Mo Hayder - Hanging Hill

‘Stupid stuff,’ Sally said hollowly. She was thinking about the way Millie had got her money, from Jake. That had been stupid. ‘What stupid stuff?’

‘Nightclubs. You know the sort of thing. The sort of place David Goldrab would have hung around. It was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done and I regret it. Oh, Christ.’ She wiped her tears with the back of her hand, avoiding touching her nose. ‘I’ve spent the rest of my life regretting it. The rest of my life .’

‘You took your clothes off? Stripping? Or pole-dancing or something?’

She nodded miserably.

Sally frowned. ‘But that’s – that’s nothing . I thought you meant something really serious.’

Zoë raised her tear-stained face, puzzled. Sally opened her hands apologetically. ‘Well, I can think of worse. It’s just…’ She faltered. ‘ You? It seems so…’

‘I had to make some money fast. I had to get out of the house – you know why.’

‘But it’s the sort of thing someone would do if they…’ Sally groped for the word. ‘Well, if they didn’t much like themselves.’

There was a beat of silence. Zoë’s face was rigid. Then Sally got it.

‘But, Zoë – how could you? I mean… you’re beautiful and brave and you’re clever. So clever .’

‘Please stop saying that.’

‘It’s true.’

‘Well, I’m not very clever now, am I? I’ve been raped and I can’t do a thing about it.’

‘You can. We’re going to report it.’

‘No! I can’t . I can’t go and report this bastard to them because…’ She shook her head. ‘He knows me, this guy. From the clubs – he used to work in one of them as a handyman. He gave me the creeps, the way he was always watching me. He’d use it in his defence. I’d have to stand up in the witness box and his fucking brief would point out to everyone that I used to…’ She wiped her eyes angrily. ‘I can’t tell them. I can’t say a thing.’

Sally tapped her mouth thoughtfully with her fingernails. ‘There has to be a way. Who is he?’

‘You know him. You won’t remember him but we were at nursery school together, can you believe? Kelvin Burford. He-’

She broke off. Sally had sat forward and was gaping at her, her mouth open. ‘You’re not joking? Are you?’

‘Of course I’m not jok- What is it?’

‘Good God.’ Sally stood up. ‘Good God. Kelvin? ’

‘Yes. Christ almighty, Sally.’ Zoë rubbed the tears off her face and stared at her sister. ‘What the hell have I said?’

Zoë had drunk all the water and the coffee and life was coming back into her now that Kelvin was washed off her. She dried herself and carefully cleaned her face with tissues and cotton buds. She dabbed some antiseptic cream on the cuts, then put on a towelling robe she found hanging on the back of the door. She did it all without looking in the mirror. From time to time she opened the door a crack and peered out into the cottage, wondering where on earth Sally had gone, what was keeping her. What the hell had she said to make her jump up like that?

After a long time there was a knock at the door. When Zoë opened it Sally was standing there in silence, holding an open bottle of wine and two glasses between her fingers. Her face was very white and serious.

‘Wine?’ said Zoë. ‘At two in the afternoon?’

‘I’ve decided to become an alcoholic. Just for the duration of my middle years.’ She filled a glass and rested it on the edge of the washbasin. ‘That’s yours.’

Zoë took it and sat on the rim of the bath, studying her sister. Something had changed in her face. She was a different person from the one who’d opened the front door to her and run the bath. As if something important had happened in the ten minutes she’d been gone. ‘Come on, then, Sally. What is it?’

There was a small pause. Then, without looking her in the eye, Sally pulled a handful of tissues out of her cardigan pocket. They were creased and dirty and had lipstick on them. She got down on the floor, pushed the bath mat away, and spread them out, making sure they were all lined up. Letters appeared – a phrase scribbled back to front. Zoë squinted and slowly made out the sentence: You won’t get away with it. Evil bitch . She shook her head, mystified. ‘I don’t get it. What’s this?’

‘Kelvin Burford. He wrote it on the seat of my car.’

She squatted down. Read it again slowly. Her head began to throb. The lipstick was the same shade as the one Kelvin had used on Lorne. But that detail hadn’t been given out to the public. No one knew about the messages in lipstick. ‘What,’ she said slowly, ‘makes you think it was Kelvin?’

‘Because of what I found when I was at his house. This morning.’

‘You were there this morning? No – I was there this mor…’ Her voice faded. ‘ I was there, not you .’

‘I was too. When you arrived I was in the back room. Did you knock?’

‘Yes.’

‘That’s when I left.’

‘Hang on, hang on.’ She held up a hand. ‘Slowly now. Why were you there?’

‘He’s trying to blackmail me. I found the lipstick he used to write this in. He’s either blackmailing me or trying to scare me into giving myself up to the police.’

‘Giving yourself up to the police ?’

Sally nodded at her sister. Her expression was sad – determined, and brave, but very sad too.

‘Sally? What the hell’s going on? What is it?’

‘I did it.’

‘Did what?’

‘David Goldrab. You want to know what happened to him, and I’m telling you. It was me. I killed him.’

‘Yeah, right .’

‘I mean it. I killed him and I didn’t report it. Even though I should have. But I didn’t. And then…’ She rubbed her hands together nervously. ‘I had to get rid of the body.’

Zoë snorted. ‘Wish I’d been there. I’d’ve helped. He’s an arse.’

‘No, Zoë. I really mean it.’

Zoë became very still. She studied her sister’s face. Her eyes had lost their usual soft smudgy blueness. As if they’d cracked somehow, like marbles. There was something tough and proud in them. Zoë gave a hesitant, uncertain smile. ‘Sally?’

‘Everyone thought you were really independent and clever and smart. Well, everyone thought I was really mild and harmless. And stupid. But it turns out I’m not. I killed David Goldrab and I covered the whole thing up. It was me.’

‘No. No. This is-’

‘It was an accident. Sort of an accident. He attacked me when I was there working one day. I was on my own… It wasn’t what I meant to happen. But it was me all the same.’

Zoë stared at her and Sally stared back. From the open window came the vaguely electronic-sounding twitter of a lark singing as it rose up through the air. Zoë thought about Jake the Peg, about Dominic Mooney. She thought of Jason sleeping on a sofa covered with coats. Lieutenant Colonel Watling and Captain Charlie Zhang and all the wrong turnings she’d taken. She bent her head, pressed her fingers to her eyelids, trying to get some clarity in her head. When she spoke her voice was thick. Unnaturally high.

‘What did you – you know, how did you…’

‘I killed him with a nail gun. And then I cut him up. I know it sounds insane but I did.’ She jerked her chin at the window. ‘Out there.’

‘He’s in your garden ?’

‘No. He’s everywhere. All over the countryside.’

‘Jesus.’ She felt so, so cold, worn down to a thing that was transparent and wafer thin. ‘This is craziness. This is…’ She was lost for words. ‘You’re not joking,’ she said eventually. ‘You’re really, really not joking. You mean all this. Don’t you?’