Martin Edwards - The Arsenic Labyrinth

‘They hope so. But the doctors are worried about brain damage.’

Les’s nose wrinkled, as though at a dodgy sick note. ‘Brain damage? He was only underwater for a couple of minutes before that bloody girl dragged him out.’

That bloody girl. Les was furious with Maggie for having risked her life for a man who had committed one murder and caused another. When Hannah told him that Maggie was going to be OK, he’d come close to shedding tears of relief. Those desperate moments when Maggie grappled with Francis underwater before somehow summoning the strength to drag his inert body on to the shore had been as long as any in Hannah’s life. Thank God the ambulance had come so quickly.

‘They say it’s a case of dive reflex.’

Les curled his lip and leaned back in his chair. His conservatism was ingrained, he was always suspicious of anything he’d never heard of.

‘And what’s that when it’s at home?’

‘When you dive into very cold water, sometimes your larynx goes into a reflex spasm, closing up to stop your lungs drowning. The body starts hibernating to protect itself, but the danger is anoxia, being starved of oxygen. That’s why the doctors are so concerned, that’s what happened to Francis.’

‘Let’s not beat about the bush. If he doesn’t make it, who cares?’

‘His wife, his son …’ And me.

Les snorted. ‘Listen, I don’t want to dance on the bugger’s grave, but what’s he got to live for? He’s going to spend a long, long time in prison.’

Hannah shrugged.

‘Hey, what’s up? Lauren’s over the moon, you’re flavour of the month, we can all move on. Why are you so downbeat?’

‘It’s just that …’

He wagged a stubby, tobacco-stained finger in her face. ‘Forget it. You solved the case. Nothing else matters.’

* * *

‘Francis wanted a child as much as I did.’

Vanessa Goddard’s voice dropped to a whisper, barely loud enough for the tape recorder. Hannah had to lean close to make sure she picked up every word. She and Linz Waller were sitting on either side of Vanessa; the idea was to avoid any hint of confrontation. Hannah had brought in Linz, rather than Les or Bob, in the hope of encouraging Vanessa to open up. Three women together. Like a private chat, except that every word would be taped. And the plan was working; Vanessa was subdued, but far from reticent. She’d hired a solicitor, a local woman and a family friend, to represent Francis if and when he recovered, but she didn’t want a lawyer to accompany her when she talked to the police. Even when Hannah pressed the point, she’d remained adamant. She wasn’t under arrest, she’d committed no crime. She could handle this on her own.

Deep furrows criss-crossed her brow; she was concentrating with the intensity of a tennis star whose next serve would decide Wimbledon. Her gaze fixed on a point high on the wall of the interview room, her only movement was the fiddling of her fingers with a bracelet. She spoke with as much care as if giving a presentation to library officials. No cue cards, but Hannah was sure she’d memorised a script.

‘Jeremy told me you’d been trying for a baby for years.’

‘I felt a failure. He said it wasn’t my fault, but there was no getting away from the bitter truth. I couldn’t give him what he wanted. What I wanted too, more than anything.’

‘It must have hurt when you found out that Karen was expecting a baby.’

Vanessa twitched, as if Hannah had yanked her hair. ‘You can’t imagine the wound. We’d had a good marriage …’

Her voice quavered, she dabbed at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. Hannah gave her a minute to compose herself.

‘And then you met Francis.’

Vanessa sat up in her chair and Hannah saw the glimmer of a fond smile. ‘A man who loved me for myself. I’ve always been self-conscious about this mark on my face, but it meant nothing to him, he saw the real woman underneath. I gave him everything I could. But … he wanted a family and I was afraid he might …’

‘Tell us about the surrogacy.’

‘After I got to know Emma, she told me Alex had suggested adopting a child. Their relationship was falling apart at the time and Emma refused point blank. Said she’d rather have a nice new car than children. I won’t speak ill of the dead, but Emma wasn’t really a giving person. There was no maternal streak. I mentioned it to Francis, because it was so ironic. Presumably Emma would have no difficulty bearing a child, but she couldn’t care less. To us it meant everything, and yet we were thwarted at every turn. We talked about fostering, about adoption, but the agencies put up so many hurdles and, besides, what we wanted was a baby that was ours . And then we started wondering — what if we paid Emma to produce a child for us? Nobody else need ever know.’

‘But Jeremy knew you couldn’t conceive.’

Vanessa’s eyes narrowed and Hannah understood the depth of her contempt for the man who had deserted her. ‘I knew him well enough to be sure he’d be thrilled to believe I’d found some miracle cure for infertility. It would make him feel less guilty about betraying me.’

‘Did it matter that Emma was Karen’s sister?’

‘Karen stole my first husband by giving him a baby,’ Vanessa said. She seemed to measure each word, as if unsure how candid to be. ‘How could I not relish the prospect of her sister giving my second marriage the one thing it lacked?’

‘And Emma was up for it?’

‘Everything went like a dream. She asked for money, lots of it, but that didn’t bother us, as long as she did what we wanted. Francis doted on her during the pregnancy, no mother-to-be has ever had such wonderful care. And she presented us with this beautiful baby boy.’ Vanessa’s voice shook. ‘Our son Christopher, a gift from God.’

‘Why did she change her mind?’

Vanessa closed her eyes, like a child reciting a poem learned by rote. ‘We kept our side of the bargain, we could never understand why Emma broke her word to us. She’d promised faithfully, she’d sworn to us, that she would never make any claim on the baby. We’d paid her enough to buy that nice new car as well as putting down a deposit on her new house. And then she took it upon herself to decide that motherhood might be what she really yearned for, after all. She’d never found a job to satisfy her long term, why pretend that looking after a squealing infant might be any more appealing? It made no sense. But we couldn’t reason with her.’

‘Did she threaten you?’

‘She said she’d go public, she didn’t care if she was prosecuted, as long as she had her son back. We could have regular access — can you imagine? Our own son, the son we adored!’ A bitten-off laugh. ‘She offered to pay back the money in instalments, but that was scarcely relevant. She never gave a toss about hurting Francis or me. Let alone the child. Imagine how confusing it would have been for the little mite, to have two women claiming to be his mother. I couldn’t bear the thought.’

Vanessa was shaking in her chair. The birthmark seemed more livid than ever.

‘The selfish, selfish, bitch!’

As Vanessa dissolved into tears, Hannah called the interview to a halt and gave her time to compose herself. There must be no suggestion of improper pressure. But after twenty minutes and a cup of strong sweet tea, Vanessa insisted she was ready to resume. She kept repeating that she wanted to help. This was an utter nightmare, but she needed to do the right thing.

‘Guy Koenig,’ Hannah prompted when they were back in the room. ‘We checked the records. You met him when he was inside.’

‘Guy was my greatest success.’ Hannah didn’t think she’d ever seen a smile so bleak, so bereft of merriment. ‘I have this passion for reaching out to people who never had a chance to experience the magic of literature. The government provided a pot of money to support reader development work with prisoners. I love working in partnership with librarians in prisons, mental hospitals, residential care homes. Making a difference to people’s lives.’