Алекс Баркли - I Confess

Helen’s eyes were steely. ‘The brutal truth is... you’re not safe. That man wants to kill you.’

Johnny stood opposite Patrick, ‘So... so... what... what do you think we should do about Terry?’

Patrick shook his head. ‘You’re asking me, now—’

Johnny nodded. ‘You’re... right. You’re right about what you said. My head’s fucked. It’s fucked.’

‘Well, I was going to suggest,’ said Patrick, ‘because of the power cut and the damaged cable in the chapel... that it’s not beyond the bounds of possibility that a fire could have started. So... that’s what we do. It doesn’t have to burn for long — just long enough that it covers up his injuries.

‘If Terry came up with some plan to screw up your night, Johnny, you better hope that he didn’t share it with any of his drinking buddies, because that will come all the way back to you. That would push any man over the edge.’ He glanced over his shoulder towards the cliff.

Johnny followed his gaze. Then they locked eyes.

‘Do you think the two of us could manage it?’ said Patrick.

‘Of course we could,’ said Johnny.

‘It’s fairly wild out there,’ said Patrick.

‘But there’s a handrail,’ said Johnny.

‘A handrail and a high wind,’ said Patrick.

‘We only need to go down a few steps,’ said Johnny. ‘If he cracked his head open on the jetty, the blood would have been washed away by the rain anyway. It doesn’t matter where he goes in.’

‘Laura’s going to be the problem,’ said Patrick.

Johnny waited.

‘So if we’re doing this,’ said Patrick. ‘We’re doing this alone.’

They started towards the chapel.

Murph jerked awake on the sofa, his body spasming. Laura woke up and pulled herself away from him.

‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’ she said.

‘Sorry — Jesus,’ he said. ‘Nightmares.’

‘All the time?’

‘Not all the time, Laura — no,’ he said. ‘Just when I close my eyes.’

‘No wonder you can’t keep a woman.’

‘Where’s Clare?’ said Murph, looking around.

‘I couldn’t give a fiddler’s,’ said Laura.

‘Ah, pet,’ said Murph, ‘there’s no need—’

‘Yes, there is,’ said Laura. ‘Stupid bitch.’

‘You can’t be carrying around all that anger with you,’ said Murph. ‘That’s like drinking a bottle of Ritz and expecting someone else to get drunk and puke on their shoes.’

They both sat up at the edge of the sofa.

‘Mystery solved,’ said Murph. He picked up the note, and handed it to Laura.

Laura threw it back down. ‘Well, of course, she’s just fucked off. She’s unreal.’

‘What will we do?’ said Murph. ‘You were looking for a key yourself!’

‘That was before Edie went missing!’

‘Well, we were still here, having a snooze.’

‘That was an accident!’ said Laura.

‘Will we just go to bed ourselves? Like — is Edie OK? Or has it all gone to shit and we’re here like gobshites?’

‘Well — we’ve two options,’ said Laura. ‘Go out and look for everyone or go to bed.’

‘There’s actually a third — both,’ said Murph. ‘Where was Edie going earlier — wasn’t she going to check Terry’s van for his mobile — did she find that?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Laura. ‘She came in with a notebook and looked like she was about to launch into some drama about that, but then Val was there.’

‘And did she say anything to you about it when Val was gone?’

‘I wasn’t talking to her,’ said Laura. ‘She brought it into the hall when she was letting Val out.’

‘So,’ said Murph, ‘in between Val leaving and Edie losing it, she was talking to Patrick and Johnny and they both said she seemed fine. They said nothing about the notebook and they didn’t come in with it. So... the only thing that didn’t change in all that time was: the notebook. Chances are that was the thing she told Johnny she was dropping down to the office.’

Laura was nodding at him, impressed.

Murph pointed to himself. ‘Sure, locked. SHER... LOCKED.’

‘I got it,’ said Laura, ‘but thanks.’

‘You did not,’ said Murph. He stood up. ‘So, here’s what we’re going to do. Go to the office and get the keys to our rooms. If there’s a notebook on the desk, we nose into it and if we lose our minds, we’ll know that’s what happened. If there’s no notebook, then, let’s face it, that means nothing, because she could have locked it in a drawer. Either way, we have our room keys. Then we walk to our suites—’

‘Via the chapel?’ said Laura. ‘She could have gone there to—’

‘Search a dead body for a phone?’ said Murph. ‘Edie?’

‘I’d say set aside whatever notions you have of who Edie is right now,’ said Laura, ‘because whoever I bumped into in the hall was not Edie.’

Patrick stood at the top of the jetty steps, the wind whipping around him, rain pouring down. Behind him, weighted down by a rock, was a sheet of tarpaulin with the fold of a high-vis jacket sticking out of it. Terry’s body was on the ground, his head at Patrick’s boots, the rest lying down the top five steps of the jetty. Johnny was on the eighth step down, gripping the metal handrail with one hand, using the back of the other hand to wipe his mouth. His jacket and boots were flecked with vomit.

‘Let’s try that again,’ said Patrick.

Johnny let out a breath, then nodded.

‘Be. Careful,’ said Patrick.

‘Can we not just push him through the gap in the railing posts?’ said Johnny.

‘I told you,’ said Patrick, ‘there’s no guarantee he’ll fall clear. You don’t want him sprawled on the rocks ten feet down while the coastguard helicopter is out searching for the kind of fuckwit who goes near exposed coastal areas in a fucking storm.’ He smiled.

Johnny glanced down at the rocks.

‘Right,’ said Patrick. ‘I’ve got the heavy end of him. All you need to do is grab his ankles. I’ll lift my end, you do yours and as soon as we’ve got the handrail under him, wedge it up under your armpit, lean into it, get the boot down solid and we swing him out — job done.’

Johnny looked down at the steps and back up at Patrick, his eyes flickering with fear.

‘Jesus — you’re petrified,’ said Patrick. ‘Look, the only time you won’t be holding on to that handrail is when you’re holding on to his ankles. But I’ve got the rest of him, and I’m on solid ground up here. So picture Terry as the safety rope between us. Making himself useful.’

Johnny frowned.

Patrick glanced towards the inn, and back at Johnny. ‘Come on.’

Johnny took a breath.

Patrick lifted his end of the body. Johnny reached down with his left hand and took Terry’s left ankle. ‘Good man,’ said Patrick. ‘I’ve got you.’ He rolled his eyes as Johnny bent down, took his right hand off the handrail and grabbed Terry’s other ankle. He let out a breath.

‘On three — lift,’ said Patrick. ‘One... two... three.’ They lifted the body. Johnny swayed back momentarily, locking his panicked eyes on Patrick’s. Patrick shifted his arms up higher under Terry’s armpits, gripped him tighter against his chest.

Johnny swayed sideways. ‘Jesus Christ! Are we fucking mad?’ He swayed backwards again.

‘To answer your question,’ said Patrick. ‘Yes.’ He paused. ‘I am fucking your wife.’

Johnny’s eyes widened, his legs buckled. Patrick started to swing Terry’s body from side to side. Then he dropped him. Johnny fell backwards, releasing his grip, cracking his head hard on the jetty steps, sliding down further, cracking it again, coming to a momentary stop, before Terry’s body shunted him further again.