An Early Grave (31 page)
Authors: Robert McCracken
They shared a taxi back to Latimer. Neither one spoke. Tara’s side below her ribs continued to sting from the knife cuts, and she wanted to get back to her room to rest before the evening reception for the alumni. Emotionally, she was in agony from the ordeal at the hands of Kingsley, but also from the treatment she’d received from Callum. It crossed her mind to run, to clear off and leave these people to their own sorry mess, but part of her wanted still to help the man she’d come to love. What infuriated her most was that every suggestion she’d made to counter the argument that Kingsley was the murderer Callum had put down, dismissed completely. She had been wrong about Kingsley showing up, but she didn’t think she was wrong about Anthony Egerton-Hyde.
*
Callum sat beside her for the five minute journey from the Randolph to Latimer College, trying to figure out what he’d done to offend her. She’d hardly looked in his direction all day. She left the college before he came down to breakfast; she was acerbic during lunch, didn’t eat and persisted with her theory that Anthony was the killer. All this time, she never believed Kingsley was responsible, and had been cock-sure that he wouldn’t turn up in Oxford. He’d been terrified when Ollie told him that Tara had been attacked. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her. Tilly’s death, he had always believed, would effectively kill him one day. Then, when he could sink no deeper in his sad existence, he’d found Tara. He loved her, and at the same time was petrified that last night might be the only occasion they would ever make love together. She’d helped him get his life back and knocked him into shape. With Georgina’s offer of a job, he could be on the road to freedom. But he longed so much to travel that road with Tara beside him. When this was over, and Kingsley given what he deserved, he would ask her to quit the police and move to London with him. She was a beautiful woman with a kind heart; she wasn’t destined for a life that dealt with murder, death, violence and sick in the head people. Now, surely she would spend her life with him.
*
She enjoyed a couple of hours sleep in her room and felt refreshed by a long spell in the shower. She downed a couple of paracetamol and a cup of hot, sweet tea before getting dressed for the evening. When she entered the Meeting Room of the Old Member’s Building in the college, Callum’s mouth dropped open. Several inches taller, by virtue of the fawn shoes Aisling and Kate had trailed her around the stores in Liverpool One to find, she displayed beautifully lean legs in the tights she’d bought in Oxford that morning. What caught the eye of several males in the room, however, was the vision of a slight girl in a purple silk dress, revealing bare shoulders, a banded waist and a skirt falling well short of her knees, the dress that Aisling bought for Tara to spice up her dreary life. The waist of the dress pressed against her wound, but it was bearable.
The Meeting Room, within the Old Member’s building, sat directly behind the buildings that formed the quadrangle. Built in the Nineteenth Century of Bath stone, the Old Member’s building stood on the far side of a tidy lawn. It was accessed by entering the corridor separating the dining hall from the Fellow’s Library and then outside along a path that crossed the garden. The Meeting Room, fully panelled in oak, had an arched wooden-beamed ceiling and a polished floor. It was laid out at one end, close to a huge stone fireplace, with red-cushioned straight-back chairs. Slightly off-centre, an oak lectern awaited the invited speakers for the evening reunion of college alumni. To the right of the main door, stood two long tables neatly stocked with canapés, wines, tea and coffee.
Tara was one of the last to arrive, deliberately so. Whatever way she regarded this evening’s event she couldn’t feel comfortable in attending. Rather than parade herself, which is exactly how she felt in her expensive, staggeringly high shoes and a dress much too extrovert for her tastes, she longed to be home in her flat at Wapping Dock, a light-hearted film on the telly, a bowl of crisps in her lap and a glass of apple juice in her hand. As Callum greeted her, goggle-eyed, she hoped she hadn’t overdone the make-up, but considering the day she had endured, a hefty application was required to conceal the stress lines in her face. If Aisling suddenly swept into the room Tara wondered what she would say. Impressed, she hoped, that she did look well in her little purple number, but disgusted by the dark eye-shadow and liner when tonight jolly tones of silver and mauve were required to set off the frock. With her discomfort peaking, Tara hadn’t devoted any attention to what Callum was thinking of how she looked. His jaw dropping reflex, when she came into the room, made her feel better.
‘Any of our distinguished guests arrived yet?’ she asked him.
‘Ollie and Stephanie are helping themselves to the food and drink.’
They looked across the room to where Ollie was trying his best to hold a flute of sparkling wine in each hand while attempting to eat a spiced prawn wafer.
‘No sign of our guest speakers?’ she asked.
He shook his head. Perhaps it was best if they didn’t show at all. She wondered what Kingsley was planning. There was no doubt in her mind that his appearance in Oxford was designed to coincide with this evening’s gathering. If, as she remained convinced, he was not the killer, then what role was he here to play?
Twenty minutes later, the assembly of Latimer alumni took their seats at the top end of the room. The chairs were arranged four rows deep in an arc around the fireplace. Tara sat next to Callum at one end of the third row, and to the far right of the lectern. Ollie and Stephanie sat one row in front, close to the centre aisle.
The distinguished alumni numbered forty seven, most were mid-thirties to mid-forties, the age when many people begin to dwell a little on bygone days. Settled into careers and lifestyles, they were becoming aware of their own failings and life’s disappointments. They saw, perhaps, carefree times fading in the distance and hoped to savour something to feed their longing and to assist with the ageing process. Some, of course, were present in order to compare notes with old friends, to see who’d done well and who hadn’t quite made a go of things despite the privileged beginning. A few harboured a deep affection for their old college, delight in its buildings, its traditions and its setting within an astounding city of learning. Tara didn’t see anyone she considered younger than her, although, for a moment, she pictured Simon and Louisa attending a similar function at Balliol.
Adrian Cook, a neatly dressed man in is late thirties with dark moussed hair, introduced himself as Communications and Events Manager for the Alumni Association. He welcomed everyone, alumni and guests, to the annual reception then introduced the Alumni Director of Development, Marjorie Sheldon. Tara recognised the woman from her days at college. Her huge mound of silver-grey hair, resembling a powdered pouf of Eighteenth Century France, was difficult to forget once seen. Her gilt-frame glasses perched at the end of a prominent nose, Marjorie Sheldon re-iterated the welcome given by Cook, and spent a few minutes going over the evening’s programme, getting a few plugs for up-coming alumni events and fund raising activities. Finally, she gave a detailed résumé of the career thus far of one of Latimer’s most famous alumna.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, alumni of Latimer, it gives me enormous pleasure to introduce one of the most vibrant women of our times, Georgina Maitland.’
A panelled door to the right of the fireplace opened, and to warm applause, Georgina strode into the Meeting Room. She acknowledged the welcome with a beaming smile, although Tara thought the distortion of facial muscles made her look ten years older. In reality, she was little more than four years older than Tara. The reddish brown hair she’d noticed at their first meeting had grown such that, had it not been curled inwards at the bottom, it would have rested upon her shoulders. It looked perfectly smooth, and it shone beneath the bright candle bulbs of the room’s chandelier. She wore an exquisite metallic silver-blue dress, a slim fit that hung just below her knees. The silver strap-shoes seemed excessively high for a woman so tall, but she walked with confidence to take her place behind the lectern. Her smile remained on show until the applause subsided, and then she dropped her head to examine the few pages of notes she’d brought with her. Before she began, the door behind her opened once again, and Anthony Egerton-Hyde, in a plain dark suit and bright multi-coloured tie, made a less elaborate entrance and took a seat on the front row of chairs. Following him was a girl Tara remembered as Georgina’s PA, the plump Scottish red-head, Katrina. She tip-toed unnecessarily and took a seat between Egerton-Hyde and Marjorie Sheldon.
‘Thank you for joining us, dear,’ Georgina said to her husband. Laughter swept around the room.
For the next forty-five minutes, the gathering of alumni were treated to a well-rehearsed, Tara thought, anecdotal telling of life after Oxford for one Georgina Maitland. She spared the technical details of her world, and was well used, it seemed, at omitting succulent details of her private life, the type of information to flame the jowls of any tabloid journalist. She offered a few light-hearted reflections upon her time at Latimer, dropping in a few names of the fellows, some of who were seated in the audience. Georgina was adept at public speaking and exuded a charm that, as Tara had already discovered through Callum and through her own experience, drew people to like her immensely. She was a driven woman in every aspect of her life. She enjoyed her success and her fame, but Tara wondered if, in her armour of Prada, there might exist one small chink. How far would she go to preserve the life she’d created and nurtured for herself?
Following a round of applause, she concluded her chat by inviting questions from the floor. Marjorie Sheldon made it her objective to be first up, although she disguised her eagerness in the excuse that she was prompting others to participate.
‘Thank you, Georgina for that wonderful account of what must be a truly rewarding and exciting lifestyle. If I may start us off by asking, and I’m sorry to everyone if this sounds a rather dull un-imaginative question, but can you tell us to what extent you have applied your learning acquired at Latimer to forging your successful career?’
The reply consumed another five minutes of the evening, and there followed several more equally enthralling inquiries. One question, posed by a quietly-spoken lady whom, Tara supposed, was of pensionable age, regarded a recipe she had very much enjoyed using for a recent Saturday lunch, had Georgina referring to her latest book. After that Tara decided it was time for her to speak.
‘Georgina,’ she called. Georgina’s eyes widened in recognition, but the smile that came with it was forced and strained.
‘Tara, how nice to see you again. And my close friend, Callum.’
‘I wanted to ask you about something you’ve written in your latest book,
Live
Your
Life
. You mention that a mother, even one with a busy career, should set aside time to be with her young children. You wrote that new-born babies deserve to have their mother around in the early years.’
‘That’s correct, Tara,’ Georgina cut in, then proceeded to quote from her writing. ‘Taking time out from a career is a must. If you can’t provide this level of care then you should reconsider becoming a parent at all.’
‘I agree entirely, but, considering your words, I was wondering if you intend to have children at any stage?’
‘Perhaps you may wish to answer the question, Husband?’ Everyone laughed as Egerton-Hyde played at being in a quandary.
‘I’m happy to make decisions in government,’ he said. ‘But I leave all the really important stuff to my good lady wife.’
There was more laughter, while Georgina scanned the room for the next question. Tara hadn’t finished.
‘Georgina, do you think early motherhood would have hindered or helped a career such as yours?
Any pretence of smiling left her face as Georgina stared coldly at Tara. To many present in the room the question had little significance. Georgina’s failure to reply, strangely, provided answers to a whole set of questions for Tara. Now, she believed she understood what lay behind the mystery of the Latimer alumni and why so many lives had been destroyed.
Marjorie Sheldon rose from her chair and approached the lectern. She seemed to sense that Georgina was feeling some discomfort. The sudden movement in front of her somehow prompted Georgina to attempt an answer to Tara’s question.
‘Who knows, Tara?’ she said, with an undercurrent of disdain. ‘I suppose motherhood is a life experience I don’t feel qualified to discuss beyond what I have stated in the book. If I had been a mother when my career was just beginning I imagine it would have added to my experience and not detracted from it.’
Georgina appeared relieved to have reached the end of her time in front of the audience. Marjorie Sheldon announced tactfully that it was time to introduce the next speaker of the evening. She poured thanks on Georgina, who could only nod her acknowledgment, her gaze lingering on Callum and Tara.
‘It gives me enormous pleasure to introduce the other half of the successful partnership nurtured here at Latimer. Ladies and gentlemen, he is a Member of Parliament, a minister in the Department of Health, devoted husband of Georgina and, of course, an alumnus of this college. Please welcome Anthony Egerton-Hyde.’
During the applause, Anthony Egerton-Hyde stepped forward and kissed his wife on the cheek. But Georgina’s sparkle had deserted her. She looked dazed, pre-occupied, and instead of taking her seat while her husband spoke, she made for the door.
‘What was all that about?’ Callum whispered to Tara. ‘I’ve never seen Georgina act like that before. She didn’t appreciate your questions.’
‘Good. I’m glad.’
‘You don’t like her much, do you?’
‘Not a lot.’
*
Callum felt uneasy about Tara’s attitude. He really needed Tara and Georgina to get along if he was to realise his future plans of working for Georgina and having a permanent relationship with Tara. But first they had to make it through this evening. He waited nervously for the moment he was sure would arrive. Justin Kingsley had come to Oxford for a reason, and Callum was convinced that he was intent upon a showdown with the surviving members of that small group of friends from student days. He was grateful that Tara had instructed him to ensure that everyone would be there. Now he wondered if Georgina would return to the meeting following the awkwardness of the last few minutes. He couldn’t fathom Tara’s motives in asking Georgina obtuse questions about motherhood, when she knew that the Egerton-Hydes had not yet produced children. As he kindled his attention for Anthony’s address, he moved his hand to the left and placed it upon Tara’s.
*
Tara let his hand rest on hers for a few seconds, but was concerned over Georgina’s whereabouts. Tonight was not the time for moving forward in a relationship. She watched the door, eager for Georgina to re-appear. Katrina, her PA, didn’t seem sufficiently concerned to go and check on her employer. Tara, on the other hand, with several conflicting theories swirling in her head about who had murdered who, could no longer settle. She lifted Callum’s hand from hers and gave it back. He glanced at her with disappointment in his eyes. She had no time to offer him explanations.
‘I’m going to check on Georgina,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t let Egerton-Hyde out of your sight.’ She lifted her handbag and was out of her seat before he could reply.
Trying to avoid drawing attention away from Egerton-Hyde at the lectern, she padded as quietly as she could to the back of the room exiting by the main door. Once outside, she turned to her right, making her way along a flagged path to the corner of the Old Member’s Building. There was a small car-park, sufficient for twenty cars and usually reserved for Fellows, the librarian and assistants to the College principal. On this weekend, on a first come first served basis, members of the visiting Latimer alumni had been granted access for their vehicles. Staying close to the wall, remaining within the shadow of the building, she peered around the corner and saw her Ford Focus parked by the boundary wall of the college. It sat flagrantly between a silver Mercedes and a dark coloured Jaguar. Parked, or more accurately, abandoned in the middle of the yard was a black Range Rover, its windows heavily tinted making it impossible to tell if anyone was sitting in the vehicle. Suddenly, appearing by the bonnet of the Range Rover, her back to Tara, was Georgina. She stopped, placed her hand on the wing of the car, one foot supporting her weight and the other touching the ground only by the toe of her shoe. So much for advocating a healthy style of living: good food, exercise and fresh air, a thin cloud of smoke ascended from the cigarette perched between the forefinger and middle finger of her right hand. No doubt she had felt the need for some relief after the uneasy finale to her presentation. Tara didn’t expect to receive a warm reception, but she cared less. She was in the midst of a murder investigation. No time for bruised egos. Besides, if her updated thinking on the matter was correct she was looking at a beautiful, intelligent, successful and utterly charming murderer. She recalled the word she’d read in Tilly’s novel.
Kairos
. This might indeed be the right and opportune moment to challenge her.
Stepping from the shadow, she turned the corner and had taken a couple of steps towards the Range Rover when the figure of a man emerged from behind the Jaguar, parked next to her Focus. Fortunately for her the man stood sideways on to where she had paused in open space, stranded. When he moved towards the Range Rover he had his back to Tara, and she scurried to the relative safety of the darkened corner from where she’d emerged seconds earlier. She watched, as the man’s body seemed to merge with Georgina’s. He spun her around, his hand cupped over her mouth and nose, taking her weight by pulling her tight against him. Exactly the same operation Tara had endured earlier in the day. This time Kingsley was not reacting badly to someone who had been following him; he’d come for Georgina. Or was it pure luck, good for him, bad for her, that it happened to be Georgina? Not Ollie, Anthony or Callum? Had he been waiting specifically for her?
Unsure of what to do, whether to challenge him, call for help or remain in the shadows and witness a murder, she saw Georgina clamber into the Range Rover, followed at close quarters by Kingsley and his knife. She had to do something. She darted from the shadows to the centre of the courtyard.
‘Georgina!’
Georgina saw her, but too late. Kingsley paused for a second, looking Tara’s way. The car door slammed with a deep clunk. The engine burst into life; the headlights pounced upon Tara’s vibrant dress; the car revving loudly as it moved off. She was nearly upon it. She reached for the door handle, but the car swerved for the exit. Her hands touched the door but instantly bounced off as the car straightened and roared to the open gateway. Tara hurried to her Focus, fumbling in her handbag for the keys.
By connecting all the outlandish notions she’d considered over the past few days, she wasn’t really guessing where the Range Rover was going. She knew exactly the place. What was to happen there had still to be decided.
When she’d exited the college into the laneway leading to Merton Street there was no sign of the car, but it didn’t deter her. She hoped she’d got it right and drove for the river. Turning off St. Aldates, immediately before the pub by Folly Bridge, she rolled down an alley which opened into a small residential car park. She saw that Georgina and Kingsley had the same idea, the Range Rover abandoned in the centre of the square. Tara parked close to the wall at the rear of the pub. Before getting out, she pulled her phone from her bag and quickly composed a text message. She hoped that Stephanie, already bored silly with the Alumni meeting, was browsing on her mobile as she had been the first time they met. Tara explained where she was going and told Stephanie to alert Callum and the police.
Gently squeezing the car door closed, she hurried into the darkness under the trees close by the river. She realised it was only fifty yards to the place where she’d spied Kingsley earlier in the day. This also was the spot where she’d told her former lover to fuck off. Right now she needed more of that same courage.
She automatically kept to the path at first, but quickly realised how foolish it was to announce her arrival by the clicking of her heels upon stone. Stepping onto grass beneath the trees, her heels, now silent, sank into the softer ground with every step. Her bare shoulders tingled from the chill in the night air. The cut in her side stung, the pain shortening her breath. Instinct was her only navigation in pitch darkness, while the hum of cars crossing the bridge and music from the pub slashed through the silence. With each pant of breath she thought she would give herself away. The cool air lodged in her throat, the sensation one gets from drinking cold water after sucking a mint. She heard shouting. Kingsley’s voice at first, then Georgina’s.
‘It has to stop, Georgina. No more.’
‘But it can’t. It’s too late. They all know. You told me they all know. I can’t let them live when they have the power, the knowledge, to destroy me.’
Tara heard deep, painful sobs.
‘That’s a pathetic excuse for what you’ve done,’ said Kingsley.
She saw his silhouette against the light cast from a lamp-post on the path beside the river. The blade in his hand sparkled briefly, the one he’d raked across her flesh in the church. She slipped behind the trunk of a sycamore, but peering round still had sight of Kingsley. In daylight, and wearing a purple cocktail dress, she wouldn’t stand a chance. In darkness she hoped to remain undetected until the police and the others arrived. When she peered at the tree under which Kingsley stood, she at last spied the figure of Georgina. On her hands and knees, she crawled around in the dirt like a child in a sand pit.
‘Why have you brought me here, Justin? Are you going to kill me? Is that how you’re going to finish it?’ She looked up at Kingsley, like a destitute slave awaiting her punishment. The bubbling, effervescent Georgina
in
absentia
. She was a mighty tree felled.
‘I wanted to remind you of where it all began,’ said Kingsley. ‘But it ends here, too, Georgina. Tonight.’
