Each Man Kills Page 4

  Suddenly Evans felt a tingling sensation at his hip. His mobile. He unclipped it from his belt and checked the display. It was Terry calling him.

  He clicked the answer button. No harm in seeing what Terry wanted. After all, he was a mate. And he could do with a friend at a time like this.

  Chapter 6

  Like a cocky young teenager, Lambert grinned across the table at Melanie as they sat down. She stared back at him with feigned indifference, wondering why on earth she had agreed to have dinner with him. Perhaps it was just curiosity, pure and simple. She couldn’t think of any other reason.

  The short, tubby proprietor bounded over to their table and greeted them effusively. ‘How are you, sir? A long time no see, huh? And you, madam. How are you both keeping?’

  ‘Very well thank you, Angelo,’ said Lambert. ‘We’ve both been out of town for a while, but it’s good to be back.’

  The proprietor beamed at them. ‘Ah yes. There’s no place like home. No?’

  Lambert winced at the choice of words, wondering if it was deliberate. He stared directly into the restaurateur’s eyes, searching for any hidden meaning. But Angelo’s eyes, he remembered, always had a mischievous twinkle for all his customers. Lambert smiled at him.

  ‘Be careful, Angelo. You might end up in Kansas.’

  Angelo made a questioning, comic opera face.

  ‘The Wizard of Oz,’ Lambert explained. ‘Dorothy.’

  ‘Ah yes,’ Angelo said, though it was obvious he hadn’t a clue what Lambert was on about. ‘Now then - can I get you a drink?’

  ‘I think we’ll get straight onto the wine. OK for you, Mel?’

  Melanie gave a cursory nod. The proprietor handed Lambert the wine list but he waved it aside. ‘A bottle of Chianti Rufina. Thanks.’

  As he went to get the wine, Lambert looked around the restaurant, remembering some of their clandestine dinners. He caught Melanie’s eye. She was staring at him intently, waiting for him to speak. He felt suddenly awkward. And he felt a sharp stab of guilt as he was reminded of all the lies and complications their affair had spawned. After it was over, and Melanie had gone to live in New York, Helen had one day suggested she would like to eat at this restaurant. He had made a feeble excuse, saying he didn’t fancy Italian food on that particular evening; but when she repeated the request weeks later, he told her some colleagues from work had eaten here and had come down with food poisoning. Lying to Helen led to the slander of Angelo’s. Double the remorse.

  ‘Have you ever gone back,’ said Melanie, ‘to a place you knew from years ago?’

  ‘I hear what you’re saying, Mel. But it’s good to be back here. With you. Just like old times.’

  ‘With a slight difference. We don’t have to keep looking over our shoulders.’

  ‘How did you know Helen and I had split up?’

  ‘I heard.’

  ‘News travels fast round here. I expect you heard about my old man, as well.’

  Melanie shook her head and waited for him to explain. She could tell by his serious expression what was coming.

  ‘Massive heart attack last Thursday.’

  ‘Did he...’ She hesitated, wondering whether the occasion demanded a euphemism.

  ‘Funeral was yesterday,’ said Lambert, raising his eyebrows and making a palms-up, apologetic gesture, as if father’s death was beyond his control.

  Angelo returned with the Chianti and held the bottle for Lambert’s approval. With barely a glance at it, the detective nodded, keeping his eyes on Melanie.

  After the proprietor had poured the wine, given them both menus and gone, Lambert clinked glasses with Melanie’s.

  ‘Iechyd da!’

  ‘Yamas!’ she said, instantly regretting the Greek reply. That’s how it had been when they were lovers.

  Lambert grinned confidently at her. ‘Just like old times.’

  She didn’t believe for an instant he wanted to know about the false confession. He was trying to rekindle their relationship; she could tell by his body language, every little gesture. When they arrived at the restaurant she had felt his touch as he held the door open for her, his hand brushing the small of her back, then slightly lower.

  ‘You don’t waste much time in mourning, do you,’ she said. ‘I thought you and your dad were very close.’

  ‘We were never close. In fact I hated the bastard.’

  Melanie raised her eyebrows questioningly. ‘You never told me that.’

  ‘I was in denial. When my mother used to tell me I was just like my dad, she knew it was an accusation I would try to disprove. ’

  ***

  Ted Wilson opened his eyes and tried to focus on something. Anything. Eventually the corner of the mantelpiece swam into view and he knew where he was, slumped in the armchair in front of the fireplace that still contained the charred remains of some wooden pallets he had burnt last February when he ran out of coal. His mouth felt rancid and his bladder pained him. He realised he was dying for a piss. That was a bit of luck, waking just in time. About a month ago, he’d got drunk on market day and come home in this condition. He’d gone to bed and slept through to the middle of the night, and was awakened by a very real dream. He dreamt he was standing in the pub toilet, unzipping his flies, taking his cock out and pissing. The sheer relief was unbelievable. That’s when he woke to discover he had emptied his very full bladder in bed. Thank Christ he had woken in time now. He couldn’t have been as pissed as he thought.

  He rose unsteadily from the chair. He knew that if he didn’t relieve himself pretty quickly he’d have another accident. Wheezing and spluttering, he staggered towards the door and grabbed the handle. It was still fairly light outside, the sun an ominous fireball hanging over the horizon. He shuffled along the wall of the house, turned inwards, unzipped himself and let out a stream. He watched his urine splashing against the wall, hot and steaming. It was physically satisfying, this sheer relief of letting go.

  It was his final gratification.

  The bullet entered the back of his head at a downward angle, passed through the centre of his skull, scattering his brains and face across the brick wall as his body smashed against the side of the house with the powerful impact. He didn’t hear the sound of the shot. He was dead before it reached him.

  A family of crows, frightened by the noise, scattered from a nearby tree.

  ***

  Lambert paused in his meal, taking pleasure in watching Melanie as she meticulously dissected her grilled trout. She looked up and caught the sentimental look in his eyes.

  ‘What?’ she demanded with a trace of irritation.

  ‘I’ve missed you, Mel. Every time I think about you...’

  ‘I thought you wanted to talk about the false confession.’

  ‘I do. But being here with you...’

  She interrupted him again. ‘Reminds you of our sordid little affair.’ She saw him wince, giving her a wounded expression. Or was he just playing the hurt little boy again? She didn’t trust that sincere look of his.

  ‘Come on, sweetheart. It wasn’t like that.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No. Well, not for me it wasn’t. OK, admittedly we might not always have had the opportunity to make love in conventional places...’

  ‘I thought that was part of the attraction for you, Harry.’

  ‘Well, maybe to begin with, but...’

  ‘And here was I thinking you found it exciting.’

  He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Good. She might have succeeded in rattling his composure, shaken his self-confidence. He was always so sure of himself. She was reminded of the first time they met. She worked at the hospital and when he almost collided with her in the corridor just outside her office, he did a very obvious double-take, which at the time she found funny and flatt
ering. She could clearly remember his opening gambit.

  ‘Do you believe in love at first sight?’

  She remembered blushing, and stammering, ‘There’s no such thing.’

  ‘I didn’t think so either,’ he countered. ‘Up until now.’

  It was as corny as a cracker joke. But she fell for it. Not immediately. But he was persistent and eventually managed to wear down her resistance with outrageous flattery, charm and perseverance. God! What an idiot she’d been. And here she was: sitting in the restaurant where they’d had their first date. She needed to have her brains tested. Some psychiatrist.

  Angelo returned to their table, topped up their glasses and asked if everything was to their satisfaction.

  ‘Put it this way,’ said Melanie. ‘The food and the service are excellent.’

  Angelo sensed the sudden drop in temperature, and gave them a small nod and a half smile before turning away.

  ‘Listen, Mel,’ said Lambert. ‘I always found our lovemaking exciting, wherever it was. It’s just that...well, I wanted our relationship to go deeper than...er...’

  ‘A quick shag?’

  ‘It was difficult at the time. What with Natasha studying for her A Levels.’

  Melanie sighed deeply and shook her head. ‘You know your trouble, don’t you?’

  ‘Come on then, doc: hit me with the prognosis.’

  ‘It’s boringly common. It’s called having your cake and eating it.’

  His confidence returning, Lambert smiled. ‘Stupid expression.’

  ‘So d’you want to hear about the false confession or not?’

  ‘It’s why we’re here.’

  Melanie felt her mouth being tugged into a lopsided, cynical smile, which she tried to suppress but failed.

  ***

  The sun had almost vanished over the hills. Soon it would be pitch black. Evans stood over the corpse, forcing himself to stare at the sordid mess. He was testing himself, to see if there were any feelings of remorse that might surface from deep inside him. But he felt nothing at all. His emotions had been blunted by the repeated bloodshed of previous jobs.

  He was startled suddenly by the sound of a vehicle, the accelerator being revved hard as it climbed the steep hill on the road leading to the farm. He turned and ran, out into the road and up towards where his Sierra was parked, away from the approaching vehicle. He sat in his car and waited, listening.

  ***

  ‘So,’ said Lambert, pushing the last of his lasagne to the side of his plate. ‘Why did poor old Morris James confess?’

  Melanie took a sip of wine before launching into the explanation.

  ‘Because years ago his wife fell in love with his brother Richard.’

  ‘Was this before she and Morris got together? Or after?’

  ‘Before. I don’t think Sadie was remotely interested in dull-as-ditchwater Morris.’

  ‘Sadie and Morris, eh.’ Lambert laughed. ‘What a double act.’

  ‘D’you want to hear this or not?’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Anyway, Richard falls in love with someone else. They marry and settle in Australia. And Sadie settles for second best, hoping to find some reflection of her lover in his brother. But Morris was a big disappointment. Nothing like his dynamic brother.’

  Parodying amazement, Lambert let his mouth drop open. ‘Morris had a dynamic brother?’

  ‘It’s possible. And as Morris’s relationship with Sadie gets worse, his self-esteem takes a nose dive. Then, when Richard suddenly kicks the bucket down under, Sadie takes to the bottle. Morris carries on as normal, but deep down he hates his wife, and he’d like to kill her. He plots her death a million times, this pathetic man. Then, when she obliges by doing it for him, he feels guilty, thinks he really has murdered her.’

  ‘How can you be so sure about this?’

  ‘Because I asked the right questions. Listen to the tape if you don’t believe me.’

  ‘I do believe you. But can I tell you what I think really happened? Morris James returns from the weekly shop to find his wife hanging - but she’s still alive. This is the opportunity he’s been waiting for. So he puts his arms around her legs and pulls with all his might, speeding up her demise.’

  Melanie shook her head vigorously and gave a derisive snort. ‘Oh, come on, Harry. You know it was a false confession. And I’ve provided you with the reason. And now you’re trying to tell me it was an assisted suicide.’

  ‘Which still counts as murder. He could have cut her down - rescued her - but he chooses to kill her instead. She was wearing slippers and one of them had come off and was found on the stair beneath where her body was hanging. Because her ankles were swollen - probably as a result of her alcoholism - the other slipper fitted tightly on her foot.’

  There was a clipped anger in Melanie’s tone as she leapt to Morris James’s defence. ‘That slipper could have been kicked off as she struggled for life, and you damn well know it.’

  Lambert waved her objection aside. ‘And she consumed a whole bottle of vodka during her husband’s visit to the supermarket. Given the time it would have taken her to consume that amount of neat spirit, he would have been home maybe quite some time before her actual death. Of course, all this is speculation. Even if fibres from his coat are found on her slippers, it proves nothing, seeing as he lives in that house, and he might have helped her on with her slippers.’

  A triumphant glint came into Melanie’s eyes as she said, ‘So there you have it. Suicide. End of story.’

  ‘Except, of course, for his confession. Is there something you’re not telling me, Mel?’

  Anger blazed in her eyes as they locked with his, but unable to hold his searching stare she looked away. From this almost indiscernible indicator he guessed she was holding something back.

  ‘He told you, didn’t he? About assisting his wife’s death. Maybe after you switched the tape off?’

  Her eyes met his again. ‘No, he didn’t. So don’t go after him, Harry. Leave him alone. Think how many years he’s suffered. And he’ll go on suffering for many years t come. He’s damaged, Harry, and he may never recover.’

  He leant back, nodded and gave her a smile. She relaxed then, and knew it was his detective’s pride in wanting to be right about his investigation, even though he had no intention of taking it any farther.

  Lambert chuckled and shook his head. ‘Families. The things we do to one another.’

  ***

  Evans heard the car stop outside the farm, followed by a door slamming shut. Any second now someone would discover the corpse. He turned the ignition, threw the car into gear and accelerated. The car shot forward, bumping over the uneven ground, the tyres squealing as it rounded the corner into the narrow road. As he sped down the hill, hoping there was enough room to pass the other car, he switched his headlights on. He could see the other car now. It looked like a Fiat Panda, so there might be enough room to squeeze past. But only just. With his offside scratching along the hedgerow, he pushed hard on the accelerator and scraped the Fiat. But his wing mirror must have caught it and there was a crash as it was wrenched off into the road.

  ‘Fuck!’ he shouted over the noise. But he kept his foot hard on the accelerator as he climbed the hill. When he reached the top he checked his mirror to see if the farm visitor had run out into the road, trying to get his registration number. All he saw was the blackness of the valley behind him. Night had descended.

  ***

  After Angelo had cleared their plates, Lambert looked searchingly at Melanie. ‘Can I ask you something?’

  ‘You can ask. But I can’t guarantee I’ll give you an answer.’

  ‘Well, I think Helen’s going for a divorce.’

  Melanie leaned back in her chair and eyed him suspiciously. She guessed what wa
s coming. He was so predictable. She managed to restrain the amused smile she could feel quivering at the corners of her mouth.

  ‘So? What’s that got to do with me? I’ve not been around for two years. You can’t blame me for splitting up the marriage. There’s probably been someone else on the scene since then.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant.’

  ‘What then?’

  Suddenly Lambert felt unsure of himself.

  ‘We could always get it together again.’

  ‘Smooth talker.’

  ‘I’ve got my own flat out on the Mumbles. It’s...well, it’s okay I suppose. At least it’s got a sea view.’

  Melanie widened her eyes in mock surprise.

  ‘Wow! This is so romantic and unexpected. How could any woman resist?’

  ‘And I don’t want to be on my own. Not tonight. Not after burying the old man yesterday.’

  Melanie’s eyes narrowed. ‘Moral blackmail. You’d stoop that low?’

  Lambert gave her his most charming smile. ‘You know me.’

  ‘So let me get this straight - you want us to pick up where we left off after a gap of nearly two years?’

  ‘I love that look in your eyes. So warm and sexy.’

  ‘Come on, Harry: is that the best you can do?’

  Lambert shrugged and smiled. ‘Well, I just thought...’

  ‘You’ve got no chance, inspector.’

  He had known that from the start of the evening. But somehow he felt a compulsion to flirt with her in the most outrageous way. It was because he knew that it was a lost cause that he could be as unsubtle and as obvious as he liked.

  ‘Out of all the men in Swansea,’ Melanie added, ‘you would be bottom of my list.’

  Lambert grinned. ‘Don’t spare my feelings, Mel. Just tell me straight.’

  ‘You’re a bloody misogynist. Oh, I know you once told me you’re in love with all women. But you’re mistaken...’