‘I’m fine, guv. Just get the bastard!’
19
The side of the house had an overgrown garden path running up beyond the three levels of terraced garden to a gateway on higher ground. Through the gateway, there appeared to be a narrow and still more overgrown pathway which rose up the side of the The Rock itself. It was, in fact, a natural shelf that had been developed in the 1860’s to allow access to a viewing point some fifty metres above. Landslips and erosion had meant that it had been declared unfit for use in the late 1940’s, but Laytham had climbed it often as a boy. It had been his secret escape, his hideaway from the tensions and coldness of his home. He stood now at the gate, a length of rope in his hand. Behind him, Broderick and Calbot, followed by several uniformed officers, were approaching at speed.
‘Coming to watch, Inspector?’ Laytham shouted back to them. ‘ Very brave of you! Didn’t think you’d have the stomach!’
The police officers followed him upwards. Thirty metres on, Laytham was forced to climb over a dishevelled barrier which crossed the climbing path. A discoloured sign on it read; “DANGER. DO NOT PASS”. Beyond the barrier, the path almost immediately became a much more dangerous proposition. Narrowing, as the sheer drop to its side increased, it was clear why nobody had thought to venture up it for many years. Eighty metres further up, Laytham reached a small outcrop. Turning to check that he had time, he began to tie one end of the rope around the stump of an old tree which half- protruded over the edge of the outcrop. As he made good the knot, he turned to see Broderick and his fellow officers finally catching up with him.
‘What the hell are you playing at, Laytham?’ Broderick yelled.
‘Attempting an execution, old boy! One that’s long overdue,’ Laytham replied, tying a noose in the free end of the rope.
‘Don’t you think that’s the coward’s way out? You need help, Gerald. This isn’t the answer’ Broderick pleaded.
‘Oh, but it is. You think I did it because of the pain? The rejection? Because my mummy didn’t love me? Oh, no, no, no. I did it for pleasure, Inspector. Pure pleasure.’ He smiled as he spoke. ‘Oh yes, I left that bit out, didn’t I? Watching people die. In pain. In agony. It’s not the same when they come to me to be cut up. They’ve gone. They’re nothing. Just rotting flesh and bone. I killed my mother because I enjoyed it, Broderick old son. And for that, by law, I am guilty.’
Laytham moved to the very edge of the outcrop and looked down over the sheer drop below.
‘I think I have the requisite drop. Don’t you Chief Inspector?’
As he spoke, the ledge beneath Laytham’s feet began to crumble. Unable to fall backwards to safety, Laytham was propelled forward and over the edge. He began to hurtle through space, the noose of the rope tightening around his wrist, checking his fall as the rope brutally yanked hard and taught. The sound of Laytham’s arm being ripped from its socket and the terrifying scream that emitted from his throat chilled those above ,watching.
‘Get help! Anything!’ Calbot yelled across to the police officers behind him.
‘No time,’ Broderick yelled. “Stay back the rest of you. The path won’t take all our weight.’
‘Sir, be careful!’ Calbot shouted over.
Broderick moved forward, kneeling down on the outcrop and reaching forward to get some sort of grip on the rope. At last he achieved his aim and begun the surely impossible task of pulling the hanging man back up to safety. Below him, Laytham’s screams and pitiful cries of pain pierced the evening air. Lying on his stomach now, Broderick managed to get another hand to the rope and began to pull in earnest.
Bit by bit, inch by inch Broderick heaved heavily on the slippery rope. Each pull brought a new scream of pain from below, but there was no help for it. For a short while Broderick persuaded himself that his actions might actually save the life of the cruel and callous psychopath at the other end of the rope’s length. But then reality kicked in. To his right, Broderick noticed that the roots of the tree stump that was securing the line were beginning to come loose of the ground. Upping his efforts to superhuman levels, Broderick quickly realised that he was fighting a losing battle. Even though he could now see Laytham hanging just a few metres below, time was running out. Laytham was looking up at him in utter desperation, like a animal caught in a vicious trap. This was the worst possible way to die for a controlling, meticulous psychopath. A death that Laytham could not control and dominate to the final breath.
Suddenly the tree jerked free of its hold upon the ground and the rope whipped out of control through Broderick’s now bleeding hands. Below him Laytham saw what was about to happen and began to kick out with even greater fury. But nothing could stop the force of gravity as it propelled his wretched crippled body downwards to its painful, splintered fate on the rocks below. Broderick and his fellow officers looked helplessly on as Laytham fell screaming to his painful ignominious end.
‘May God have mercy on your soul!’ Broderick whispered under his breath. Then, realising just how close to experiencing a similar fate he was himself, Broderick called across to Calbot.
‘Calbot? I think I’m going to need some help getting back from here.’
20
Calbot and Broderick stood on the front porch of The Captain’s House as they observed Sullivan being checked over in the waiting ambulance. The setting sun across the Straights of Gibraltar had turned the distant mountains of Morocco a crimson red.
‘I suppose you could say that hanging was too good for him, guv’ Calbot said at last.
‘You might also say that the punishment fitted the crimes. How’s Sullivan?’
‘Looking pretty good to me. Not much keeps her down.’
‘Yes... she’s... a good officer,’ Broderick added thoughtfully.
‘You okay, sir?’ Calbot asked, not used to the sound of compliments coming from his boss’ mouth.
‘Erm, yes. Course I am’ Broderick replied a little awkwardly. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ With that he left his detective constable and walked towards Sullivan as she emerged from the ambulance.
‘That was a close thing, sergeant’ Broderick told her.
‘Yes sir. Well timed by you if I may say so’ she replied.
‘Kept your head pretty well, I must say.’
‘You mean for a woman, sir?’
‘No. For a police officer, sergeant’ Broderick corrected.
Sullivan looked across to the old house, now empty of life and the living.
‘Well this place has seen enough tragedy in its time’ Sullivan observed.
‘Not least the tragedy of Laytham’s...’Broderick corrected himself. ‘Gregson’s delusion.’
Sullivan looked at her boss questioningly.
‘He got it all wrong, you see.’
‘I don’t understand’ Sullivan said.
‘Gregson thought his father loved him and that his mother had made his father suffer. But I’ve read the full report from the archives which included his father’s statement after the arrest. I also made a few enquiries elsewhere. It seems that Gregson Senior was the big philanderer. He was a well- known womaniser here on The Rock. Treated his wife very poorly, by all accounts. Gregson’s mother eventually began to take retaliation on him by having her own lovers. The young boy was only privy to his mother’s behaviour. His father carried on his affairs elsewhere.’
‘But to have your father carry the can for a murder you yourself committed? That must have been what turned Gregson into a madman.’
‘Yes, he truly believed that his father had sacrificed himself so that he the son could live without blame. However, the man’s statement suggests another story. Gregson knew it was his son that had killed his wife and according to his statement, didn’t hesitate in offering the police that information. One line of that statement has stayed with me. He said, “Don’t think that boy isn’t capable of murder. He is a calculating brat and should never be trusted. It wasn’t me. It was him.” Not exactly the words of a loving father wishing to protect his only child.’