‘And that’s why you murdered Bryant and Ferra? Broderick stepped forward half a pace. ‘Because the police took your father away from you?’
‘ Bryant, Ferra...and the rest of them,’ he replied.
‘Rest?’ enquired Broderick.
‘Oh dear me, yes. I’m not entirely sure how many. It’s become a bit of a habit over time. Always the same – make it look like suicide. Make sure I’m the pathologist on call. Make sure I get away with it.’
‘Until now?’ Broderick questioned.
‘A little sloppy, I agree, but perhaps that’s because I really don’t much care any more. About anything. Least of all about death. Which I suppose makes me an even more dangerous proposition to you Inspector.’
Broderick moved an inch closer to Laytham, treading very carefully indeed. ‘Why did your father murder your mother, Gerald?’
‘She was a whore! Cheated on him. Constantly.’ The anger burst from Laytham, turning his face ugly and distorted. Broderick attempted to calm him once more.
‘Please. Let’s stop this, Laytham’ he entreated. ‘Let DS Sullivan go.’ No sooner had the words been spoken, Laytham’s grip on Sullivan tightened. Broderick backed away.
‘All right. All right.’
‘I’ll stop this soon enough, Chief Inspector. But not before a little swan song. As it began, so shall it end.’ Laytham smiled enigmatically.
‘What do you mean?’ Broderick asked.
‘My father worshipped me, you know. As I worshipped him. He was a truly good man, you know, Broderick. My mother cheated on him with just about anyone she could, including that bastard police officer who took my father away from me that day.’
‘He knew? About her affairs?’
‘He had the patience of a saint. I suppose he accepted it because he loved me. But I never could, you see. I couldn’t accept that my mother was nothing but a cheap whore.’
Suddenly Broderick could see clearly. He knew what had happened.
‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ Broderick questioned. ‘It was you who killed your mother.’
Laytham smiled. ‘I suppose moments like this are why you get paid the money, my dear Broderick. Of course I did. I hated her. I hated her almost as much as I loved my father. And, oh, my father loved me. He loved me so much he was willing to sacrifice himself for a murder I had committed. To save my reputation. To give me a life. Such knowledge can drive a person insane, you know. Which, I fear, is what it may have done to me.’
‘We can sort this out,’ Broderick pleaded. ‘Just let Tamara go. Please let her go, Gerald.’
Laytham said nothing, but dragged Sullivan to her feet and retreated to the library room door and out into the hall, all the while checking that no police were in his immediate vicinity.
‘Don’t, Laytham! Please!’ Calbot yelled.
Again, Laytham said nothing. With a maniacal grin on his face, Laytham shoved Sullivan to the ground, moved to the kitchen door and took off.
Broderick and Calbot were at Sullivan’s side in an instant.
‘Sullivan, are you okay?’ Broderick asked first.
She looked up at him, her eyes on fire.
‘I’m fine, guv. Just get the bastard!’
19
The side of the house had an overgrown garden path running up beyond the three levels of terraced garden to a gateway on higher ground. Through the gateway, there appeared to be a narrow and still more overgrown pathway which rose up the side of the The Rock itself. It was, in fact, a natural shelf that had been developed in the 1860’s to allow access to a viewing point some fifty metres above. Landslips and erosion had meant that it had been declared unfit for use in the late 1940’s, but Laytham had climbed it often as a boy. It had been his secret escape, his hideaway from the tensions and coldness of his home. He stood now at the gate, a length of rope in his hand. Behind him, Broderick and Calbot, followed by several uniformed officers, were approaching at speed.
‘Coming to watch, Inspector?’ Laytham shouted back to them. ‘ Very brave of you! Didn’t think you’d have the stomach!’
The police officers followed him upwards. Thirty metres on, Laytham was forced to climb over a dishevelled barrier which crossed the climbing path. A discoloured sign on it read; “DANGER. DO NOT PASS”. Beyond the barrier, the path almost immediately became a much more dangerous proposition. Narrowing, as the sheer drop to its side increased, it was clear why nobody had thought to venture up it for many years. Eighty metres further up, Laytham reached a small outcrop. Turning to check that he had time, he began to tie one end of the rope around the stump of an old tree which half- protruded over the edge of the outcrop. As he made good the knot, he turned to see Broderick and his fellow officers finally catching up with him.
‘What the hell are you playing at, Laytham?’ Broderick yelled.
‘Attempting an execution, old boy! One that’s long overdue,’ Laytham replied, tying a noose in the free end of the rope.
‘Don’t you think that’s the coward’s way out? You need help, Gerald. This isn’t the answer’ Broderick pleaded.
‘Oh, but it is. You think I did it because of the pain? The rejection? Because my mummy didn’t love me? Oh, no, no, no. I did it for pleasure, Inspector. Pure pleasure.’ He smiled as he spoke. ‘Oh yes, I left that bit out, didn’t I? Watching people die. In pain. In agony. It’s not the same when they come to me to be cut up. They’ve gone. They’re nothing. Just rotting flesh and bone. I killed my mother because I enjoyed it, Broderick old son. And for that, by law, I am guilty.’
Laytham moved to the very edge of the outcrop and looked down over the sheer drop below.
‘I think I have the requisite drop. Don’t you Chief Inspector?’
As he spoke, the ledge beneath Laytham’s feet began to crumble. Unable to fall backwards to safety, Laytham was propelled forward and over the edge. He began to hurtle through space, the noose of the rope tightening around his wrist, checking his fall as the rope brutally yanked hard and taught. The sound of Laytham’s arm being ripped from its socket and the terrifying scream that emitted from his throat chilled those above ,watching.
‘Get help! Anything!’ Calbot yelled across to the police officers behind him.
‘No time,’ Broderick yelled. “Stay back the rest of you. The path won’t take all our weight.’
‘Sir, be careful!’ Calbot shouted over.
Broderick moved forward, kneeling down on the outcrop and reaching forward to get some sort of grip on the rope. At last he achieved his aim and begun the surely impossible task of pulling the hanging man back up to safety. Below him, Laytham’s screams and pitiful cries of pain pierced the evening air. Lying on his stomach now, Broderick managed to get another hand to the rope and began to pull in earnest.
Bit by bit, inch by inch Broderick heaved heavily on the slippery rope. Each pull brought a new scream of pain from below, but there was no help for it. For a short while Broderick persuaded himself that his actions might actually save the life of the cruel and callous psychopath at the other end of the rope’s length. But then reality kicked in. To his right, Broderick noticed that the roots of the tree stump that was securing the line were beginning to come loose of the ground. Upping his efforts to superhuman levels, Broderick quickly realised that he was fighting a losing battle. Even though he could now see Laytham hanging just a few metres below, time was running out. Laytham was looking up at him in utter desperation, like a animal caught in a vicious trap. This was the worst possible way to die for a controlling, meticulous psychopath. A death that Laytham could not control and dominate
