‘I didn’t mean to hurt her as well, really I didn’t.’
He was appealing to Jennifer now.
‘When I put my hands around her neck it was just to quieten her. But I closed my fingers too much. I was overexcited — in a panic. Suddenly I felt her go limp in my hands. They were both dead — but I didn’t mean to kill either of them. Really I didn’t.’
He was bleating. She thought he sounded pathetic as well as disgusting. But what he was telling her now was so appalling she could barely take it in. It was worse than she had expected. She had lived with this man, married him after he had done all this, been prepared to have his children. And she had suspected so much yet done nothing.
She heard herself say quite coolly: ‘What did you do next?’
‘I called The Friends, called my contact. I was told to check into a hotel for a couple of days and then carry on as usual.
‘When I went back to the flat it was as if nothing had happened. The bodies were gone, the place as it had been before. I knew there would be nothing to link me with the murders. The Friends only use professionals. Sometimes I cannot believe any of it ever happened.’
How convenient, she thought. Vaguely she remembered newspaper stories about the mutilated bodies of two Thai girls found tied together somewhere in Dockland. Another sex murder, the killer never found.
‘Is that all?’ she asked.
‘What do you mean, is that all?’
‘Any more bodies in the closet I should know about?’ She made her voice light.
‘Of course not. What do you take me for?’
‘I don’t know Marcus, not any more.’
Now her voice was flat. The tone in it startled him. She sounded different again.
‘I think I’d like to put some clothes on,’ she said.
He followed her into the bedroom and watched her take off the towelling robe and put it carefully on the bed. He was waiting for her to say something else, to make the next move. She had her back to him. Beneath the robe she was wearing the panties she had bought that day. She said nothing until she was dressed. She did not bother with a shower. She pulled on her old Levis and new sweatshirt, and then reached into the pocket of the dressing gown.
She drew out a small tape-recorder and held it up to him.
‘Thanks Marcus, I have everything I need to make sure you rot in jail now,’ she said.
His face disintegrated before her eyes. It took him five seconds to grasp it all — no more. Even at a time like this, Marcus remained quick.
He reached for the bedside table lamp, wrenched it from its socket and lunged at her. She ducked and avoided the attack easily. Had she misjudged him? Was he going to try to kill her after all?
He took a step backwards. He looked pathetic. No, she had not misjudged him. He was a dangerous man, but still her power over him remained. That hadn’t changed. Curious. He was trembling. He began to scream at her.
‘It was all a trick, wasn’t it? The whole damn thing. The sex — everything!
‘You conned me, you bitch. You conned me.’
He leaned forward and caught hold of her arm, shaking her.
‘Dreadful thing, the collapse of morality, isn’t it, Marcus?’ she said. Even under the stress of the moment, Marcus remembered her saying that to him once before, when she had blackmailed him into divorcing her. Why did he continue to underestimate her?
She wriggled out of his grasp. He half fell across the bed, yelling incomprehensible obscenities at her. She was astonished by how calm she felt.
‘Careful Marcus. Your true nature is showing.’
She thrust the tape recorder into her handbag and headed for the front door. He was following her.
‘What are you going to do?’ he wailed.
‘What do you think? I’m going straight to the police.’
‘Huh.’ For a brief moment he attempted to look as if he was in control.
‘That’ll do you no good. Half the top men in the Met are Friends.’
‘I am glad you are so confident,’ she said, reaching for the door handle.
He lunged at her again, one hand over hers, preventing her from opening the door. He was leering.
‘Aren’t you afraid of me?’ he asked.
‘No,’ she said.
She never had been, which was probably the reason for her power over him.
‘I could kill you,’ he said.
‘No, you couldn’t,’ she replied.
Even now, with what she had done and what she had against him, she was sure it was the truth.
‘Let go of me,’ she ordered.
Slowly he removed his hand and stepped back. He looked beaten. She sincerely hoped he was. His face was dark with rage and despair and fear. She felt only revulsion for this twisted shadow of the man she had married. He was evil, and she was going to get him. She had done what she should have done years ago. She had used her power over him to nail him. She was glad.
It had been part of her plan to destroy him, and the atonement of her own guilt, that he should know she had deliberately set out to do so. That is why she had shown him the tape recorder.
As she walked towards the door, she looked back over her shoulder at him.
‘By the way, there never was a diary,’ she said. That admission put her most at risk of all, but not to have told him, she was sure, would have been even more dangerous, because while she remained remarkably unafraid of Marcus, she was becoming quite terrified of his Friends.
As soon as she spoke she saw the panic lift and Marcus’s brain start to work again.
‘Then the only evidence is your tape, isn’t it?’ he said quietly. His eyes were ice, biting into her head.
He lurched forward for the final time and pulled her handbag from her with such force that the strap broke. He opened it and shook out the contents, catching the recorder as it fell. He tossed it forcefully into the room behind him so that it smashed apart as it hit the wall.
When he looked at her again his eyes were like death. It was time to run. Hastily she reached for the things which had fallen from her bag — all her keys were among them. As she bent down he kicked her in the kidneys with all his might. She fell to the floor, retching and clutching her side. The pain was intense, and so, at last, was the fear.
He stepped astride her, looking down, his face just a contorted mask. With his left hand he caught her by a shoulder, pulling her slightly upright towards him. He swung his right arm back, fist clenched. He was aiming for her face. She knew the full extent of his physical power. She cowered at his feet, too winded to speak, and waited for the blow, certain now that she had indeed made a fatal misjudgement. She was suddenly quite sure that he was going to kill her after all.
Abruptly he let her drop.
‘Just get out, you bitch,’ he hissed. The voice was barely human.
Something had stopped him. She had got it right, but only just. She made a desperate grab for her keys, abandoning money, credit cards, and all else that had been in her bag. Still clutching her side, she stumbled into the lift and made her escape.
Twenty
She half ran to the car park where she had left the Porsche. She wanted to get away. The sun was still shining, it was not yet five o’clock, and that seemed wrong. It should be the middle of the night. As she began to pull the car out of the car park, she hit the accelerator with such fury that she stalled the engine, something she never did. She was in more of a state than she realised. What Marcus had told her was so appalling she could barely take it in.
When she had put what she considered to be a safe distance between herself and Marcus, she slowed the Porsche to a halt. She leaned back in her seat and unzipped her jeans. Tucked into her pants was a micro tape recorder, a masterpiece of modern engineering. She wound the tape back a little and checked that it had recorded. Incredible quality for such a small and concealed instrument. She had deliberately let Marcus believe that he had removed the only evidence from her — she still felt that he would find it impossible to hurt her seriously himself, but was sure his ‘Friends’ would have no similar reservations.