Someone To Save you (33 page)

‘I know,’ Sam agreed. ‘I never stopped missing our friendship.’

Marcus looked surprised. ‘Even though you thought I’d killed Cathy?’

‘I’m not saying I wanted to be your friend, but I did miss our friendship.’

‘And now?’

‘At the moment I can’t think any further than getting Anna back.’

‘Of course.’

‘I’d better go,’ Sam announced, looking once more at the address. A short tube trip and he would be there.

‘Let me come with you,’ Marcus said.

‘No,’ Sam replied, without hesitation.

‘Please, Sam.’

Sam shook his head and got up from the chair, determined to do this alone. ‘I want to do this on my own, Marcus. It’s nothing personal.’

‘Please, Sam, say yes,’ Marcus pleaded. ‘That’s why I came here this morning. I want to help. You need someone to help you with this.’

‘I’m sorry. I’ll let you know what happens.’

Sam turned and walked away, feeling a pang of guilt that he’d shut out Marcus so cruelly. But as much as he did believe that Marcus was innocent, it was still easier not to be around him. Marcus brought back too many bad, hurtful memories. Maybe one day that would change, and things could go back to being the way they were – two friends together, there for each other, nothing in between them.

But today was not that day.

Marcus caught up with Sam just as he’d exited the main doors.

‘Sam, wait a minute.’

Sam stopped and turned around to see Marcus jogging up to him.

‘Sam, why are you doing this?’

‘Doing what?’ Sam said, aware that there were colleagues – nurses mainly – within earshot. He guided Marcus away from the groups who were mingling at the entrance of the hospital.

‘Shutting me out, pushing me away.’

‘I just think it’s best if I go alone. Why can’t you just accept my decision?’

‘Because I need to do this as much as you do.’

‘Need to do what?’

‘I need to redeem myself Sam. I need to put things right.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘I didn’t kill Cathy, but it doesn’t mean that I don’t blame myself for what happened. I left her, Sam, on her own, on those sand dunes.’

‘You said you were drunk, that you didn’t remember anything.’

‘I was drunk, and I don’t remember anything, Sam, but I still left her alone. If I hadn’t drunk so much, I’d never have just walked off, and Cathy would probably be alive today.’

‘You don’t know that.’

‘I do, Sam, I do. And I know you understand. You feel the same. I can see it in your eyes whenever Cathy’s name is mentioned. I can see the guilt. You blame yourself, just like I blame myself.’

‘Cathy was my responsibility on that trip,’ Sam said, feeling the pain of his regret just as much as the day she died. ‘She was my little sister. I’m the one who persuaded my dad to let her go – I promised to look after her. So yes, I do blame myself.’

‘Then we’re both in this for the same reason, Sam. We want to make amends. We want to find the bastard who’s behind all this. We want to do this for Cathy.’

Sam paused, thinking. All these years later, and Marcus still knew how to push the right buttons.

‘Please, Sam, I really need to do this. For Cathy and for myself. Please let me come with you.’

Sam examined Marcus’s face. It was like looking in a mirror. ‘Okay, let’s go.’

Sam and Marcus stood in front of the house, a Georgian terraced property whose painted white bricks contrasted markedly with the natural dark brown of the rest of the row. Sam had expected something run down, reflective of a man in mental torment, but the windows top and bottom were adorned with flowers and it all looked thoroughly presentable. Sam glanced at Marcus, to indicate that now was the time. They hadn’t spoken much during the journey to Hackney; both content to mull over the situation in their own heads. But they had talked briefly of a strategy for approaching Richard Friedman’s sister, Victoria. Both had agreed that it wouldn’t be easy.

Sam stepped forward and knocked three times. It was more than possible that she wouldn’t be at home. But just a few seconds later, someone approached the door.

‘Can I help you?’

The woman, unsmiling, peering at them over half-moon glasses resembled an old-style school headmistress, with silver grey hair tied back in a tight bun that seemed to pull her face taut. She wore a uniform-like outfit of dark blue blouse and skirt.

‘Hi. My name’s Sam Becker.’

There was no discernable emotional reaction, her face remaining serious, business-like even. ‘Victoria Friedman. You’d better come in,’ she said, in impeccable Queen’s English.

Sam and Marcus followed Victoria through the house. The place was immaculate, furnished with antiques including an impressive grandfather clock in the hallway. The burgundy carpet was thick and luxurious.

They reached the living room.

‘Please, do take a seat. Would you like a cup of tea?’

Sam and Marcus both declined as they sat down on the high-backed sofa. It looked like the kind of furniture that usually resided in a stately home with security ropes around it.

‘So,’ she said, as she sat on the chair opposite, ‘how can I help you?’

Sam spoke. They’d agreed that as far as possible, he would do the talking. ‘I wanted to talk to you about your brother.’

‘Well I gathered as much as that,’ she shot back.

‘Specifically about what he said to me about my sister.’

‘That he murdered her?’

Sam nodded.

‘My brother couldn’t have killed your sister,’ she replied. ‘He could never have killed anyone. He was the gentlest man I’ve ever met.’

‘But he said he’d killed my sister, and he had her necklace.’

She didn’t register any surprise. The police had already been through this with her, probably at great length. In fact, Sam was probably repeating the questions that the police had asked her, so it was little wonder if her responses were assured. ‘He wasn’t himself. He didn’t know what he was saying.’

‘But the necklace?’ Sam pressed.

‘I don’t know how he got it,’ she said.

‘And that doesn’t make you suspicious?’

‘It makes me wonder how he got hold of it, but it doesn’t make me think he killed your sister.’

Sam thought of his next question, wondering if there was a better way of getting more useful information from her. She was being defensive, abrasive even, but that might just have been her manner. After all, she hadn’t had to let them in – she would have been well within her rights to say no at the door. But instead she had chosen to engage. ‘How do you think he might have got the necklace?’

She shrugged. ‘He liked to collect things, antiques, like me. Maybe he bought it from a shop.’

‘Or maybe someone gave it to him?’ Sam suggested.

‘Probably not,’ she dismissed.

‘What makes you say that?’

She looked at Marcus. ‘Because Richard didn’t really have any friends, not since Margaret died.’

‘He didn’t have any friends?’

‘He spent most of his time in the house, or at the hospital,’ she said. ‘He used to have friends, before Margaret’s death, but not after. He retreated into his own world, and pushed people away.’

‘You said that Richard was gentle,’ Sam said. ‘But you heard about what he did? How he stole my friend’s phone and threatened us both. He talked about my sister’s murder too.’

Victoria Friedman sucked on her top lip, thinking of an appropriate response. For the first time she looked rattled. It excited him that he might have found a way through. Is this how Paul Cullen felt when interviewing him? And then she was back in control. ‘Richard was a gentle man, but you’ve got to understand that since Margaret’s death, he was not the same person as he was before. He was in his own world. I’m sure he didn’t know what he was doing. I’m sorry for what he did to you and your friend, but I think it was just a cry for help.’

‘Has he lived here ever since the accident?’

She nodded. ‘I asked him to come and live here because I was worried what he might do. He’d started to talk about harming himself. I thought I could save him from the demons, but I couldn’t. Deep down I knew it was going to end like it did. I think he was waiting for justice before ending it.’

Sam leant forward, intrigued by the remark. ‘Justice? What do you mean?’

She blinked several times. ‘Do you know how Richard’s wife was killed?’

Sam nodded. ‘By a hit and run drunk driver.’

‘On a zebra crossing,’ she added. ‘And do you know how many years her killer received?’

Sam shook his head.

‘Seven years,’ she said, blinking through her anger. ‘He could have been out in four. That’s next year. He could have been walking around, free to do whatever he wanted, free to enjoy life to the full. Free to kill again and destroy another family’s life. He wasn’t sorry for what he’d done. He didn’t show the slightest bit of remorse.’

For the first time Marcus spoke. ‘You said he could have been out next year?’

‘Yes,’ she replied, straightening up and tightening her facial muscles. ‘He could have been out. But not now he’s dead.’

37

Sam sat forward, with Marcus doing likewise. ‘Dead? How?’

Victoria shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I know it might sound heartless to you, but I don’t care how he died. I’m just glad that he did die.’

Sam just looked at her. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Marcus glance at him.

She continued, even toned, as if she was talking about some everyday occurrence, rather than a man’s death. ‘I’m not a vengeful woman, but it really was the best thing that could have happened, for everyone. That individual was a danger to us all, and I was happy when I heard the news. I can’t pretend otherwise.’

Sam thought about what she had said. There was a time when he had felt the same way about the man now sitting to his left. He had wished him dead. Not out of revenge, but justice. ‘You said you thought Richard had been waiting for justice. Did this happen recently?’

‘Late last week,’ she replied. ‘Richard got a call from the police to let him know what had happened.’

‘He committed suicide?’

She oozed nonchalance. ‘Like I said, I don’t know how he died, and I don’t care. I didn’t ask Richard for the details, and he didn’t offer me any.’

Sam continued. ‘But you think this is what led to Richard’s death? You think he killed himself because he felt that justice had been done – that this guy wouldn’t walk free?’

‘Yes, I believe he did.’

‘Did Richard say that to you?’

‘No,’ she replied. ‘After he told me the news, he didn’t say anything more about it. I tried to talk to him.’

‘So you’re just surmising that he killed himself because of it.’

‘I suppose I am,’ she said. ‘But I know in my heart of hearts. After the news I saw him change, withdraw even further. He was readying himself for death. And I couldn’t do anything about it.’

‘And you’re happy with that?’

‘If that’s what Richard wanted, then I suppose I have to be.’

Sam didn’t really know what else to say.

‘I can see you’re horrified by what I’m saying here,’ she said. ‘But this is how I feel. My brother had everything before that day; after he had nothing. He died at the same second that Margaret did. His life was over. And if I’m honest with myself, I always knew that really. You lost your sister. Surely you must understand what it’s like.’

‘It’s difficult, yes,’ Sam acknowledged.

‘And did it change you for good?’ she asked.

Sam hesitated, not wanting to talk about this. ‘Yes, it did. But I didn’t die the night my sister was murdered.’

‘Then you’re fortunate,’ she said. ‘But it’s obviously still affecting you greatly. I can see it in your eyes when you talk about her. The wounds are still fresh for you.’

‘No,’ Sam said.

‘I think you’re lying,’ she stated. ‘But it’s none of my business.’

Sam was taken aback by the accusation. Was he really that obvious? Could everyone see it? The way it still hurt, every single day. He let that accusation fade away before turning the conversation back to her. ‘So you’re sure that Richard couldn’t have murdered my sister?’

‘Positive,’ she replied. ‘I’ll tell you just what I told the police. At the time of your sister’s murder, my brother wasn’t even in this country. He was working in India with Margaret, teaching English to children. They were there for about five years in all. Did you know Richard was a teacher, and a fine artist?’

‘I knew he was artistic,’ Sam replied.

‘But did you know how good?’ she said.

‘I saw one of his drawings, in Tate Modern.’

She smiled, evidently pleased that Sam was aware of her brother’s work. ‘And what did you think of it?’