The Dead Dog Day (36 page)

He'd even bought his apartment in the building just along the road specifically so he could be close to TV Centre, watch and wait, consider his options, wanting to carry out the perfect crime. The idea had struck him suddenly one day as he lazily watched the building's window cleaners through his telescope, realising with interest that the cradles were always there overnight, tucked neatly away in the shadows along the side of the building, when the marathon monthly window cleaning task was being carried out. He'd wandered down there, casually checked them out, happy to see that they were the straightforward manual, hand-cranked wire rope style, no problem for him to operate after he'd once had to use one in a filming stunt. Then it was just some duct tape, a balaclava, and gloves. They'd probably shed a few black fibres, but he made sure he'd got rid of them immediately, stuffed deep into a bin outside a restaurant on the way home, never to be seen again. And he'd been so careful, walking away from the scene of the murder and not running, nothing to draw attention to himself.

His gamble had been that Jeanette might not come to the window when he suddenly appeared outside – that he'd have to climb in and throw her out instead, risk being caught inside her office. But in the end, she'd come so easily, so surprised to see him smiling there seven floors up, so curious, actually thinking at first that he'd changed his mind about joining the show and was making a dramatic, Benjamin-style gesture to impress her, stupid woman. As soon as she was within reach he'd grabbed her, leaning in through the opening and gripping her tightly by the arms, telling her the real reason he was there, and why she had to die.

‘I didn't know … I had no idea … I'm so sorry. So terribly, terribly sorry. Please, if …' she'd stuttered, trying to apologise for her pathetic excuse for a father. He'd grown angry then, risked reaching into his pocket with one hand, still holding one upper arm in a vice-like grip, grabbing his pre-prepared strip of tape and slapping it across her mouth. He didn't want to hear any more, and he didn't want her to start screaming, to be stopped before he could finish what he'd come here to do, what he'd been planning for so long. And she'd been so weak, when it came to it, the great Jeanette. So easy to haul through the open window, so easy to drag out and over the window ledge, into the cradle. He'd had momentum by then, fury and anguish giving his gym-honed body even more strength, lifting her flailing body in one smooth movement over the side of the cradle, dropping her like a piece of litter. A vase or something had fallen inside, he'd heard it crashing to the ground, but that wasn't a major problem; it could easily have happened if she'd jumped, or if somebody had pushed her out from the inside, which was what the idiot police had instantly assumed. It had worked, worked beautifully. The perfect crime.

He hadn't been able to attend the funeral with Cora, too busy with filming commitments, but he had studied the TV news clips and newspaper coverage of the event with quiet satisfaction, noting the pain on the faces of Jeanette's mother and other relatives.

His revenge, though, had only been half finished. There was the other family, Guy Ferill's family. They too had lost just one person, while he had lost two – another score to settle. He'd got private investigators on the case, tracking down the man's relatives, and been shocked, astounded, to discover that one of Ferill's nieces also worked in television – not only that, but she also worked at TV Centre, alongside Jeanette. The perfect choice, so easy for him to access.

It had been a struggle, deciding what to do with her, especially as he'd foolishly decided to get to know her first, and then found himself, somewhat to his surprise, far from immune to her charms. His affection for her had crept up on him, frightening him, making him wonder if he could actually do this, go through with his plan.

Now, he looked at her, her eyelids still fluttering. Oh, shit. He closed his eyes, summoning up the image of his parents, his mother's soft voice, his father's gentle eyes, the wreckage of the plane, the pain of his childhood. The old fury bubbled up again, quietly at first, and then in a fierce torrent, and he opened his eyes and roared, just as she started to sit up, eyes wide with fear. He paused only for a second, looked at her, feeling nothing, his hands finally reaching for her throat, and starting to squeeze, and squeeze …

CRASH. There was an immense noise behind him, a sound of splintering wood and smashing glass, but he was lost, fuelled by misery and anger and memories, squeezing, squeezing, listening to her gasping, oblivious to her hands clawing at him in terror, aware only that her life was ebbing away and that his could start again.

‘STOP! STOP!'

The voice rang in his ears and then he was being dragged backwards, his hands being pulled from her throat, his body being flung to the ground, the room suddenly full of police officers and panic and noise.

And Alice. Alice was choking, men lifting her up, telling her to breathe, telling her it was all going to be alright, that she was safe now. Alice, still alive.

‘I've failed,' thought Benjamin, as his face was ground into the carpet, his hands yanked violently behind his back. ‘Mummy. I've failed you.' And then the tears began, and he cried as if he might never stop.

60

In Cheltenham, Cora put down her fire extinguisher and laughed with relief.

‘How on earth did you get in? You scared me half to death!'

Oliver, the neighbours' cat, who'd sneaked in past her at the door as she'd arrived minutes earlier, stared at her with malevolent eyes and hissed. Cora hissed back.

‘And be more careful in future. That's two ornaments you've knocked over there, you clumsy creature. Right, out!'

She pointed at the door and Oliver, having found nothing of interest in the lounge anyway, slunk out of it and headed down the hallway. Cora saw him out of the front door and locked it firmly behind him.

‘What a day. Now – hot chocolate!'

And once more, she limped towards the kitchen.

61

Thursday 12
^th
April

‘I just can't believe it, Cora. It's like something out of a book. Or maybe even too far-fetched for a book. It's
insane
.'

Nicole, her hands cupping a virtually untouched mug of black coffee, shook her head and looked at Rosie, who was literally open-mouthed.

Cora grinned. ‘Rosie, shut your mouth. And yes, I know, I can hardly believe it myself. Nobody can. I sure can pick 'em, eh?'

Rosie, mouth now closed, exchanged a sympathetic look with Nicole.

‘You've still got us. And what about the hunky policeman? Any developments there?' Rosie poked Cora in the arm.

It was pouring with rain outside, the occasional crack of thunder rumbling in the distance. In Cora's living room, the three of them were snuggled together on the sofa, the table in front of them laden as always with cakes. Rosie and Nicole had both left work early, desperate to hear every detail, but neither had expected the stupendous story they'd just heard.

Cora poked Rosie back. ‘Stop it. It's too soon. But …'

She paused.

‘Well, maybe. He's asked me out for a drink. We'll see. He's got a child, remember. Not really my type.'

Nicole cackled. ‘Not really your type! He's bloody gorgeous.'

Cora smiled. Adam had been on every TV news programme during the day, as the showbiz world was rocked by the news that Benjamin Boland had been arrested on suspicion of the murder of Jeanette Kendrick and the attempted murder of Alice Lomas. And yes, the policeman had looked rather gorgeous, she must admit. She put down her mug and picked up a Danish pastry.

‘Anyway, he rang this afternoon, partly to suggest meeting up and partly to clear up a few things,' she said, then paused to take a bite.

She swallowed. ‘Benjamin has told the police absolutely everything, apparently. Admitted murdering Jeanette, and that he fully intended to kill Alice too. He had a key to her place apparently, even though they hadn't been dating long, so he didn't even need to break in. It was just so lucky that Adam recognised that picture of Alice as a child in that newspaper, and acted on a hunch and rushed round to her flat. She was in a picture of Guy Ferill's family, and Adam says she was totally unmistakeable even as a small girl. He had her home address in the system of course – took all her details when she was questioned. Another minute or so and it would have been too late, he said. I've never much liked her, as you well know, but – bloody hell, I wouldn't have wished that on her.'

She closed her eyes for a moment, trying not to think about Benjamin's hands around Alice's throat, those hands that had been so gentle when they had been together, the hands that had done such wonderful things to her in bed. She shuddered and opened her eyes again.

‘And she's pregnant, too. It would have been two lives he'd taken.'

Rosie was looking horrified, hands instinctively moving protectively to her own bump.

‘Flipping heck, Cora. That poor girl.'

The three of them fell silent, each lost in her own thoughts. Cora sipped her tea slowly, remembering the phone conversation she'd had with Adam earlier that day. One of the biggest of the dozens of questions she'd fired tearfully at him was why Benjamin had felt the need to date and sleep with Alice before attempting to murder her. It was something she couldn't understand – why not just kill her, like he'd done with Jeanette?

Adam, his voice full of kindness and sympathy, which had made Cora cry even more, had gently told her some of what Benjamin had explained to him, in what was apparently a full and open confession.

‘He was having some doubts, Cora, about whether he was ready to settle down. And in his clearly rather sick mind, he thought he might be able to kill two birds with one stone – excuse the pun, sorry, that was ill-judged – and have a bit of fun with Alice before he finished her off. It made sense to him, apparently, although he also said he felt terribly guilty about sleeping with her, when it was you he really cared about. Every time it happened, he felt sick afterwards, he says.'

Adam filled her in on some of the details – how Benjamin had engineered a meeting with Alice in a club and asked her out, taking a gamble that as she and Cora weren't exactly friends, Alice would be happy enough to date him behind her colleague's back. How he'd put off the murder, using the newsreader to satisfy the sexual urges he still sometimes had, but then feeling disgusted at himself and terrified Cora would find out. How he wanted to pull off another perfect crime, biding his time. How he'd even tried to throw suspicion onto Alice herself.

‘So sneaky. Unbelievably sneaky,' Cora said out loud.

Rosie and Nicole turned to look at her.

‘Which bit?' asked Nicole.

‘The recording.'

Nicole nodded, and took a large bite out of her chocolate muffin. Rosie shook her head slowly and reached for a second slice of Victoria sponge.

‘He's a clever one, that Boland,' she mumbled through a mouthful of cake.

Cora plucked a sultana from her pastry and popped it into her mouth. Clever indeed, she thought, remembering the recording of Alice that Benjamin had made on his mobile phone, Alice talking about feeling guilty about something bad she'd done.

‘According to Adam, who's spoken to her again at length, she's now admitted what she didn't say when he first questioned her – that what she was actually feeling terribly guilty about was dating Benjamin behind my back. Same as when we overheard her saying a similar thing in the café. And Benjamin knew that, of course. He just got lucky, realised he could use it to throw attention onto her. It certainly worked. I went straight to Adam with it, didn't I? Dammit, I kept Benjamin fully up to date with the police investigation, for goodness' sake. He knew exactly what was going on all the time.'

She groaned.

‘Don't beat yourself up, Cora. None of this is your fault. And maybe Alice isn't as bad as you thought, eh? At least she felt guilty about what she was doing.'

‘Yes, I know. I've been thinking about her a lot, actually. I'm going to go and see her, try to clear the air. I've had enough of this stupid feuding – there are so many more important things in life. If I can take anything positive from all of this, it's that life is short, too short for petty jealousy and bitchiness.'

Cora stood up and walked to the window. The sky was almost black, the rain battering the pavement below. A lone pedestrian scurried past, umbrella half inside out, coat flapping. She sighed and turned back to her friends.

‘Oh, and the Chris thing? Pretty clear now that Jeanette was trying to tell the security guard she'd been attacked because of her father, Christian. He was never known as Chris though, according to her family – that's why the name didn't ring a bell for anyone. If it had, maybe the link to Benjamin would have been spotted sooner and …'

She felt tears welling in her eyes again.

‘Oh, Cora. I'm so sorry.' Nicole's voice was gentle. ‘Jeanette was very badly injured, remember. It's likely she was just trying to say something, anything, to get that message across. “Chris” was probably as much as she managed to say before she …'

Cora nodded.

‘He's still claiming he loves me, you know. Benjamin. Adam said that he's saying it over and over again. “Tell Cora I love her. Tell her I would never have hurt her. It's just something I had to do, to move on with my life, I was almost ready to commit to her for ever.” That sort of thing.'

‘Oh Cora. He probably did, you know. He was just so screwed up, so obsessed with his twisted revenge …'

Rosie's voice cracked slightly. She looked close to tears. Nicole leaned over and stroked her arm.

Cora turned to stare out of the window again. Yes, he probably did love her, she thought numbly. What a waste. What a terrible, tragic waste.