‘And is that what you wanted?’ Roz said, surprised at her own boldness. But some instinct told her that she had to keep the
conversation going, play for time.
‘We took Victor into one of the outhouses.’ The person Roz had known as Marie gave her a sweet but menacing smile.
‘And nobody knew what you’d done?’ She had to keep talking – strike up a relationship. Her life depended on it.
‘It didn’t stay a secret for long. Esther, Miles’s girlfriend, found out and I was sent away. She contacted the billeting
officer and said I couldn’t stay.’
‘But she didn’t tell them why?’
‘She just wanted me out. Besides, I was only ten. Not responsible, you see.’
‘What’s your real name?’
‘The name on my birth certificate is Charles. Charlie. Charlie Haslem. But that’s not important. Identity is fluid if you
want it to be.’
‘But you kept the same letters. They’re all anagrams, aren’t they? Liam Cheshlare. Marie Shallech.’
‘Very observant of you. I found it rather entertaining.’
‘So what do I call you?’ She tried to sound casual, friendly.
‘I prefer Marie. I’ve always been more comfortable as a woman.’
‘Why did you kill my husband?’ The gun dropped slightly, pointing at her pregnant belly rather than her head.
‘James and I were related, you know. He was my cousin, Belle’s son. I think obsession must run in the family. I became obsessed
with scientific discovery and poor James became obsessed with proving his father’s innocence. The two obsessions, of course,
proved to be incompatible in the end.’
‘How did he find out about you?’
‘He told me he’d always been good at faces and he was given a picture that interfering nanny took of me when I worked as his
father’s locum. He thought he recognised me and when he began to delve into my background he found some discrepancies. I knew
it was only a matter of time before the whole thing came out. I couldn’t face prison, Mrs Dalcott, and being trapped in with
all those criminals. Your husband was an honest man as I’m sure you know. He would have considered it his duty to bring me
to justice.’
There was a thunderous rapping on the front door that made Roz jump. She saw Marie’s eyes widen for a second in panic.
‘You’d better answer that,’ Roz said quietly.
But Marie didn’t move. The arrival of the visitor – whoever it was – had only served to increase the tension. Roz saw the
finger on the trigger twitch. She closed her eyes.
Then she heard a voice calling out the words ‘Police. Anybody in?’ It came from the hall. The front door must have been left
unlocked, a small miracle which made Roz’s heart leap with new hope. She wondered whether to call out but the gun was pointed
straight at her so she decided not to take the risk.
‘What’s the point in killing me?’ she said calmly, appealing to reason. ‘If you go now’ – she looked at the uncurtained French
windows – ‘you can get out and l’ll tell them you left ages ago. Please. I won’t tell them anything.’
Marie’s eyes travelled to the gun. ‘There are six bullets in here. Plenty to go around.’
Roz’s few moments of hope were at an end and she suddenly felt cold.
Then there was a hushed rattle and she saw the door handle turning slowly.
Wesley stood outside the door to the back room. Nick Tarnaby had disappeared upstairs to check whether there was anybody up
there. He could hear doors opening and closing above him and he guessed that Nick had drawn a blank.
He’d seen what he assumed was Marie’s study – all those specimens preserved in formaldehyde. The sight of some of them had
made him feel sick: a baby’s severed limbs; various internal organs; a disembodied ear; an assortment of eyeballs. As he stood
in the hallway staring at the tightly closed door, he had an uneasy feeling about what he’d find on the other side.
‘Nobody up there, sir,’ Nick Tarnaby said as he descended the stairs.
There was one place they hadn’t looked. Wesley put his
hand on the doorknob and turned it slowly. But before he could push the door open, he heard a voice behind him.
‘What’s going on?’
He swung round and saw Nuala Johns framed in the front doorway, waiting for an answer.
Wesley took a deep breath. The woman had gone too far this time. ‘Get out of here, Nuala. Go and sit in your car.’
She pouted. ‘Oh, come on, Wesley. I won’t get in your way. Promise. All I want is to be first with the story.’
Wesley took a step towards her. ‘You heard what I said. Get out. Now.’ He didn’t raise his voice but he said the words with
such conviction that he was sure she’d get the message.
‘DC Tarnaby, will you take this lady back to her car?’
Nick took Nuala by the arm but before he could move away the closed door swung open.
Wesley turned, unprepared for what he saw. A tall figure in women’s clothes with cropped hair and incongruous make-up was
facing him, gun in hand. And the gun was pointing straight at him.
In the room beyond he could see Roz Dalcott cowering in a deep armchair, her body curled defensively. She was watching Wesley,
her eyes pleading with him to do something.
He heard Nick in the hallway behind him talking in hushed tones on his mobile – probably calling out the Armed Response Unit,
Nuala Johns having just slipped down his list of priorities. Wesley did a rapid calculation of how long it would take them
to get there – the answer he came up with was hardly encouraging. He moved into the room and gently pushed the door closed
behind him
‘Dr Shallech, isn’t it?’ he said, fixing his eyes on the figure in front of him. ‘Why don’t you put that gun down and we’ll
talk about this?’ He spoke calmly, struggling to keep any hint of nerves out of his voice.
A grim smile played on the painted lips and the gun remained in position.
Wesley hesitated. ‘Is it Charlie? Charlie Haslem?’
He was relieved when an answer came. While there was communication, there was hope.
‘That was a lifetime ago. I’ve been other people since then.’
‘Liam Cheshlare?’
‘Perhaps I underestimated our wonderful British Police aForce. I thought you’d just lock up the grieving widow’s disreputable
new boyfriend and that would be that.’ She jerked her head towards Roz, a gesture of disdain.
‘Did James Dalcott find out you’d killed his mother?’ he said. He had to keep talking. And in his experience there was nothing
murderers liked better than to boast about the cleverness of their crimes. ‘Why don’t you tell me what happened?’
There was a short silence before Marie answered. ‘My parents died in the war and I was evacuated here – but you’ll know that,
won’t you?’
‘Yes. And I know about what happened at Tailors Court.’
‘I’d had no outlet, you see, until I heard the story of Simon Garchard and saw those drawings in Miles’s room. I think Miles
would have liked to do what I did but he lacked the courage. He limited himself to animals but I had no such qualms. When
I tried to put my parents’ bodies back together I found out we were just lumps of meat:
blood, bone and gristle. I wanted to discover the secret of life.’
‘And you killed another child to find out?’
‘Killing Victor was my fall from grace, my eating of the forbidden fruit. I was sent away to another billet while my bitch
of a cousin stayed put even though she’d been involved in what happened. And then when the war ended I was fostered – sent
from one home to another. I’m sure I wasn’t a difficult child but a cloud seemed to follow me and adults whispered in corners
so I couldn’t hear what they were saying. Or perhaps I was imagining it. Anyway, there was no hope of me going to medical
school so, since I couldn’t pursue my … special interests, I worked in a hospital as a porter and used all my spare time studying
and experimenting. Then one of the young doctors was killed in a road accident. His name was Liam Cheshlare – he used to joke
that his name was an anagram of mine and I suppose you’d say he was a nice chap. But I hated him. He’d had all the privileges
– he’d had all the chances I should have had.’
‘How did you end up working for Dr Clipton?’
‘I’d heard Belle had married a doctor called Clipton and when I saw he was advertising for a locum I decided to go along as
Dr Cheshlare.’ Marie held her head up proudly. ‘I’d studied for years and I knew my stuff. I was as good as any of them.’
‘So what did Isabelle say when you turned up?’
Marie gave a mirthless smile. ‘I think she got a bit of a shock. But I’d already told her husband that we were related – that’s
what got me the job. To a man like Clipton it would have been bad form to question a relative’s qualifications too closely.
In those days gentlemen took each other at their word. Anyway, Belle had to keep up appearances for
a while. But then she told me she found my presence uncomfortable and she threatened to tell her husband and the whole village
that I was a fraud. She even implied that she might reveal what I’d done back in Tradington.’ The smile disappeared and the
eyes became hard. ‘I wasn’t going to let Belle control my life. She’d tried that before and failed.’
‘So you strangled her?’
Marie looked uncomfortable. ‘That sounds so brutal.’
‘It was. So was the fact that you disfigured the face.’
‘She laughed at me. She’d always mocked me and I found I’d had enough so I put an end to it once and for all. She deserved
all she got really. Belle wasn’t a nice person.’
Wesley hesitated. ‘George Clipton didn’t deserve to hang.’
‘It was a matter of survival. Survival of the fittest.’
Wesley was searching for the next question to ask when he heard Nuala Johns’s distant voice raised in protest followed by
Nick Tarnaby’s deeper tones, exasperated and struggling for control.
Marie had heard too. The gun was raised, levelled at Wesley’s heart.
Wesley raised both hands, a gesture of appeasement. ‘Why don’t you tell me what you did after that? How did you become Marie
Shallech?’
‘After the court case Liam had to disappear so I became Marie. I became quite good at forging references and certificates
and in the past the British have been far too polite to ask awkward questions so I was able to work in various private hospitals
and clinics. And before you ask, I underwent surgery. I am a woman now. I am Marie – Charlie and Liam don’t exist any more.’
‘Tell me about James.’
An exasperated look appeared on Marie’s face, as
though James Dalcott had been nothing but a minor irritation. ‘Everything was fine until he became obsessed with his father’s
case. Do you know he’d even managed to find out somehow that Liam Cheshlare liked dressing as a woman? He said his old nanny
had told him. He spoke to me at the Podingham Clinic and asked if we could meet in private about a personal matter – something
to do with his father. He said he’d been trying to trace a Dr Cheshlare who’d been his father’s locum and he wanted to see
me. I thought it would only be a matter of time before he discovered the truth so I had to dispose of him before he took it
into his head to expose me.’
Wesley heard Roz give a small gasp of horror but he carried on. ‘Was it you who locked me in the room at Dalcott’s cottage?’
‘When I killed him I didn’t have a chance to search the place properly because I saw the neighbour’s car pulling into their
drive and I couldn’t go back until the police had stopped guarding the house. I needed to find the evidence he said he had
– he’d mentioned a photograph. Not that I imagined the police would put two and two together but …’ A smile appeared on the
painted lips. ‘I have to hand it to you, Inspector Peterson, you’re more intelligent than the average plod. You’re black,
of course, which a few unenlightened people say is a disadvantage in life, but on the other hand your father is a distinguished
surgeon; your mother’s a doctor and so is your sister. You’ve had all the advantages I never had, Inspector Peterson. What
I wouldn’t have given to come from a family like yours. Do you think you deserve all the privileges life’s given you?’
‘Where did you get the gun?’
Marie glanced down at the weapon in her hand. ‘It was
Clipton’s old service revolver. I took it with me when I left. I knew it would come in useful one day, I suppose. George supplied
the means for his son’s death. Ironic that, isn’t it?’
Wesley looked into Marie’s eyes and saw a hatred that shocked him as her finger hovered on the trigger, preparing to squeeze.
The moment of tension was broken by a sudden commotion outside the door: a high-pitched voice telling someone to get out of
the way and a deeper shout of warning.
The door burst open and Wesley heard the words ‘Mrs Dalcott. I need to –’ But Nuala Johns’s words were cut off by a loud explosion.
Wesley stood for a split second paralysed with shock. Then he twisted round to see Nuala lying on the floor, groaning.
Marie was standing, the gun still in her hand. Her eyes were staring at her handiwork. For a moment there was complete silence.
Then she started to raise her arm again but before she could take aim Wesley flung himself forward and knocked her off balance.
Another shot exploded somewhere and the elderly body he was pinning to the floor suddenly went limp.
He heard Nick Tarnaby’s voice. He was crouching in the doorway, bent over Nuala Johns. ‘She got past me – just made a run
for it. I couldn’t stop her.’ He sounded close to tears.
Then there was the sound of police car sirens outside in the lane.
Gerry Heffernan had sent Nick Tarnaby straight home as soon as he’d been checked out by the doctor.
‘Is Nuala Johns going to be all right?’ he asked Wesley
now as they sat on a damp garden bench outside the cottage. The seat was slimy with lichen and the cold ground beneath their
feet was carpeted with soggy leaves but at least it wasn’t raining.
Wesley looked down at his hands. There were times he wished he smoked and this was one of them. ‘Our intrepid girl reporter?
Just a shoulder wound. She’ll dine out on the story for years. Rachel’s gone down to the hospital to take a statement.’