Notes on a murder, p.17
Notes on a Murder, page 17
I watch her for a few seconds. I can’t make up my mind if any of this has been helpful, or if I’d have preferred to lie on my bed and torment myself for the rest of the evening. ‘Fine, deal,’ I reply. Then we start to walk back up to the hotel.
When we reach one of the side entrances, locked with a key pass, I ask if she’s coming inside. ‘I’m going to go back to the others. I fancy another hot chocolate, if they’ve not drunk them all. Are you sure I can’t tempt you to join?’
‘I’m sure,’ I say, smiling.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t know your name?’
‘Oliver,’ I tell her. ‘And yours?’
‘Stephanie.’ She smiles. ‘I’m leaving tomorrow,’ she says, ‘Though I hope to meet you again.’
‘It seems a bit unlikely,’ I say. ‘But kind of you to say.’
‘Oh, you don’t know. We might bump into each other. When I was younger, my mother liked to think everyone was destined to connect with most people on the planet in one way or another, even if it was just by passing them in Tesco, or by having mutual friends and acquaintances. That sort of thing.’
‘Well, I’ll look out for you in Tesco,’ I say. I want to leave, and she seems to realise it’s time. As I turn to go, she calls after me. ‘What you said, about having to decide whether to go back to someone – just…don’t feel pressured. I know all about wanting to relive the past. But I think it’s also important we don’t lose sight of the present. Make sure you’re not going backwards, OK?’
I frown, trying to piece her words together. ‘I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you for…for the walk.’ I give her a short nod, then turn to go inside.
I barely notice my journey back to my room. It’s almost as if I’ve braced myself for the emotional upheaval of having to decide what to do.
But no such upheaval arrives. It seems I’ve already worked my way through it. Or perhaps I just knew all along what I would do.
The hours pass easily. I have dinner, calmly and quietly, in the more expensive balcony restaurant on one of the upper floors, overlooking the grounds. From my table I can see the twinkle of lights amidst the trees stretching out below me where I had walked earlier. My thoughts have become so extraordinarily clear. As the mist grows thicker still and starts to cover the tops of the trees and presses against the windows, my mind becomes calm, ordered, precise.
At 11.58 I start my journey. The short journey to the top of the building. The journey to you.
At midnight exactly, I knock on your door.
You open it instantly, as if you knew I’d be there.
‘I knew you would come.’
Chapter Thirty-Three
NOW
You invite me to sit down, this time on the comfortable chair.
‘How are we going to kill him without anyone knowing?’ I ask, keen to get the practical side of things sorted before we start. ‘We’re not on a secluded island now. And…well, I can’t imagine it will be as simple.’ I was going to say and we don’t have Argento to help us, but decide this might raise more questions than I can handle at this moment.
‘It will be just as simple,’ you say. You walk over to a black rucksack leaning up against the desk and turn your back to me, spending a while rummaging inside. Then you come back and hold something up to the light from the desk lamp. It’s a vial of clear liquid.
‘You can buy anything you want on the dark web.’
‘What’s inside it?’
‘You don’t want to know.’
‘But what if I do?’
You take in a breath, then says, ‘It’s retribution. And absolution. All in one tiny bottle.’
‘I don’t want to offer him absolution.’
You raise your eyebrows at me. ‘Now that I can understand.’ You slowly reach out and take my hand. I let you. You run your fingers across my palm. Move in close. Your hand putting the small vial of clear liquid in mine. ‘If you don’t think he deserves absolution, you should be the one to offer the retribution.’ You say this in almost a whisper, your mouth close to my ear. I nod. With your other hand you touch my cheek, then step back. ‘We should leave in just under two hours,’ you say.
I’m confused by this. ‘Then why did you ask me to come here at midnight?’
You raise your eyebrows once again, but this time the movement isn’t questioning. It’s suggestive. ‘Why do you think?’ you say, starting to unbutton your shirt.
I lie in your bed, your right arm slung over me. I can hear your heavy breathing and I wonder if you’re asleep. I slowly ease myself out of the bed and check the time. It’s one-thirty in the morning. Not long to go now. I pad quietly along the soft carpet over to the balcony, pulling back the curtains, opening the doors. I look back at you, lying quietly on your side, your face turned into the pillow. For a second, the years pull me back once more. Then the cold night air hits my skin and reminds me where I am. How much time has passed. Not just summer into winter, but years into decades. Youth into adulthood. But I’m still the same inside. I know that now.
I step out onto the small balcony, enjoying the sensation of the cold hard floor under my toes, the misty chill enveloping me. I look down into the night, just making out the grass of the lawn and the shape of trees through the mist. And down there, in shimmering darkness, I think I see her. Stephanie. Watching me, in the middle of the lawn, swirls of the fog wrapping around her. I give a sharp intake of breath and step backwards, clutching the side of the balcony door to steady myself. When I look back, there’s nobody there. No one at all.
‘Are you all right?’ you ask.
‘Fine,’ I reply, although it’s a lie. I walk to the bed and begin to pull on my clothes. ‘We should go now.’
‘Keen?’ you ask, looking amused.
‘Ready,’ I reply, staring straight at him.
Chapter Thirty-Four
NOW
We walk along the corridor. Part of me had expected it to be dark, perhaps swirling with mist like the grounds outside. But it is as brightly lit as it had been when I’d walked along it a couple of hours previously.
‘Won’t there be CCTV?’ I whisper as we leave the room.
‘That will be sorted,’ you say, simply. Perhaps I am foolish to have such confidence in you, but you always manage to appeal to that part of me that wants to throw caution to the wind. Abandon all sense of logic, reason, any notion of right or wrong. So I go with you, obediently as ever.
We walk to a room three doors down from the one we left. I watch as you take out a key card and insert it into the slot. The door opens a slight crack as you push it gently with your hand. And I can see that there’s a light on inside.
‘Wait,’ I whisper, suddenly thinking of all the things I should have checked with you before we got to this moment. ‘What if he’s not asleep?’
‘He’ll be asleep,’ you whisper back. The certainty in your voice is what I need to hear.
We walk in. As soon as I’m in the room, I feel a wave of relief when I see a man’s form passed out on the bed. Mr Foal-Amos is asleep on top of the covers. He’s lying on his front, wearing blue-checked pyjama bottoms. His face is only partly visible, his fringe flopping down over his forehead, his head half off the pillow. From the outline of his arms I see his muscles. It’s like strength radiates off him. Then my mind flicks to the bodies of the young women. The women he must have overpowered. The women he must have frightened, hurt, abused before their deaths. Women who would have entered hotel rooms like this.
‘I made sure there was something extra in his after-dinner coffee,’ you whisper. ‘He won’t wake up.’
‘Then why didn’t you just…’ I start to whisper back, then stop myself.
You turn and walk back towards me, slowly, looking me in the eye. ‘Why didn’t I just kill him then?’ You raise an eyebrow, then let a hand snake round my waist, pulling me into a kiss. ‘Where would be the fun in that?’ you say, letting your hand start roving downwards. I stop him before he gets anywhere.
‘Not here,’ I say, looking over at the bed.
‘He honestly won’t wake. We can even talk in normal voices,’ you say, raising your volume, ‘although it would be prudent to keep our tone slightly low, perhaps. Just in case.’ You nod to the door we’ve just come in by and I realise you mean the corridor outside. I nod and break away from you.
‘Let’s just get it over with,’ I say.
‘That’s not the spirit to enter this with,’ you reply, now looking slightly disappointed.
‘It’s the way I like to work,’ I say. ‘I find it best not to linger.’
‘Strange,’ you say, still looking at me, ‘Maybe we’re not so alike after all.’
For a moment I think you’re about to say something else, then you pull up the shoulder bag and open the top. You pull out two clear plastic bags that appear to hold a number of objects. You put your shoulder bag down, unzip one of the plastic bags, and take out what looks like one of the mugs from the downstairs restaurant. You then place it by the side of the bed.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask, even though I have a general idea.
‘Confusing the crime scene,’ you reply. You then take out a scrunched-up tissue and drop it by the side of the bed. Now for the other bag, which holds a pair of black sports socks. You lay the sports socks over the radiator on the far side of the room. ‘Women’s underwear would have been more ideal,’ you say, ‘but I have to work with what I could get hold of.’
‘Where have you got all those things from?’ I ask.
‘The hotel. Collected them. Used by different guests. It’s amazing what you can pick up, here and there, if you keep your eyes open, people can be so untidy with their belongings. They may not all be tested, it depends how rigorously the room is processed by forensics, but there’s enough there for them to puzzle about for a good long while, I think.’
I go over to your shoulder bag and reach inside. There’s another clear plastic bag containing a toothbrush and comb. ‘I’m presuming these aren’t yours?’ I ask.
‘You presume right,’ you say, reaching out for the bag and taking it from me. ‘I’m going to put them in the bathroom. Again, it will just make things a little less clear.’
You do as you say while I take out something else from the bag. The small snakeskin wallet.
When you come out of the bathroom, I turn round to see that you’ve removed your jumper and top and are in the process of unbuckling your trousers.
‘What are you…?’
‘Come on, Oliver,’ you say, coming over to me, whispering in my ear once more. ‘Let’s do it here, on the floor while we watch him die.’
I no longer feel the rush of shivers run down my spine as your face brushes against my neck. I’m tired of your games.
‘I’m ready to do what we came to do,’ I say, giving you a slight push so that you move out of my way. I walk over to the bed and set what I’m holding down on the covers next to the man. Unzip the case and take out the syringe and clear vial.
‘Get out the way,’ I say, moving round to the end of the bed and pushing you aside. ‘Put your clothes back on. We’re leaving as soon as I’ve done this.’
‘Yes, sir,’ you say, a little sarcastically, but in a way that shows you’re liking my assertiveness. I pull up the material a little on the left leg of Mr Foal-Amos’s pyjama trousers to fully expose his ankle. I can hear you buckling up your belt and tugging on your jumper as I lean over close and push the syringe into the chosen patch of flesh. Then I straighten up.
‘We’re leaving,’ I say. ‘Now.’
I don’t look back at you. Nor do I glance at the man on the bed. I need to get out of the room and away from what’s happened here. And I’m sure that you’ll follow me.
I’m right. You walk to the doorway and lay your hands on my shoulders. Before we step back out to the corridor, you whisper to me earnestly, ‘How do you feel now?’
I allow my eyes to fix on you. Feel my heart beating fast, adrenaline rushing through me. ‘Alive,’ I reply. ‘I feel alive.’
Chapter Thirty-Five
NOW
After leaving Mr Foal-Amos’s room, I presume we’ll return to your suite. But instead, you stop me as I head to your door.
‘This way,’ you say, nodding to the stairs.
So I follow you. Follow you down to the swimming pool and spa. Pass the empty reception area and the opening times saying the area closed at 10.30pm. Nothing is locked, though, and you press on until we are at the poolside where we’d sat just hours earlier. It feels like days, weeks, months even have gone by since we lay on the reclining seats. Time itself has taken on a new form and I am getting lost within it, both the present and the past.
‘Let’s go for a swim,’ you say to me.
I look around us and note a security camera in the corner.
‘I told you to stop worrying about that,’ you say when you see what I’m looking at. You set your bag down by one of the loungers and begin to strip. You don’t even bother to keep your briefs on this time, just pull everything off and walk naked down the steps into the pool.
‘Come on,’ you say to me. ‘For old times’ sake.’
‘I think we’ve done enough for old times’ sake,’ I say, but part of me is tempted. Tempted to feel the water lapping against my skin. Washing away everything that’s happened today. Birthing me anew.
‘Please,’ you say, your eyes seeking out mine.
I look at you, then smile and nod. I go over to the lounger where you left your clothes and pull off mine, leaving them scattered next to the bag. Then I follow you into the pool. You’ve been floating on your back, near the far side, but swim over to me as I enter the water, sending waves lapping against my legs as the steps take me deeper. As soon as I’m submerged, you pull me into your arms and into a passionate kiss.
‘This is how it was always meant to be,’ you whisper to me, moving your mouth to my ear, breathless and excited. I felt you hardening against me and I put my hand out to take hold of you, hear your groan of desire. ‘We were meant to be in this life together. We were meant to tread this path as two, not one. And we can carry on. This is only the start.’
You spin me around so that my hands are gripping the sides of the pool, your face kissing down my neck to my shoulders, your arms going round me. I pull back my hand, lay it on yours to stop you. ‘No,’ I said, ‘I…I won’t do it without a condom.’
‘Oh come on,’ you say, clearly desperate for the moment not to pause.
‘I’ll get it,’ I say, pulling myself out the pool.
‘There’s one in the right-hand pocket of my jeans,’ you say, nodding to the pile of clothes. I go over and take out the condom from your trousers. Then, I open the bag.
When I turn back, I expect you to be watching me, but thankfully you’ve returned to floating on your back, staring up at the blue-turquoise lights causing the reflection of the water to dance hypnotically on the ceiling.
I sit on the side of the pool, letting my legs drop into the water. But I don’t slide in completely. I want you to come to the edge. I want you to touch. Feel your hands on mine. Feel you for the final time.
You do as I’d hoped. As you touch my legs, taking hold, I start to speak. ‘The question I’ve been pondering all evening,’ I say, keeping my tone level, ‘is how John Foal-Amos came to be staying in the very hotel I’m staying in. The very hotel you’re staying in.’
I then pull my hands round to my front. By the time you see what I’m holding, it’s too late. Too late for you to do anything. Too late for you to stop me. I push the needle in firmly. It’s over within a second or two.
I see the shock in your eyes. The man who never likes to be surprised. Who always knows everything before it’s happened, or acts as if he does. And now I’ve got you. Shocked you beyond anything you’ve seen.
You make a sound that could have been ‘Ohhh’ or ‘Hey’ or ‘How’. I’m not too sure. But you pull away from me, even though it’s too late. All the liquid from the vial has gone into you.
‘It’s him, isn’t it,’ I whisper, but I don’t know if my words can be heard over the noise of the water splashing as you continue to move back, away from me. I want you to hear, I need you to hear, so I make myself talk louder. ‘All of this has been down to him,’ I say, more clearly, pushing my voice into the echoing space. ‘Argento has orchestrated this. Why else would you be here? For all your talk about us being meant to be together, you haven’t bothered to find me before now. But I’m not playing his game. Not anymore. Not with you.
‘But you’ve always underestimated me, haven’t you? Always presumed I’m second-rate to you, playing catch-up.’
‘What…’ you gasp, dragging yourself to the steps, ‘Why…what are you talking about?’
‘You’ve always treated me as if I’m disposable. You make me fall into your arms, make me need you, and then you do something that reminds me how shallow your feelings really are.’
‘I don’t know what you’re—’
You’ve got a foot onto the lower step now and are shakily pulling yourself round, trying to stand properly.
‘You’re the one who’s come second place, now, Alastair.’
‘What…why…why now?’ you try to shout, but your ability to talk is already fading. ‘If you could have killed me back then – truly deliberately killed me – why…why didn’t you?’
I stare back at you, defiant. ‘You believed what I said about worrying I’d mixed up the coffee mugs. I had accidentally mixed them up, but it was you I meant to kill, not Sir Hector. If only I’d passed the right cup to you, we wouldn’t be here now. And you underestimated me again just now, presuming I would do as you say, presuming I had injected Foal-Amos. You didn’t even check if the vial was still full.’
