Peter Robinson - In A Dry Season

“Listen to me, Frank,” he said. “It’s important you listen to me. You asked for me to come here. You want the truth, don’t you?”

“I already know the truth. I want to hear it from your mouth. I want to hear her confess in front of you. I want to hear what she did to my mother.”

“It didn’t happen the way you think it did, Frank. It didn’t happen the way any of us thought it did. We were all wrong.”

“My mother was murdered.”

“Yes, she was murdered.”

“And this… this bitch here lied to my father and me when we went and asked about her.”

“No,” said Banks. “She didn’t lie. She thought she was telling you the truth.” He noticed the look of confusion in Vivian’s eyes.

“All those years,” Frank went on, as if he hadn’t heard. “Do you know he worshiped her, my father? Even though she left us. He said she was a dreamer, a free spirit, a beautiful butterfly who just had to spread her wings and fly away. But I hated her for leaving us. For depriving us of all that beauty. Why couldn’t she share it with us? Why couldn’t we be part of her dreams? We were never good enough for her. I hated her and I loved her. All my life dominated and blighted by a mother I never even knew. What do you think Mr. Freud would make of that? Don’t you think that’s funny?”

Banks looked away. He didn’t want to tell Frank the truth, that his mother had turned her back on him at birth. All those years, George had fed him on illusions. Gloria certainly had been wrong about the father of her child; he hadn’t turned out so bad after all. “No,” he said. “I don’t think it’s funny at all, Frank.”

“My father used to tell me how she always wanted to be one of those Hollywood actresses. Used to spend hours in front of the mirror practicing her makeup and the way they talked. Even before I was born it was no-go for them. She was too young, he said. Made just one mistake, that’s all. Me . It was enough.”

“She was very young, Frank. When she got pregnant, she was frightened. She didn’t know what to do.”

“So she had to run away and leave us?”

“For some people it seems like the only solution. She obviously wanted the child, you , to live. She didn’t have an abortion. She must have told your father where she was going? Did she keep in touch?”

He sniffed. “A postcard every now and then, telling him she was doing fine and not to worry. When my dad came home on leave once, he took me up to Hobb’s End to see her. It was the only time I… the only time I really remember seeing her, being with her, hearing her voice. She told me I was a fine-looking boy. I loved her then. She was a magical creature to me. Dazzling. Like someone from a dream. She seemed to move in a haze of light. So beautiful and so tender. But they argued. He couldn’t help asking her to come back when he saw her, but she wouldn’t. She told him she was married now and had a new life and we should leave her alone if we wanted her to be happy.”

“What did your father do?”

“What she asked. He was devastated. I think he’d always hoped that one day, perhaps, she would come back. We tried once more, when it was all over.” He turned so he was speaking into Vivian’s ear. “But this lying bitch here told us she had run away and she didn’t know where. All my life I believed that, believed my mother had run away and abandoned us forever. I tried to find her. I’m good at finding people, but I got nowhere. Now I find out she was dead all the time. Murdered and buried right here.”

“Let her go, Frank!” Banks shouted over a peal of thunder. “She didn’t know.”

“What do you mean, she didn’t know? She must have known.” Frank tore his attention away from Vivian and glared at Banks. His eyes were wild, his lank hair was plastered to his skull and rain dripped from his eyes like tears. “I want to hear it all. I want to hear her admit it to you. I want the truth.”

“You’ve got it all wrong, Frank. Vivian didn’t kill Gloria. Listen to me.”

“Even if she didn’t do the actual killing, she was involved. She covered for somebody. Who was it?”

“Nobody.”

“What do you take me for?”

“Vivian had nothing to do with your mother’s death.” As he spoke, Banks noticed Vivian’s eyes fill with curiosity, despite the gun at her neck. Annie stood beside him now, and Frank didn’t seem to care about her presence. Banks was aware of the activity in the background, but he didn’t think anyone would make a move yet. Thunder rumbled and lightning flashed. His raincoat and trousers stuck to his skin and rain stung his eyes.

“What do you mean, she had nothing to do with it?” Frank said. “She told my father that my mother had gone away, when all the while she was buried up here. She lied. Why would she do that unless she’d killed her, or knew who had?”

“As far as she was concerned,” Banks said, “your mother had gone away. She had spoken about running away often since Matthew got back from the war. He’d been badly hurt by the Japanese. He wasn’t the man she had married. Life was miserable for her. It seemed only natural to everyone who knew her that she’d go, just like she left you and your father in the first place.”

“No!”

Frank’s grip tightened on Vivian’s throat and she gasped. Banks felt his heart lurch. He held his hands out, palms toward Frank.

“Okay, Frank,” he went on. “Calm down. Please. Calm down and listen to me.”

They waited a moment, the four of them, all silent but for the pattering of the rain and the storm disappearing into the distance, the occasional crackle of a police radio from the rim.

Then Banks felt things relax, the same way as when you undo a tight button. “Matthew drove her away,” he went on. “It was only natural for Gwen to assume that was what happened. Your mother’s suitcase was gone. Her things were gone.”

Frank didn’t say anything for at least a minute. Banks could see him processing information, trying to shore up his defenses. The storm passed into the distance now and the rain eased off, leaving the four of them soaked to the skin.

“If it wasn’t her, who was it?” Frank said eventually. “I’ll bet you can’t tell me that, can you?”

“I can, Frank.” Annie stepped forward and spoke. Frank turned to her and blinked the rain out of his eyes.

“Who?” Frank asked. “And don’t you lie to me.”

“His name was Edgar Konig,” Annie said. “He ran the PX at Rowan Woods USAAF base, about a mile from here.”

“PX?” Vivian gasped.

“I don’t believe you,” said Frank.

“It’s true,” said Banks, picking up the thread. He realized that Annie didn’t have the full story yet. “Konig killed your mother. He also killed at least one other woman over here the same way, down at East Anglia. There were others, too, in Europe and America.”

Frank shook his head slowly.

“Listen to me, Frank. Edgar Konig knew your mother and her friends from the dances they went to. He was attracted to her from the start, but he had serious problems with women. He was always tongue-tied around them. He brought her presents, but even then she didn’t offer herself to him, she wouldn’t help him overcome his shyness. She went out with other men. He watched and waited. All the time the pressure was building up in him.”

“You say he killed other women?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know it was him?”

“We found a collar button from an American airman’s uniform. We think your mother must have torn it off as they struggled. Then we looked into the unsolved murder in Suffolk and found he had been questioned in connection with that, too. Are you listening, Frank?”