wearing a green dressing gown. An empty bottle of pills and an empty whisky bottle lay by her side on the floor. Her arm was hanging over the edge of the bed where she had let it fall.
Swiftly he crossed to the bed believing her to be dead but when he pressed his fingers against her neck he felt a pulse. Thank God. He lifted the telephone, but something struck him violently on the side of the head, and he fell to the floor. Before he even had a chance to recover a gun was thrust at his temple. 'Over.' He rolled over. His head was muggy from the blow. He felt his arms being wrenched behind him whilst his brain said, resist, fight back, but that gun was at his head. Whatever bound him was made of material. The bonds were tightened.
'Up.'
He struggled up.
'You can turn around.'
He turned.
Parnham said, 'I don't mind shooting you here if I have to, so don't try anything, inspector.'
Slowly Horton's mind began to clear.
'Let me call an ambulance. She's still alive.'
'All the more reason not to call one.'
Was he going to have to stand here and watch Melissa slowly die whilst this man gloated?
Parnham's eyes flickered to Melissa for a moment but almost instantly came back up again and focused on Horton before he had a chance to take advantage of it. He must think of a way to overpower Parnham and get help for Melissa before it was too late. But he was staring at a ruthless, unbalanced and complex personality. If Melissa died, that would make four deaths. Not Jarrett's though, because now Horton knew who the man slipping off the pontoon had been. But what good was that if he didn't get out of here? Parnham wouldn't hesitate to kill him, but to do so here would be a mistake. He would need to get him away from Briarly House and then Horton would have to take his chance. But it might be too late for Melissa.
'You're going to stand there and let your twin sister die?'
'You know.' Parnham looked disappointed. A flicker of annoyance showed behind the eyes, this time without their spectacles. Now Horton could see the likeness more strongly. He cursed himself for not spotting it sooner, but Parnham's spectacles, and the light shining off them from Thurlow's office window, had deceived him. He remembered how Parnham had removed his spectacles and polished them, a gesture, Horton now guessed, designed to taunt him.
Parnham continued, 'She had nothing but luxury and comfort all her life. She never had to work and scrimp and save like me.'
'You killed her because of that!' goaded Horton. The longer he kept him talking the more chance he had of getting out of this alive.
'Why not? I couldn't get my revenge on my stupid, selfish mother. And besides Roger was going to make me redundant. How could I get another position at my age? Especially one so lucrative.'
'You were taking money out of the company.'
'Of course. I was drawing the director's pay I was entitled to.'
'And you didn't think that was putting pressure on the business and hence your proposed redundancy?' Horton scoffed.
Parnham scowled. 'The business would have been fine if Roger and Charles hadn't been so greedy, but then when you're keeping a mistress… Why should I be the one to suffer because of their greedy incompetence?'
'You overheard Thurlow and Culven talking about the redundancies in the yacht club on that Friday?'
A sharp flash of lightning lit the room illuminating Parnham's face for a moment. Almost instantly it was followed by a deafening crack of thunder, which shook the house and rattled the thin windowpanes. Parnham didn't even flinch. It was as though he were living in an existence of his own, totally oblivious of the storm raging around him. Horton could hear the wind chasing itself around the house and the mean rain lashing against the windows with such ferocity that he thought the panes might shatter.
Parnham said, 'I heard Roger arranging the meeting with Culven and knew they were up to something. The company has corporate membership of the yacht club so I simply went there before Roger and waited. They couldn't see me from where they were sitting.' Horton had to raise his voice to be heard above the storm. 'So you planned your revenge?'
'I'd planned that a long time ago, I just had to speed things up a bit.'
'Does Melissa know you're her twin?' Horton wondered if she was still alive. He prayed she was.
'She does now. Or rather she did before she tragically took her own life.' The gun wavered for a second. 'I told her. I think I'll tell you before you die in tragic circumstances. A drowning accident might be suitable.'
'Don't bother. I know most of it. Your mother took Melissa out of Barnados when she met Randall Simpson because he had admitted to her he couldn't have children. You'd already been adopted.'
'Yes by Agnes and Bert Parnham. But it wasn't an official adoption. My mother was billeted with them during the war. When she got pregnant after the war she returned to stay with them, handing me over to the Parnhams as soon as I was born and putting Melissa into Barnados. I was condemned to spend my childhood and youth growing up in poverty whilst she had everything.'
Horton doubted Parnham's upbringing had been as bleak as that but it had been poor compared to Melissa. 'When did you find out about Melissa?' Again the flash of lightning and roar of thunder. Horton prayed they'd be struck by a thunderbolt, if it didn't kill them it might give him a chance of escape.
Parnham was saying calmly and evenly, 'I found a letter when my adoptive mother died just over ten years ago. It was from my birth mother crowing about her new life. It gave me enough information about Randall Simpson to identify him and track down Melissa.'
'The false biography.'
'I see you have been busy.'
'But why kill the others? Roger Thurlow, all right, I can see your twisted reasoning there, you wanted the blame to fall on Melissa. But why kill Culven and Lucy Richardson?'
'Oh I didn't intend to kill the girl,' he said airily, 'She brought it on herself really. I thought she might have seen me dump Roger in the tower. Still, she was only a tart.'
Horton tensed and his fists curled behind his back but what good was that!
Parnham smiled. 'Roger was my intended victim all along. By killing him and framing Melissa I would destroy her comfortable life. I wanted her to know what it felt like to be an outsider. I wanted her to experience the sensation of disintegration. I wanted her to feel shame and disgrace, as I had felt it. Then finally to feel fear, just as I've felt fear all my life, the fear of failing and poverty. She pleaded with me in the end, you know. Said she'd give me everything and anything I wanted, this house even, but then I'm going to get this anyway, as her only blood relative, so why should I let her live?'
Parnham needed to talk, to explain. If he got out of this alive Horton wanted Parnham to as well. He needed him to tell his story. He moved back towards the window just a fraction hoping that Parnham wouldn't notice.
Horton said, 'And France? Your alibi?'
'Clever that, wasn't it? I was in France as no doubt you and the good sergeant checked. But instead of taking the ferry like I told you I took the high speed catamaran, the first one on Saturday morning to Cherbourg. It leaves Portsmouth at 5.30 and gets in at Cherbourg at 8.15. I had a hire car waiting at Cherbourg and drove to St Malo in time to go to the bakers.'
'Then you came back by the high speed on Tuesday in time to kill Culven and not the ferry as you claimed and on which you were booked on the Wednesday.'
'Yes. As I was leaving the ferry port on foot I saw the tart who had been in the tower walking down to the railway station. I picked her up and we went back to her place where I stayed for most of the day.'
The gun wavered a bit but not enough for Horton to attempt anything especially with his hands tied behind his back. 'How did you kill Roger Thurlow?'
'On Friday I went after Roger to his boat. By the time I got there he was asleep.'
'Unconscious actually. Melissa had drugged his water. She wanted him dead. You did her a favour.'
Horton could see Parnham didn't like that much. After a moment Parnham continued. 'I wanted to tell him why he had to die, but you can't look a gift horse in the mouth, can you? So I put a plastic bag over his head and held it there until he died.'
What did the man want? Praise? Horton's expression remained impassive but all the time, behind the mask,
