The Drowning Ground (34 page)

‘And he's waived his right to counsel,' I said. ‘He says he doesn't need it and is demanding to know what all this is about.'

‘But he ran.'

‘I know. But he says he didn't hear the doorbell and had decided to let the dog out in the garden and was following it around to make sure it didn't get through into the neighbour's garden.' I pushed myself off the wall and shook my head. ‘And what about the night Nancy was killed?'

‘She said she went out and didn't come back until later. Victor was out when she came back in. Around 7.00. Or 7.30. When she asked him where he had been, he said he'd been for a drive over to Evesham, where he'd bought a paper and a few other bits and pieces. Then driven around for a while. Again, he seemed perfectly calm. She could be covering for him, but that's what she says. She seems totally baffled by the whole thing.'

Graves took a step forward. ‘It was his dog, though, wasn't it, sir?' he said. ‘That big old dog of his gave him away. It had to be someone with a dog, and who didn't live too far from Meon Hill. And we knew it had to be someone who knew Hurst was up there and who knew him. Someone who came back later.'

‘Yes,' I said. ‘That, and the stuff he left out. When I talked to him about Rebecca and her stepmother, he said they got along fine. But that's not what I heard when I talked to Hurst's foreman from the farm, and it's not the impression I got from that picture I showed you. So why would he lie about something like that if it wasn't important? It didn't make sense unless he had something to hide.'

‘But it's more than that, isn't it?' Graves said.

‘Yes, Lang was the only one who knew. He was the only one who spent a lot of time with her on his own and could have seen what Rebecca was because of his job.' I looked at Graves. ‘I suppose you have a good idea of what that is now?'

Graves was silent for a moment. ‘Yes. I think so. And Lang saw it too?'

I nodded. ‘Well, if he clams up now, we're going to have a hell of a time proving any of it. There were no fingerprints on the pitchfork. So he probably wore gloves. And I've just been talking to Irwin and he says that the calls to Nancy's phone were all made from a call-box in Chipping Norton right in the town centre. Anyone could have made them. And, when it comes to Rebecca, we're talking about stuff that happened years ago. We don't even know when or how she died. And we still don't know how long she'd been down there and we probably never will unless he tells us.'

I started walking along the corridor. ‘We're going to have to throw him off balance somehow,' I said. ‘I've been thinking. There's one thing he had to leave completely to chance. He met Nancy in Cheltenham because of the diary. He wanted it because he knew something was in there that put him in the frame. So he arranged to meet her in a café and then followed her when she got fed up with waiting. Or he knew that she was leaving by train and banked on her taking the shortcut. So he's got the diary hidden somewhere or he's destroyed it. He killed Nancy because he couldn't take the chance that she wouldn't tell anyone, or because she would undoubtedly ask him for more money, or because she'd go to the police with it.'

‘Yes, sir,' Graves said quickly. ‘But how did he know that Nancy didn't make a copy, or have some kind of backup plan if things went wrong? There was no way he could have known for sure.'

‘No. None whatsoever.'

‘And he only had her word for it. The word of a blackmailer,' Graves said.

I nodded. ‘Look, we're probably going to get one crack at this, so let's do it now, before he changes his mind and starts screaming for his lawyer.'

We stepped inside the interview room. I had hoped that Lang would have been sickened by what he had done. But he hadn't given up just yet.

‘I want to see my wife,' he said. ‘What do you think you're doing, bringing us here at this time of night? What's this all about?'

‘You know why you're here, Lang,' Graves said wearily.

Lang looked away from him and at me. He had insisted that we let him change. And now he was wearing a dark well-worn suit and a striped cotton shirt. He sat straight in his chair with his hands in his lap.

Graves switched on the tape recorder at his side. The cassette made a click. For a moment I paused, thinking. Then I leant back in my chair, giving Lang plenty of room.

‘So,' I said finally, ‘perhaps it would be best if we started with Frank Hurst's daughter – Rebecca. Rebecca Hurst. Let's go over what I think I know, and we'll go on from there. All right with you, Lang?'

‘Rebecca? I've already told you everything I know about her. You've dragged me all the way out here just to talk about Rebecca. Is that what this is all about?'

‘You began to treat Rebecca when she was quite young, that's what you told me when I went to your house. She became one of your patients.'

‘Yes,' Lang said. ‘That's right. I've already told you that.'

‘And this treatment started at her home when she was fourteen or fifteen and then continued after her father sent her to boarding school. Is that right?'

‘Yes.'

‘And initially you thought she was suffering from posttraumatic stress because of the incident at the pond. She nearly died and watched two of her friends go under the ice and drown, and it resulted in bad dreams and negative behaviour.'

‘Well, it was a bit more complicated than that. But, put simply, yes,' Lang said.

‘But,' I said, ‘it was something else. It wasn't what had happened to her on the pond at all. But you didn't see it straightaway. And when I phoned you and told you that I was going to get a court order so you could talk about Rebecca, you had already made up your mind that you were going to lie. You told me that you hadn't had the opportunity to reach another conclusion. But at some point you must have realized that you'd made a mistake – a serious mistake in your assessment of her?'

‘I don't know what you're talking about,' Lang said. ‘I didn't lie to you. Why on earth would I lie about a patient I hadn't seen in years? I already told you what was wrong with Rebecca. What do you mean another diagnosis?'

‘Was it when you saw her at home or later, when she went away to school? Was it something you saw? Something she told you during one of her sessions?'

Lang paused. He was still sitting rigidly in his chair. ‘Listen. There was nothing wrong with Rebecca. She was having some bad dreams. And she could be a bit destructive around the house, when she felt like it. She acted up sometimes. But that was all. I treated her, and she was making good progress. I told you that when you came to see me. The bad dreams were simply a response to a deep-seated trauma. I was very happy with the way she was progressing. Frank was too. And Sarah.'

‘So you're saying that you cured her?'

‘Cured her? Well, to the extent that that's possible, yes.'

‘And there was nothing wrong with her? Beyond that? That's what you're saying? Rebecca was simply a normal teenage girl when you met her.'

‘Yes.'

I motioned to Graves.

‘All right, tell us about two nights ago,' Graves said. ‘Your wife just told me that when she arrived back from work, you weren't there. You arrived late. And when she asked you where you'd been, you told her that you'd been for a drive.'

‘Yes, that's right.'

‘Did you see anyone when you were driving? Stop off at a pub? Anyone who can verify your story? Stop off for petrol somewhere? Where did you go?'

Lang paused. ‘I had had a long day with my patients and needed some fresh air. I went for a long drive and stopped off in Evesham and wandered around for a while. I went to a shop and bought a few things. Drove around for a while. Then I went home.'

‘And when was that?'

‘I don't know. Around 10.00.'

‘So quite late in the evening,' I said. ‘And Evesham's on the way home – on the way back from Cheltenham.'

Lang shrugged. ‘I suppose so, yes. So what?'

‘So how long were you gone, would you say?' Graves said.

‘Not long. Half an hour. An hour maybe.'

‘And when you came back your wife was at home, waiting for you?'

‘Yes, I think so, yes. If that's what she says, then yes.'

‘And what about the day Frank Hurst died?' Graves said. ‘Your wife told you he was on that hill, didn't she? She came back and described a man to you. She said she had seen a man up there, and he'd been staring at her and she didn't like it. You knew who it was, though. You knew it was Frank Hurst.'

‘Well, no. Not straightaway. It was only afterwards, when I heard what had happened to him, that I assumed she must have been talking about Frank.

‘I had no idea it was him at the time. I hadn't had any contact with him for years. Hadn't even thought of him until this all started. Look, I've asked you once already – what's this all about?'

‘All right, Lang,' I said. ‘Why don't you drop the act and think about where you are for a minute? How do you think we got to you so quickly? Aren't you wondering how we knew? Aren't you wondering why we've got your wife in an interrogation room right now? You must have known this could happen. That's why you ran just now when we came knocking on your door and made a fool of yourself.'

‘But I told you I was –'

‘Shut up, Lang,' Graves said.

‘And that's what you were looking so worried about when you were sitting in your kitchen,' I said, ‘and you didn't know anyone else was there. You must have known that this was a possibility. Nancy has been dead for less than forty-eight hours, and now here you are, sitting in a police station.'

‘I'm sorry. Nancy. Nancy who? Who are you talking about?'

‘Hurst's housekeeper,' Graves snapped. ‘The one you beat to death and left lying in that back alley in Cheltenham. You know dammed well who she was.'

‘What? I haven't been to Cheltenham for ages. I'm sorry, I do remember that Hurst had a housekeeper, but how am I supposed to remember her name? I didn't even know her, let alone that she'd been killed. What am I doing here?' Lang moved forward in his chair. ‘What are you charging me with? I think I need to speak to someone. I've changed my mind. I want to call my lawyer. I want him here right now.'

‘Lang,' I said, ‘you honestly don't think Nancy was that stupid, do you? You must have thought that she might have made a copy in case something happened to her.'

Lang tensed and then immediately tried to hide it. ‘Copy,' he said. ‘A copy of what?'

‘It was a risk you had to take,' I said. ‘But there was no way you could have known for sure that she didn't make a copy. A copy of Rebecca's diary.'

‘We found it this afternoon, Lang,' Graves said. ‘We had someone check her place in Brighton. She sent a copy to her own address. And it was still lying there on the doorstep. And she left another copy for safekeeping with her sister in case anything happened to her. She was going to milk you for every single penny you had, Lang.'

Lang closed his eyes. For a moment I thought that the whole thing had backfired. That he knew something that we didn't, and that he was going to insist again that we should get his lawyer. But then suddenly his entire expression changed. He looked far less indignant. The muscles in his face became less tight. In fact he looked almost relieved that it was all over. I had seen this many times before, but never quite as strongly as I saw it in Lang.

‘She kept copies?' he said quietly.

‘Yes,' Graves said. ‘Every page. Photocopied and in two files. Rebecca's handwriting.'

Lang looked up. ‘I'd like a glass of water, please.'

I nodded. Graves went out of the room and came back with a plastic cup. Lang took a large gulp.

Both of us waited and watched him, neither of us daring to say a word. Incredibly, Lang managed a half-laugh and I knew right then that it was over. ‘That damned diary,' he said. ‘It was about the only bloody thing I told Rebecca to do that she actually went ahead and did. Ever. In everything else she just ignored me. But that diary … So Nancy kept a copy, then?'

I nodded and, without giving him time to think, said, almost sympathetically, ‘Must have been a bit of a shock. When you found out that Nancy had it. Nancy had found it when she was cleaning Rebecca's room. She had it with her when you were supposed to meet her in Cheltenham. You took the chance that she would have it with her and that you could trust her. Am I right?'

‘Well, I couldn't take the chance she'd tell.'

‘So what happened?'

‘You already know, I suppose,' Lang said. ‘If you've read the diary you know everything already.'

I nodded. ‘We know. But I want to hear it from you. You got a call from Nancy. Or she came to see you, right?'

Lang took a deep breath. After another long moment he seemed to make up his mind. He took off his glasses, looked at his own reflection briefly in the lenses and then said, ‘All right. Yes. She came to see me one afternoon. After Hurst's funeral. She told me she had the diary.'

‘And she wanted cash for it?'

‘Yes.'

‘How much?'

‘Twenty thousand pounds. I told her it would take me some time to get that.'

‘And she hadn't read it before? It was only after Hurst was murdered that she read it?'

‘Yes, she thought there might have been something in it.'

‘She found it in Rebecca's room?'

Lang nodded. ‘Yes. Rebecca had hidden it behind some old tiles in the bathroom. And one day, when Nancy was cleaning, it fell out.'

‘So she took the diary and the money but forgot about the diary?'

‘Yes. She told me that she put the diary in an old bookcase and forgot all about it.'

‘Until she heard about what happened to Hurst?'