Lovers and Liars (60 page)

He broke off, hesitated, then looked at Pascal. ‘I want you to understand how desperate I was. That July, I tried so hard to persuade Lise to act, but she wouldn’t, she was too afraid. I could see why Hawthorne was undermining her with that rumour campaign, and I was certain it would intensify. I was right. Last September the rumours finally filtered down to a journalist who was prepared to use them - Appleyard. That’s when he started calling up Lise’s doctors in London. When her doctors informed her, Lise knew she had to fight back, and fight back hard. So she and I began to plan. We were careful, but not careful enough. I think Hawthorne probably suspected that she had spoken to me in the summer. I’m sure that’s when he began his surveillance, using Romero and others. There are three of them in London now who used to work for Hawthorne’s father. Check them out some time.’

He took a deep swallow of his whisky, which seemed to steady him. ‘Anyway. As soon as Hawthorne realized what was happening, that he was actually under threat of exposure, he acted fast. He had us both watched all the time. He made that donation, he called in those doctors, and they filled Lise up with Christ knows what

- stimulants, sedatives, tranquillizers. Injections before breakfast, lunch and dinner, injections every night before bed. Pills, capsules; nurses in constant attendance. It was terrifying. I managed to get Lise to see a doctor I knew-2

‘Ah yes/ Pascal said evenly. ‘The one your sister recommended. It was mentioned on the tape you gave Jenkins.’

‘Was it? I don’t recall. He took blood tests. I wanted proof of what they were doing to Lise. He was horrified. I have his name and number - I knew you’d need it. It’s here.’ He took a piece of paper from his jacket pocket, and passed it across. Pascal glanced at it, then put it away without comment.

‘Go on/ he said.

‘Obviously,’ McMullen’s manner became more hesitant now, ‘it affected Lise’s behaviour, that cocktail of drugs. I could see it affecting her as the weeks went by. It made her forgetful. Sometimes I’d talk to her, and she’d be nervous, febrile, very

strung up, talking too fast. At other times, I could hardly get Virough to her at all. I would manage to meet her, and/ his

e contracted, ‘it would be like talking to an automaton. As if e were in a trance. I can’t tell you how appalling that was. But re was nothing I could do. I had to wait. We had to be able prove Hawthorne actually met those women every month, the

he said he did. I thought, maybe, if we could just trace one those women, persuade her to talk, pay her to talk if necessary, t would be enough. But Nicholas Jenkins wouldn’t agree. He

id if we could get that testimony, fine - but it wasn’t enough. came to a court case, and it could, that kind of witness was unreliable; call-girls always went down badly with juries. The ers at the News wouldn’t even pass the story for publication

that basis. There would have to be more. The meetings had be documented, photographed … ‘ He paused, and looked at

1. ‘That’s when he suggested using you.’

allyT Pascal gave him a long, measured look. ‘It was Jenkins o originally suggested my nameT

‘I think so.’ McMullen gave a quick dismissive gesture. ‘I forget exactly who mentioned you first. I knew of your work, in any se. When I was in the Army, I’d seen your war photographs. I’d

ired them. I knew very vaguely of the kind of work you did … I

He broke off. Pascal said nothing more. Gini watched McMullen sely. He had, she thought, just told his first lie. Up until then had been convinced that everything he said he deeply believed

be true. Yet he lied about something minor, almost irrelevant: y?

McMullen looked at his watch again. He rose to his feet, adted the heater, replaced the whisky bottle on its shelf. He ed back to look at them.

‘So,’ he said, in a new brisk way, ‘that brings you virtually up date. I was waiting for Lise to discover the address of the house wthorne intended to use, next time. He said nothing in October,

ing in November. Oh, he discussed the women - what he d to make them do, how he’d selected them, from where-! ‘How did he do thatT Gini asked. She sprang the question, and ullen fixed her again with that slow, blue stare.

‘I thought you might have discovered that. By now.’ ‘Possibly. But I’d like to know your version.’

‘He used agencies, and contacts of his own. He had them send nd photographs. At least, that’s what he told Lise. Neither she

nor I know if that is true. He showed her some pictures once, of some of the girls. He asked her to select one of them for him.’ His voice was ice-cold. ‘That was fairly typical of the way he operated. He hit Lise when she refused.’

‘Did he often do that?’ Pascal asked coolly. ‘Was physical violence often used?’

McMullen flushed scarlet. ‘Yes, it damned well was. Do I have to spell out what he’s put Lise through? It sickens me even to think of it. If you think I’m going to be cross-examined on that sort of detail … I won’t be. It disgusts me. You understandT

‘It isn’t irrelevant,’ Gini said quietly. She glanced at Pascal, who nodded. ‘Neither of us wants to press you on this. But you have to understand, all this is hearsay. All right, maybe that doctor can confirm that Lise was on a regimen of different drugs. But even that, in itself, isn’t conclusive. You must see, the central difficulty here is lack of proof. Lise could have administered those drugs herself, quite willingly. We only have Lise’s word for any of this

- the former infidelities, Hawthorne’s physical and mental cruelty, even the stories of his sexual encounters.’ She paused. ‘We’ve been working on this for just over a week now, and we’ve put together a lot of evidence. But most of what we have is circumstantial. We still have no absolute proof that Hawthorne actually did make monthly appointments with these blondes.’

There was a long silence. McMullen was very angry, she could see, and fighting to control that anger. He gave her a cold, hostile look.

‘I see. You’re calling Lise a liar, in other wordsT

‘No. I’m not calling anyone a liar. I don’t doubt for a moment the sincerity of what you say. But you must surely see-‘

‘No, I do not see,’ he interrupted, his voice rising. ‘You’re here to provide the proof, to document those meetings. That’s your damn job, not mine. Lise can do nothing. She’s a virtual prisoner now. I’m a virtual prisoner. I can’t stay in one place for any length of time. I have to keep moving on. I have a few friends to help me-! He broke off. ‘Like the person you spoke to today. I cannot risk using a telephone. I have to watch my back all the time … I tried to contact you before - you do realize that, do you? Not the postcard I sent - I actually risked coming to your flat late at night.’

‘Three days ago? That was youT

‘Yes. It was. I came to the front of your house. The lights were still on . He hesitated. ‘And there was someone else there

.g around at the rear of the house. I could hear them. I had leave. I’ve tried my damnedest to help you both on this but re’s a limit to what I can do. For Lise’s sake, I have to stay

His voice had now become heated; Pascal slid his next stion in under this angry and indignant tirade.

In that case,’ he said, ‘why come here, so close to Hawthorne’s try home? Isn’t that a little unwise?’

e questions brought McMullen up short. He gave them both rd look. ‘I’m careful. This suits my purposes. I have friends by. Will you excuse me a moment?’ He checked his watch

as he said this, and moved swiftly to the outside door. went out, without further explanation, and closed it behind

silence, Pascal and Gini looked at one another. She said, in voice, ‘Do you believe him, PascalT

scal glanced towards the door. He was listening intently for ds outside. He gave a noncommittal gesture, and said very tly, ‘I’m not sure.’

He’s very volatile.’

‘Yes. And very tense. But that isn’t surprising, in the circumces.’ He frowned. ‘I’d like to know why he’s so anxious about time. What’s he doing out thereT

“God knows. I can’t hear a sound.’

‘I can.’ Pascal raised a finger to his lips. ‘He’s just outside the r now.’ He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘Play it by ear, Gini. know one thing. He hasn’t finished. There’s more.’

en McMullen returned to the room it was at once evident t he had calmed. His manner was now much as it had been en they’d first arrived - brisk, cold and impersonal. He made further pretence of including Gini in any of his remarks. He red her completely, and addressed himself to Pascal.

I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘There was something I had to check. I’ve d time to think, as well. I realize, I should have shown you this once, before I began speaking about Lise.’

He crossed the room, bent, and deftly unlaced the army ruckFrom it, he took out a heavy folder. He straightened, and d directly at Pascal.

‘I should have realized,’ he continued. ‘I value discipline. I’m so d to military discipline that I can forget there are other kinds as Journalists have their own disciplines. You have them. I’ve the results in your case - and as I said, I admire them. 1

saw the pictures you took in the Falklands War, and you captured what it was like out there.’ He paused, and gave an ironic gesture. ‘You’re very good at photographing hells .

Pascal gave him a sharp glance. ‘You served in the Falklands? With the Parachute Regiment?’

‘I’m sure you’ll have already checked that. Not with the Parachute Regiment, no.’

His jaw clenched, and they could both see that any further probings into McMullen’s military career would go unanswered. He opened the folder. ‘Because you’re very good at that,’ he continued, ‘I’d like you to look at these pictures. They were taken in Vietnam twentyfive years ago. Before your time.’

He moved across to the table, and began taking a series of black-and-white photographs from the folder. He laid them neatly down on the table, like playing cards, with as little emotion as if he had been dealing cards. Pascal moved across. Gini halfrose, hesitated, then sat down again in her chair. Both men now had their backs to her.

‘The name of this village was My Nuc,’ McMullen continued in the same flat efficient tone. ‘This is what was left of it after John Hawthorne’s platoon withdrew. Before they arrived, fifty people lived in that village. All of them non-combatants. Most of them were women and children. There were some elderly men. This gives you an indication.’

He continued to slap down pictures on the table. ‘One middleaged woman and one twelve-year-old boy escaped and survived. The other forty-eight were all killed. The village huts were burned. Even the babies were killed. This girl here . He put down another picture.

‘She was the sister of the woman who escaped. Before they did that to her,’ he pointed down at the picture, ‘she was raped fifteen times. Every man in the platoon took his turn. The sergeant was Frank Romero. He found a novel way of holding her down. He drove those pegs through her ankles and her hands. John Hawthorne stood next to her, and watched. He was the senior officer there, he was in command, so I imagine he could have gone first, had he wanted to do so. He didn’t. He chose to go last. When it was over, she was half-dead anyway. You see how dusty the soil is? Well, that’s what they used next. They filled her nose and her mouth with sand then they finished her off with a shot in the back of the neck. While they did that, John Hawthorne watched, the whole time.’

. McMullen moved off a little way. Pascal continued to stare at -Abe photographs. Gini did not move.

‘I know you’ll have witnessed similar obscenities/ McMullen tinued, his voice still flat and quiet. ‘They happen, in war. en they happen, there are disciplinary systems designed to

with them. But in this case, no disciplinary action was taken. re was no court martial, nothing. But that’s not surprising, ause no accusations were ever made. Hawthorne’s platoon was

y air-lifted out from a place three miles away. Those actually ere were the only people who knew what had taken place at Nuc - and as long as they remained silent, they were safe. if evidence was ever discovered on the ground, it could always

blamed on the Vietcong. Originally, there were thirty-two men that platoon, together with one journalist. But they’d been cut and under heavy fire for days. By the time they moved in on Nuc, the journalist was still alive, and so were fifteen other

including Hawthorne and Romero. The last two are still , obviously, and the journalist is too. But would you like to ow what happened to those thirteen others? I’ll tell you. Five them were subsequently killed in action. That left eight. All

ght returned to America in due course, and within a short time their return, every one of them died. Some of them survived a months back home, and a couple of them survived for over

year. But they all died eventually. An automobile accident in uisiana, an overdose in Washington State, one died in a shooting .ent in a gas station, another from a faulty blood transfusion, e drowned. Not a single one of them died from natural causes. ey died in California, Missouri, New Jersey . You can check. their details are in this file.’

He put the folder down on the table next to Pascal.

‘What does that suggest to you? That Hawthorne and Romero both lived - and the rest all died? It suggests to me that Hawthorne $Wd his ever protective father lived up to their reputation for

and that John Hawthorne reaped the benefit. That But this/ he gestured to the photographs, ‘this Otan be proved. Hawthorne’s was the only unit in that area at the

ie.
And the woman and the boy who escaped would testify. ITtey saw this happen. They are still both alive.f

6ascal heard emotion begin to break through in McMullen’s voice.

0e continued to look down at the pictures, which indeed were !,similar to others he had seen in the past, and to others which

he himself had once taken: they were close, very close, to the images which rose up in his dreams. He felt a profound pity for McMullen then, to have nursed and pursued this all these years.