Carruthers' Demise, Final Chapters

Chapter Forty Four

 

 

Casey Jennings stood before them, a serene smile transfixed to her face. ‘Sorry for the unannounced entry – I just hoped and prayed I’d get the chance to be alone with you two – one more time.’

‘Just what is it with you?’ Chelsey yelled; fury swelling her pupils. She was on her feet, striding to confront the intruder, but Carruthers was up too; something in that smile, smug, unnatural, made him step in front of his wife –

‘Oh don’t be so jumpy the two of you – anybody would think you were frightened of me...’

‘No, not frightened,’ Carruthers said, composing and steeling himself, eyes logged on Casey. ‘Perhaps a little unnerved and wary; you’ve not been yourself since...’

‘Since when?’ Casey arched her dark brows.

‘Goldhawk’s death?’ Casey’s right arm had been behind her back but now she drew it forward, settling elbow against midriff, unravelling her hand so that it exposed the small metal object within. ‘Something I found lying around.’

Carruthers gaped, flung out a hand to snatch the pistol but in a single fluent motion Casey swiped the barrel down across his fingers. ‘Not so fast…’ her laugh was fleeting and harsh – her lips became mashed and screwed, and Carruthers, clutching his rapped fingers noticed she wore make-up perhaps for the first time. Smeared on as it was she resembled a clown – and he knew – a dangerous one at that.

‘Get back, both of you – there are things I want to say – from a distance.’

Chelsey forced herself out from behind Carruthers’ shadow and arched forward. ‘I don’t know what the hell’s got into you but if you think I’m...’

‘You’ll do as I say!’ Chelsey felt the force of the pistol in Casey’s backhand blow – the cold steel sending her reeling. Instinctively Carruthers reached out to catch her, hauling her away from Casey’s reach.

‘That’s better,’ she snarled, ‘have the decency to let me speak without interruption.’

Carruthers was forced back on the bed, his arm tight around his wife for fear of retaliation as he glared at the demonic figure who’d once been his friend.

‘Oh, isn’t that touching,’ she snarled. With her free hand she pinched her fingers. ‘I’ll take a mental clip of that – you know, like a camera’s shutter. No don’t spoil it with wasted words...’ she took several steps forward and Carruthers thought of charging her, but the weapon in her hand was unwaveringly steady. ‘Huh – such fools all of you – though I had Adrian wrong. I thought he was an idiot and a waster, never assumed him capable of killing anyone – which I assume he did to Foulkes...’ again the harsh laugh, ‘it sure as hell wasn’t me. But Goldhawk, now he was another matter, that one was attributable to me, well he had it coming – the lecherous and conniving bastard. And that chump Higginbotham tying up the loose ends, wrongly, handily for me. Oh yes, because in the end it’s acted in my favour.

‘From what I saw, in the end I reckon Adrian was unbalanced enough to have killed you Chelsey – and you too Marty my love but that would have spoilt my fun. As it was my knight-in-shining armour arrived in the form of Noades, dear sweet Noades.’

Casey delved into her pocket, her eyes switched from Carruthers to Chelsey – she flung fragments of crumpled paper in front of them, littering the floor – Chelsey’s eyes widened as she realised what they were –

‘My diary!’

‘Ten out of ten for observation. But it won’t win you any prizes, too late for that. Yes the cops attributed the parts found on Goldhawk’s body to you, Marty dear, and to you Chelsey – before finally believing the culprit was Adrian. Not a single one twigged it was me.’ A cold laugh, but she held the gun held menacingly straight. ‘I bided my time you see, I knew what I wanted to do, I followed you to Lyndhurst but I couldn’t believe my luck, dear Marty, when you tore up the M3 with the intention of throttling Goldhawk. Tut, tut, dropping your room keys in the hotel car park like that…’

Chelsey, her gaze unwavering on Casey, took a step forward. ‘What are you going to get out of blasting us to kingdom come? Why are you doing this?’

‘Goldhawk, Chelsey and you Marty. An unholy trinity out to deceive, exploit me and steal my ideas.’

‘What? You’re out of your mind.’

An ironic laugh, with more than a hint of madness barrelled into the air. ‘Perhaps I am, but there’s many a truth revealed in madness...’

‘Alexander was about to abandon me, having made his money and abused my services – in just the way he rejected you, Chelsey. And you Marty – I was so fond of you – but you devoted more time to her than was good – you should have known she mimicked my work. She didn’t have half my talent. But now things have changed – I can write my final chapter – Stapleton’s Demise will become my biggest seller, with a real life edge to it – and guess what Marty my boy – you’re Stapleton. Even the most inept agent or crooked publisher will buy this one, and let’s face it sunshine, they don’t come any more inept than you…’

‘Put the gun down, Casey.’ Carruthers got to his feet, slowly outstretching his hand. ‘I’ll see you get help.’

‘Stay where you are!’ Casey gnashed her teeth. ‘Let me gloat on this moment. I’ve been waiting for the right opportunity – there was a moment in the barn I thought I had you both at my mercy – huh! I even laid eyes on the perfect weapon, there was an iron shovel in the corner – but then Noades showed up and I had to put things on hold. Yeah, that’s right, I hedged my bets. I reckon I’d make a darned good actress. I only pretended I wanted out of the woods. I guessed my chance would come and I’d get the pair of you together. Adrian was my problem, he had the gun – without it I could have taken him – and in any case he didn’t quite fit the script.’ Casey took a step closer. ‘But he did leave me this as a parting gift.’

Chelsey matched her movement. ‘Isn’t the truth really that you courted favour from all and sundry – and when the tide turned you couldn’t cope with it? Give me that blasted thing...’

‘No, Chelsey – no!’ Carruthers yelled, but too late. Chelsey had sprung forward, all lethargy blown away by the adrenaline that flooded her veins. She’d forced Carruthers aside, her hand grasping the weapon’s nozzle, forcing it upward, her height and superior strength too much for Casey to cope with. The gun was levered still higher until Casey’s wrist gave and her enraged screech invaded the air.

‘I’ll have that thank you very much – and you can have this...’ Chelsey’s right fist struck Casey plum on the jaw, the power of the blow sending the dark haired woman crashing to the floor.

There was a commotion in the outside corridor and Chelsey, after casting an assessing glance at her dazed foe threw the weapon to Carruthers. ‘Can I trust you with this?’

Chelsey threw open the door to find Inspector Jack Manners, Higginbotham and a handful of officers racing towards her. She turned, flung out an arm and glared down at the stricken woman. ‘I take it you’re looking for her? A bit late in the day if I might say so. The matter’s been dealt with.’

She afforded them the faintest of smiles. ‘Well you were half-way there, I suppose. At what point did you realise there was more than one villain in the piece?’

It was Higginbotham who spoke, Manners appearing unwilling to do so. ‘The Inspector’s been catching up on his homework,’ he said in a manner which betrayed irritation.

‘Not quickly enough,’ Chelsey cut in, ‘nothing like shutting the stable door after the horse has bolted.’

Manners lowered his head, and for Carruthers, not the greatest admirer of the man, there was some satisfaction that he actually seemed humble. He swallowed. ‘I apologise, Mrs. Carruthers, for getting my sums wrong initially – I failed to take into account Miss Jennings’ history.

‘I came across the details purely by chance; I hadn’t ruled out totally the fact that another party might be involved. I’d been trawling through records for unsolved cases at headquarters in Hounslow and picked up on one from 1988. A young boy drowned in the Grand Union Canal in the area. It was treated as a suspicious death and followed a heated classroom argument between the youngster and a girl by the name of Casey Jennings.’ Manners studied their demeanour, waited for his words to take effect. ‘Yes – none other than...’ he stretched an arm towards the corridor, where Casey was now being escorted away. ‘She was prime suspect; her schoolteacher described her as brilliant but potentially violent. Unfortunately her alibi was substantiated by her mother – chiefly that the girl returned straight from school after being dismissed from class and was indoors by three-thirty when the incident would have taken place. I found one or two other instances involving her - nothing more than minor skirmishes really – but all in all enough to get the cogs grinding. I slept on it, very unsoundly if I might say so – and then, when I obtained a warrant for Miss Jennings’ house I came across her work in progress, Stapleton’s Demise – it all fitted then. I was halfway here before I received the sergeant’s call.’ Manners remorseless grey eyes had yielded to a softer tinge reflecting abject apology as he added, Anyway, we need to get the woman back to the station.  I’ll leave the Sergeant to take your statements – providing you feel up to it...’

‘I just want the whole business over with,’ Chelsey said tiredly. ‘I thought it was until she barged in – I might have known.’

‘Some right hand you’ve got there,’ Manners said ruefully as he left. ‘I sincerely hope you don’t have to use it in that manner again.’

‘I wouldn’t bank on it.’ But Chelsey Carruthers managed a wry smile, rubbing her fist along her husband’s chin.

Manners left for London that night with scarcely a word to Higginbotham. He knew that his explanation had been someway short of the truth and that the Sergeant resented him for that. And although the case was finished he’d been perhaps seconds too late to claim the credit; that hurt him more than anything, never mind what the yokel thought.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Forty Five

 

 

‘So where are you planning on going?’ The question had been on Carruthers’ mind throughout the journey back from the New Forest and he couldn’t hold back any longer.

‘Say again?’ Chelsey, still pale from her ordeal led Carruthers through the door, dropping her case in the hall.

‘Well you were adamant you wanted a break away from me – from everything…’ Carruthers probed, following her as she bustled into the kitchen.

‘Ah, that.’ Chelsey raised her eyes to his, locked onto him. ‘Originally yes, I guess I was so overcome by it all. But while you were driving back at snail’s pace I had a chance to think, to untangle the brain and put the house in order so to speak.’

Carruthers swallowed heavily. ‘Well, don’t leave it there, I’m intrigued.’

‘Yes, I can tell.’ Chelsey took a step forward, pinching his chin between forefinger and thumb, and then turned away, pouring water into the kettle. ‘This little escapade needs writing about – don’t you think?’

Carruthers lowered his jaw, gave a loud exhalation. ‘I don’t follow…’

‘It shouldn’t be too difficult for you. I mean there’s a story waiting to be written here, one with a real-life edge that you don’t get in an everyday novel. So I guess I should be getting on with it.’

‘Chelsey…’ Carruthers clutched his forehead; the drive home may have been at snail’s pace in Chelsey’s opinion but it had also been wearing; by her silence he’d assumed Chelsey had been making preparation for a break without him – permanently, had been his greatest fear. He should be mightily relieved that that didn’t appear to be the case, but – ‘Chelsey,’ he raise a hand to her shoulder, drawing her towards him. ‘That was precisely what Casey was engaged in; no matter how demented she might have been in her reasons for writing it you can’t simply steal her story.’

Chelsey broke from his grasp, poured water into the kettle and then swung back to him, clutching his hands. ‘But that’s the point, it’s my story hon’. No matter what she writes while she’s locked away in her prison cell it won’t compare with mine. It’ll have my edge, my angle – a whole different perspective.’ She pulled him onto tip-toes. ‘So don’t go on about her story. Are you with me or not?’

‘You know I am.’ Carruthers took a strand of his wife’s fair hair, entwined it between his fingers.

‘And you’ll act for me? Find me a publisher who isn’t a rogue or corrupt in any shape or form?’

Fixed on Chelsey’s eyes Carruthers smiled at the mischief in them. ‘That’s another matter; you know I can’t promise you that. And you know that as different and compelling as your tale will no doubt turn out to be, you’ll have to compete with the notoriety that will lend its hand to Casey’s work. She’ll have an unfair advantage…’

Chelsey twisted her lips, the trace of a half-smile but said nothing, simply strolling into the lounge and the mini-bar, selecting two goblets and a bottle of Burgundy. Handing the bottle to him, she said, ‘Then let’s christen my new baby with something stronger.’