Epitaph (28 page)

The last screw was being removed with less haste than the previous five, Paul was certain of that.

Each turn seemed to take an eternity.

He told himself that he must keep calm. If his plan was to work he couldn’t show that he was conscious. They had to think that he was unconscious. That was the only way this would work.

The screwdriver slipped again, gouging into the wood, and Paul heard more curses from beyond the lid of the box.

There couldn’t be long now, he told himself.

The man returned to his task, the screw slowly but surely coming free.

And then there was silence.

It was done, Paul assumed. The lid had been freed. There was nothing more between him and fresh air except an inch of wood that he only needed to push hard to remove. But, for all that, he remained still, motionless, within his cocoon of wood and satin.

He heard more movement. He was aware of someone standing over him.

There was a scraping sound and the lid was moved slightly to one side, Paul could see that much through his half-closed eyes.

He had to fight to control his desire to yell out his delight and relief but he won that battle and he stayed silent and still as the coffin lid was slid further off.

Paul felt fresh air flooding across him and he had to resist the temptation to suck in huge mouthfuls of it for fear of giving himself away. They must not know he was conscious. They must think he was comatose at the very least. He had to make them think they were too late. That they’d played their murderous game for too long.

The coffin lid was eased a little further back and now he could see upwards through his slit-like eyes.

It was dark. The night sky was black and unforgiving. No light flooded the box, just more darkness, but it was blackness he could see through, unlike the horrific blackness that had enveloped him inside the coffin.

‘He’s passed out,’ the man observed, pulling something from his jacket pocket.

He was aware of a figure bending over him and that that figure was trying to wrap something around his head. Paul recognised the smell of washing powder on the material just as he knew that what was being forced on to his head was a pillowcase.

‘No, I want to see his face,’ the woman called from the graveside, and now the feeling Paul had experienced earlier hit him so hard it was as if all the wind had been knocked from him. ‘Don’t cover his face.’

He jerked his eyes open.

He recognised her voice.

All thoughts of plans and all preparation were discarded.

Paul sat bolt upright and grabbed at the man, who took a step back, almost slipping on the wet earth. It was raining and obviously had been for some time. There were several small puddles around the graveside.

‘Watch him,’ the woman shouted and Paul looked up to see that she was standing not six feet above him but less than eighteen inches.

He hadn’t been buried in a proper grave but, rather, placed in a hastily dug shallow hole.

The earth around it had not been packed tight but only tossed loosely on to the coffin lid. This had been no premature burial but merely a hasty act of concealment.

Paul tried to grab the man as he rose from the coffin.

He actually managed to rise to his haunches and beyond, his eyes darting back and forth between the man who stood in the grave with him and the woman who stood to his right.

He locked eyes with her briefly and saw the look of horror on her own face.

Then the man facing him grabbed the shovel and swung it.

The metal blade caught Paul on the side of the head and the impact sent him sprawling. For one terrible moment he thought he was going to black out again but he somehow managed to remain conscious despite the savage blow he’d sustained.

He landed face down on the wet earth but the sensation seemed to revive him and he rolled over on to his
back in time to avoid a second swing of the shovel that missed him by inches and thudded into the earth at the side of the grave.

Paul kicked out and caught the man in the thigh rather than in the groin, as he had intended. However, the blow was enough to make him stagger and the man stumbled slightly as he tried to pull the shovel free to swing it again. But Paul too grabbed for the shaft and gripped it with one bloodied hand.

The other man was stronger and he tugged the shovel free from Paul’s grip.

‘Help me,’ he shouted to the woman, but she was now standing transfixed, watching the struggle but seemingly helpless to intervene.

‘Gina.’

It was Paul who called her name.

He could feel something warm running down the side of his face and realised that the impact of the shovel must have opened a cut just below the hairline, but that seemed unimportant now as he ducked to avoid another blow from what was fast becoming a deadly weapowe.

The woman was looking at him, dumbstruck.

‘Help me,’ Frank Hacket roared again. ‘He’ll get away.

’ He caught Paul in the ribs with a powerful blow that knocked the wind from him and cracked a bone. Sharp pain lanced through his side but he fought on, advancing towards his attacker, launching himself at the man who couldn’t reset himself quickly enough to repel the assault.

Paul slammed into him and knocked him off his feet as the woman screamed.

‘You fucking bastard,’ Paul shouted, pushing his hand
into the man’s face, trying to shove his head into the soft dirt below.

Frank Hacket brought one knee up into Paul’s groin with incredible force and the pain forced him to roll to one side.

He tried to rise but Hacket swung the shovel again and connected with a heavy blow across Paul’s shoulder. The impact knocked him sideways and he slipped in the mud as he tried to get up. Hacket hit him again and, as Paul raised his hand to protect his head, the shovel shattered his left wrist.

White-hot pain enveloped his arm and he fell to his knees, unable to clench his fist, so great was the pain.

‘You murdering bastard,’ Hacket shouted, advancing on him.

‘I never touched your daughter,’ Paul screamed. ‘I swear to God.’

‘You said you killed her,’ Hacket reminded him, his face contorted with rage. ‘You told us everything.’

‘I made it up to get out of that coffin,’ Paul said, trying to back away.

Gina Hacket moved nearer to the two men, her eyes darting back and forth.

‘Paul,’ she murmured.

‘I never touched your daughter, Gina,’ Paul gasped. ‘You know I wouldn’t do something like that. You know me.’

‘But all those things you said,’ she muttered. ‘How could anyone make up things like that unless they’d done them? How could anyone pretend to have feelings like the ones you talked about? You couldn’t lie about everything.’

‘He wasn’t lying,’ Frank snarled. ‘That’s why he’s here now.’

‘I lied about
everything
,’ Paul told them. ‘I used my im agination. Think about it. What information did I give you that you didn’t already know? I asked you questions about what the police told you. I didn’t give you information, I just embellished stuff that you told me. When you asked me something specific I couldn’t tell you. You asked me the colour of her uniform and I couldn’t tell you. If I’d killed her I’d have known that. Think about it. I knew that in your state you’d never realise. I knew that you’d believe me because you wanted to.’

‘You killed my daughter,’ Frank Hacket hissed at Paul. ‘You fucked my wife and you killed my daughter.’ He turned to look at Gina with hatred in his eyes. ‘I should have buried you in that fucking hole with him, you slag.’

‘You knew all the time?’ Gina murmured.

‘About you and him?’ he rasped. ‘Of
course
I knew. I’m not as stupid as you think I am. You’d be surprised at how many times I’ve followed you to that grotty little hotel where he takes you. I’ve waited outside there dozens of times knowing what you two were doing in that room.’

Gina took a step back, her feet sinking in the mud.

Paul was standing motionless, the rain coursing down his face.

Frank held the shovel before him, ready to strike again. It seemed just a question of which one of them he chose to hit first.

‘Why like this?’ Paul wanted to know. ‘If you knew then why go to such lengths to get back at me? Why not just run me down in the street?’

‘You deserved to suffer,’ Frank told him. He glared at Gina. ‘Both of you. I knew that you’d recognise his voice straight away unless I did something to the microphones and speakers inside the coffin. If you’d known you were talking to your boyfriend then you’d never have gone along with this. Why do you think he had a pillowcase covering his head when I brought him out? I couldn’t let you see his face. But to have you talking to him as he died, that was real justice.’ He smiled crookedly.

‘Frank, I’m sorry,’ Gina murmured.

‘Don’t insult my intelligence by apologising,’ he snapped. ‘How many times have I heard your apologies in the past? How many times will I hear them in the future? Keep your apologies, Gina. You don’t mean them anyway.’

‘Did he kill Laura?’ Gina asked, looking at Paul and then at her husband.

‘Of course I didn’t,’ Paul snapped. ‘He wants you to believe that because he wants you to help him kill me.’

‘Shut your mouth,’ Frank rasped. ‘Murderer.’

‘Gina, you’ve got to believe me,’ Paul pleaded. ‘Why would I do that? I’m not a murderer and I’d never hurt a child. I told you what you wanted to hear because I wanted to get out of that coffin. I made it all up. Nothing was true. You should know that.’

‘What about the other things you said?’ Gina enquired. ‘About hurting people? Hurting your girlfriend. Was that true?’

‘You wanted a confession and you got one,’ Paul told her flatly. ‘I’d have said anything to get out. I’d have done anything to get out. Anyone would.’

‘Liar,’ snarled Frank. ‘You told her what happened because that was what you did.’

‘You know that’s not true,’ Paul countered. ‘The only reason you wanted me dead was because I was seeing your wife. It was never anything to do with your daughter’s death.’

‘
Seeing my wife
,’ Frank sneered. ‘I like your choice of words. Very discreet. But, then, I suppose both of you learned to be discreet during your affair.’

‘Frank, please,’ Gina said quietly. ‘You said you wanted it to finish here and it should.’

‘She’s right,’ Paul said. ‘Finish it now. Let me walk away and you’ll never see me or hear of me again. I’ll leave here. I’ll go away.’

‘And you think that will make things better?’ Frank
chided. ‘You think that will stop all the pain that you’ve both inflicted?’

Frank hefted the shovel before him menacingly, his eyes again darting back and forth.

The rain continued to lash down.

Paul wondered if he could turn and run. They didn’t appear to be in a graveyard but on a piece of waste ground. The hole that he’d been lowered into was less than two feet deep, hastily dug and not even properly rectangular in shape. Rain was already collecting at the bottom of it.

‘Gina, tell him I wouldn’t hurt your daughter,’ Paul said tentatively. ‘You know that.’

‘Don’t speak to her,’ Frank snapped. ‘Who are you going to believe, Gina? How many lies has he already told you? What’s he promised you when you’re together? What’s he told you he’ll give you that he never will? He’s a liar, you know that. You know you can’t trust him. Why believe him when he says he didn’t kill Laura?’

‘On my mother’s life,’ Paul said. ‘I don’t even know what your daughter looks like.’

He took a step towards Gina, who looked first at Frank then met Paul’s gaze. Rain was running down her cheeks and Paul suspected that some of it was mixed with tears.

‘He killed her, Gina,’ Frank insisted.

‘I would never hurt anyone,’ Paul told her, moving closer.

‘He’s a liar,’ Frank went on. ‘A stinking liar. How many more of his lies are you going to listen to?’

Gina looked imploringly at Paul, her eyes wide, her lips slightly parted. He took another step towards her.

Frank lifted the shovel a little higher.

‘Why would I do it, Gina?’ Paul asked quietly, some of his words lost beneath the increasingly heavy rain.

She looked blankly at him.

‘He’s lying,’ Frank said. ‘Like he always lies to you. Has he told you he’ll leave his girlfriend and run away with you? I bet he has. I’ll bet he’s even told you he loves you, hasn’t he?’

‘No,’ Gina murmured. ‘He’s never done that.’

‘Because he doesn’t love you and he never will,’ Frank went on. ‘Not the way I do. He wouldn’t forgive you the way I have. He doesn’t want you for anything else except those sweaty afternoons in that filthy hotel.’

Paul took a step nearer to her.

‘He’s crazy,’ Paul said quietly. ‘He’d have to be to bury me the way he did. What kind of man does something like that? He’s insane. Don’t listen to him, Gina.’

‘I did it for you,’ Frank insisted. ‘For Laura.’

Gina sniffed back tears and kept her gaze fixed on Paul, who was now only a foot or so from her.

‘What’s he ever done for you?’ shouted Frank. ‘Nothing except lie. And now he’s lying again.’

Paul looked at Gina and smiled gently.

She was sobbing quietly now.

‘You know it’s not true,’ he told her soothingly.

‘Then tell her the truth, tell her you love her,’ snarled Frank. ‘Go on, tell her.’

Paul put out a hand to touch her face.

It was then that Gina pulled the knife from her jacket pocket.