Chapter Forty Two

Inspector Jack Manners was hitting the pedal as if his life depended on it – at any rate his career certainly did.

He’d been slow, too slow to assess the situation in its entirety. He’d missed some vital pointers; probably because he’d allowed his dislike of Carruthers and the parties involved to cloud his reasoning. Unprofessional, possibly, but unavoidable? Maybe. But then he disliked the literary world in general – particularly the fictional side of things, and the fancy, arty-farty types who resided in it.

Higginbotham had thought the case done and dusted, that they’d found the killer of both Goldhawk and Foulkes, but as Manners realised now, that with Frampton Williams’ death the case had only been partially solved.

Stapleton’s Demise had provided the final, large element of the puzzle. He’d done some delving into an old case, read up on it and then rummaging through Casey Jennings’ home in her absence, had found an incomplete manuscript in her desk.

He’d forced himself to read what he hated most, namely fiction – albeit fleetingly, but the parallel had been there, staring out at him, confirmation of his rising suspicions. It had been a tale written with accentuated bitterness – and with a pounding head he’d drawn the final conclusion.

He’d heard from Higginbotham when he’d been less than twenty miles from the area – and with the country bumpkin sergeant so cocksure he’d solved the case had had to stop him right there. He hadn’t leveled with him on what he knew for sure – that there was a vicious murderess on the loose and that she was about to strike again. To have done so would have endangered any recognition he might receive for solving the case – and that in turn would have meant a closing of the door to any chance he had of that elusive promotion.

No, he’d instructed him to await his arrival in Lyndhurst, gambling that he had sufficient proximity to prevent another fatality – thus enabling him to claim the credit.

Manners exited the motorway, almost shunting a slow moving three wheeler out of the way in his haste.

Less than ten minutes he estimated would see him in Lyndhurst.

Manners couldn’t wait…

Chapter Forty Three

‘I can understand if you don’t want to talk about it ...’ Carruthers swung the Range Rover into the lane and gave a sideways glance. Chelsey, hunched alongside him, her golden hair lank, gave a long exhalation. ‘We’ll get to it in a bit,’ and then with a gradual head movement, ‘thanks for coming after me, but I would have preferred it to have been without Casey’s help.’

‘What was I supposed to have done?’ Carruthers’ voice carried more intensity than he would have wished and he applied more acceleration than he’d intended, needing to break sharply at the bend. ‘I couldn’t leave her at Adrian’s mercy – or lack of it, this business has had an effect on her too, you know Chelsey. Damn it, what happened to turn him from a moron into a monster?’

‘I said later ...’ Chelsey clamped a hand to her forehead. ‘Let me get back to the hotel, get washed and brushed up – maybe sleep a while and then get my thoughts into gear – and then I’ll try to explain what I think caused it. And as for Casey Jennings I don’t want to hear one more damned thing about her.’

Carruthers allowed his eyes to leave the road for a second. ‘Perhaps now this is all over we could manage a proper holiday – give you a chance to clear your head before you do any more scribbling.’

‘Huh – guess I won’t be doing much of that for a while ...’ Chelsey’s hand tightened on her brow, her nails etching tiny indents, then she turned to him sharply – ‘I need time on my own, Martin ...’

Carruthers jerked his head towards her. ‘I see – it’s come down to that, has it? Separate ways ...’

‘I didn’t say that.’ Chelsey slapped a hand on her thigh, stared across at him with heightened severity. ‘It’s the trauma you know, well you wouldn’t know. Nobody could unless they’d been through it. I need time to re-adjust, it’ll take a while.’

‘Where will you go?’ Carruthers asked, letting out a slow breath.

Chelsey shook her head, scratched her scalp, gazed at the raised mound of Bolton’s Bench that marked their arrival back in Lyndhurst – ‘Wherever – but it won’t seem any different to you than when I’m away researching.’

‘So you won’t wash your hands of me completely then?’

‘Chance would be a fine thing ...’ Chelsey twisted her mouth into a semi-smile, raised her eyes as they passed through the hotel archway. ‘It seems a whole lot more than a mere few days since I was last here ...’

Carruthers nodded, he knew the feeling, though perhaps not as acutely as his wife.

He held the passenger door open for Chelsey and then escorted her into the hotel, his arm through hers, supporting her unsteady steps. The receptionist was in the process of relieving the night-porter, her eyes widening in recognition of Chelsey, who gave a quick smile by way of acknowledgement.

Once in their room she made for the bathroom, while Carruthers headed for the window and stared out at the street below. He saw Casey emerge from Higginbotham’s vehicle and after a brief word ascend the hotel’s front steps. He felt a twinge of regret at the way the incidents seemed to have impacted on her and wondered if she’d ever return to her effervescent self. They forged a friendship over the few years they’d known each other. Derived originally out of his becoming her agent, one however, that was also viewed with hostility, he knew, by Chelsey. This hostility had now spilled into the open and he doubted things would ever be the same. But what was worse for him, was not knowing whether his relationship with Chelsey would survive the aftermath of the trauma; they had been on unsound footing for some time before this ugly affair engulfed them with its tentacles.

His musings disintegrated as Chelsey’s voice rang across the room. ‘Right, this is what I think turned Adrian ...’ she slammed the bathroom door and flung herself into a chair opposite Carruthers.

‘I’ll be the first to admit I’ve kept my family affairs close to my chest, not something I’m proud of but sometimes memories prick a little ...’ she watched for Carruthers attentive nod. ‘Right here goes – what you do know is that my parents ran a horticultural business which became quite profitable for them, eventually enabling them to retire to Malta. What I probably haven’t told you is that initially this business was more of a partnership – comprising of both my parents and Adrian’s ...’

Carruthers shook his head, chin resting on the palm of a hand. ‘No – I don’t think you did.’

‘Well, there was some kind of bust-up,’ Chelsey resumed, irritability bringing unevenness to her tone. ‘I was only a kid, don’t forget – I was in a world of my own most of the time – but I remember mother and father took over the reins completely and I think Adrian’s father took to drinking – perhaps he always was a drinker for all I know. Anyway things went downhill and eventually he committed suicide, leaving his mother to look after him.’ Chelsey sighed, dried her hair on the towel she’d left limply on the chair arm. ‘His mother’s health took a turn for the worse however, and it wasn’t long before she was taken into care. Shortly afterwards she died too.’

Chelsey finished towelling her hair, placed an elbow on her knee, her fingers pensively caressing her chin. ‘Once she was in care my parents raised him so they’d carried out their duty, you might say. But I could tell he was alienated, or maybe perhaps they were alienating him. I guess though, that I treated him like a brother from then on, though when I think about it now he was always strangely possessive, I had more than once to stop him going too far – to put our relationship into context, and then he’d become sullen and moody, aggressive at times.’ Chelsey turned her head slowly towards Carruthers, her blue eyes wide and unblinking. ‘And that never really changed – although if anything it got worse. His demands on my time increased, started to affect my work – my writing – I should have ...’

Carruthers reached out for her hand, he could see her eyes beginning to well, but suddenly the door swung open and both heads turned in unison –