The Reluctant Detective (Faith Morgan Mysteries) (18 page)

J
ESSICA WAS STANDING IN THE FAR CORNER
of the room away from the window. She was holding a shotgun at waist height. It was pointed at a man sitting in a leather-upholstered club chair; a man with cropped fairish-brown hair, tanned skin and his mother’s pale round eyes. Simon Beech.

“It’s Trevor’s,” Jessica answered.

“You took it?” asked Faith.

Jessica glanced at her with a flicker of impatience.

“I thought he might hurt himself with it. I put it in the boot of my car.”

“You had it all this time?”

“What’s she doing here?” Simon’s voice was querulous. Faith looked at him incredulously. He thought she was intruding?

“Faith’s my friend.”

Well, that’s a relief, thought Faith. And a start…What were the odds that the gun was loaded? What was the likelihood Jessica even knew how to load it? Faith didn’t recall seeing any cartridges in that boot. She cursed herself for not checking more closely.

“He stalked me!” Jessica seemed to have her right hand in the correct position around the trigger guard. What was the likelihood of her being familiar with shotguns? “He broke into my house!”

The shotgun bobbed alarmingly. Faith made a warning gesture, but Jessica was too incensed to notice. Simon leaned forward in his chair. As he moved, Faith noticed the built-up shoe on his right foot.

“I had to let you know I’d come back for you,” he said earnestly. “I love you…”

Jessica took a little step towards him, the barrel of the gun pointed at his face.

“That’s not love!” her voice rasped. A different creature had sprung up inside the pretty, meek woman. It stretched the skin across the bones of her face and pointed her chin. “It’s perverted,” she spat.

She glanced at Faith.

“You know about him?”

“The charity worker who gave you the irises.”

Jessica nodded sharply.

“The fake. How long have you known?”

“I’ve only just put it together. I called at your house. I saw the kitchen.”

“He broke in and got into my bed,” she said with revulsion.

So that explains the bedding.

“And he left the flowers?” Faith asked. “I wondered about that jug they were in; it didn’t look like your choice.” She worked hard to keep her tone conversational, but out of the corner of her eye Faith never lost sight of the gun.

Jessica tossed her head and made a scornful sound. They were both standing watching Simon as they talked. He looked perplexed, his eyes shifting from one to the other.

“Who is she?” he asked Jessica.

“I’m Faith Morgan. Your father asked me to come and cover St James’s…” She trailed off, thinking of the many ways that sentence might hit a nerve. She glanced at Jessica. She seemed unperturbed.

“She came to me, you know.” Simon’s manner changed. It was almost as if they were chatting at some weird social occasion. “It was out in Tanzania. She volunteered to help. She’s wonderful with finances.” His admiration had a sickly quality. There was something about the tone of his delivery that made Faith’s skin creep.

“There was a crisis. I was about to lose the project. But she came, like an angel, and saved me.”

“I didn’t save you…” Jessica hissed.

“But you tried,” he shot back.

“The finances were unsustainable.” Jessica addressed Faith as if he hadn’t spoken. “He was borrowing against expectations. He convinced me God would find a way, but I should have known. Once I’d gone through the books it was obvious – except I didn’t want to see it.”

Simon’s eyes were locked in adoration on Jessica.

“You don’t listen to me!” she cried sharply. “You never listened to me. You don’t know me. You just talk and talk and talk.”

Simon looked vaguely smug. He’s enjoying the attention, thought Faith. Doesn’t he realize that gun could go off?

“What are you?’ Jessica scoffed. “I thought you were a decent man.”

“You know I am.” His voice was cajoling. “You couldn’t love me otherwise. And you do love me – you know you do. We’re each other’s salvation.”

“Alistair was my salvation, not you! He knew me.” Her voice caught and she blinked back tears.

“Alistair Ingram!” Simon exclaimed. His skin flushed under the tan. “The great man! Enough of him!”

He wasn’t looking at them any more. He was talking in a world of his own.

“Ingram can help you sort out your finances,” he said in a savage parody of someone. “Dear Bishop Daddy! He has no idea. He sends me out there and there’s never enough money…” He looked up at Jessica, pleading. “I saw you together. I saw you through the window. What kind of priest is that,” he demanded, glaring at Faith briefly, “seducing a vulnerable woman? After all I’ve done. He seduced you.”

After all I’ve done,
thought Faith. She felt cold.

“I nearly despaired that night. I thought, what can I do? Then at dinner they were going on about her roses. Chemicals poison the land, he said; but sometimes nothing else will rid you of the pests, she said. They eat all the beauty away. So I put it in God’s hands.”

“You poisoned him?” Faith asked quietly.

His eyes flicked up to her face.

“A sip of that wine wouldn’t have killed a good man,” he said dismissively. “It was God’s will. I saw signs.” He focused on the middle distance, chanting to himself. “She was pulling me down. Everything was collapsing. ‘Let it go,’ she said. She didn’t understand. He called me home, did you know that? It was in God’s hands; I left it in God’s hands.”

Faith wasn’t sure why, but he seemed to feel the need to convince her. She wondered what response would be best calculated to calm him. She was worried about the effect his rising hysteria was having on Jessica. The more he appeared like a crazed monster, the more likely she would be to do something stupid. While at Hendon, Faith had been taught how to disarm a suspect at close range, but that was so long ago. And they’d known the guns weren’t loaded. The weapon in Jessica’s shaking hands seemed like a creature in its own right – something alive; deadly.

“It was because of her, of course. She betrayed me. She wrote to Mother. So
Daddy
,” Simon spat the word out, loaded with fury, “decided I need to be taken in hand!”

Dread caught Faith by the throat.

“Who betrayed you?” she asked softly.

Something flickered in the pale eyes. He clamped his mouth shut. He turned his attention back to Jessica.

“I went to the church. I thought, if I can pray there God will tell me what to do. He would give me a sign. And he did. The door was locked, but that boy gave me the key. He showed me where it was kept. All doors were unlocked for me, you see. And there was the lamb – the lamb cut out of the wall and put on the ground for slaughter. I followed the signs. Simple faith. When I went in the next morning, no one saw me. No one stopped me. God blinded them.”

“Shut up!” shouted Jessica.

“Simple faith,” Simon repeated solemnly.

Faith glanced at Jessica. Her face was blank, but her eyes never left the babbling man in the leather chair.

“You know how hard I tried,” he whined, “but it was always the same. Bishop and Mrs Anthony – they’re such saints. The people, Simon; the people. Look at the purity of their faith,” he echoed in a savage sing-song.

He stretched, flicking out his right leg in a nervous tic. The built-up shoe caught on the carpet and jarred.

“And that’s what I got. Polio,” he said, indicating his foot, his eyes fixed on Faith. He tossed his head. “They had their mission; I was just their boy.” He leant forward in his seat towards Jessica. “I came home to find you – just to be with you.” Faith thought he was pathetic.

“You tricked me.” Jessica’s words were crystal clear. “You’re a wicked man; a false, slithering thing.”

Her hands were shaking more. Faith tried to estimate how much pressure the trigger of a gun like that would take to pull. Was it even loaded? Did Jessica know how to fire it? Faith took a step closer. If she could push the barrel out of the way…But what then? What about Simon?

“But I love you…”

Don’t say that! The exclamation reverberated so loudly inside her own head that Faith wondered if she had spoken aloud.

“You don’t love me!” The gun jumped in Jessica’s hands. “Alistair loved me, and you murdered him.” She aimed the gun at his head. Faith heard the click as Jessica cocked the hammer. Her chest fell as she expelled her breath.
So she knows how to fire a gun
.

“Jessica.” Faith was amazed how calm her voice sounded; she wasn’t sure where the calmness came from. “Jessica – isn’t this what he wants?”

Jessica frowned. “Alistair?”

“No. Simon. Look at him.”

“He’s destroyed everything.”

“No. Not yet. He hasn’t destroyed you – not unless you pull that trigger.”

“Don’t!” Jessica cut her off. “He’s damned me. He’s destroyed good men. I’m going to make him pay.”

Faith glanced at the man Jessica regarded as evil sitting at the other end of the gun. He was so ordinary – except his eyes were sparkling and his cheeks were flushed. She felt a surge of revulsion. He’s getting off on this!

“Jessica – Jessica!” She desperately wanted her to hear. She could almost feel the tide of misery sucking them out into a sea of wretchedness. “Don’t let him win. Can’t you see that’s what he wants?”

Jessica’s head turned a fraction towards her, but her eyes were still pinned on Simon Beech. Faith took another step towards her. Another yard and she might be able to reach the gun, as long as she didn’t startle her and set it off by accident.

“Look at him. He wants you to go over the cliff with him. Together.”

Jessica’s expression flickered at the word.

“Yes, together. You kill him and you and he are together. You’ll never be rid of him.”

The sound of distant sirens encroached on her consciousness. Faith ached with the effort it took to concentrate on Jessica’s face while keeping in sight, at the periphery of her vision, the hands holding that gun. She must be getting so tired of holding the gun up like that. Shotguns weren’t light.

“But I want to die,” Jessica whispered. Her finger was wrapped around the trigger.

Simon smiled. Don’t do that! Faith thought crossly. Does he expect to die?

The sirens grew louder.

“Don’t you smile at me!” Jessica shouted. “Do you think this isn’t loaded? Do you think I won’t?”

She cuddled the gun tight against her cheek, and Faith braced herself for the shot. Then Jessica seemed to relax. She lowered the gun to her hip. As Faith exhaled, she saw Jessica’s arm tense.

The sound was physical in the containment of the room. Plaster flew up just to the right above Simon’s head. A picture fell, its glass shattering across the carpet.

So it
is
loaded
, thought Faith, her ears ringing. One barrel to go.

A car – no, more than one car – pulled up outside. Doors slammed one after the other. Faith took a step back to look through the window.

“The police are outside,” she said.

Through the window, she saw Ben and her heart leapt. He was running towards the cottage.

Simon was sitting in the leather chair with a startled expression on his face, his hair and shoulders white with plaster dust.

Jessica’s hands dropped the gun. Faith’s heart dropped with it. She just managed to catch it before it hit the ground. She took a deep breath and broke it open. The second barrel was loaded.

“We don’t want that, do we?” she heard herself say, like some fussy maiden aunt. With an eye on Simon Beech, she put her arm around Jessica. “It’s all right,” she murmured across the top of her silky blonde head. Jessica’s breath was noisy. She could feel it puff, warm against her neck. “You’ll be all right.”

Ben strode through the door, heedless of his own safety. His hand touched Faith’s shoulder and she met his anxious eyes with a small nod. He was followed by a policeman dressed in full flak jacket and protective gear. Faith handed the policeman the open shotgun. She was glad to be rid of its weight. The room filled with uniformed constables. A couple took Jessica away to another room; others helped Simon Beech to his feet. He was shaking but unhurt. The room was too crowded and the smell of cordite was making Faith feel sick. She had to get outside.

Ben followed her out. His jawline was stiff.

“Did you get my message?” she asked him.

“Got a call from Tanzania,” he said.

She took a deep breath. “Celia Beech?”

He nodded, grimly. “What message?” he asked belatedly.

“I thought I’d left a message on Peter’s phone, about Jessica and coming here, but my battery died.”

His expression said everything. She had been an utter fool.

“Right.” The word was heavy with the pressure of his self-control. She braced herself. “What the hell were you thinking of?” The energy in his voice had physical force. She almost recoiled. Her defences sprang into place.

“I was fine,” she said crossly. “It was Jessica.”

“A distraught woman with a loaded shotgun, and a murderer?” he snapped back.

“What? You’d have been any safer than me?”

He frowned and lowered his voice.

“I’m paid for it,” he growled.

He reached out to touch her hand, skin to skin.

“So no damage from that shot blast, then?”

“Some plasterwork’s distressed.’

He rewarded her joke with a lopsided smile. She cleared her throat. She hoped her voice was steady.

“So they found Celia?”

He nodded.

“In a drainage ditch not far from the marital home.”

“So he tried to hide the body.”

Simon Beech had been sane enough to try to cover his tracks.

“We’re assuming it was him?” queried Ben.

“Yes.” She was certain of it. “I think so.”

She betrayed me. She wrote to Mother.

Another police car drew up. Bishop Anthony and Alison got out.

“Damn!” said Ben.

“Yeah.”

Tragedy had driven the last vestige of colour from Alison Beech. She stood watching the constable as he guided her son into the car. Simon Beech was crying, his hands clenched down by his sides. Faith stood alongside his mother feeling wordless and inadequate.