Want You Dead (32 page)

‘Mama?’

She silenced him with a raised finger. Then stood still, shaking, listening.

‘I will not cease, from mental fight, nor shall my sword sleep in my hand, till we have built Jerusalem in England’s green and pleasant land.’

She sniffed, tears streaming down her face. Hans-Jürgen was always spouting meaningful quotations at her. There was one, his favourite, that was resonating now.

For all of us, life is a series of journeys, and at the end of each journey, we arrive back at the place we started from, and know it for the first time.

This was her, now. Here in the church. Listening to the dying sound of the organ, and the echo of their wedding hymn. Realizing just how much she loved this man standing at the altar, and had always loved him.

Knowing it for the first time.

And time was running out.

She had to stop this.

She took a deep breath, then another.

Roy looked so calm, standing so upright, so confident. Was this how the congregation had seen him on their own wedding day? Had he been such an assured man then?

Father Martin began speaking. ‘In the presence of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, we have come together to witness the marriage of Roy and Cleo, to pray for God’s blessing on them, to share their joy and to celebrate their love.’

‘Mama, who are they?’

She squeezed his hand and raised a silencing finger again in front of her veiled lips.

‘Marriage is a gift of God in creation through which husband and wife may know the grace of God. It is given that as man and woman grow together in love and trust, they shall be united with one another in heart, body and mind, as Christ is united with his bride, the Church.’

She had to stop this. Somehow, she had to find the strength to do it. This was what she had come to do.

‘The gift of marriage brings husband and wife together in the delight and tenderness of sexual union.’

She let out a soft weeping sound.

‘Mama?’ Her son looked at her, alarmed, squeezing her hand tightly with his own tiny one.

‘And joyful commitment to the end of their lives. It is given as the foundation of family life in which children are born and nurtured and in which each member of the family, in good times and bad, may find strength, companionship and comfort, and grow to maturity in love.’

More words went over her head as she realized she had never before considered Roy making love to another woman. Doing the same things that he had done to her. He’d been an incredible lover. Always considerate, always determined to pleasure her fully before himself. None of the handful of sexual relationships she had had since had come close. And now, tonight, he would be going to a hotel room, somewhere, and would make love to this blonde stranger, and no doubt do all the things to her they had done. And tell her they were soulmates. And not think for one damned second about her. About all they had once been and once had.

Unless she intervened.

The moment was getting ever closer. Less than a minute or so away. Father Martin continued intoning.

‘Roy and Cleo are now to enter this way of life. They will each give their consent to the other and make solemn vows, and in token of this they will each give and receive a ring.’

Sandy twisted the wedding ring that Roy had put on her finger nearly two decades ago.

‘We pray with them that the Holy Spirit will guide and strengthen them, that they may fulfil God’s purposes for the whole of their earthly life together.’

She took a deep breath. Now. Her moment. Her moment in the sunshine. The chance to change her life. To go back to how it all was. She took another breath. She had it all prepared.

He’s already married. To me.

Father Martin said, loudly, ‘First, I am required to ask anyone present who knows a reason why these persons may not lawfully marry to declare it now.’

Suddenly, Roy Grace turned and looked back down the aisle, staring at her. Staring straight through the veil into her eyes.

She froze.

He turned back to face the altar.

Her legs turned to jelly. She thought for an instant she was going to throw up. Had he seen her? Did he know she was here? How? It wasn’t possible. She had made this journey to stop the wedding, but she couldn’t do it. She didn’t have the strength. Her mind was a vortex of confusion.

‘The vows you are about to take are made in the presence of God, who is judge of all and knows all the secrets of our hearts.’

Sandy gripped her son’s hand hard, and dragged him, half running, out of the church and out into the sunlit afternoon.

‘Mama!’ he protested.

Behind her, she heard the words, ‘Therefore if either of you knows a reason why you may not lawfully marry, you must declare it now.’

She stopped to listen. Hoping. Half hoping.

‘Mama?’

‘Ssshhhh!’

‘Roy, will you take Cleo to be your wife? Will you love her, comfort her, honour and protect her, and, forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?’

Sandy stood still. The silence seemed eternal. Then she heard the whispered words she dreaded. Faint, but distinct enough. Like the whisper of a ghost.

‘I will.’

Dragging her son by his hand again, she ran, stumbling, blinded by her tears, down the church path to the road, and back up the hill towards where she had parked her rental car.

81

Saturday, 2 November

It really did feel as if God had planted this tree just for him. This massive oak, with its dense golden and red autumn foliage, and a supportive frame around the base, which had made climbing up onto the first branch a doddle.

Bryce Laurent had been here since before dawn had broken this morning, dressed in waterproof camouflage fatigues, thermal underwear and a balaclava. He had found a comfortable, secure perch, and he’d only needed to break a couple of small branches in front of him to give him a clear line of sight of the church porch. And a clear shot.

In his rucksack he carried a dry-cleaner’s suit bag, a flask of coffee, sandwiches, a Mars Bar and a bottle to urinate in. He had already drunk most of the coffee and eaten over half his rations, and he felt happy. It had all worked out so well, and he knew he was totally invisible up here – unlike everyone in front of him, who he could see clearly. Such as the woman with the small boy coming out of the church now, well before the service was over.

Who was she? Had she gone to the wrong church? She didn’t look like she was dressed for a wedding, all in black like that. But, he thought, she did look familiar.

Then he realized he had seen them, very briefly, at Strawberry Fields. They had crossed on the stairs. He didn’t like that. Was she bloody stalking him? He didn’t think so. A few minutes earlier, he had seen her hurrying up the path, almost dragging the small boy, and entering the church after the bride had already gone inside and the organ had struck up. Now they came hurrying back out, almost at a run. She had a look of desperation on her face.

Was she meant to be going to a funeral somewhere else?

Not that he cared a toss. He looked at his watch. Listened to the organ. This could have been himself and Red walking down the aisle, if only things had been different. He felt so sad for a moment. This could have been their wedding.
Oh Red, my love, why did you have to screw it all up?

A group of about ten uniformed policemen were standing outside the church entrance. Why hadn’t they gone in? he wondered. Maybe they were going to form some kind of guard of honour when Detective Superintendent Grace and his bride emerged? Well, they were in for a surprise.

He raised the crossbow carefully, steadied his arms on the sturdy branch in front of him, and stared through the telescopic sight. Holding the cross hairs steady on the wooden doors. The pair of them would be coming through soon, then standing outside, posing for the traditional photographs, the one destined for their mantelpiece.
Thwang!
Well, that would be a different one for the family album! The groom standing there with an arrow sticking out of his right eye.

He lowered the crossbow, imagining the chaos when that happened. He had his escape planned. He would slip down to the ground and sprint away up the road to where his car was parked, well before anyone had figured where the arrow had come from. Oh yes, he liked this so much. What a signal this was going to send to Red!

He waited. Time passed slowly. Then finally, he heard strains of organ music striking up. And he could not believe his ears. It was Van Morrison’s ‘Queen of the Slipstream’.

His and Red’s song.

You bastards.

You absolute bastards.

He could not believe it.

The doors were opening now. He could see the bride and groom stepping out. His target. He raised the crossbow, shaking in anger still, finding it hard to hold his aim on Roy Grace’s face. Then a shadow passed across, blotting out his view. It was a huge double-decker coach pulling up right in front of the church, completely blocking his view.

‘Get out the fucking way!’ he said.

But the coach did not move. Then he saw a second pull up behind it. Then a third behind that one.

Shit
, he thought.
Shit, shit, shit
.

What the fuck was going on the other side of them?

He rammed the crossbow into the dry-cleaner’s suit bag he had brought with him and dropped down to the ground. Three sodding, chuntering coaches. He hurried up beside them, and found his view of the church now blocked by a row of limousines. Two of their drivers, their caps removed, were leaning against an old, gleaming black Rolls-Royce, smoking cigarettes. He walked over to them and said, ‘They’re bad for you, those things. They kill you.’ Then, in a strop, he walked off back towards his car.

‘Fuck you!’ one of them shouted after him.

He raised a hand behind his back and gave him the bird.

82

Sunday, 3 November

Roy Grace woke with a start from a troubled dream. His right arm, curled around Cleo’s neck, was numb. But she was sound asleep and he did not want to disturb her. He loved the feeling of her warm naked body against his. Her bum pressed up tight against him. She stirred for an instant, then her rhythmic breathing continued again. Suddenly she snored, for a few moments, and he grinned, loving the sound. Outside was total silence.

That felt strange, but wonderfully peaceful. They were in a suite in Bailiffscourt, a country house hotel and spa twenty miles west of Brighton, secluded and close to the sea, where they were staying before jetting off on honeymoon on Monday. Cleo’s parents were in their house looking after Noah.

It was never silent like this in the city. Nor was it ever so pitch dark. He thought back to the events of yesterday. The wedding service had been beautiful, and he had never seen Cleo look so lovely. The reception at the Royal Pavilion had been an intensely happy occasion, surrounded by friends, colleagues and Cleo’s family. Her father’s speech had been brilliant, and Glenn, bless him, had told a number of jokes of questionable taste that had fallen a little flat, but overall his mate had been generous and witty.

Then Norman Potting, clearly the worse for wear, had suddenly stood up, despite Bella Moy’s attempts to make him sit back down. Potting had raised his glass and announced that he wished to propose a toast to the happy couple.

‘Roy and Cleo, I just want to give you one word of advice. Don’t buy a bed from Harrods for your new home. I’m told they always stand by their products!’

To an awkward silence, punctuated by a few titters of laughter, he’d sat back down, chortling away to himself.

At least his own speech had gone down well, Grace thought, despite his nerves.

And part of the cause of his nerves had been from the dream he’d had on Thursday night. The dream of Sandy standing at the back of the church, responding to the priest.

Father Martin, saying aloud and clearly, ‘
First, I am required to ask anyone present who knows a reason why these persons may not lawfully marry to declare it now
.’

Then Sandy’s voice, equally clearly, carrying down the aisle.

‘
I do! Me. I’m married to him!’

The dream that had made him turn and stare at the rear of the church yesterday. And see the veiled woman in black, with the small boy standing beside her.

Had he imagined her? Had his mind been playing tricks?

It must have been that. Because when he turned to look again, as Glenn had stepped forward with the rings, she and the boy were no longer there.

Had he imagined it?

He shook suddenly, and shivered.
Someone walking over your grave,
his mother used to say whenever he did that.

‘All right, my love?’ Cleo murmured.

He kissed her softly on her back. ‘Love you,’ he said.

‘Love you so much,’ she replied sleepily.

Then he felt her hand stroking his thigh, gently at first, then more insistently, moving up until her fingers were lightly playing with his genitals. Instantly he began stiffening.

‘I thought you were sleeping,’ he whispered.

‘I thought you were too, but one part of you doesn’t seem to be.’ She rolled over and her mouth found his. Her breath was sweet, and her lips soft. She stroked his lips with her tongue, then suddenly wriggled down the bed a short distance and began to tease his right nipple with her tongue.

He let out a gasp of pleasure.

She continued teasing it, then moved slowly further down the bed, kissing his chest, then his stomach, then took him softly, so softly in her mouth.

‘Christ!’ He gasped with pleasure.

After some moments, she slowly slid back up his body, lying on top of him, gripped him firmly but gently, and guided him inside her.

‘God, I love you!’ he murmured, nuzzling her ear.

‘Are you sure, Detective Superintendent Grace?’

‘I’ve never been more sure!’

‘That’s just as well, isn’t it? ‘Coz you’re really stuck with me now!’