Double Mortice (21 page)

She realised that if she allowed him to gag her, she was finished. She had to communicate with him. She had to get him talking. As he stretched across the bed to fasten the tape over her mouth, she made a superhuman effort to keep her voice steady. ‘You don’t need to do that.’ She spoke as calmly and as confidently as she could. ‘I’m all right now. I’m not going to scream.’ Cramp was seizing the calf muscles in her left leg. She mustn’t let the pain show in her face – he might interpret it as fear. She was in agony as she looked him straight in the eye. How was he was going to react? He stared back at her. She tried not to blink. Before, she’d thought the glaring eyes were those of a maniac. Now they just looked cold and cruel.

‘You promise not to scream?’

‘I promise.’

‘You wouldn’t lie to me?’

‘No.’ She summoned all the willpower she could muster to keep her voice steady. ‘I wouldn’t lie to you.’ He gazed at her in silence for a full minute – to Philippa, it seemed like an eternity – then he crumpled the tape in his fist and dropped it onto the floor. She swallowed hard. At least there was a vestige of hope. Get him talking, her brain screamed at her. Communicate with him.

‘Who are you? Why are you doing this?’ She pressed the sole of her left foot against the bed post and tensed her ankle as best she could to try to control the cramp. Thankfully, the pain was easing.

‘You really don’t know who I am?’ His laughter was muffled by the hood. ‘Well, you might as well know, because it won’t make the slightest bit of difference. You won’t be leaving here alive.’

He tugged the hood from his head.

Charlie Anderson rocked back in his chair and put his feet up on the desk. He lifted up the sheet of paper and studied what he’d written:

Charlie scanned the page several times, his eye finally settling on the first line. ‘Okay, Tony, let’s see what we’ve got here,’ he said. ‘Anne Gibson switches keys. That’s logical enough, she needs access to flat 14 to set up the suicide and murder scams. However, that means that, from then on, she no longer has a key for her own flat – she had to leave her key in Harry Kennedy’s safe when she did the swap. She didn’t order a replacement – Harry would certainly have mentioned if she had.’

‘But she continues to go in and out of her flat during the following week,’ O’Sullivan said, ‘so she must have had a key.’

Harry told me there were only four issued,’ Charlie said. ‘Michael had his – and she’d hardly ask Philippa Scott if she could borrow hers. Ergo, she must have borrowed Paul’s. Funny, he didn’t say anything about that.’

Furrowing his brow, Charlie leaned across his desk and picked up his notebook, thumbing through the pages until he came to the shorthand notes of his interview with Paul in Traquair House. He read them out loud:

Charlie’s eyes flicked back to the top of the page. He drew a circle round the first question and answer:

‘Eureka, Tony! That’s
The Key Question
.’ Charlie slammed his fist into the palm of his hand. ‘Paul Gibson told me that the last time he saw his mother was ‘
a few days before she disappeared
’. That was a lie. He must have seen her on the day she left – and he must have known she was leaving – because she had to give him back his key so he could get into the flat to take care of the cat.’ Charlie allowed himself a wry smile. ‘
The Key Question
. Quite literally. I must remember to include that in the next graduate seminar.’

Charlie’s train of thought was broken by the ring of his phone.

‘Sorry to interrupt you, sir,’ said Pauline. ‘I know you said you weren’t to be disturbed, but there’s a girl on the line who insists she has to talk to you straight away. She says she knows who killed Gordon Parker, but she won’t speak to anyone but you.’

‘Put her through.’

‘Is that Inspector Anderson?’ the hesitant voice was trembling.

‘Yes.’

‘My name’s Maureen Donnelly – Gordon Parker’s girlfriend. I know who did it. I know who killed Gordon.’

‘Where are you calling from, Miss Donnelly?’

‘I’m not saying. If he finds me he’ll kill me too.’

‘Try to stay calm. No one’s going to kill you.’

‘You don’t know what he’s like. He’s insane.’

‘Who’s insane?’

‘Paul,’ she whispered. ‘Paul Gibson.’

Charlie’s fingers tightened around the receiver. ‘What makes you think Paul Gibson killed your boyfriend?’

Maureen’s voice went even quieter. ‘I was with Gordon the night he was murdered.’ Charlie clamped the phone to his ear, straining to make out her words. ‘I’d planned to go out with a girlfriend because Gordon was supposed to be rehearsing with his group in Edinburgh, but he phoned me at the last minute and asked me to meet him at Paul’s flat. He said he’d something important to tell me.

‘When I got there he was on a high. He’d been smoking pot all afternoon. As soon as I walked through the door, he picked me
up and waltzed me round the room. He asked me to marry him. I laughed. I told him he was being ridiculous. I reminded him that we were both stony broke, but he said he was about to come into a lot of money. I didn’t believe him.

‘Then he blurted out the whole story – how he and Paul were going to help Anne Gibson fake her murder and arrange for her husband to find ‘the body’. The idea was to drive Michael Gibson insane so Anne would get control of his estate. Gordon told me he was going to be paid handsomely for his contribution so we could afford to get married.’ Maureen was speeding up, scarcely pausing for breath. ‘I didn’t like the sound of it – I begged him not to get involved. But Gordon laughed it off and said I was being silly. He told me about the ‘murder’ plan – how Paul was going to tie Anne to the bed and pretend to slash her throat, then cover her body in sheep’s blood he’d got from an abattoir.

‘Later, when Sergeant O’Sullivan broke the news to me that Gordon had been murdered, I asked him how he’d died. When he told me he’d been tied up and his throat had been slashed, I knew it had to be Paul who’d killed him. I was terrified he’d suspect that Gordon had told me about the plan and that he’d come after me, so I ran away.’

‘Tell me where you are and I’ll send someone to collect you. We’ll give you protection.’

‘I’m not coming back. I’m not telling anyone where I am. Not until that maniac is locked up.’

‘But Miss Donnelly…’

The phone went dead in Charlie’s hand.

‘Tony, go across to Traquair House straight away and bring in Paul.’

Philippa gasped when he tugged the hood from his head.

‘Paul! What are you playing at?’

‘You really didn’t know, did you? None of them did. They’re all so stupid.’ His eyes glazed over as he stared down at her, his look gaunt and feverish – like a consumptive.

‘Why are you doing this?’

‘To make sure the money comes to me. I’m entitled to it. You’re not.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Paul. You’re not making any sense!’

Laughing inanely, he took a small white pill from his pocket and popped it into his mouth. ‘You know – those are the very words my mother used, just before I slit her throat.’ Philippa gasped and started to struggle violently, straining against the ropes, frantically trying to pull herself free. Paul made no move to stop her. He stood by the side of the bed with a smile quivering on his lips as he watched her thrash about helplessly. ‘You can struggle. You can struggle all you want. But you mustn’t scream. You promised. Remember?’

Philippa exhausted herself within moments, having made no impression on her bonds, succeeding only in tightening the nooses around her wrists and ankles. She lay still – gulping for air. Tears welled up in her eyes but she forced them back. She had to keep him talking. ‘Why did you do that, Paul? Why did you kill your own mother?’

‘You really want to know?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why shouldn’t I tell you?’ His smile was cold and distant. ‘You’ll appreciate it. It’s really neat.’ He sat down on the bed beside her.

‘You know Dad wanted to dump Mum? Of course you do. It was so he could shack up with you, wasn’t it? But there was no way she was ever going to allow that to happen. She was desperately hoping to be able to patch up their marriage. She knew he couldn’t walk out on her because she had a hold over him. When I went round to the flat one day for a coffee, she told me about it. She knew her paragon of a husband had shagged Saoirse when she was underage and she was threatening to spill the beans if he tried to leave her. But despite everything, she wanted him back. Can you believe that? Once you had ditched him, she was hoping they could start over. I couldn’t stomach the idea
of Mum taking him back – you have no idea how much I hate the bastard – so I told her about Carole. That totally freaked her out.’

Paul leaned across to wipe the beads of perspiration from Philippa’s glistening forehead. He smoothed away her hair and ran his fingertips down the side of her face, gently caressing her cheek. She made no attempt to turn her head away. She had no idea who Saoirse and Carole were, but the only thing that mattered right now was to keep him talking.

‘What freaked your Mum out, Paul?’

Paul blinked twice, then carried on rapidly. ‘I hadn’t said a word about it to her in twelve years – not in twelve fucking years! Not to save his miserable skin, of course. Nothing would have given me greater pleasure than to see his face when Mum confronted him with it. But I couldn’t tell her, could I?’ Paul paused.

‘Why couldn’t you tell her, Paul?’ Philippa prompted.

Paul sprang to his feet and strode to the bottom of the bed. ‘I knew she’d be devastated if she found out about Carole.’ He spun back round to face Philippa. ‘But I had to tell her – you can see that, can’t you?’ he shouted. ‘Otherwise she was going to take him back, for fuck’s sake! She broke down in tears. I knew she would. Then she started ranting and raving. ‘How could the bastard have shagged my sister?’ she screamed. There wasn’t any question of patching up the marriage after that, I can tell you!’ Paul chortled.

‘When she eventually calmed down, the only thing on her mind was revenge. And who could blame her, after the way he’d treated her? I needed money desperately – my dealer was threatening to cut off more than my supply if I didn’t pay up. I suddenly thought of an idea. ‘What if we could get him committed, Mum?’ I suggested. ‘That way we could get our hands on all his money. He’s pretty unstable at the best of times. It wouldn’t take too much pressure to push him over the edge.’

‘She thought that was a brilliant idea. Mum came up with the plan of a fake suicide, followed by a fake murder. She had the acting
ability, the make-up expertise and the production skills to make it all happen – and she was confident she could carry it off. She promised me half the money if I helped her with it. She planned everything meticulously. She got her inspiration from a black comedy her amateur dramatic society put on a couple of years back. It was a spoof thriller about a stiff that disappeared mysteriously from inside a locked room. It was called
Rigor Mortice
– get it?’ He chuckled. ‘As she was planning to make her corpse disappear twice, I christened our plan
Double Mortice
. We needed a codename to use when we discussed the arrangements over the phone – you never know who might be listening in. So,
Double Mortice
it was. Phase I for the ‘suicide’, Phase II for the ‘murder’.

‘It was her twisted Catholic logic, you see. Having your husband certified as insane is more acceptable than him leaving you.’ Paul grinned broadly.

‘Having Mum tied to the bed, spread-eagled, for the murder routine was my idea. I knew that would drive him crazy. Oh yes, I knew that all right. Mum didn’t want to go along with that at first. She couldn’t see the point. But she didn’t take a lot of convincing when I reminded her about Carole.’

Paul’s eyes positively sparkled. ‘We started with Phase I – the suicide ploy. What a scheme! Mum nicked the key to flat 14 from the caretaker’s safe, then I went with her and we bought the duplicate bedroom furniture.’

Philippa was getting more confused by the minute. ‘Flat 14’ and ‘duplicate bedroom furniture’ meant nothing to her, but as long as he was talking there was a glimmer of hope. Perhaps someone might find her before it was too late? At all costs, she had to keep him talking.

‘Why did you buy duplicate bedroom furniture?’

Paul continued as if he hadn’t heard the question, rattling on in a world of his own. ‘I ordered the furniture in Gordon Parker’s name so it couldn’t be traced back to me, then I picked the stuff up in my van, a bit at a time, and brought it round here and assembled it in
flat 14 while Dad was at work. Mum went to great lengths to ensure everything looked identical. She ordered a duplicate set of curtains for the bedroom; she had a new number ‘15’ made in gold letters to replace the number ‘14’ on the front door; she even had copies made of the Rennie Mackintosh paintings on the bedroom wall.’

Paul paused to swallow another pill before continuing at high speed. ‘We let Gordon Parker in on the act because we needed his expertise to fix the lift. He was magic with anything electronic. He came round one day and re-wired the control panel. Just like that!’ he shouted, letting out a manic Tommy Cooper chuckle. ‘Gordon showed us how we could switch the lift to stop at floor 14 any time we wanted. He also got a mobile phone jammer on the Internet and set it up for us. With just a flick of a switch we could block all mobile phone communications, in and out of the flat. Good old Gordon. He was desperate to get his hands on enough cash so he and Maureen could get hitched and Mum promised to see him all right as soon as she got control of Dad’s estate.

‘Everything went like a dream. I was hiding in the kitchen, nursing my baseball bat. You don’t know about my bat, do you? That’s it over there.’ He pointed towards it lying on the dressing table. ‘It’s a very special bat – a present from my old man, would you believe?

‘If, by any chance, Dad had gone to the kitchen or the lounge, the game would’ve been up. In that case we were going to switch to plan B. I’d smash him over the head with the baseball bat and we’d tip his body over the bedroom balcony and make it look like suicide.