The Chemistry of Death (37 page)

I sagged back, but as we passed the staircase I made a lunge for the railings. The chair slewed around and almost spilled me out. Henry staggered, clutching for balance.

'God damn it, David!'

The chair had turned sideways on in the hallway. I held on to the railing, closing my eyes as everything began to spin again. Henry's voice, breathless and irate, floated down to me.

'Let go, David. This isn't doing any good, you know.'

When I opened my eyes again Henry was leaning for support against the wall in front of me, dishevelled and sweating.

'Please, David.' He sounded genuinely pained. 'You're only making this harder for both of us.'

I hung on determinedly. With a sigh he reached into his pocket and brought out a syringe. He held it up so I could see it was full.

'There's enough diamorphine here to drop a horse. I really don't want to have to give you any more. You know as well as I do what'll happen then. But I will if you force me.'

My mind sluggishly processed the information. Diamorphine was a painkiller, a heroin derivative that could cause hallucinations and coma. It had been Harold Shipman's drug of choice, used to send hundreds of his patients into a sleep from which they'd never woken.

And Henry had pumped me full of it.

Pieces of the puzzle were falling into place with terrible clarity. 'You and him... It was... you and Mason...'

Even now part of me expected him to deny it, to somehow offer a reasonable explanation. Instead he considered me for a long moment, then lowered the syringe.

'I'm sorry, David. I never thought it would come to this.'

It was too much to take in. '
Why
, Henry...?'

He gave a crooked smile. 'I'm afraid you don't know me very well at all. You should stick to dead bodies. They're far less complicated than people.'

'What... what're you talking about...?'

The lines of Henry's face deepened into a scowl of contempt. 'You think I've
enjoyed
being a cripple? Being stuck in this hole of a place? Patronized by these... these
cattle
? Thirty years of playing the noble doctor, and for what? Gratitude? They don't know the meaning of the word!'

A spasm of pain crossed his features. Supporting himself on the wall, he made his way stiffly to the old cane chair by the telephone table. He saw me staring as he sank into it with relief.

'You didn't really think I'd give up trying, did you? Always told you I'd prove the specialists wrong.' Out of breath from his exertions, he mopped the sweat from his brow. 'Trust me, it's no fun being helpless. Having your impotence publicly on display. Have you any idea how
demeaning
that is? How soul-destroying? Can you imagine being like you are now, all the time? And then to suddenly find yourself presented with an opportunity to literally, quite
literally
have the power of life or death! To play God!'

He gave me a complicit grin.

'Come on, David, admit it. You're a doctor, you must have felt it sometimes. That little whisper of temptation?'

'You... you
killed
them...!'

He looked slightly put out. 'I never laid a finger on them. That was Mason, not me. I just let him off his leash.'

I wanted to close my eyes and shut all this out. Only the thought of Jenny, of what he might have done to her, prevented me. But as desperate as I was to find out, I was in no state to help either her or myself at the moment. The longer he talked, the more chance I had of the drug wearing off.

'How... how long...?'

'How long have I known about him, you mean?' Henry gave a shrug. 'His grandfather brought him to see me when he was a boy. He liked hurting things, making up little rituals around killing them. Only animals back then, of course. No concept that what he was doing was wrong, none at all. Quite fascinating, really. I offered to keep it quiet and supply tranquillizers to take the edge off his... proclivities, on the condition that I carried on monitoring him. My unofficial project, if you like.'

He raised his hands in mock submission.

'I know, I know, not very ethical. But I told you I'd always wanted to be a psychologist. I would have been a bloody good one, too, but coming here put an end to that. At least Mason was more interesting than arthritis and footrot. And I don't think I did too bad a job, actually. If not for me he'd have gone off the rails years ago.'

Fear for Jenny was tugging at me, but even a slight shift in the chair made the world spin and brought on a queasy wash of nausea. I began tensing the muscles in my arms and legs, trying to will some use back into them.

'Did he kill... kill his grandfather as well...?'

Henry seemed genuinely shocked. 'Good God no! He worshipped the old man! No, that was natural causes. Heart, I expect. But with George dead there was no-one to make sure Mason took his medication. I'd stopped seeing him in a professional sense years ago. Believe it or not, endless accounts of animal mutilations begin to pall after a while. I made sure old George had a supply of tranquillizers, but other than that I'm afraid I rather lost interest. Until he turned up on my doorstep one night and announced he'd got Sally Palmer locked in his father's old workshop.'

He actually chuckled.

'Turned out he'd had a thing about her ever since she hired him and his grandfather a year or two ago. Which wasn't a problem until the tranquillizers wore off and he started feeling his oats again. So he began stalking her. Probably didn't even know what he'd got in mind himself, but then one night her dog saw him and kicked up a fuss. So Mason cut its throat, belted her one to shut her up, and then carted her off.'

He shook his head, almost in admiration. I couldn't believe this was the same man I'd known for years, the man I'd believed was my friend. The gap between who I'd thought he'd been and this twisted thing in front of me was unbridgeable.

'For God's sake, Henry...!'

'Oh, don't look at me like that. It served the stuck-up cow right! Manham's "celebrity", slumming it with the yokels when she wasn't swanning off to London or somewhere. Condescending bitch! Christ, I couldn't look at her without being reminded of Diana!'

The mention of his dead wife threw me. Henry saw my confusion.

'Oh, I don't mean physically,' he said, irritably. 'Diana had far more class, I'll give her that. But they were two of a kind in other ways, believe me. Both arrogant; thought they were better than anyone else. Typical bloody women! They're all the same! Bleed you dry and then laugh at you!'

'But you loved Diana--'

'Diana was a whore!'
he roared. 'A fucking
whore!'

His face was contorted almost beyond recognition. I wondered how I could have missed such a depth of bitterness for so long. Janice had hinted more than once that the marriage hadn't been a happy one, but I'd dismissed it as jealousy.

I'd been wrong.

'I gave everything up for her!' Henry spat. 'You want to know why I became a GP instead of a psychologist? Because she got pregnant, so I had to get a job. And shall I tell you what's really funny? I was in such a hurry I didn't bother finishing my training.'

He seemed to take a perverse pleasure from the confession.

'That's right. I'm not even a qualified doctor. You think I stayed in this shithole of a village from choice? The only reason I chose here in the first place was because the old sot who ran the practice was too addled to check my qualifications.' He gave a bitter laugh. 'Don't think the irony escaped me when I found out you'd been less than honest as well. But the difference between you and me was that once I'd come here I was trapped. I couldn't leave, couldn't walk into another job without risking being found out. You wonder that I hate this place? Manham's my fucking prison!'

He cocked an eyebrow at me, a twisted parody of the Henry I thought I knew.

'And did dear Diana stand by me, do you think? Oh, no! It was all my fault! My fault she miscarried! My fault she couldn't have any more children! My fault she started fucking other men!'

Perhaps it was the drug heightening my senses, but suddenly I knew where this was leading.

'The grave in the woods... The dead student...'

That brought him up short. He looked suddenly tired. 'Christ, when they found him, after all these years...' He shook off the memory. 'Yes, he was one of Diana's. I'd thought I'd been hardened to anything she did by then. But he was different from the usual oafs. Intelligent, good-looking. And so bloody
young.
He'd got his whole life, his whole career in front of him, and what had I got?'

'So you killed him...'

'Not intentionally. I went out to where he was camping, offered him money to leave. But he wouldn't take it. Bloody fool thought it was a real love affair. Of course, I set him right, told him what a round-heeled little bitch Diana really was. We argued. One thing just led to another.'

He gave a shrug, absolving himself of responsibility.

'Everyone assumed he'd just upped sticks and left. Even Diana. Plenty more where he came from, that was her philosophy. Nothing had changed. I was still the village cuckold, a laughing stock. And finally, one night when I was driving us back from a dinner party, I had enough. There was a stone bridge, and instead of turning onto it I put my foot down.'

All the animation he'd been showing seemed to drain out of him. He slumped on the chair, looking old and exhausted.

'Except I lost my nerve. Tried to turn at the last second. Too late, of course. So that was the famous accident. Just another bloody cock-up. And even then Diana got the laugh over me. At least she was killed outright, not left like this!'

He struck himself on the leg.

'Useless! Living in Manham had been bad enough before, but now I looked at all the people here, my
flock,
with their pathetic little lives still intact, all sneering behind my back, and I felt such... such
loathing
! I tell you, David, there were times when I wanted to kill the lot of 'em! Every one! But I didn't have the guts. Any more than I had to kill myself, come to that. And then Mason turned up on my doorstep, like a cat bringing a bird to its owner. My very own golem!'

There was an expression almost of wonderment on his face. He stared across at me with renewed intensity.

'Clay, David, that's what he was. Not an ounce of conscience or thought for consequences. Just waiting for me to mould him, to tell him what to do. Can you imagine what that was like? How bloody
exhilarating
it was? When I stood in that cellar and looked at Sally Palmer, I felt powerful! For the first time in years I didn't feel like a pathetic cripple. I looked at this woman who'd always been so patronizing and arrogant, crying and covered in blood and snot, and I felt
strong
!'

His eyes shone with an unholy light. But for all the madness of his actions, they were terrifyingly sane.

'I knew here was my chance. Not just to hit back at Manham, but to debase, to exorcize Diana's memory as well! She'd always prided herself on her dancing, so I gave Mason her wedding dress and the music box I'd bought her on our honeymoon. God, I hated that thing! I'd hear it playing "Clair de Lune" over and over while she got ready to meet whoever she happened to be fucking that day. So I told Mason to make the Palmer woman wear the dress, and then wait outside. And I went down there and watched her dance, so scared she could barely move. Watched her
humiliated!
That was all, but I can't tell you how cathartic it was! It almost didn't matter that it wasn't Diana herself!'

'You're sick, Henry... You need help...'

'Oh, don't be so bloody pious!' he snapped. 'Mason was going to kill her anyway. And once he'd blooded himself do you really think he was going to stop? If it's any consolation, at least he didn't rape them. He liked to look but daren't touch. I'm not saying he wouldn't have got round to it eventually, but in an odd way he was almost afraid of women.' The thought seemed to amuse him. 'Ironic, really.'

'He
tortured
them!' I shouted.

Henry shrugged, but he wouldn't meet my gaze. 'The worst of it happened after they were dead. The swan wings, the baby rabbits...' He gave a grimace of distaste. 'All part of Mason's ritual thing again. Even the wedding dress became part of it for him. After he'd done something once, it was set in stone. You know the only reason he kept them alive for three days? Because that's when he killed the first one. Lost his temper when she tried to escape, otherwise it could just as easily have been four or five.'

So that was why Sally Palmer had been beaten but Lyn Metcalf hadn't. Not out of any attempt to conceal her identity. Just the temper tantrum of a madman.

I gripped the arms of the chair as I remembered Henry's advice to me before the police raid on the windmill.
Don't you think you ought to prepare yourself?
He knew they were going to the wrong place, knew what was going to happen to Jenny. If I could have, I would have killed him there and then.

'Why Jenny?' I croaked. 'Why her?'

He tried for insouciance, but didn't make it. 'The same reason as Lyn Metcalf. She just caught Mason's eye.'

'Liar!'

'All right, I felt
betrayed
!' he yelled. 'I thought of you like a son! You were the only decent thing about this entire rotten fucking place, and then you met her! I knew it was only a matter of time before you left, started a new life. It made me feel so bloody
old
! And then when you told me you'd been helping the police, sneaking around behind my back, I just... just...'

He broke off. Slowly, so as not to alert him, I tried to shift my position in the wheelchair, trying to ignore the way it made the room swoop and tilt around me.

'I never wanted you hurt though, David,' he insisted. 'The night when Mason came round for more chloroform, the "burglary"? I was there in the study when you almost walked in, but I swear I didn't know he'd tried to cut you. Not until I saw you afterwards, when you thought I was just coming down the hallway. And the next morning, when you found me trying to get into the dinghy?'