Kill Me Again (45 page)

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ she whispered, finally understanding his abhorrence of alcohol – and so much more. She felt so sorry for the child that Duncan had been, but had no pity left for the man he had become.

He turned towards her.

‘Because it’s not a nice story,’ he answered. Maggie risked a glance at him, but his face showed nothing. ‘I preferred the version I invented. Don’t ask me anything else. Just drive the car.’

The tone of his voice told her that she was in trouble. The last pretence of Duncan Taylor, family man, had been stripped away.

69

The tyres made a drumming sound on the cobbles of the narrow lane as the car passed under the deserted tramline and headed towards what appeared to be a dead end with a metal gate, beyond which was a barren wasteland. There was nobody else around – no apartments overlooking the lane, no nightclubs or late bars. Maggie didn’t like it.

During the drive she had made a decision. Duncan had to believe that she was still in love with him – still trusted him. It was the only chance she had. But now they were here, she wasn’t sure if she could go through with it.

‘Get out,’ Duncan said.

‘Why are we here?’ she asked, her voice trembling on the last word.

‘You’ll see. Get out.’

She hesitated for a few seconds then took a deep breath and got out of the car, staring ahead at the abandoned site. Nothing moved. The only sounds came from behind her, where Manchester still buzzed even in the dead of night. He pushed her through the open pedestrian gate.

They had been walking for about ten minutes though rough undergrowth before Duncan stopped.

‘This is it. This is where the first one was left.’

‘You weren’t even
here
, Duncan.’

Even in the dark night she saw his eyes narrow and his mouth set in a hard line.

‘I know. But I followed every detail.’

I’m making this worse
.
I mustn’t challenge him
.

Maggie looked around her. The path had crossed a canal, which now curved along behind them. She could smell the musty odour of the mud that lined the banks and see a wider stretch of water ahead, the lights along the far side of the bank reflecting off a surface ruffled by the wind, creating jagged shards of white on the ink-black water.

‘I’m not going to prison, Maggie. I’m not suffering the humiliation, the disgrace - the
failure
. To have my children think of me as something less than I am. So it ends tonight.’

Maggie’s legs were weak. All the strength seemed to have ebbed from her limbs. What did he mean?

It didn’t matter, though, because he was right. It did have to end tonight. Could she continue with this, or should she just run?

She knew it was over for them, but however she felt now she couldn’t forget how much she had loved this man from the day they had met. The day he had told her how he had nursed his dying mother, and with that lie she had melted into his arms. A wave of shame at her gullibility washed over her.

They walked on, and she could see they were heading towards the wide expanse of water – a river lined with railings. She knew now exactly how this was going to end. She swallowed her rising panic and forced herself to keep calm.

‘We’ve been happy, haven’t we,’ she said, reaching for Duncan’s hand.

‘I always thought so,’ he said.

‘It’s true, Duncan. And we’ve got two wonderful children.’

Duncan squeezed her hand. She led him towards the railings. They were about waist high with a small ledge the other side.

She looked at the water. There was one question she had to ask before it ended. One question that would make all the difference in the world.

‘Why did you fantasise about drowning Tamsin? Why that death?’ She spoke to him gently as if she understood. As if he was still the love of her life.

Duncan lifted one leg and rested it on the bottom bar of the fence.

‘When I was four, my mother took me to the seaside. She sat on the beach and let me go into the sea. But I couldn’t swim. She was drunk and fell asleep. A wave knocked me off my feet and dragged me out to sea. I nearly drowned. A man saved me, but I remember what it felt like. I remember the feeling of hopelessness, and how when I tried to take a breath the water flooded my lungs. The terror, the desperation – they were feelings so acute that they’ve never left me.’

She didn’t need to ask any more. He had told her everything she needed to know.

‘Enough questions. Climb over the fence, Maggie.’

Duncan climbed over and held out his hand to help her. She dropped her bag on the ground and clambered over to join him. They stood together, looking down into the black water.

He turned towards her and put his hands on her shoulders. She looked at her husband: at the face she had loved; the features she knew so well; the man she barely knew at all.

‘I’m sorry, Mags,’ he said. ‘There’s no other way.’

Tom had been upstairs talking to Philippa Stanley when the call came in. He could hear the wind in the background and the sound of running. A voice, out of breath and terrified, was shouting down the line.

‘Mr Douglas, it’s Maggie Taylor. You’ve got to help me. He’s going to kill me.’ There was a sob. ‘Please, help me. It’s Duncan. He’s gone mad.’

Tom kept his voice level. ‘Where are you, Maggie?’

‘I don’t
know
,’ she cried. ‘He’s seen me. Oh God, he’s coming for me. He said it’s where the first girl was killed. There’s a river and a canal but nothing else, just wasteland. Please, Mr Douglas.’ There was a scream and the phone went dead.

Tom didn’t say a word to Philippa. He pressed the speed dial button for Becky.

‘Becky, he’s got Maggie. Sounds like they’re at Pomona. Meet me there, but wait until I arrive. Are you listening? Wait for me.’

He disconnected and called over his shoulder to Philippa as he ran from the room, ‘We’re going to need backup! I’m leaving that with you, Philippa.’

He knew she would make things happen – and happen quickly.

Tom raced down the stairs, not waiting for the lift, and ran to the car park. The roads were empty at this time of the night, and he made it to his destination in record time, but clearly not as quickly as Becky. As he pulled his car into the side of the road at the entrance to Pomona Strand, he could see Becky’s car. It was empty.

‘Bloody hell, Becky. What part of “Wait until I arrive” didn’t you understand?’ he mumbled as he locked his car and started to jog along the road. He could see nothing. Ahead of him was darkness, the distant lights of central Manchester failing to illuminate the night skies of the wasteland.

He had heard on his radio that police cars were approaching the island from the other entrances, and hopefully they would all converge on Michael Alexander. Philippa had
ordered a chopper too. In this unlit wilderness it was possible that Alexander would find a way past the police on the ground, and there was no way he was escaping this time.

Tom could just make out the dark shape of somebody running towards the river. Becky. It had to be. He looked to see where she was headed and spotted a black figure at the edge of the quay, arms raised, screaming. The figure was bending backwards and forwards, struggling against an assailant that Tom couldn’t make out. There was one last scream, a splash and the quayside was deserted, the only sound that of thrashing arms and legs in the water.

Maggie kicked out with her legs, splashing furiously. Her head rose out of the water, spitting out musty-tasting liquid as she cleared the surface. Then just as quickly she was back under, arms thrashing from side to side

‘Help!’ she screamed as she broke the surface again. Her sodden clothes added weight and she slipped back under. Rising again, she turned on her back and drove her legs out as hard as she could. One last push, a splash, a final shout for help, and the water became calm.

Turning onto her front, she swam as fast as she could for the bank, raising her head out of the water to cough, heading for the metal ladder she had seen attached to the quayside. She reached the ladder and hung there for a moment, gasping for breath and checking over her shoulder.

Suddenly from above her she heard the clatter of feet running on the damaged tarmac. They came to a sudden halt, and Maggie lifted her head to look into the wide-eyed gaze of Becky Robinson.

‘Are you okay?’ the detective asked.

Maggie nodded, gasping and crying.

‘Where is he? Where’s your husband?’

Maggie waved a hand. ‘Out there somewhere. He can’t swim. He was trying to kill me.’

To her horror, the young detective ripped off her coat, kicked off her shoes and dived into the river.

Tom couldn’t believe what he was seeing. After the shadowy shapes disappeared from the side of the quay he had heard frantic splashing and realised somebody was in the water, and then Becky appeared to launch herself in to the black, restless river.

What the fuck was she doing?

He didn’t think he could run any faster, and he was still quite a distance away. From behind he heard the controlled breathing of a seasoned runner and before he had the chance to glance over his shoulder a man a few inches taller than him streaked past, yanking off his coat as he ran. The man put one hand on the railing and vaulted over then executed a perfect dive into the water.

Tom arrived seconds later as a sodden Maggie pulled herself over the edge of the quay.

‘Who’s in the water?’ he demanded.

‘Your inspector dived in to save Duncan. He can’t swim,’ Maggie said, breathing heavily between sobs. ‘Somebody else went in just now.’

The distant lights from the far side of the river painted wavering pale grey patterns on the inky surface of the water, and Tom could just make out where the water was disturbed. He heard a cry from Becky, then the water settled. The only noise was the rhythmic splashes of the swimmer, but Tom could see nothing. He pulled off his jacket, preparing to follow them into the water, but he knew it was pointless. He was too far away, and the person in the water seemed a strong swimmer. Then there was silence. The swimmer must have dived.

He heard the sound of more running feet and turned. All he could see was the wavering light of torches heading towards him through the dark.

‘Over here,’ he yelled, waving his arms above his head.

There was another frantic splash and Tom spun back round. A pale face broke the surface. Tom heard an anguished yell from the water: ‘
Becky
!’ He recognised the voice. It was Mark, Becky’s boyfriend.
What the hell was he doing here?

Tom could just see his head above the water, but only his. Mark dived again.

‘Torches!’ Tom yelled, and three uniformed officers shone their torches across the water, searching for the turbulence.

Mark surfaced again, but only for air, and then dived again.

He had seen where Becky had gone down and Tom knew he had to trust him. There was nothing he could do to help. More bodies in the river would confuse things.

Christ, where is she?
Tom grabbed a torch out of someone’s hand and looked for bubbles, but the wind was ruffling the surface and they were too far away. She must have been underwater for two minutes now. Then he heard the steady thrumming of the chopper and powerful searchlights suddenly illuminated the river.