Complicit (25 page)

‘What?’

‘You forced me to say it. I wasn’t going to.’

‘I killed Hayden?’

‘Yes.’

‘What’s all this about?’ he said. ‘
I
didn’t kill Hayden.’

‘I know you did, Neal. You don’t need to continue with this.’

‘No. No, Bonnie. This is – well, this is just the most –’ He stopped and gave a loud and shocking bark of laughter. ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’

‘Me?’

‘Come on, Bonnie.’

‘I don’t understand,’ I said. ‘What?
What?
’

‘This is just so – Of course you know I didn’t kill Hayden, because of course I know who did.’

‘What?’

‘You heard me.’

‘No. But I don’t – I don’t know what you’re doing. Are you trying to send me mad?’

‘That’s rich, coming from you.’

‘Neal. Stop. Stop now. It’s over. The lying is over, the pretending is over.’

‘Hang on.’ Neal held up a hand to silence me. ‘Just shut up for a moment.’ He stood up and started walking around his room aimlessly, apparently not seeing where he was going. He was like a man I’d once seen climbing out of his car after an accident and reeling across the road, drunk with shock.

‘You really didn’t kill him?’ The force of what he had said hit me. Suddenly it was as if the floor had given way beneath me, and there was nothing to hold on to. I sat down abruptly on the armchair and put a fist against my mouth.

‘Stop,’ he said. ‘Let me think. Why were they interviewing you? What do they have on you?’

‘They don’t have anything on me,’ I said. ‘I mean, not as far as I know. But as I said, they think… I mean, they know I was involved with Hayden. And on that night his car was photographed with a woman in it. So they’re suspicious.’

There was another pause.

‘Just at the moment,’ said Neal, ‘I feel like you and I are two people blundering stupidly around in the dark. I don’t even know what question to ask. But here’s one: what I don’t understand is, how or why did Hayden’s body end up in a reservoir seventy miles north of London?’

‘No. First, I want to get back to the question of killing Hayden. You can tell me. I’m the one person in the world you’re safe with.’

He leaned across and grasped me by the shoulders so that it almost hurt. ‘Listen, Bonnie, and I’ll say it again, loud and clear: I did not kill Hayden.’

‘You must have done. I even saw you walking away.’

‘I did not. Of course not. And you know it, so stop this now. You’re the one person in the world who knows I did not kill Hayden. You’ve got it the wrong way round.’

‘What does that mean? I don’t know what you’re saying.’

‘What does that mean?’ he echoed. His face seemed older and softer; he looked almost stupefied, as if he’d been punched and was still reeling. ‘You have to answer my question.’

‘But why are you even asking it?’ I said, or perhaps I shouted it. ‘Isn’t that what happens with the bodies of people who’ve been murdered? They get dumped in canals and rivers and reservoirs. And sometimes they get found. I’m not the world’s greatest detective, but it seems to me that the only reason you’d be asking that question would be if you’d killed Hayden in his flat and left his body there. In that case you might be quite surprised if the body wasn’t found there.’

‘No,’ said Neal. ‘It’s not the only reason.’

‘I’m not thinking at my clearest,’ I said. ‘I’m thinking at my least clear. So, tell me, what other explanation could there possibly be?’

‘You really want me to tell you.’

‘Jesus, let’s get this over with. Yes.’

‘All right, Bonnie. The charade is over at last. The reason I was surprised when Hayden’s body was found in Langley reservoir is because I saw his dead body lying on the floor of his flat.’

‘You saw it?’

‘Yes.’

‘Of course you saw it! It was you –’

‘
No
. I didn’t kill Hayden.’ He stopped as I made a long, low whimper into my cupped hands. ‘I came and found his body. That’s all.’

‘I don’t understand. You found his body and you didn’t call the police?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I knew you’d done it.’

‘What?’

‘I knew you’d done it.’

‘And how did you know that?’

‘I knew he’d hit you again, and I knew you were going to see him. You told me. I couldn’t bear it any longer. I felt I’d go mad if he got away with it. So I went to see him first to warn him off, to tell him what would happen if he ever touched you again. I mean touched you like
that
. I had a drink first, to get my nerve up – he always rattled me, Hayden, and I was determined to be the one in control that day; I wasn’t going to let him get to me. When I got there, about half an hour after I’d left your flat, the door was open so I walked in. I could see at once what had happened. You’d gone round as soon as we’d all left after that awful rehearsal and you’d got into an argument. Maybe he lashed out at you again. You reached for something, grabbed a bronze ornament, a heavy bronze ornament. One blow would have been enough. It looked to me as if he’d been hit twice. Was the second out of revenge for what he’d done to you? Or was it to finish him off? It sounds terrible, but part of me was pleased. That was my first reaction. I hated him, that’s the honest truth. I even hated him enough to want him dead. He’d stolen you from me and then he’d treated you like dirt and me with – what? Amusement, maybe, as if everything was just a big game. I wanted him dead and there he was, dead. And you’d killed him. Then I started to think. You’d killed him and now you’d have to pay for it, and I didn’t want that. It wasn’t really like a decision, more a realization that this was what I was going to do. I’d make it look more like there’d been a violent scuffle, the kind there would have been if there’d been another man there or a couple of men. I knocked some things over, moved stuff around. Then I went round the flat and took everything I could find that belonged to you. You got your satchel, did you?’

The bag. So it hadn’t been a threat. It was from Neal. To help me. I could only stare at him. ‘But I didn’t kill him.’

He took hold of my forearm in a hard grip. His face looked strange to me, full of shadows and planes. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said. ‘You don’t have to lie to me.’

‘I didn’t. I swear. I thought
you
did.’

‘I wouldn’t blame you, Bonnie. I even thought you were right. Then after, when you looked at me as though you hated me…’

‘I didn’t kill him,’ I said. ‘I was going to see Hayden but I arrived after you did. I found Hayden and I… I guess I found what you’d done.’

Neal looked dazed. ‘So what did you do?’

‘We…’ I stopped myself.

‘Why didn’t you just leave? ‘You’d done it for me,’ I said. ‘It seemed like my fault. I couldn’t just leave you to it.’

‘But I didn’t do it.’

‘I didn’t know that.’

Neal had the expression of someone hearing bad news followed by even worse news, a boxer at the end of a fight being hit and then hit again. ‘Then who did?’ he asked in a whisper. ‘Who did kill him? Oh, fuck.’

‘I don’t know. I don’t know anything any more. Shit, there’s a killer out there. I didn’t think of you as a killer, it was just an accident – but this. This is something else.’

‘Bonnie, Bonnie, Bonnie.’ Neal’s voice was a groan. ‘When the body wasn’t found, I thought I was going completely insane.’ He looked at me. ‘And that was you?’ I didn’t reply. ‘You thought I’d killed him and you wanted to protect me?’

‘I felt responsible.’ I leaned forward and put my hand on his.

‘You protected me, I protected you. Someone’s got away free.’

‘Yeah. I know. But the police are going to think it was me. Or you. Or both of us together.’

He put his head into his hands and rocked to and fro slightly. I could hear him muttering. Finally he looked up. ‘OK, we have to talk about the alibi. I interfered with a crime scene and you did a hell of a lot more than that. I mean, you haven’t killed someone so I guess that’s something, but God knows what laws you’ve broken. And I don’t know how long your plan will hold together. The car, his car, what happened to it?’

‘It was found in Walthamstow.’

‘How did it get to Walthamstow?’

‘I left it there.’

‘What for?’

‘I don’t know – I thought it might confuse things.’

‘What a brilliant idea,’ said Neal.

I don’t think he meant it. We gazed at each other and I had the dizzy sensation that I was looking into a mirror. I heard myself laughing, a snorting giggle that didn’t sound like me. Neal’s face broke into an appalled answering grin, although he had tears in his eyes. I wanted to cry as well but instead this dreadful snickering mirth spilled out. I felt as though I was breaking up with the hilarity and terror of it all, the sheer farcical horror of what we had done.

‘And meanwhile,’ said Neal, ‘there’s someone out there who really did do it and one after the other we covered up for them and now they must be wondering what the hell happened and what they ought to be doing about it.’

‘Yes, that’s true. I hadn’t thought.’

‘So tell me, Bonnie, what do we do now? Have you got another master plan?’

‘Can I try some of that vodka first?’

Before

I put on the Hank Williams CD I’d brought and we sat and drank a glass of the white wine I’d also brought, and Hayden had a smoke, but after the fifth or sixth track about being lonesome or lovesick or divorced or rootless it didn’t seem such a good idea. I asked him if he wanted me to put something else on.

‘What for?’

‘Isn’t it a bit depressing? It’s just song after song of different kinds of misery. My baby done left me and I’m so lonesome I could cry.’

‘If something’s that good,’ said Hayden, ‘it can’t be depressing. He’s the daddy of us all. Forget Dylan and Buddy Holly. Hank was the first great singer-songwriter. He sang about his own experiences. He went out on the road and lived it and then he wrote beautiful songs about it.’

‘And he died when he was about thirty-five,’ I said. ‘Worn out by it.’

‘He was twenty-nine,’ he said. ‘The same age as Shelley. And a better poet.’

‘I always had trouble getting over the tasselled shirts.’

‘He died in the back seat of a car on the way to another gig,’ said Hayden. ‘That’s the way to go.’ He laughed. ‘You don’t believe that. It’s the woman in you. You think it’s sad when someone doesn’t die at three score and ten surrounded by their family and household possessions, with a pension plan and lots of money in the bank.’

‘Don’t pigeonhole me.’

‘But it’s true, isn’t it?’

‘Is it so bad to grow old? Is it so bad to have things?’ I said.

‘You mean the sort of things you argue over when you break up with someone?’

‘You’re drinking wine I bought for you. You’re living in a flat I arranged for you.’

‘You’re trying to provoke me,’ he said, ‘but I won’t be provoked. Not today.’

‘Liza worked for this flat,’ I said. ‘At the end of the summer after she left college she got a job, and after a year she put down a deposit and bought this, and she’s been paying the mortgage ever since.’

‘And your point is?’ said Hayden. He leaned forward and picked up the little metal sculpture on the coffee-table. ‘She probably saw this in a gallery somewhere and paid fifty pounds for it. Or maybe someone gave it to her. And when she’s died some relative will look at it and say, “What the fuck can we do with this?” And it’ll either be a doorstop or it’ll be put on a skip.’

Hayden ground the butt into one of Liza’s ashtrays and then he kissed me, but I pushed him away, if only for a moment. I glanced around the room at the pictures, the ornaments, the books. ‘When I look around this room I see a woman who loved things, who took pleasure in them, even if they weren’t great works of art, even if they’d end up on a skip.’

‘Don’t pretend you’re like that,’ he said. ‘You know you’re better than that.’

‘Better? Better, Hayden? You’d rather die in the back of a car with nothing?’ I said. ‘With nobody to care for you?’

‘Why would there be nobody? Being free isn’t the same as being lonely.’

I knew Hayden took pleasure in me. Sometimes he even adored me, in his fashion. But I was the woman who was there at that moment. There had been others before and there would be others after. A thought occurred to me that I spoke out loud before I had time to stop myself: ‘What if you die in the back of a car and you’re not Hank Williams? Does that make a difference?’

He brought his hand up, the one that was still holding the metal sculpture, and touched my shoulder with it, almost playfully, but not quite. ‘Careful now,’ he said.

After

‘Right. We have to think. I can’t think. My brain isn’t working. It feels like bits have come loose in my head. Nuts and bolts.’

‘That would be the vodka,’ I said, holding up the bottle that was now only half full.

‘No. The vodka makes things clearer. Or slower or something.’

‘I feel a bit distanced from everything myself. Or insulated, maybe. It’s quite a relief, actually. As if I’m standing to one side of my life and looking at it as if it was happening to someone else. Which it isn’t, I know.’

‘We have to think, Bonnie.’

‘Yes. What about? I mean, what shall we think about first?’

‘I have a question.’

‘Another question?’

‘I’m not stupid, you know. I mean, I might be in love with you – don’t look at me like that, you know I am – and I might be a bit drunk and I might be in shock and I might have done something colossally foolish, but I’m still not stupid.’

‘I know you’re not.’

‘Then tell me.’

‘Tell you what?’

‘Who were you with?’

‘What?’

‘Come on, Bonnie. He was a big man. You didn’t get his body into the car and then into the reservoir alone.’

I closed my eyes and tried to sort through the jumble of my thoughts. Could I tell Neal about Sonia, or was that a further betrayal of the person who had helped me so unconditionally? ‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘You mean, you don’t know whether to tell me?’

‘Right.’

‘Someone was with you when you found him?’

‘Not exactly, no.’

‘So you called someone to come and help you?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you don’t want to tell me because – what?’

‘Because it doesn’t feel like my secret to tell. I promised to keep quiet.’

‘It might be a relief to them.’

‘I think this person simply wants to put it behind them,’ I said carefully. I was having trouble getting the pronouns right. Words would betray me, I thought, trip me up and expose me when I wasn’t paying attention to them.

‘Don’t you think that you and I and this person should get together and talk about what we know and what we should say?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t know what I think.’

‘For instance, are we going to the police?’

‘The police?’

‘The police. For God’s sake, someone killed Hayden.’

‘Yes. I’m not forgetting that.’

‘But it wasn’t us.’

‘No.’

‘Now we know that, do you think we should go to the police?’

‘But look at what we’ve done.’

‘We have to think about it, at least.’

‘I am thinking,’ I said. ‘I’m thinking I’ll wake up and this will be a dream.’

‘We can’t even begin to make any decisions about it without this other person. Your third man. Or woman, of course.’

‘They did it for me,’ I said wretchedly. ‘Because I asked them to. How can we go to the police?’

‘How well did you cover your tracks?’

‘I don’t know. I wake up night after night in a cold sweat, remembering things I should have done.’

‘You say they’re suspicious of you already.’

‘I was having sex with him. I lied about that – and a whole lot of other things, of course, but they don’t know about that. Not yet, anyway. What shall we do?’

‘Do you want something to eat?’

‘I don’t know. Am I hungry?’ I put my hand against my belly. I couldn’t remember when I’d last eaten. Days had lost their normal structure, a wheel turning round and round and carrying me along with it, and had broken down into jagged, clockless episodes of fear, guilt, a dazed sense that all the time I’d thought I was running away from everything I was actually running towards it – helter-skelter into the arms of disaster.

‘How about a poached egg on a muffin? That’s one of my stand-bys.’

‘All right.’

I watched him while he cooked, proficient and domestic in a way that Hayden had never been, and I thought of how it could so easily have been different. I could have stayed with Neal and avoided my head-on collision with Hayden. Maybe he would still be dead, but it would be a story that had happened to somebody else, not to me, not to us. We ate in silence, knives and forks scraping against the china, and afterwards Neal made a pot of strong coffee. I drank two mugs, then said, ‘I’ll ring them.’

‘The third person?’

‘Yes.’

Day was turning to night, and Neal’s garden was soft with fading light and the blurred chortle of wood-pigeons.

‘Sonia, I have something to tell you.’ I heard her give a gentle sigh, as if she had been expecting this moment. ‘Neal knows what we did.’

‘Neal!’

‘He doesn’t know you were involved, just that someone was.’

‘What have you gone and done, Bonnie?’ Her voice cracked.

‘It’s hard to explain on the phone. Everything’s changed. Nothing means what I thought it meant. I’d like to see you as soon as possible.’

‘Where are you?’

‘At his house.’

There was a long silence that I didn’t try to break. At last she said, ‘I’m coming over.’

‘He doesn’t have to know it was you.’

‘I’m coming over, she said. Give me his address.’

When I went back, Neal looked up from his chair.

‘Before you say anything,’ he said, ‘there’s something I need to know.’

‘Go on.’

‘Did you love him?’

I replied before I had time to stop myself: ‘I don’t know. But sometimes I miss him so much that I’m not sure how to bear it.’

Before

I followed Hayden up the hill. I could see the muscles in his back working under his thin top. His shoulders were broad and strong. As if he could feel my eyes on him, he turned and his face softened in a slow smile.

People say ‘just sex’. They say just sex, just desire, just a physical thing. I don’t know what that means. Desire ran through me in a stream; sex transformed me and made me feel alive, every nerve in my body singing with the sheer physical joy of it.

I drew level with him. We didn’t touch but the space between us throbbed. My summer days, no before and no after, just now, just him.

After

At first it was awkward, almost embarrassed – as though we couldn’t confront the enormity and folly of what we had done and had retreated into a kind of social formality. Nobody seemed to know how to behave: Neal was solemnly pissed, Sonia was coolly impersonal towards him, and I was concentrating on not breaking into wretched fits of giggles again, although my eyes were stinging and my chest ached.

But there was something strangely comforting about being a threesome. I knew it was dangerous. Perhaps it meant the secret would spread out through the cracks. But for the time being, sitting in Neal’s cosy house, I felt less afraid, as if the fear had been shared out. I looked at them both – Sonia in her grey soft-cotton trousers and a white T-shirt, her face grave and handsome, Neal, sitting with his head propped on his hand and his fingers pushing his dark hair into comical tufts – and thought about what they had both done for me, or in Neal’s case, what he had thought he was doing for me.

When Sonia had arrived, I could almost feel the passion coming off her. It was all the more powerful for being contained. She seemed to pulse with it. ‘Tell me,’ she said, when I met her at the front door.

I took her into the garden because I wanted to be alone with her when I told her. Through the lighted window I could see Neal sitting in the living room. I told Sonia everything, leaving nothing out: the brief fling with Neal, which she half knew about anyway, the affair with Hayden, the violence and obsession of it, my certainty on discovering the body that Neal had done it, and done it for me. It didn’t take long, after all, and when I had finished there was a silence between us.

‘I was protecting you,’ she said at last.

‘I know.’

‘You let me think you’d killed him.’

I didn’t say anything. She was right, after all.

‘You misled me, Bonnie.’

‘I didn’t want to but I couldn’t tell you. You see why, don’t you?’

‘Maybe.’ Her voice was still very controlled. ‘So I did all this for Neal? Who I hardly know?’

‘I’m sorry, Sonia.’

Her face was closed and inscrutable in the half-light.

‘I guess we need to talk,’ I said.

‘You want to go to the police?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said. “ ‘Want” is the wrong word. But maybe it would be for the best, in all ways – for a start, and this is way the most important, they could concentrate on the real killer. We’re in their way. They’re suspicious of me. They know I lied to them. It’s better if I tell them before they discover it for themselves. Better for all of us, I mean. Neither of you needs to be involved. I can just say I found the body and got rid of it because I panicked.’

Sonia shook her head. ‘How are you going to explain doing it all by yourself?’

‘I can say I helped.’ Neal leaned forward in his chair. ‘It’s almost true.’

‘You’re worrying about the lies you’ve already told and now you’re planning more. It’ll never work.’

‘So what do you suggest we do, Sonia?’

She was silent for a long while, her face heavy with thought. ‘Nothing,’ she said at last.

‘Nothing?’

‘I don’t want you to tell the police. You keep finding new ways of getting yourself deeper and deeper into the mess. And me with you.’

‘This wouldn’t be a new way. This would just be the truth. We can’t obstruct their investigation. Someone killed Hayden and they need to find out who.’

‘Yet you didn’t think that when you believed it was Neal.’

‘Because I thought Neal had done it by mistake – and for me,’ I said miserably.

‘It’s complicated,’ she said. ‘And I’m scared.’

I looked at her in consternation: somehow I’d thought Sonia was never scared. She was my rock and I leaned on her, knowing she wouldn’t give way.

‘I’m so sorry about everything,’ I said. ‘I wake up every night feeling as though there’s a great boulder on my chest that’s stopping me breathing. I don’t know if I can bear it much longer.’

‘I don’t want to stop the police finding out who did it, of course I don’t, but I don’t want to go to prison for you either.’

‘You won’t have to.’

‘You can’t know that, Bonnie.’

Neal stood up and went to the window that gave out over his garden. ‘Let’s try and see this from another angle,’ he said. ‘I tampered with the evidence and then you two didn’t just tamper with it, you got rid of it, including the body.’