Peter May - Runaway

‘That she was going to sleep with some guy and get herself pregnant.’ Jack held his gaze, unblinking.

Maurie swallowed back his emotion again, then spat it out as anger. ‘It was only too clear to me. History repeating itself. First that thug Andy...’ he hesitated, ‘... and then you, Jack. She gave herself too easily. Just like her mother. And you took advantage.’ His lip trembled as he sucked in a breath. ‘And I was right. Because it happened, didn’t it? Just as if it were programmed into her DNA. Got herself pregnant, just like her mother had! And I saw the whole damned cycle repeating itself a generation on. It was only ever going to end badly.’

No one knew what to say, and silence hung among them like a pall of cigarette smoke in a sixties pub.

It was some minutes before they heard it. The first scrape of leather on concrete. Footsteps disturbing rubble on the stairs. Slow, cautious steps. Jack glanced at his watch. Whoever it was had arrived early. And the tension in the common room became palpable. A beam of torchlight played out on the landing then snapped into darkness, before a tall, lean figure stepped into the undulating wash of candlelight in the doorway. An elderly man, well into his seventies, Jack thought. He wore an expensive camel coat and shiny black shoes. His strong, handsome face beneath a head of thick white hair swept back from his forehead was still extraordinarily familiar. Even after all this time.

Jack had been half expecting Dr Robert, and so it came as no surprise. What did surprise him was the rude health and powerful build of a man who was anything up to ten years their senior. Evidently life had treated him well.

But if he was still familiar to them, his incomprehension as he looked at the faces gathered around the table was patent.

He frowned. ‘Who the hell are you?’

‘Don’t you remember?’ Maurie said.

Dr Robert swung his eyes in Maurie’s direction, and his shock at the appearance of the dying man briefly widened them.

‘Five lads from Glasgow who lived for well over a month in the basement flat at Onslow Gardens. Who were there the night that a young thug called Andy McNeil was bludgeoned to death by the actor Simon Flet. Must be hard to see those young boys in these old men.’

The doctor’s transition from confusion, to fear, to recognition and resignation passed across his face like so many shades of the same colour. But darker each time.

‘The Shuffle,’ he said.

And Jack wondered how on earth he remembered the name after all these years.

‘Jack,’ Jack said.

‘Luke.’

‘Dave.’

Dr Robert’s eyes swung back to Maurie, whose smile seemed more like a grimace.

‘No. You wouldn’t have recognized me in a million years, would you?’

‘Maurie,’ Dr Robert said, his voice so soft it scarcely penetrated the still of the room.

‘Well remembered.’

‘What’s wrong with you?’

‘Just about everything that could be. Sit down, doctor. It was me that emailed you.’

Dr Robert took a step into the room, but didn’t sit.

Maurie watched him, unblinking, totally focused. ‘Must have scared the shit out of you, my message, eh? Scared to come, scared not to. It was the sting in the tail that caught you, though, wasn’t it?’ He bared his teeth. ‘Just irresistible. I knew it would be.’ He paused for effect. ‘That I knew who really killed Andy McNeil.’

Dr Robert was impassive, and his voice was stronger now. ‘It was Flet.’

Maurie shook his head. ‘It wasn’t.’

Jack turned towards Dr Robert. ‘Then it must have been you.’

And the doctor’s eyes flickered in his direction, hostility flashing briefly behind his apprehension.

But Maurie shook his head again. ‘No. Not the good doctor, either.’ He kept his eyes fixed on the older man. ‘But you did kill Simon Flet. Didn’t you?’

The blood drained from Dr Robert’s tanned face and left him looking jaundiced. But he said nothing.

Maurie leaned forward on the table. ‘That scumbag Andy McNeil attacked you that night, didn’t he? Ripped your phone out of the wall and came at you round the desk. And you lifted that Oscar paperweight and hit him with it. And who could blame you? A clear case of self-defence. He went down on to his knees clutching his head, blood oozing through his fingers.’ He drew a tremulous breath. ‘I know, because me and Rachel were out in the hall. We saw it all. And you ran out to go and call the police from another phone somewhere else in the house. Ran right past and didn’t even see us.’

He was having trouble breathing now, and took a moment to collect himself before he turned his head to look at the rest of the group.

‘It’s the only reason I wasn’t up on the roof with you when you went looking for Jeff. Rachel thought she could talk sense into Andy. I didn’t, and I wasn’t about to let her try.’

There was almost a full minute when the only sound in the room was Maurie’s stertorous breathing.

Then Luke said, ‘So what happened, Maurie?’

‘When the doc had gone, we went into the study as Andy got to his feet. He was pretty unsteady, seriously concussed, I’d say. The blood was streaming down his face and he was in a filthy mood. Rachel wanted to help him, but I wouldn’t let her. He started shouting at her. Cursing her, calling her every foul-mouthed name he could think of. Told her how he was going to make her pay for running out on him. Lock her up and make her his fuck puppy.’ His mouth curled in distaste. ‘His words.’

Maurie reached into his coat pocket now to bring out a handkerchief, with an almost uncontrollably shaking hand, and wipe his mouth.

‘He was a piece of shit. And that was my sister he was threatening. So I picked up the Oscar and smashed his fucking head in.’

There was not a sound in the room. And as far as Jack could tell, not a soul breathing in the entire universe.

Then Maurie said, ‘I can still hear the sound of his skull breaking.’

‘ You killed him?’ Doctor Robert was almost breathless with incredulity.

‘I killed him. And I’d do it again. A hundred times over.’

‘But you weren’t there when I got back. Only Simon. Crouching over the body.’

Maurie was having trouble speaking now. ‘Do we have any water? I need some water.’

Luke went through to the kitchen and found a cracked mug that he rinsed under the tap, filled and brought back for Maurie to drink from. Maurie tipped his head back as he drank, water cascading from both sides of his mouth to run from his chin on to his chest. His face was the colour and texture of wax. He breathed deeply for a good thirty seconds. Then summoned all his strength to speak again.

‘Rachel was hysterical. She knew I’d killed him. I dragged her back out into the corridor.’ He let his gaze wander around the table. ‘You guys were probably never aware of it, but there are service stairs at the back of the house that go up from the ground floor all the way to the attic. Rachel knew, though. There’s a door at the end of the corridor beyond the doctor’s study that leads out to them. She took me out there and said we could escape without being seen. But I told her this was my problem now, not hers, and I wasn’t leaving without Jeff. But that she should go. When she refused, I screamed at her and slapped her. Hard. And told her if she didn’t leave I wouldn’t keep her secret any more.’ His eyes blazed at us.

Dave said, ‘What secret, Maurie? That she was your sister?’

And a tiny, bitter smile twisted his lips. ‘No. Not that. And, after all, she went, didn’t she? So it was a secret I kept.’ He returned his focus to Dr Robert. ‘I came back into the hall just as you returned to the study and found Simon there. Obviously he’d gone in looking for you while we were out on the stairs. He found Andy McNeil lying dead on your study floor and he thought you’d done it. And when you came back to find Andy dead, you thought you’d done it, too.’