She went quiet. If it was possible for her to become paler she did.
“No, no… But how… When…”
Then her voice went cool. “How long have you known, Liza?”
And now frosty. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
I couldn’t make out Liza’s words. All I could hear was the steadily rising sound of a woman losing control. Liza sounded angry. As though it was all pouring out of her. Both ends of the conversation went quiet. Then Liza asked something.
“No, I’m all right. I’ll call you later. Bye, Liza.” She handed me the phone and looked at me with despair and grief.
“What a mess we’ve made of it all, McRae. What a goddamn bloody mess. All those years…”
I said nothing. I let her blow her nose and gather herself.
“Cigarette?”
She nodded. I gave her one and lit it. She sat up and inspected my face as though guessing how I was taking all this.
“You asked me when Tony and I became lovers. We didn’t.” She took a long pull and blew the smoke out at me. “But did you ask Liza the same question?”
The idea hung in the air like dirty linen. Yet suddenly it made sense. Sort of.
In this nightmare of twisted relationships, it made sense. It explained why Liza was willing to go out on a limb for Tony, why she would lie, why she would pretend to be his wife. Maybe that’s what she’d have liked. It explained the harem-like bedroom in Liza’s house, god help her. And there was Tony in the middle, manipulative Tony, spurned by Kate, taking cold comfort with Liza. Both women lying to each other for his sake.
I asked softly, “How did Wilson get involved?”
She shook her head.
“Tell me.”
She rubbed her streaked face. How had I found it beautiful? “It was all supposed to be controlled by Jonny. He was supposed to…”
“… vet your clients?”
She nodded.
I pressed on. “But Wilson got past the vetting.” It wasn’t kind. “I heard him, Kate. I heard him blame Tony.”
Her face crumpled. She burst into tears as though her body would explode. I let her sob and weep until there was nothing left in her.
“I thought it was Jonny. That Jonny was using me to buy him off. It was horrible, just horrible. Wilson…” Her chest was heaving, she couldn’t get the words out. “He… hit me. He knew who I was. He enjoyed it. He hit me…”
I couldn’t resist the shot. “I thought you liked it rough?”
She started to wail. “Noooo. Oh no. It was all a game…”
The game again. I kept on at her, wanting to hurt her. “Wilson didn’t play by the rules, did he?”
“He was filthy, a pig. He forced me. He used his handcuffs!” She was outraged, close to hysteria, gripping her wrists and shaking. “Then he hit me with his belt. He kept hitting me! Is this what you want? Are you enjoying this, McRae?
Like hearing dirty stories? Because it gets dirtier! He gagged me. And he stuck things in me. Because he couldn’t! He stuck… he stuck… oh Christ!”
I felt pity, then shame for forcing this out of her. I thought of Wilson lying impaled on the shaft of wood. I wondered which of them had been more violated.
I said softly, “Enough, Kate. Enough. I’m nearly done. Tell me about the gun.
The gun I left with Millie.”
She peered at me through glassy eyes. “Tony took it. He went out. I assume he gave it to Wilson. Wilson did the rest.”
“That’s not what Wilson said. He said Tony had tipped him off. That I’d phoned Tony to boast about another killing.”
She looked hunted. “I don’t know anything. Nothing. Tony didn’t mention it.”
“You don’t know me too well, Kate, but does it strike you that I would have called Tony up with that news?”
She just stared at me sullenly.
“Well, let me tell you that I didn’t, and I didn’t kill the girl. And if I didn’t, who did? Who killed her, Kate? And all the others?”
She shook her head. She wouldn’t look at me. “I don’t know!”
“I think you do. When did they start? Why did he do it?”
She shook her head again. “I can’t say any more. I just can’t!”
“You might as well get used to it, Kate. Because the police and the judge will be asking you the same questions. They hang accessories to murder.”
Her eyes widened, but she sat back with her arms folded as though hell would freeze over before she’d say another word. Mary, who’d sat uncharacteristically quietly all this while – scowling at me – took the cold tea cups and empty glass away. She came back and touched Kate on her shoulder. Kate raised her stricken face to Mary’s.
“You come with me, lady. Fix your face.”
Kate looked uncertain. I shrugged. I knew when an interrogation was going nowhere. Besides, I was sure of my man now. All I’d have to do was prove it. Or get him to admit it.
“Come, lady.”
Kate rose to her feet, towering above Mary’s tiny frame. Mary took her hand and led Kate, unresisting, out the door and down the corridor to the bathroom.
I sat back and sipped my own drink. I felt empty. All a game, she said. Five dead women was a high forfeit. I wondered if Wilson was alive. I didn’t much care. I thought about Tony Caldwell, somewhere out there, hunting me. I had to act first. Was it time to set Jonny’s hounds on him? Perhaps. But I needed to see him first. Needed to have him tell me his side. If there was a side.
Doc Thompson used to say that you could be affected for life by what happens to you when you’re young. Freud and Jung and others all seemed to hand out excuse notes for any evil act. It cut no ice with me. You’re not telling me that every single guard in every one of the hundreds of concentration camps across Europe had their toys taken from them as kids? Or if they did, it was any sort of half-arsed excuse for the pain they inflicted?
We have choices. Some of us more than others. Colette told me she chose her profession; it was easy money and she didn’t find it so hard. The men were usually pretty grateful. I know I was. But she also recognised she didn’t have much choice; she had no skills, could barely read, and needed money to pay the rent.
Kate had every choice. She was rich, beautiful and smart. Maybe too smart. An intelligence that was looking for something to engage it, stave off the boredom of the cocktail circuit. Don’t tell me she had an unhappy childhood. Not by the standards of ninety-nine percent of the world. The old Scottish phrase came back to me: Ye’ve made your bed, now lie in it. No excuses, no blaming somebody else; you caused this, take responsibility for what you did and get on with it. It was a tough creed and seemed uncaring, but it worked, mostly.
Mary came back into the room leading Kate. Kate looked better. The streaks were gone, she had on fresh make-up and her hair was brushed and gleaming. But there was no hiding the puffiness round the eyes. Or the haunted look in them.
Kate sat down. “Thank you, Mary. You’ve been very kind.” She turned to me. “Mr McRae, I want to go home now. I think you’ve got what you wanted, don’t you?”
Her tone wasn’t humble, but neither was it haughty.
“Danny will do. I think we’re past the formal stage.”
She weighed me up and shrugged. “Very well, Danny – what next? What about the police and Jonny Crane and…”
“Tony? First off, I don’t know if Wilson is alive or dead. And if he’s alive, how long he’ll take to come after me. He may not remember much of what happened back there.” I smiled. “I think you’re off the hook though. I don’t
