“I just want some information. I told you, I’m not going to hurt you.”
She found a voice. A shrill one. “The same way you didn’t hurt all those poor women! What you did to them!”
“Liza, I’m not going to be able to convince you one way or the other about that.
All I want is to find out the truth. I need some answers. No matter how unwelcome.”
She looked completely unconvinced. “What do you want?”
“What’s Tony Caldwell’s relationship to you?”
She studied me for a while, like I was a bug under a microscope. “He’s my brother.”
“Why don’t you look like each other?” Seeing her like this, close up, was to confirm the complete lack of family resemblance.
A strange look came over her face, as though she was holding back a sneer. I suddenly caught the likeness. “We’re only half related. We had the same mother but different fathers.”
Of course. “But why does he use the name Caldwell? Was that your father’s name?”
She nodded. “He was brought up by my dad. Here in this house. His real father wouldn’t let him use his name.”
Always half answers. One question leading to another. But before I could ask it, she exploded.
“What does this matter? Why are you doing this? What’s the point?”
“Same as before, Liza. When I first came here. I’m trying to get to the truth about me and a missing period in my life.”
“You know the truth! You killed that poor girl in France and all these other girls. And now you’re going to kill me!”
An illogical response struck me. “The London girls were prostitutes. Why – if I was the killer – would I bother with you?”
“You’re sick, you know that. That’s what you are.” She was crying and angry at the same time. I thought she might throw herself on me. “Tony was right!”
I let her sobs continue until her chest steadied. Her face settled and then changed. Terror was replaced with cunning.
“Why don’t you give yourself up before you hurt anyone else. The doctors will look after you. You won’t hang. They’ll help.”
“Look, if I’m mad you might as well humour me, right? So let me ask you about Tony and Kate Graveney.”
She looked wary suddenly. “What?”
“Are they married?”
“Of course not! Why on earth…?”
“It’s in his file. His army records. She’s next of kin. Mrs Catriona Caldwell.”
Her face melted. I don’t think I’d ever seen a look so despairing.
“Oh Tony, Tony,” she said to herself. She looked up at me. “They’re not married.”
“Then why did he falsify his records? What’s going on, Liza?”
She was shaking her head. “What does it matter? Why should you care?”
“Because you need all the pieces to finish a jigsaw.” The next question would take me a long way. “Who was Tony’s father?”
She snorted and shook her head. I was getting fed up with her stonewalling. The police could reappear any time. I had to force the pace. I got up, fast. I moved behind her and dragged her back into her seat. I pulled out the knife I’d nicked from the kirk and pressed it into her neck. The blade was dull but the point pricked her skin.
“Don’t move,” I warned her. Her skin was roughened where her collar rubbed. She smelt of talcum powder. She was trembling like a hare among hounds. I didn’t like this. I didn’t like me. Which was a good sign, right? “No more games, Liza. I want answers. Are we clear?” I felt a bastard, but I had to do this. I had to know.
She was sobbing quietly. “Don’t kill me, please don’t kill me. Please don’t.”
Her shoulders were shaking so much I pulled the knife back in case I cut her by accident.
“What’s the problem, Liza? It’s a simple question. Who was Tony’s real father?”
“It doesn’t matter.” She dissolved again.
“Tell me!” I hissed in her ear. The more she hedged, the more important it seemed. I pressed the blade down.
“Philip Graveney, Sir Philip bloody Graveney. There! Are you satisfied now?”
I walked round in front of her trying to gather my scattered wits. “So he’s a half-brother to you and to Kate? A bit confusing, I agree. But what’s wrong with that, for god’s sake?”
She gave me a look that suggested I was stupid to even ask that question. I pressed on. I never minded asking the obvious questions. I suddenly missed my police notepad; this scene had exactly that sort of feeling.
“What’s wrong with that, Liza?”
She sniffed and dried her eyes with a handkerchief. “You know. I don’t want to say it.”
I thought of the pair of them so comfortable together in the Chelsea library.
“They’re lovers too, aren’t they?”
She didn’t reply.
“Aren’t they?”
Her face twisted from fear to anger. “And they will go to hell and damnation!”
“I expect so. I don’t know all the rules on incest, but this doesn’t look good.”
She gave me a pitying look but said nothing.
“When did it start?”
She shrugged. “He was just a boy. My dad – Tony’s step-dad – worked at the Graveney’s. So did my mum. We all lived in the servant quarters there. We’d play in the kitchen. Tony was three years younger than me. Always wanting to see what the master and mistress were doing. Fascinated by the big house and the rooms we used to sneak into when the master and mistress were away. And I suppose he was jealous.”
Liza seemed to be unloosening, almost as though she wanted to get it off her chest. “Did you see much of Kate?”
“Catriona. Oh, yes. Little madam. Had Tony round her little finger even though she was a year younger than him. We used to play together. They didn’t mind that when we were little. But it stopped when Tony began showing an interest in her.
She was a pretty little thing. And knew it. You can’t blame him!”
“I’m not.”
“He used to tell me how he loved her and how he’d take her away some day and marry her. Poor Tony.”
“Did you know?”
“Of course not! Not then. Not till Tony did.”
“When did he find out?”
She thought for a bit. “He was thirteen, going on fourteen. I was seventeen when my dad died. Cancer. He said on his death bed that Tony needed to know. Mother told us after.”
I kept my voice soft. “How did you both take it?”
“I wasn’t surprised. There was always something different about the way Dad treated Tony…”
She stalled.
“Like what?”
She took a deep shuddering sigh. “He used to beat him. For the slightest thing.
I thought it was because he was the boy, and boys needed more discipline. It wasn’t, was it?”
“How did Tony take it? When he found out?”
“Bad. Very bad. He howled for days. Wouldn’t eat. Called Mum a whore and dad a dirty liar. We had to send him away for a bit till he calmed down.”
“Where?”
“Mum said a place in the country. I never really wanted to know.”
“How long?”
“About six months or so. When he came back he was quieter, lots quieter. And he’d changed – not that the others saw it – I did.”
