Peter Robinson - The Hanging Valley

‘Come on, Katie,’ he said. ‘Let’s talk.’ He offered his hand, but she wouldn’t take it. Instead, she walked obediently beside him back to the car. She was shaking.

‘A drink?’ Banks suggested.

She shook her head. Her fair hair was tied back, but a few strands freed themselves and stuck to her damp cheeks.

‘Let’s go for a ride, then.’

She got in the Cortina beside him and he drove north out of Swainshead. Thinking it might help her relax, he took out the Beatles cassette and put on Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, turning the volume low.

‘I was lying,’ Katie blurted out as they passed the bridge to John Fletcher’s farmhouse. Then she said something else that Banks didn’t quite catch. It sounded like ‘wash my mouth out with soap’.

‘What about?’ he asked.

‘I wasn’t looking for Sam. I saw you go in there. I saw you leave Nicholas Collier’s, too. I was trying to get my courage up.’

‘For what? Are you sure a drink wouldn’t help?’

‘No, I don’t take alcohol.’

‘What is it, Katie?’

‘You’ve got to help me,’ Katie said, staring down into her lap and twisting her hands. ‘I did it… I killed them… I killed them all.’

Looking at the ornate limestone building, Banks realized he had never seen Braughtmore school before. Built in the mid-nineteenth century after the previous building had burned down, it had oriels projecting from the first floor, then two floors of tall sash windows topped by dormers and a red pantile roof. It stood at the mouth of a small valley which a tributary had carved on its way down to the Gaiel, and enough flat ground had been cleared around it for rugby and cricket fields.

Banks pulled into a lay-by across the road, lit a cigarette and turned to Katie.

‘Tell me about it,’ he said.

‘I did it,’ Katie repeated. ‘I killed them.’

‘Who did you kill?’

‘Bernie and Stephen.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I… because they… It was God’s judgement.’

‘God’s judgement for what, Katie?’

‘My sins.’

‘Because you made love to them?’

Katie turned and glared at him through her tears. ‘Not love,’ she said. ‘They were going to take me away, take me away from here, from my husband.’

‘But you made love with Bernard Allen. Did you sleep with Stephen, too?’

‘Bernie took me in his room. It was the price. I found no pleasure in it. He said he’d send for me when he got back.’

Banks didn’t have the heart to tell her that Bernie had been bent on returning to Swainshead, not staying in Canada.

‘And Stephen?’ he asked.

‘He… he kissed me. I knew I would have to pay, but later. And now…’

‘Did you kill him so that you wouldn’t have to pay?’

Katie shook her head. ‘He was going to take me away, like Bernard. He had to die.’

‘How did you kill him?’

‘Everyone who wants to help me dies.’

‘But how did you kill him?’

‘I don’t know, don’t remember.’

‘Katie, you didn’t kill Stephen Collier or Bernard Allen, did you?’

‘They died because of me. The Lord’s vengeance. Nicholas was the Lord’s vengeance, too. Against me. To show me my vile nature.’

‘Nicholas? What happened with Nicholas?’

‘He put his hands on me. His filthy hands. The hands of the beast.’

‘When was this? Where?’

‘At his house. The party Sam made me go to. I didn’t want to go, I told him. I knew it would be bad.’

‘What happened?’

‘John came and they fought.’

‘John and Nicholas?’

‘Yes.’

At least that explained their argument in the White Rose, Banks thought. ‘Did Sam know? Did you tell Sam?’

Katie shook her head. ‘Sam doesn’t care anyway. Not where his precious Colliers are concerned.’

‘But you didn’t kill anyone, did you?’

She put her head in her hands and wept. Banks moved to put his arm around her, but she stiffened and jerked away towards the door. She rested her cheek against the window and stared ahead at the dale.

‘Are you protecting Sam, Katie? Is that what you’re doing? Do you think Sam killed them because they were going to take you away?’

‘I killed them. I told you.’

‘Maybe you think you’re responsible, Katie, but you didn’t kill anyone. There’s a big difference between feeling guilty and taking someone’s life, you know. You haven’t done anything wrong.’

‘I wanted to escape my husband, didn’t I?’

‘He beats you. He’s not a good man.’

‘But he’s my husband.’ She started to sob again. ‘I must serve him. What else can I do? I can’t leave him and go away by myself. I don’t know how to live.’

Banks wound down his window and tossed out his cigarette end.

‘Do you want to walk a while?’ he asked.

Katie nodded and opened her door.

There was a pathway worn in the hillside opposite the school, and they set off slowly up towards the ridge. About halfway, they sat on warm grass among limestone boulders and gazed down at the scene. The building glowed like mother-of-pearl, and the red S-shaped tiles shone bright in the sun. Some pupils dressed in whites were practising in the cricket nets by one of the mowed fields, and a group in shorts and vests were running around the cinder track. Plenty of exercise and cold showers, Banks thought. Cross-country runs and Latin unseens to keep their minds off sex — and perhaps a bit of masturbation in the dorms, a little buggery in the bushes, sodomy in the cycle sheds. It was every outsider’s version of public-school life. Probably the reality was much more innocent. After all, these people were being groomed to run the country, the government. Still, look how many of them ended up on the front pages of the tabloid press. Perhaps the outsider’s version wasn’t so far from the truth.

Katie plucked blades of grass and scattered them on the light breeze.

‘Tell me what happened with Stephen,’ Banks said.

‘We walked up to the source. He said he was going away. I thought he would take me with him if I let him kiss me. That’s all.’

‘What else did he say? You must have talked about things.’

‘Oh, yes.’ Katie’s voice sounded like it was coming from a great distance.

‘Why was he going away?’

‘He said he’d had enough, he couldn’t stand being here any longer. He said something about getting away from the past and from who he was.’

‘What did he want to get away from?’

For the first time, Katie looked directly at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed with crying but still shone warm brown in the sunlight. Banks could feel her attraction. The desire to protect her merged with the impulse to touch her. She made him want to reach out and brush the blonde hairs away from her cheeks, then kiss her white throat and explore the gentle curves and mounds of her body. And he also knew that she was largely unaware of the effect she had; it was as if she couldn’t understand the natural sexual instinct that draws people to one another. She knew what men wanted, yes, but she didn’t know why or what it was all about. She was innocent, a unique and vulnerable wild flower growing here at the edge of the moorland.

‘What did he want to get away from?’ she echoed, shattering his illusion. ‘What we all want to get away from. The traps we make for ourselves. The traps God makes for us.’

‘It’s not such a terrible thing to want to escape a bad marriage, Katie,’ Banks said. But he felt he couldn’t get the tone right, couldn’t find the way to talk to this woman. What he said came out as patronizing when he didn’t intend it to.