to be an outsider. I wanted her to experience the sensation of disintegration. I wanted her to feel shame and disgrace, as I had felt it. Then finally to feel fear, just as I've felt fear all my life, the fear of failing and poverty. She pleaded with me in the end, you know. Said she'd give me everything and anything I wanted, this house even, but then I'm going to get this anyway, as her only blood relative, so why should I let her live?'
Parnham needed to talk, to explain. If he got out of this alive Horton wanted Parnham to as well. He needed him to tell his story. He moved back towards the window just a fraction hoping that Parnham wouldn't notice.
Horton said, 'And France? Your alibi?'
'Clever that, wasn't it? I was in France as no doubt you and the good sergeant checked. But instead of taking the ferry like I told you I took the high speed catamaran, the first one on Saturday morning to Cherbourg. It leaves Portsmouth at 5.30 and gets in at Cherbourg at 8.15. I had a hire car waiting at Cherbourg and drove to St Malo in time to go to the bakers.'
'Then you came back by the high speed on Tuesday in time to kill Culven and not the ferry as you claimed and on which you were booked on the Wednesday.'
'Yes. As I was leaving the ferry port on foot I saw the tart who had been in the tower walking down to the railway station. I picked her up and we went back to her place where I stayed for most of the day.'
The gun wavered a bit but not enough for Horton to attempt anything especially with his hands tied behind his back. 'How did you kill Roger Thurlow?'
'On Friday I went after Roger to his boat. By the time I got there he was asleep.'
'Unconscious actually. Melissa had drugged his water. She wanted him dead. You did her a favour.'
Horton could see Parnham didn't like that much. After a moment Parnham continued. 'I wanted to tell him why he had to die, but you can't look a gift horse in the mouth, can you? So I put a plastic bag over his head and held it there until he died.'
What did the man want? Praise? Horton's expression remained impassive but all the time, behind the mask, he was desperately seeking a way out. The gun was still aimed at his head with a steady hand. Parnham's gaze never wavered from him.
'It was foggy of course, ideal conditions. I hadn't really planned for that,' he said, as if he could have done so if he wished. 'I took the Free Spirit through the lock on free flow and motored to Emsworth where I picked up a buoy.'
Much as Horton had guessed. 'And the clothes? Did Thurlow really dress up in women's clothes?'
Parnham laughed. 'No, of course he didn't. I brought the clothes with me. I picked them up in a charity shop. I undressed and re-dressed Roger. Have you ever tried to dress someone who's dead, inspector? No? Well I don't recommend it. It is extremely difficult. I put him in the tender and motored near to the shore and then dragged the tender with Roger in it up the tower and dumped him.'
Was Melissa still alive? Horton agonised, but he couldn't stop Parnham now.
'It was just after midnight. I waited for a while. Saw a couple of girls come out of the track, then two men. They were very drunk, or drugged. I recognized Culven. When it was quiet, I dumped Roger inside but the girl came back. I couldn't be sure she hadn't seen me so she had to die. Then I motored back to the shore at Emsworth, where I left the tender and ran home.'
Behind Horton was a window but he was on the second floor. He wouldn't have time to get out of it before Parnham pulled that trigger and besides he'd probably break his neck landing on the gravel drive beneath him.
' Now, I think it's time we made a move, inspector. She must be dead by now.' Parnham prodded him towards the door.
Perhaps he could throw himself down the stairs? But no, that would only make Parnham fire the gun at him and he might end up breaking his leg, or his neck.
'How did you lure Culven to his death?' he asked, desperate to keep him talking until he could find a way out of this.
'Easy. On Tuesday evening I called Culven and asked him to meet me in the car park at Eastney. He did. He would have done anything for me by then.'
'You were lovers?'
'He was infatuated with me. I knew all about his little fetish and Alpha One.'
'What about Alpha One?' Horton stopped.
'I think you already know. Isn't that why you were suspended? Lucy told me all about it.'
'She told you who framed me?' His heart quickened.
'Oh yes. You'd like to know of course.' Horton knew Parnham was playing with him. 'Maybe I'll tell you before I kill you. I suppose it would be a kindness. Move on, inspector.'
He jabbed the gun in Horton's back and continued, 'Of course Jarrett's smuggling pornography.'
'How do you know?'
'Lucy told me, although she didn't really need to. I've been out with Jarrett several times. I know a great deal about Colin Jarrett. It could come in useful.'
'I doubt it, he's dead.'
Parnham halted for a moment. 'Is he?'
'You didn't kill him?'
'No. Pity. Still to get back to Culven.' He prodded the gun in Horton's back and urged him forward. 'We went down onto the beach; it was dark and foggy. I was walking behind him, throwing stones into the sea like you do, and then I strangled him. He wasn't a very strong man. I dragged him along the beach so he wouldn't be washed out to sea and then I stripped him and bundled his clothes up and put them in the boot of his Mercedes. I then drove it to Horsea Marina where I planted the letters in his house. I could use him to really make Melissa suffer. I guessed the police would arrest her. Quite a good idea, don't you think? Then I took the car to Stansted Woods and flashed it up. I ran back to Emsworth from there, got in the tender and took the Free Spirit out. I set it adrift after getting into the tender and motored it round to Eastney Lake where I left it and then jogged back to Lucy's flat where I stayed until I headed to the ferry port to coincide with the time of my ferry and took a taxi home, carrying the bag I'd previously left at Lucy's. Quite a good bit of improvisation that, wouldn't you say?'
'So there was no affair between Melissa and Culven?'
'None whatsoever. The letters were clever, weren't they? Twins, you see, sometimes have identical handwriting. I'd managed to get a sample of her writing all those years ago, from the house but I needn't have bothered. It was the same as mine. It confirmed what I already knew, that we were related.'
They were in front of the garage. Horton was soaked to the skin. The rain was lashing against him, dripping off his ears and his nose.
'Don't you think it's a very capable revenge, inspector?'
'It won't stand up in court.'
'Oh but it will. There's only you left, inspector, and you won't be around for much longer.'
Parnham opened the boot of Melissa's Ford. Could he swing round and head butt Parnham, or at least ram his head into his belly and wound him. But Parnham must have sensed his motives. Before Horton had the chance, something came down violently on the back of his head and the blackness swallowed him up.
CHAPTER 17
He was moving slowly and jerkily. With each violent tug pain screamed through his body. Horton could hear grunting. He didn't think it was coming from him but it could have been. Someone was pounding on his head as if they'd found a new substitute for a drum and he was being hauled along the ground. He was drenched from the rain that was beating against his battered body and at any moment he thought the scream inside his head might erupt through his mouth and at the same time spill his stomach's contents. He fought to control his pain and nausea because he realised that he was encased in something.
He tried to get his bearings and some semblance of clear thinking into his befuddled mind and along with the loss of one of his senses came the acuteness of another. He sniffed. Beyond the smell of the sea he could smell dog. He was wrapped in something, a blanket? What had happened to Bellman? Where was he? Perhaps he was still with the dog handler? Perhaps Parnham had killed him too, because by now Melissa must be dead.
The dragging and grunting continue. Where had Parnham brought him? What was he going to do with him? How could he get away? He pushed the drum out of his head and urged his sluggish mind to start thinking of a way out of this. The ground scraped at the blanket and tore into him. His body twisted and turned with the movement. Parnham was pulling him.
He tried to move his legs but they were tied, as were his hands, behind his back. Parnham had mentioned a drowning accident but he would have to untie him before throwing him into the sea if he wanted it to look like suicide. To untie him meant he'd have to lean over and that might be the only chance Horton would get before Parnham knocked him unconscious again. He struggled against his bonds. He was soaked from the rain. What would they say when his body was washed up along the south coast: that he had committed suicide rather than face the disgrace of a suspension? That he couldn't face the fact that he'd killed Lucy Richardson and Colin Jarrett? Melissa would be dead and Uckfield and others would believe she had taken her own life after killing her husband and lover. Her twin brother would be found and inherit the estate. How nice and tidy. What an easy way out for them. And Emma would grow up believing her father to be both a pervert and a murderer. He wouldn't have it, he couldn't. The thought filled him with a fury so fierce that it blotted out any pain he was feeling and he struggled against the bonds.
There would be a moment when Parnham would reach the shore. It was coming now, the hard ground gave way to the shingle and stones, the shells were jarring against him and cutting through the blanket into his flesh. He could hear the waves crashing onto the shore, sucking the stones back as they receded then tossing them again onto the beach. Parnham would be exhausted. He was strong to have hauled him the short distance to the shore but the effort must have weakened him.
Horton tensed his aching body. He had to marshal his strength. There would be a split second when Parnham would stop, then he would need to untie the blanket and him. It was a risk, a big one, a gigantic gamble that could cost him his life but he decided it might be the only one he had.
He let his body go limp as if unconscious. It took all the nerve he could muster. He felt the sea wash against his face, filling his eyes, his mouth, his nose. He tasted the salt and fought to stop himself from choking. The thunder crashed around them.
Parnham was panting heavily. Horton held his breath and remained absolutely still as the sea washed over him and out again. After what seemed like hours, but could only have been a few seconds, Parnham began to unwind whatever it was he had wrapped around him to keep the blanket in place. He kept his eyes closed and his head loose as he felt Parnham's breath on his face. Parnham manhandled him over on to his stomach. His face was pressed into the seabed. His breath coming fast. Parnham undid the bonds that tied his feet and then his hands. Then he turned him over so that he was lying on his back. One satisfied grunt told Horton that Parnham had straightened up and now was his chance. It seemed to be agonisingly slow. He was beginning to feel as if he had spent his whole life in this bloody state. His nerves were stretched to breaking point. His head was pounding so loud that he thought it might explode. With a great cry, totally blind and with all the force he could muster he sprang up and charged at Parnham.
He hit Parnham's unprepared stomach and the two men crashed down into the sea. Horton's battered body rolled over. He heard himself cry out, hardly recognising his own voice. He could hear Parnham's cries against the splashing of the water and the crashing of the thunder. He saw his face in the streak of lightning, startled and manic.
He stumbled up, but Parnham came charging at him, wielding a large stone retrieved from the seabed. Horton rolled out of his reach but it wasn't far enough. It caught a glancing blow on his shoulder and he howled in pain. He knew he had to get away before it would come crashing down again. Summoning his remaining energy, he leapt to his feet. To give himself time, he ran away from Parnham as fast as the large stones on the beach would allow him; his body pitching forward, stumbling.
Parnham was running after him. He would have only seconds to pick up something, turn and bring it down on Parnham's head. He'd underestimated Parnham's fitness. The man's strength surprised him. Parnham pushed him back into the sea, his face ugly with anger, his eyes cold and glaringly mad.
Horton took in a mouthful of salty water, making him choke and his stomach heave. Parnham, seizing his advantage, grabbed hold of his head and forced it under. Horton gasped and let in more seawater. He went down. His fingers reached out for something, anything: a weapon he could use to strike out against the man possessed and intent on drowning him.
His breathing was growing shallower. The world was growing darker. He was taking in too much water. He was going to die without ever seeing Emma again. He couldn't die. He wouldn't let it happen. His body was going slack. Parnham's grip was getting tighter. Parnham's hand was on his head forcing him down and holding him down. He knew he would have to make one last supreme effort and with that he would either live or die.
Mustering every ounce of strength and every fibre of willpower, he stretched out his fingers. It curled around something. He had no idea what it was and he was beyond caring, only that what he held in his hand must save his life. With energy that he dragged up from somewhere deep inside him, and sensing Parnham's loosening his grip through lack of resistance, Horton pushed himself to the surface. Reaching out, he struck Parnham across the face with the long, metal bar. There was a crash of bone and the sound of tearing flesh. Parnham screamed, staggered back, his hands to his bloodied head and face. Horton didn't wait, he crashed his fist into Parnham's bloodied face and the man splashed back into the sea and his body went limp.
Horton reached out for Parnham's shirt, grabbed it and pulled him up. He hit him again and again. And then because he wanted to go on hitting him, finally forced himself to stop. Parnham was unconscious.
He hauled him up the shore and crashed down onto the beach gasping for breath as the sea washed around his aching body. His head pounded violently. His lungs were full of seawater. He retched and was sick on the stones.
A voice came out of the darkness. 'Feeling better now?'
Horton stiffened. Instinctively he knew it meant trouble. This wasn't some concerned passer-by. He looked up. He knew exactly whom he would see.
'Thoughtful of Parnham to leave his gun in the car,' Tom Maddox said, pointing it at Horton. 'Is he dead?'
'No.'
'Pity. I'll have to do it for you.'
This was who Lucy meant when she had told Jane that someone 'high up' had paid her. It wasn't someone in the police force but in import control. Gradually Horton eased his body into a more upright position. It was difficult to see Maddox's expression but he didn't doubt his intentions. God! He'd just escaped from one lunatic only to face another. This time he wasn't sure if he had the strength, both physical and mental, to deal with it. But he had to live to tell his story. Fatigue had drained him but his instinct for survival was still strong. The need to know the truth was sending fresh adrenalin pumping through his pain-racked body and clearing his head.
