Notes on a murder, p.14
Notes on a Murder, page 14
Argento nodded and a smile began to spread over his face. ‘I’m sorry to tell you this, Oliver, as I suspect the news will not be to your liking, but the last man Nita gave herself to wasn’t Douglas. It was Alastair.’
I felt my perception of the temperature around me change. The warm room had suddenly become cold. ‘No…no that’s not…Douglas had sex with Nita. It wasn’t…’ My mind was looping back to that night, when we had sat on my bed, when you told me what had happened that evening on the island. It couldn’t be true. You wouldn’t be that dishonest with me. It wasn’t possible.
‘Turn around and face the television, Oliver,’ Argento said, calmly.
With a terrible, rising dread within me, I obeyed.
Argento turned the set on. Then heard the click as the built-in VCR player started up. Then the image arrived on the screen.
Fuzzy black-and-white, but it was still very clear as to what was going on. The footage was of this room. And on the bed were two people having sex. Nita was on all fours on the bed and a male figure was enthusiastically thrusting into her from behind. And for a moment, I experienced a rush of relief. This form was much taller and more muscular than you were. Then he raised his head and I saw his face properly. It was Douglas. I had no wish to see my brother in the midst of such an activity, but I was so pleased to see it was him and not…
There was someone else. Lingering at the edge of the image. Unidentifiable. Waiting.
Douglas was going at it very fast and a sudden end to his movements, his head going back, suggested he’d climaxed. He flopped down onto the bed for a bit, apparently catching his breath, then he got up. He seemed to be smiling and laughing, saying something to someone – the person just visible at the edge of the frame. It was impossible to tell what was being said. There was no sound to the footage. He laughed again, then moved out of shot. And then the unidentified presence walked on into the frame. And it was clear who it was.
‘No…’ I said, crouching down in front of the screen, watching as you become fully visible, clearly identifiable. Unlike Douglas, you were fully dressed, in shorts, shirt and sandals. Even on the monochrome footage I could tell you were wearing the red shirt I loved so much. The red shirt you’d been wearing when I first met you. The shirt you had been wearing that night you came to the island without me. Nita had moved herself to the edge of the bed and changed position, lying on her back, her legs parted. You didn’t even have to get on the bed to do what you did next. You just kicked off your sandals, tugged down your shorts and spent the following five minutes of footage destroying my world. I could barely watch. I could barely see. It was a while before I realised it wasn’t the video that had become blurry, it was the tears filling my eyes and falling down my face.
I was in the grip of shock. Sadness. Fury. The world as I knew it was being reshaped before my very eyes – and, worse than that, it had all happened weeks ago. Over a month ago. I had been living through a lie without knowing it since that time, believing you and I were two kindred spirits, committed to nobody but each other, fellow travellers through this strange world, ready to experience and share its dark delights in ways we could only find in each other. And aside from the betrayal, there was another question: how could you have so calmly had sex with this woman and then observed her murder?
We had spent the whole summer convincing ourselves we weren’t monsters. Suddenly I was wondering how we had got everything so very, very wrong.
The words Douglas had spoken to me, just before he’d departed Greece, came back to me in that moment. Just be careful, Oliver…I’m worried you’re going to get hurt…
This was the hurt he was referring to. He knew you had fucked Nita straight after him that night. He had even laughed and joked with you. I felt another pang of hurt hit me. Hurt that Douglas could have kept this from me. His vague warnings could not excuse this. He knew how much I cared for you. Perhaps that was part of the reason he had fled Greece. Perhaps the guilt of being part of this secret was too much for him.
‘As I said, I’m sorry to cause you pain by showing you this,’ Argento said, his voice making me start. I’d almost forgotten he was there at all. I’d been swallowed up so totally by the nightmare unfolding on the screen, everything else had disappeared into darkness around me.
‘How could he…’ I said in a half-whisper, ‘How could he watch her die just after doing this?’ I turned to look at Argento, desperate for answers.
And as I asked, I think I realised the answers wouldn’t be ones I wanted to hear.
‘Alastair didn’t watch her death,’ Argento said, still in his slow, calm voice. ‘He killed her.’
All I could do was stare at him.
‘Come, Oliver. I have more to show you.’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
THEN
Argento led me down a short walk along a corridor leading away from the bedroom and then down a set of three steps. It opened out onto a kitchen area – quite large, with a dark wooden table taking up most of its space.
‘As we have done before, I thought we could all enjoy some coffee after our meal. Thick and black. The best way to consume it, in my view.’
My head was hurting after the sudden surge of anguish and disorientation I’d felt in the bedroom. I couldn’t understand why I’d been shown in here, to where our coffee was being made. Why Argento was moving the mugs towards me so that they were right in front of me on the table in a neat line.
‘I am going to leave you here alone, Oliver. I think you need some time by yourself to make sense of what you have seen tonight. And while you allow your mind to take in all that you have discovered – all that you now know – I’d like you to make a decision.’
He brought something out from his pocket.
And that’s when I understood what was going on here.
That’s when I understood what was being asked of me.
The decision that would be left in my hands.
Argento unzipped the snakeskin wallet and took out the familiar vial of clear liquid.
‘I’m giving you a very important opportunity, Oliver. The opportunity to choose who you would like to remove from this life,’ he said. ‘You could decide to remove the person you thought was your one true love, who has lied to you and cheated on you. Or you could choose to remove an elderly man who is close to death, terminally ill with cancer. An elderly man who has committed his fair share of sins, I promise you. Or you could choose to remove me – the man who has shaken your world. I have, as gently as I could, threatened your family. Blackmailed you, essentially. Forced you into coming back here, because I sensed you needed that push. Or you could choose to leave this life yourself. Or, last but certainly not least, you have the choice to leave our coffees untouched and keep things exactly the way they are.’
I felt as if the room was swaying. I hadn’t experienced anything like this level of inner torment since I’d witnessed that first session – that first killing – back at the start of the summer. When I’d chosen to stay and watched the life leave Jax Wolf’s eyes.
Could I do that to another human being? Could I make that journey, cross that magnificent gulf, close the gap of difference between silent accomplice and active participant?
Murderer.
Then my mind offered up an image. An image I wished I had never seen. An image of you and Nita. The grey, grainy nature of the footage I’d watched adding to the nightmarish quality of the scenes I’d sat through. Scenes that had killed something inside of me.
You would deserve it, I thought to myself. The thought shocked me only for a moment, then it landed comfortably within me, like a puzzle piece slotting into place. I think that was when I knew I had what it took to be able to do what I needed to do. Make that leap. Become a killer. Because in that moment, nobody in this world could be worse than you. Nobody could possibly have committed worse crimes.
But as I reached out my hand, ready to take the vial, something made me stop. I paused for a few seconds, doing nothing, just staring at the coffee mugs. Then I looked up at Argento and asked him a question that had just arrived in my mind.
‘What crimes has Sir Hector committed?’
Argento looked slightly surprised for a moment, then his calm smile returned. He set the vial down on the counter top. ‘You want to see how the scales balance? I respect that, Oliver. I really do. So I shall tell you. There are many possible beginnings to this remarkable tale. Can I ask, have you heard of the small village in the Essex countryside known as Tolleshunt D’Arcy?’
I frowned. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Well, I have a lot to tell you. Let us take a seat.’
And so instead of leaving me, my great decision was postponed for a further ten minutes. Argento took his time to carefully tell me his story. Or rather Sir Hector’s story. Of what he had done. The lives he had ruined because of his actions, because of the obsession he had for a particular person. The far-reaching consequences – ripples that were sent across different people, different families, different continents, spanning the small English village he mentioned all the way to the United States of America. The story astonished me. It was like nothing I’d ever heard, like a novel playing out before me, Argento’s deep, impactful voice making the telling of it quite extraordinary. When Argento stood, I stayed seated, staring at the mugs before me.
‘And now I really must leave you. For one of our guests, it will likely be his last night on this earth. It would be a shame for that night to be marred by a less-than-attentive host. Don’t take too long in your deliberations, Oliver. Make a choice, based on what you’ve heard, then bring us our coffee. ’ He gestured to the whirring machine behind him, then nodded again to the four mugs in front of me. ‘I shall be waiting for you.’
The setting sun bathed the room in cold light, shining in from the window behind me. The glasses on the table glinted. The smooth polished surfaces gleamed and then, as the sun continued its downward descent, started to dim.
I couldn’t stay here too long, I told myself. I needed to decide. I knew whatever choice I made wouldn’t just affect the person who died. It would change me too. I’d already gone through so much, seen so much. Everything that had happened over that summer felt like it had led me to that moment. The moment I truly held the powers of life and death in my hands.
In the end, I had to take a look. I stepped out into the open hallway that led to the veranda. I could see my three choices before me. The person who had brought me here. An elderly man who was at the end of his life. Or you. You, who had occupied my thoughts, reshaped my existence and stolen my heart.
One death would solve a major problem. Remove the man who had a hold over my family. Another could be excused as a kindness, offering a dying man a quiet, painless exit. And the third would be revenge.
I could have stayed there for hours. Deliberating. Considering my options. Putting off making my decision. But I decided to put a stop to it.
I made my choice.
I poured out the coffees and placed them on the tray. Then I opened the small vial of clear liquid.
I carried them carefully back out to the outdoor seating area.
Argento locked eyes with me as I laid the tray down and gave me a short nod. I looked down at the mugs, my hand hovering over them. I could feel the steam coating my hand as it stayed there, suspended.
‘Are you OK?’ you asked. I looked over at you and found that it was easy to smile.
‘I’m fine,’ I said. And then handed you a coffee.
I entered a new phase of my life that night. A phase of horror. Something that gouged deep into me. Phrases like ‘soul’ had always made me uncomfortable. But from that moment, I knew they existed. And I knew mine had been twisted. Damaged. Made ugly. Perhaps it had happened a long while ago. I stared into the water on the way back to the mainland. I didn’t speak once to the man steering the boat, and he didn’t talk to me. He didn’t ask why I was, for the first time ever, making this crossing alone.
I stayed in the centre of the boat, only going to the side once, in order to let go over the side the one item I was carrying. The thing Argento had given to me, when everything was over, almost as a prize. A video cassette. A tape I never wanted to see again. I let it fall into the waves without hesitation.
Blue sapphire darkness surrounded me. The lights in the hostel foyer burned. I didn’t know if I was wise to return there without you. But it was closer than my family villa, and I knew I couldn’t face them. Not at that moment. Not after what had happened. I just needed to sleep.
I went over to your bed when I reached the dormitory, but found I was unable to get into it. I touched the sheets, briefly raising them to my face, then dropping them as if scalded, and turned to the bed nearest. There I lay down and tried to fall asleep, lying to myself that things would be better when I woke. It was a lie I wasn’t able to believe as I tried not to imagine your voice, telling me to join you, inviting me to fall into your arms, your hands, the warm feel of your flesh keeping me safe. The room was dark, empty and, for the first time, felt cold. I pulled the sheets around me and slept.
When I woke, there was someone else in the room, and dimly, for a few seconds – a few, wonderful, hopeful seconds – I felt the relief you get after waking from a nightmare. Only this relief was tragically short-lived.
‘Hey, man, which bed should I take, because that one’s kind of a mess. Is someone else sleeping here too?’
I looked at the person in front of me – a short-ish, skinny guy with brown hair and glasses. He had an American accent and a T-shirt with a picture of a marijuana leaf on it. ‘Oh…sorry, what?’
‘I’ve just arrived. Staying here for a week. How long you here for? Girl at the desk didn’t mention how many others were here. Although I guess she was too caught up in the news.’
With an immense effort, I got up, dressed quickly and left the room. I think the new arrival called something out, possibly ‘Bye’, but I didn’t say anything. I just hurried down the stairs and into the reception.
The young woman at the desk was crying. The sight of it disconcerted me. I immediately froze in front of the scuffed counter-top. It was a moment before I realised the TV was on. She clearly seemed to think I’d know what she was crying about, because she pointed at the TV screen to her right and asked if I wanted to watch it too. I told her I didn’t understand. She just shook her head and muttered something. ‘So sad,’ I think. Something like that. Then started dabbing at her eyes with a frayed tissue.
I knew then, watching that news report unfold, that my life from then on would be a thousand times harder than I could possibly have imagined. Because there was no way I’d ever be able to forget this day. And nobody else would forget it either. It would be seared into the history books. Every year it would come round, and people would remember. The last day of August, 1997. The last day of a summer that would change the world.
‘I saw her once,’ the crying girl said. ‘When I was living in England, she came to the hospital I was staying in. All the staff were really excited. The princess coming to visit. I had appendicitis, but had been discharged and was on my way out. But she still smiled at me. Even though I wasn’t really sick.’ Quietly, she continued to sob.
I was shocked. Appalled. But I needed to go. ‘Sorry,’ I said, ‘I’ll leave you to it.’
She turned to look at me, blinking through her tears. ‘What? Hey, are you booked in here—’
I ignored this last bit, cursing myself for drawing attention to my presence after all this time, on this day when it could have been vital for me to slip out unnoticed. My eyes protesting at the harsh light of the sun outside, I began to make my way to my family’s villa.
By the time I’d reached it and had stepped through the front door, I knew what I wanted. I knew what I needed. I needed to get out of Greece. To go home. To put as much distance as possible, in miles and thought, between this place and myself. I also knew such a request wasn’t going to be easy, but I was so determined I would have flown home alone if I’d had to.
When I got inside, I heard my mother and father talking in the lounge. My mother was crying, and for one terrible moment I thought they both knew; knew what I had done, knew what their son had become. Knew of my shame.
But it was the news Mum was crying about. She was crouched in front of the TV screen, her hand outstretched, as though she might be able to touch the woman’s face that filled it. It was clearly another news report, the announcer speaking Greek, his words drowned out by my father who said grumpily, ‘I told you, I tried to get the English language news channel and it won’t work, it doesn’t matter how much you sob and complain!’
He stopped when he saw me come in. ‘Oh, it’s you. Have you heard the news?’
I didn’t get a chance to reply before my mother stood up and rushed over to me. ‘Oliver, darling, darling, isn’t it dreadful?’ She pulled me into a hug and sobbed into my shoulder. ‘I should have seen it. The horoscopes would have warned me of this, if only I’d read them properly.’
‘Mum, stop,’ I said, trying to pull away from her.
‘Has it upset you? We should call some people. We didn’t know the family, but we must have friends who did.’
‘Just stop!’ I shouted the words, making both my parents stand completely still, looking at me. ‘I think we should leave Greece. Today.’
As soon as I said it, I felt a sense of relief. Nothing had been solved, nothing was certain, but I knew it was what I needed to do.
My mother looked aghast. ‘What? Why? Because of all this?’ She gestured to the TV, but I shook my head.
‘No, I just…just want to go home.’
‘What are you talking about?’ said Dad gruffly. ‘Gosh, first your brother, now you. I’m tired of the pair of you. All this doesn’t come cheap, you know. I pay a fortune for it all and it ends up being hell on earth.’
