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‘You haven’t been entirely truthful, yourself,’ came the response. ‘You haven’t told me the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth about Lucy’s death, have you?’
‘Lucy is better off dead than alive. Period.’
Drabble laughed, a laugh of genuine amusement. ‘You’re dodging the question, Inspector, but never mind. I know what the true answer is, even if you can’t admit it. But as for your question, no I didn’t encourage her to kill Maria. But she told me about it afterwards. Actually, I guessed she had done it, because she came to me the next night, and burst into tears when I said how sorry I was, but I knew she had no love for her stepmother, so I knew it wasn’t grief that was eating away at her. So I asked her outright, and she admitted it immediately, and she talked and talked and I listened, and at the end I assured her that her secret was safe with me.’
‘So what about Jack?’
‘I guess I’m not guilt free there. I asked her what she intended to do about Jack, and she said she didn’t know, and I told her she should do what she wanted to do. A couple of days later she returned, and told me she had killed him too.’
‘You think he deserved that?’
Again she laughed, but it was a harsher sound. ‘Actions have consequences. That’s something my grandmother used to say, and that’s something I believe.’
Holden pursed her lips. Marjorie Drabble was a hard one to read. She sat down again on the chair, and leant forward. ‘So,’ she said, ‘if that is the case, what was the action that led to Dominic Russell’s death? His seduction of Christine?’
Another laugh rang out, and echoed round the room so loudly that Holden wondered if the nurse wouldn’t come running to see what on earth had caused such unseemly behaviour. But no one came, and eventually the laughing petered out, and Drabble’s face grew stern. ‘Isn’t that enough?’ she demanded.
‘So you told Lucy because you knew that she had killed Maria and Jack, and so you also knew there would be nothing to stop her killing Dominic too. You killed Dominic by proxy, in fact. Is that right?’
Drabble folded her arms, and looked straight into Holden’s face. ‘I did say I wasn’t a very nice person.’
‘That isn’t an answer to my question.’
‘I know.’ She smiled what was almost a smile of sympathy. ‘You answer my question about Lucy’s death, and I’ll answer yours.’
Holden hesitated, but only briefly. She too wanted to confess to someone. Needed too, even. A memory from childhood, painfully vivid, came to her: she was standing on the high diving board at the swimming pool, waiting to jump, and a line of children, mostly older than her, stood behind, urging her to get on with it or get out of the way. And she had been so scared, and yet she was determined to do it, because her mother was in the viewing gallery, watching. So eventually she had breathed in, pinched her nose, and had jumped. And much to her surprise, she had survived.
She took in a deep breath. ‘I pushed Lucy over the balcony because she murdered the first person I have ever truly loved.’
There, she had said it, and she shut her eyes. But the feeling of relief that she craved did not follow. Instead, she felt her throat tighten, and even with her eyes closed tears began to well up, and then her whole body started to shake again. And all she could feel was an intense, head-splitting feeling of hatred for the woman who had shattered her happiness. She had absolutely no regrets.
‘Thank you for telling me,’ Drabble said. Her own eyes were red, and she dabbed at them with the corner of a sheet as she waited until she had got Holden’s attention. ‘I got Lucy to kill Dominic because I was incapable of doing it myself.’ Drabble said this in a determined, raised voice. ‘For years and years and years I had wanted him to die. Well, not just die. I used to fantasize that he would get cancer and then die a very long and very agonizing death, and that after death he would discover that God did exist and that God was a vengeful God who would condemn him to everlasting torment. You see, the bottom line was that I didn’t have the guts to do my own dirty work. But when this golden opportunity turned up in the form of Lucy Tull, well!’ She paused, and rubbed the back of her hand across her forehead, on which beads of sweat had now begun to form. ‘You see, Susan, Christine wasn’t the only person to fall prey to Dominic’s charms. Six months before that, I had had an affair with him. Not a one-night encounter like poor Christine, but nearly three months of furtive meetings and often, I am ashamed to say, rather exciting sex. The only problem was that in my naivety I got pregnant. When I told Dominic, he dropped me like the proverbial hot potato, and I was left not knowing whose child I was carrying – Dominic’s or my husband’s. I never did try to find out. What was the point? At least the two possible fathers were the same skin colour and the same hair colour, and both even then showed a tendency to carry too much weight. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I realized how alike they were, except in temperament.’
‘So that child was Graham?’
‘Yes. Of course he has no idea, and must never know. You do understand that?’
‘I do.’ What else could she say? She had promised to maintain secrecy. And she had meant it. And besides, some things were best kept secret.
‘And I suppose Graham is the other reason why I did nothing. Even if I had killed Dominic myself, the chances are I would have been discovered, and then what? People like you start digging and asking questions, and before you know it Graham is left with the awful knowledge that he may be a bastard. I may not have been a perfect mother, but I am better than that.’
Both women now fell into silence. There was, suddenly, nothing left to say. Nothing left at all. Holden eventually stood up, stretched, and then stepped closer, bending down over the bed. ‘I’d better be off, Marjorie,’ she said quietly.
Drabble looked up at her. Her face was wiped clean of emotion. Only exhaustion was visible. ‘Thank you for coming, Susan,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve enjoyed our chat.’
Holden bent lower, and kissed the woman on the forehead.
‘Goodbye, Marjorie.’
Holden turned and moved towards the door. Drabble watched her go. She saw her open the door, and watched it swing noiselessly shut behind her, and only then did she lift a hand in silent farewell.
It was barely 5.30 in the evening, but it felt later. Susan Holden made her way towards the front door. It had been one of those grim autumnal days which underline the fact that winter isn’t so much round the corner, as already up your front path and hammering rudely on the door. Holden wondered, without enthusiasm, who else might be hammering on her door right now. The last few days had impressed on her something that she had known, but ignored for some time – that she didn’t actually have many friends. Most of her time had been spent at work, or doing things with work colleagues, or humouring her mother, or trying to forget all of those things. So the chances were that it would be a door-to-door sales person, one of those wretched people who try to sell you dishcloths you don’t need, or who offer you a ‘free inspection’ of your exterior brickwork, or a student trying to sign you up to some no doubt terribly good cause. Alternatively, it could be her mother, come to check up on her. That was as far as her imagination took her.
She undid the security chain on her door and pulled the door wide. She didn’t need a ruddy security chain, didn’t need to peer through a thin crack to check on the identity of her visitor before allowing them in. She wasn’t decrepit. Whoever it was, let them come in. She was ready for them.
‘Hello, Guv!’
‘Fox!’ She wasn’t ready for him.
