Doc Thompson used to say that you could be affected for life by what happens to you when you’re young. Freud and Jung and others all seemed to hand out excuse notes for any evil act. It cut no ice with me. You’re not telling me that every single guard in every one of the hundreds of concentration camps across Europe had their toys taken from them as kids? Or if they did, it was any sort of half-arsed excuse for the pain they inflicted?
We have choices. Some of us more than others. Colette told me she chose her profession; it was easy money and she didn’t find it so hard. The men were usually pretty grateful. I know I was. But she also recognised she didn’t have much choice; she had no skills, could barely read, and needed money to pay the rent.
Kate had every choice. She was rich, beautiful and smart. Maybe too smart. An intelligence that was looking for something to engage it, stave off the boredom of the cocktail circuit. Don’t tell me she had an unhappy childhood. Not by the standards of ninety-nine percent of the world. The old Scottish phrase came back to me: Ye’ve made your bed, now lie in it. No excuses, no blaming somebody else; you caused this, take responsibility for what you did and get on with it. It was a tough creed and seemed uncaring, but it worked, mostly.
Mary came back into the room leading Kate. Kate looked better. The streaks were gone, she had on fresh make-up and her hair was brushed and gleaming. But there was no hiding the puffiness round the eyes. Or the haunted look in them.
Kate sat down. “Thank you, Mary. You’ve been very kind.” She turned to me. “Mr McRae, I want to go home now. I think you’ve got what you wanted, don’t you?”
Her tone wasn’t humble, but neither was it haughty.
“Danny will do. I think we’re past the formal stage.”
She weighed me up and shrugged. “Very well, Danny – what next? What about the police and Jonny Crane and…”
“Tony? First off, I don’t know if Wilson is alive or dead. And if he’s alive, how long he’ll take to come after me. He may not remember much of what happened back there.” I smiled. “I think you’re off the hook though. I don’t think he’ll bother you, not with what I can say about him and what he’s been up to. As for Jonny Crane, he doesn’t know anything about today or your part in it, remember?
I arranged for you to come to the flat this afternoon. Crane thinks of you only in the past tense.” I couldn’t help adding, “I’m sorry for what I put you through.”
She studied me as if she were seeing me for the first time. She nodded. “Thank you, Danny. What are you going to do about Tony? You know he’s looking for you?
He’s got a gun. Another one. Our house is full of guns.”
“I’m going to help him find me. With your help, Kate. One phone call is all it will take.”
TWENTY FIVE
The fog was clearing as I walked down through Soho. Clumps still shredded themselves on St Martin’s spire and menaced the alleyway between the Strand and the river. As I crossed the Hungerford footbridge, a train gasped past me into Charing Cross leaving chunks of smoke clinging to the girders. Mist lay along the river like a dirty yellow blanket.
Kate had made the call, telling Caldwell what had happened this afternoon and that Wilson might be dead. Her voice was strained and clipped when she told him that Liza had revealed their three-sided relationship. Her anger fuelled two patches of red in her cheeks. I could hear Caldwell’s voice rising and accelerating as he begged for understanding. Kate cut off his bluster as though reprimanding a careless servant. She told him I wanted to meet him, just the two of us, and settle this thing. She didn’t tell him – because she didn’t know – that if I didn’t come back from the meeting, Mary had instructions to give his name to Jonny Crane. Tony seemed to have responded with alacrity. And now we were converging on the meeting ground. I’d chosen somewhere open but quiet, and with a queer resonance for this whole damned business.
I picked up a bus outside Waterloo station. We chugged through the patchy smog to Camberwell Green, past my office. I didn’t want to meet there; too cramped, too many police watching. I got off and made my way up Denmark Hill past the hospital. I seemed to be climbing out of the murk. The sign for Ruskin Park beckoned.
I climbed over the fence and started down towards the pond. From there I’d be able to see people entering the park but it was far enough away to be private.
Fog billowed through the trees, making it hard to follow the path. But the smell of decay led me easily to the stagnant water. I stood gazing into the mist, wondering if I could pull this off without getting shot. I went over my questions again and again, which is why I didn’t hear her coming.
“Hello, Danny.”
I spun round. My heart lifted. Valerie was walking towards me. She was wearing a long coat against the night, just like the first time.
“Hey, it’s great to see you, Val! I’ve missed you! Where have you been?”
“Where have I been? You’ve got half the police in the country looking for you and you ask me where I’ve been?” she laughed.
“It’s a long story, but it’s coming to an end. Tony Caldwell is the killer. He killed the girl in France and he killed the prostitutes here.”
She seemed a long way from being surprised. “See. I knew it wasn’t you, Danny.”
“But, Val, what are you doing here? How did you find me?”
“I’m here when you need me.”
“But you can’t stay here, Val. It’s too dangerous. Caldwell is coming to meet me. You mustn’t hang around. I don’t want you hurt.”
“Silly. I’ll be OK. I’ll give you moral support.”
Through the sound-dampening fog I heard the noise of a car wheezing up the hill and slowing. Then I saw the twin beams of light cutting through the heavy air, as the big Riley rolled to a stop by the park gates.
“It’s him, Val! You’ve got to go! I’ll be fine. I’ve got a gun, you see?” I dug into my pocket and pulled out the small calibre weapon Mary had given me. It was barely more than a starting pistol, but it would do the job. I hoped I wasn’t going to need it.
Val searched my face as though it was the last she’d see of it. She smiled sweetly then backed away into the mist.
I could see the car clearly. There were two people in it. Kate was at the wheel.
She was staring straight ahead, her eyes unseeing. Caldwell was alongside her.
She killed the engine and silence fell. She cut the beams of light and the car was left silhouetted by the masked glow from a streetlamp. High above me, the clouds cleared and the stars began to stutter into being. But down here wraiths still swirled and danced through the trees and across the pool.
Caldwell opened his door and got out. Kate stayed hunched over the wheel. I wondered what their conversation had been like. What excuses had he produced?
Had he denied it? What did she believe now?
He straddled the fence and began walking towards me, a long stride, heels hitting hard on the path like he was pacing out a cricket square. And suddenly I knew that gait. I’d seen it loping away from me. Down a back alley in Avignon.
This time he was wearing a thick coat and hat against the clinging air. His hands were in his pockets. As he got closer I could see that whatever he’d done wasn’t getting to him. A bit red and strained round the eyes, but none of that bulging, berserker look the public expects in the insane. Take it from me, and I’ve seen plenty, some of the craziest guys in the world look perfectly normal until you engage them in conversation and find they can only talk about rats or the colour red.
Caldwell stopped ten feet from me. How was I going to knock that smile off? “Well, McRae. You’ve saved me a lot of trouble. I’ve been hunting high and low for you.”
“You have it wrong, Caldwell. I’ve been hunting you. Didn’t Kate tell you the cavalry won’t be coming to save your neck?”