A footfall, perhaps above.
Dryden considered his options, sensing the weight and mass of the dark water above his head. He could slip away. He knew now where Jimmy Neate had hidden the bones of his sister’s child. But why? Had he murdered Jason Imber? His own sister too? And why now was he seeking death, beneath the crimson red target flag?
How long since the maroon? Three minutes perhaps, more. He took a step back, preparing to climb down to the safety of the earth.
But the voice was behind him, not above.
‘Dryden.’ Jimmy Neate stood by the top of the stairs, the light from one of the windows leaving half his face in shadow. The other half was caked in blood, and where the wound was deepest, the light glistened on exposed flesh and a hint of shattered bone beneath. Outside, through the frosted glass, they could just see the distant shape of the church.
‘You followed me here?’ said Neate, and the effort made his knees buckle so that he had to lean against the wall.
‘Jason Imber said he was coming here to bury his son. I thought you were dead on the wire at the Stopover.’
Neate nodded. ‘You followed me here,’ he said again, and Dryden guessed that he wanted to know if he’d seen him slip into the ossuary.
‘No. I saw you climbing the hill, I was down by The Dring looking for Jason.’
‘You should go,’ said Neate, standing aside, the tension ebbing from his body.
Dryden didn’t move. ‘This was Jason’s plan,’ said Neate. ‘To kill me, and then kill himself. He should be standing here, but he’s hanging on the wire.’ He stopped and turned away, and Dryden wondered if he was crying.
‘You tried to kill him at Cuckoo Bridge,’ said Dryden. ‘There was a witness who saw your car. They said there was something odd, that they thought there was just a passenger on board, parked up. But it was left-hand drive of course, one of the American cars from the garage. He wanted to go to the police, didn’t he, to tell them he’d been there when Peter Tholy was lynched?’
‘Yes. I couldn’t let him do that. He said he’d take all the blame, that he wouldn’t name names. But they’d have got to him. We couldn’t take the chance. And he’d promised to keep the secret, as we’d all promised that morning at Orchard House. When you found Peter’s skeleton we checked around, making sure we’d got it straight; who went down, and who stayed up in the bar. Ken said if they identified Tholy then he’d go to the police, tell ’em our story, make sure we got in first. But he told you, which kinda worked better.’
He smiled, forgetting the pain.
Dryden cut in. ‘So you threw him off the bridge. But he lived. As long as his amnesia lasted you were safe. But you couldn’t bank on it, so you were going to make a run for it – the suitcases were ready. And you tried to send us off on a false trail, telling me all about Ken Woodruffe’s plans for Ellen. But you ran out of time. Jason Imber did remember and he came looking for you. He didn’t want revenge for himself, did he, Jimmy – he wanted it for Kathryn. Because he knew then that you’d killed her, that you’d let him think all those years that he’d been the one who’d snuffed her out that night. Laura told him we’d found Kathryn’s bones and that she’d been stabbed, that the ribs were chipped by a blade to the heart. But if you’d found the body then you must have seen the knife wound. It didn’t make any sense unless you’d been the one who’d killed her. And you’d taken the body away so that nobody could see, wound it in the carpet to hide the blood and got Walter to help bury her quickly. You didn’t want to bury her in the tomb, did you, because that might draw attention one day to Jude’s bones. You wanted to bury her out on the mere – but it was Walter’s word that counted that night. So when you had the chance you took the child. And that’s what Jason Imber couldn’t understand, what he desperately needed to understand.’
‘It’s time,’ said Neate. ‘You should go, Dryden. Why bother with questions now.’
‘Because I want an answer. An answer to the question Jason Imber came to ask: why hide Jude’s bones? Well?’
They felt the explosion of the first shell before the searing sound shook the old water tower. Dust fell on them in a cloud and one of the windows imploded, a jagged pain registering in Dryden’s ears.
When he lifted his head from the floor, where he’d fallen, Dryden saw that Neate was against the brick wall, his head cradled in his hands.
Then he looked up, the open wound now caked in dirt. ‘You’ll die here too if you stay. They’ve gone for the factory first, but they’ll hit the tower. Go.’
Dryden knelt on the floorboards. ‘The answer?’ he said simply.
Neate smiled, deciding at last. ‘Christ. He didn’t like the answer,’ he said. ‘And neither will you. She killed him, Dryden. Kathryn killed him, with poison. Ethylene glycol – antifreeze. That’s why I took the bones, took them that night down to the garage and buried them in the garden – it wasn’t safe enough, but it was all I could do. I couldn’t risk it, people were gossiping about Jude, saying Kathryn had wanted him dead. But Dad hadn’t heard, no one had the guts to gossip to him, so I couldn’t stop him burying Kathryn in the tomb.
‘So I had to do it. I didn’t want them to know, for Dad to know, what she’d done. And it would have been all right if you hadn’t found Kathryn’s bones. Jason found out about the chipped ribs, the knife that took her life. So I knew I had to move Jude again – that the police might come looking, so it had to be somewhere safer. They won’t find them now. And that means they’ll never be able to prove what she did.’
Dryden felt the truth had been twisted. ‘You did all that for her? I don’t think so.’
The pressure clicked in Dryden’s ears and he threw himself to the floor as the second shell hit home down by the factory. Above them the old iron tank twisted, and a gush of water fell down one wall, swamping the floor. A wooden beam fell, bouncing once on its end, before crashing to the floor.
Dryden crawled towards the stairwell. ‘I think it was you and Walter who didn’t want the child,’ he said, the room dense now with dust and debris. ‘She might have given him the poison; did she? Perhaps. But you were holding her hand, because it’s what you thought Walter wanted. And it’s what she’d said she’d wanted, so she couldn’t escape. But what I can’t work out is why you wanted it, Jimmy? Why did you want Jude dead?’
The wind blew through the shattered window, and Dryden imagined the guns being reloaded, the hot shell cases smoking in the grass.
‘And then, when the funeral was finally over, she’d made that appointment to see her social worker. You found out about that when Lake came to say she couldn’t have a lift. She was going to tell them what you’d done, what you’d helped her do. Isn’t that right, Jimmy?