Bailing Out

The last of hers had been on the actual day when she'd reminded him that they had to keep far apart for at least six months until things died down.

Fortunately, there was a 'comfort break' in the proceedings after that, and then I was grilled by the defence. They were wasting their time with me, however. I stuck rigidly to what I knew for certain and didn't deviate in the slightest. I'm sure my regret that the woman I'd loved had turned out to be so evil came through pretty strongly -- as did my obvious sense of hurt, but I was eventually able to retire from the fray unscathed.

Over the following few days, I was in court to see most of the prosecution's case. The way the e-mails had been discovered, carefully concealed, on Abbie's computer; the spelling mistakes in her writing and the lack of capital letters that matched her habits, the times that the messages had been sent which, in every case, matched up with times that she'd been at home (usually in the middle of the night when, it could be assumed, I was fast asleep in our bed), plus the attached photos of herself -- often in exceptionally lewd poses -- and similar ones sent to her by Gerald. It was all pretty damning but, what was worse for her was the statement from Gerald Smyth admitting the whole thing.

From their attitudes, I thought the defence counsels were frustrated that she hadn't simply owned up to it -- possibly pleaded mental incapacity, and gone for mitigation -- but she refused outright and they were left trying their best to refute a wealth of clear evidence. She even, on her own insistence, took the stand herself and simply denied any knowledge of the e-mails, any knowledge whatsoever of an attempt to kill Samantha, or any contact of any kind with Gerald Smyth.

Even though the prosecution had a field day with her, she remained resolute -- insisting that someone else must have been responsible -- even attempting to bring up Gerald's original story about Sammy blackmailing me -- even though he'd later admitted that he'd made it up.

I didn't make it to court for the summing-up. I had to attend a very important board-meeting that would affect the whole future of the business. Apparently, the prosecution took a couple of hours over it, and the defence somewhat less. Therefore, I wasn't present when the jury returned before the end of the same day with a unanimous verdict of 'guilty.'

In English law, a life sentence is mandatory for murder, and when it's committed 'in the expectation of gain as a result of the death,' it automatically means a 30 year minimum starting point. I believe Abbie fainted when the verdict was given and that, a few days later, she became hysterical when the sentence was handed down; but I wasn't in court to see either of those things happen. I'd already told her that she was 'history' as far as I was concerned, and now there could be no doubt of that whatsoever.

CH06

It was a stunningly beautiful day. I was sitting on the terrace of a villa near Grasse on the French Riviera's Cote d'Azur on a hilltop not far from the village of Speracedes, enjoying the commanding views across Lac de St Cassien, the Bay of Mandelieu, and the Esterel hills. I'd eaten a light lunch and was relaxing after it with a cool glass of beer and enjoying the company of someone I hadn't seen for the best part of eight years.

Mark Haley was now a Detective Chief Inspector with the Cheshire Police. He'd put on a little weight since I'd last seen him, but he still looked fit and well and the touches of grey in his hair didn't detract from his good looks. He'd been in Marseilles investigating some link to drug-smuggling, so he told me and, knowing I lived in the area, decided to look me up. He'd actually found my number in the book and rung suggesting a beer together in a bar, but I'd invited him to lunch with my family and it was enjoyable to catch up on what was happening at home.

Now my wife had chosen to go and take care of the children, leaving us free to talk.

"They're lovely kids," he told me, referring to 4-year-old James Griffin Davies, and his 2-year-old sister, Claire. And he was right; they were gorgeous and I loved them both to distraction. "Don't you ever miss home, though?"

"This is home, now Mark," I told him sincerely, "We sometimes go over to spend a couple of days seeing relatives, but I don't think we could ever live there again."

"Too many bad memories?"

"Not enough sunshine!" and we both smiled and sipped our drinks. I had the feeling that there was more to his visit than he was telling me, but it was up to him to decide when to stop the fencing.

"So... how did the two of you get together?" he asked, nodding in the direction of the house. So I told him the simple truth.

"To be honest, Mark... I never really expected that we would. In fact, it took the best part of a year before I think we both accepted that there was a real feeling between us. I mean, being without partners, we tended to team up when there were functions to attend and so on... but I think we'd both been hurt so much that we were afraid of going there again. I think it was something that grew, very slowly, until we were both ready to admit... well, y'know... that we had real feelings for one another."

And that was all perfectly true. We'd grown together slowly and steadily throughout the first year after the trial. In some ways, given the state it had left her in, I think I became a rock for Samantha to cling to -- but I hadn't wanted to risk what we had by trying to turn it into a possibly-unwelcome attempt at romance. It had been after a dinner with a group of Japanese businessmen and their wives that the opportunity for change had finally arrived. It had been my turn to drive -- even though she didn't drink very much -- and as I was dropping her off at her house and saying goodnight, she suddenly said;

"Do you know, Robbie... I sometimes think we spend more time together than most married couples do?" It was just an off-the-cuff remark, but it produced a silence for a moment or two and then, as if she was embarrassed by the thought, she started to get out of the car, but I gently held her arm and, when she turned back, I replied:

"I'm sure we do. And I love being with you. I just wish we could have a lot more time together."

She'd looked at me very carefully before asking if I was really sure about that and, when I told her that I was certain, we'd enjoyed our first ever proper kiss. It wasn't passionate, or any kind of revelatory experience, but it was tender and it was a genuinely loving one.

From then on, we began to date properly. It seemed almost an unwritten rule that we weren't going to leap into bed together and I was happy enough with that. In fact, it was only when I reminded her of what she'd said about spending so much time together -- and suggesting that we ought to consider making the arrangement a bit more 'official' that she agreed to marry me. It had been a six-month long courtship, following on from many years of friendship, and the actual wedding was a very quiet affair with only close family and friends invited to attend.

Our first night together had been in our honeymoon hotel in Barbados. It was a little awkward at first -- neither of us had been sexually involved with anyone for a very long time -- and I think both of us were nervous about our inadequacies. She certainly shouldn't have been nervous; to be honest, her body -- once revealed -- was even more sensational than I'd ever imagined it to be! Her breasts were still full, firm and extremely responsive to my touches; her stomach was flat, her waist narrow, and her hips beautifully curved. Her legs were long and magnificently shapely and, from the first time I saw her naked, I became utterly and totally devoted to her.

She was, however, surprisingly shy and, given her previous history, amazingly inexperienced. The first time I placed my head between her thighs and began to kiss and lick at the most wonderful place in the world, she came close to stopping me because she'd never experienced it before. She'd been informed that such pleasures were strictly for whores and sluts -- that straightforward sex was the only acceptable thing for a respectable wife -- and it took a lot of gentle persuasion to gradually disabuse of her of that notion. From what I learned, it appeared that she'd previously been little more than a trophy wife -- intended to provide an heir or two -- while her partner enjoyed his own vices with what he referred to as 'lower-class tarts,' and it had only been when she'd refused his philandering that he'd attempted to introduce her to the vile perversions that were his particular way of gaining satisfaction.

We were both aware of two people who'd been prepared to indulge in all kinds of things in order to seek new thrills -- the e-mails between Gerald and Abigail had contained graphic descriptions of things that were, literally, very painful; of others that were utterly revolting, and even some that were illegal. We had to face up to those memories, to confront them and discuss them; and we did so over the first weeks of our marriage.

Gradually, we'd sorted it out into what we both found acceptable and enjoyable and the things we would never even mention again if at all possible. For the first time ever, she learned to handle, to kiss and eventually suck me. She learned how to make love on top of me and to enjoy 'doggy style.' She welcomed the attentions of my mouth on every part of her body and finally understood how much I adored every part of her -- and she learned how to return my love with interest!

So I told Mark that we'd had an old-fashioned courtship, that we'd finally decided to get married and that both of us were probably more in love now than we ever had been before -- and the love was still growing day by day.

"Yes... I could pretty much see that," he smiled, and then, "have you heard anything about your previous partners?"

I just shook my head. I didn't really want to know. They were part of the past.

"Gerald seems to have settled into prison life pretty well. In fact, to be honest, I think he's become a bit institutionalised. I saw him a few weeks ago, actually. He's still bitter about Abbie, of course. He still insists that it was really her idea... even though he went along with it. He said she promised to become the kind of slut he'd always dreamed of being with... and he couldn't forgive her for refusing to accept any responsibility for what happened. It may just be possible that he'll become eligible for parole in a few more years... but I'm not even certain that he'll want it by then."

I tried to interrupt before he could say anything else, but he carried on:

"Abbie's a different matter, of course. She had a complete mental breakdown. She still denies any involvement in the plot to kill Samantha. She still denies any knowledge of any of those incriminating e-mails. The psychobabblers say it's something to do with 'denial,' possibly some kind of bipolar disorder or something. There's even been a suggestion that there were two separate personalities at work and that the currently dominant one has wiped out any memory of what the other one did. Of course, that means she's not likely to be set free for a very long time. I mean she knows that she'll have a better chance if she owns up to it... but she won't.

"And that really begs the big question, doesn't it, Robbie?" he finished off and took another swig of his beer.

"Hmmm? What question's that?" I asked as offhandedly as I could. Then he put his glass down very slowly, and we were eyeball to eyeball when he said:

"How did you do it, Robbie?"

"I beg your pardon?" I said with a surprised look on my face, but he just gave a crooked little smile.

"Robbie... I'm a copper," he said. "I may not be Sherlock Holmes... but I like to think I'm pretty good at my job. I take my time over things and I do my very best to get things right. I'm a careful person, and I hate the thought of sending the wrong person down.

"Now Mr Kelsey... you remember him, I take it?" I nodded and he went on, "Well... he had a very different attitude to me. He was all about getting results... about making the figures look good and, when it came to a high-profile case like the death of Joe Carpenter, getting the result quickly and looking good in the media. That's probably why he made it to Chief Constable and I won't get any further up the ladder than I am now before I retire."

"Yes... but...."

"Just give me a few minutes, Robbie. It won't take long because my car's coming to pick me up in a little while. I just have to get this off my chest because it's nagging at me for years... okay?"

I nodded again and went to speak, but he held his hand up, saying 'please?' so I kept quiet.

"Y'see, when we were investigating... at first... I felt sorry for you. Don't take that the wrong way. What I mean is that you seemed to be the only one that didn't really know what Abbie was like. You seemed to be the poor blinded-by-love husband who didn't know his wife was cheating on him with Joe... and with a couple of others from the factory that she used to work with... namely Donald and Malcolm.

"But I've gradually come to realise that I was wrong, wasn't I? You knew about it, alright, didn't you?"

I tried my best to look confused and a bit annoyed. He was right, of course -- it was the main reason I'd got Abbie a job away from the factory, in the hope that it might stop. But I'd been perfectly well aware that it hadn't.

"You're good, Robbie... you're very good. I've got to give you credit. With hindsight, I can see how you very carefully and very slowly, drew Samantha towards you; how you didn't condemn her husband but just carefully showed yourself to be a better man than him... and how you made her practically dependent on you when it came to running the business.

"Well... that was what a lot of men in your position would have done, isn't it? They'd have wanted to... I don't know... have an affair with her? Or even lined her up as a replacement for when you were ready to dump Abbie? That would have been a bit unpleasant in some people's eyes... but I think it would have been understandable.

"But that wasn't enough for you, was it? You're an 'estate boy,' just like me... and there was a lot of resentment inside you. You'd got away from your roots. You'd become successful and well-off... but you'd lost any possible respect because of the way Abbie and her lovers behaved. And most of your resentment was directed at Gerald Smyth, wasn't it?" He paused, waiting for me to say something, but I just kept a poker face and told him to carry on -- that it was his story.

"Oh, you don't have to worry, Robbie. I know if I tried to prove any of this I'd more than likely end up in the same kind of institution your 'ex' is in. I'm just doing this for my own satisfaction. I mean, the problem I had was that there was never any real doubt that Gerald did set up the parachute for the lovely Samantha to be killed. I'm sure the idea of getting his hands on all that money appealed to him enough to think the risk worthwhile. So I've no problem with having sent him to prison... none whatsoever.

"No... what really bothered me, Robbie, was the way he was persuaded to do it. I couldn't quite understand what it was that didn't ring true... but I knew there was something. That's why I did what I could to delay the investigation... but Kelsey was having none of that, of course. He saw his next promotion coming along on the successful conclusion of it and, being honest, once he realised I was holding it back, I was shoved aside quite brutally.

"It was only afterwards... long afterwards... when I found out that Abbie was still denying any knowledge of the e-mails... that I began to wonder whether she really had sent them. And that gave me another thought. Knowing what we do about Abbie... I realised that she'd have gone ahead and had that kind of 'affair' with Gerald if she'd really wanted it that much!

"You see, what I realised was that, for all their filth and all the passion that seemed to be in them, they had to be composed by someone with a very cold and calculating mind... and that's not exactly the way I'd describe Abbie... would you?"

"You were never married to her," I responded, still keeping a straight face; and he smiled.

"True enough... but let me just give you an alternative scenario to the one that everyone believed. Let's imagine, for example, that you thought it all out... very thoroughly, of course, because you are always thorough... and came up with a plan that would destroy both Gerald and Abbie, get you the woman you really wanted to be with and... well, I don't know if it this bit was fortuitous or not... get rid of the man who'd cuckolded you.

"Let's imagine that you, hypothetically of course, opened an e-mail account on your wife's computer -- one she'd never find because she wasn't particularly computer literate -- and took on her persona to begin getting in touch with Gerald. Let's imagine, for example, that you slipped her a sleeping pill whenever you wanted to do that. Let's imagine that you used her own weird sexual desires and magnified them... knowing they'd appeal to someone like Gerald. Let's just pretend for a moment that you were able to imitate her style... even her mistakes... in order to make it look as if she was the one who came up with the plan and found some other way of passing it on to him.

"Now, I'll admit I haven't worked out how you did that... but let's just assume that you did. And let's just imagine how pleased you'd be when he fell for it so completely!

"Of course, the other thing I can't know is how you managed to fix it for Joe to be wearing the doctored chute... or even whether that was actually part of the plan rather than just a bonus... but I'm sure you must have been delighted to see him stepping into the plane with Samantha's harness on.

"You were cool enough... or filled with enough hatred... to sit and watch him fall from the sky. That, I think, I'll never be able to relate to, Robbie. And then you kept your composure under questioning... just enough to be convincing, mind you... knowing the spotlight would soon be taken off you and put on Gerald.

"I looked through my notes after the trial and I noticed that, on the day, you were the only person who didn't ask us if we knew how Joe was. At the time, I put it down to the fact that you were experienced enough to know that he had no chance of surviving... but now I realise it was because you were glad to see him die.

"If I'm right... and I know I'll never be able to prove it... you must be the cruellest, most calculating, and cold-hearted bastard I've ever met. And that's quite something coming from a copper with my years of service, believe me!"

He was silent after that, but his eyes didn't leave mine at all, so I said:

"Abbie is a very sick woman, Mark. You've ended up creating a whole new scenario out of the simple fact that she refuses to accept what she did. The truth is that she conspired to destroy a very wonderful person... callously and for her own gratification and enrichment. And she can't accept that her scheming led to the death of someone she probably cared about more than she realised.

"You spin a good yarn, Mark... but I think it's more likely to have been an overactive imagination that's held you back rather than anything else. I don't know what else to say... except that I'd be obliged if you didn't come back here again."

As I finished speaking, a Renault Mégane appeared on the drive and drew to halt below the terrace. We walked down to it and, just before he got into the back seat, he turned and said:

"The chances are that you've got away with it, Robbie... I don't imagine you'll ever have to answer for what you did unless there happens to be some higher power that's waiting for you. I won't be obsessing about it... I've got a life to lead. And I don't think I'd want to take you on, anyway... because I honestly think you're the most ruthless and dangerous person I've ever known. You don't appear to have a troubled conscience, but I still hope that you'll think about what you've done to Abbie... maybe remember how you once felt about her? She's been punished enough, don't you think?"