Authors: Frederic Lindsay
'Why
isn't
Mother
here?'
'She'll
be
back.'
Murray
waited,
he
was
good
at
waiting
.
After
a
time,
a
dry
spasm
of
coughing
jerked
Malcolm's
eyes
open.
'Frances
isn't
here?'
'How
could
she
be?'
Murray
explained
as
he
had
before,
'Frances
is
dead.
You
were
found
with
her
in
the
Underpass,
tied
together.
Until
you
opened
your
eyes,
I
thought
you
were
dead
too.'
'Tell
me
...
'
A
white
glitter
of
lamps
and
the
cold
at
the
end
of
the
tunnel.
Men
crouching
over
an
ugly
shape
like
a
badly
tied
carpet,
that
fell
apart
into
the
two
bodies,
one
looking
as
dead
as
the
other.
The
sparkle
you
could
not
help
seeing
of
frost
in
the
bush
of
black
hair
over
the
woman's
groin.
A
man's
voice:
'Christ,
look
at
his
arm!'
A
man's
voice:
'There
are
tracks
from
out
there
near
the
middle.'
'She's
been
a
looker.'
'Fancy
getting
up
against
her
now?'
'Christ,
no,
she
looks
frigid.'
Laughter.
He
had
glanced
at
Irene,
but
she
seemed
not
to
have heard,
standing
apart
with
Peerse
who
was
frowning
over
her
head
at
the
smothered
incongruous
sound;
looking
back
then
and
seeing
Eddy
Stewart
among
the
group,
the
grin
slackening
his
lips.
'I
don't
remember
anything
that
would
help
you,'
Murray
said.
The
head
turned
from
side
to
side
on
the
pillow.
It
had
been
a
full-fleshed
face,
a
little
soft
round
the
mouth,
good
looking
in
one
of
the
conventional
ways;
the
kind
of
man
who
reminded
women
as
the
night
wore
on
at
parties
of
some
singer
or
actor.
Now
the
most
noticeable
feature
of
his
appearance
was
his
teeth
.
Square
and
white
they
were
too
large
for
his
mouth
.
His
lips
could
not
cover
them.
'I
carried
her
…
'
'That's
right.'
Murray
leaned
forward
to
hear.
'You
could
have done
–
it
could
have
been
that
way –
through
the
tunnel
down
into
the Underpass.'
'I'd
been
there
before
.
..
that
day
with
Heathers
.
..'
The
thread
of
voice
slipped
away
and
Murray
came
so
close
his
cheek
almost
brushed
his
brother's
lips
and
still
he
could
not
be
sure
that
what
he
heard
was,
'Poor
girl.
Poor
girl.'
'Frances?'
'The
poor
black
girl
...
poor
girl
...
I
carried
her
...
'
'Black
girl?
There
wasn't
any
black
girl.'
Malcolm's
eyes
opened,
suddenly
clear
and
rational.
'I
told
her
to
look
out
through
the
peephole
...
Because
it
was
a
woman
she
let
her
in
.
..
She
wasn't
afraid
of
a
woman
...
'
'That
was
in
the
flat,'
Murray
said,
confirming
it.
'Frances
went to
the
door
and
saw
this
woman
through
the
peephole
–
and
because
it
was
a
woman
and
you
were
there,
she
let
her
in,
is
that
right?'
'Yes.'
'Did
she
have
a
gun,
this
woman?
Was
that
how
she
forced
you?
How
could
she
force
you
to
drive
the
car
–
and
then
to
carry
Frances?
Can
you
remember?'
But
his
eyes
had
closed
again,
showing
only
a
thin
slice
of
white
under
each
lid.
After
a
pause,
during
which
Murray
thought
he
had
slipped
away
again
to
sleep,
he
whispered,
'I
had
to
drag
her...
It
took
a
long
time.'
A
long
time.
Whatever
else
was
lost,
they
knew
the
kind
of
time
it
must
have
taken
him.
Out
of
the
tunnel,
somewhere
in
the
open
area,
he
had
been
struck
from
behind,
a
desperate
blow.
He
must
have
come
round
lashed
ankle
to
ankle,
bound
face
against
the
naked
corpse,
his
wrists
fastened
behind
its
back.
He
would
not
have
been
able
to
stand
up;
there
was
no
way
of
getting
free
without
help.
Probably
he
had
tried
to
shout.
There
was
no
one
there
to
hear
him.
After
a
supervisor
had
used
his
fists
in
a
dispute
the
previous
day,
every
worker
on
the
site
had
walked
out.
There
wasn't
any
way
of
predicting
a
thing
like
that.
Was
there
some
way
the
killer
could
have
learned
of
it?
Or
come
there
by
chance;
was
that
kind
of
coincidence
possible?
It
had
been
cold,
colder
than
anything
he
could
account
for,
cold
beyond
reason
.
One
eye
stuck shut
with
blood
from
the
head
wound,
Malcolm
must
have
known
how
close
he
was
to
dying
for
even
in
that
terrible
bewilderment
he
had
begun
to
drag
his
burden
inch
by
slow
fought
inch.
When
he
was
found
by
a
partner
in
the
specialist
firm,
he
had
made
it
almost
back
to
the
mouth
of
the
tunnel,
but
it
had
taken
a
long
time.
By
then,
given
the
way
he
had
lain
while
unconscious
and
the
tightness
of
the
cords,
the
damage
had
been
done.