The traffic was still fairly light at this hour. The map was open on the seat beside Edmund and Crispin was with him as he drove along. Once or twice he thought he could hear Alraune’s voice but he pushed it away, because he no longer wanted Alraune. Go away, you’re a cheat, he said to Alraune. Two-faced, like the rest of your family. Like that cat Lucretia, whom Crispin had loved so much it had destroyed him – yes it had! And like Mariana Trent – another sly deceiver. ‘We’re all so sorry for Edmund,’ she had said that night. ‘We’ve primed some of the girls to flirt with him, to give him some fun for once…’ But Mariana had got what she had deserved that night, even though Edmund had not intended her to die in the fire. Still, you might almost say that both Lucretia’s daughters had had rough justice meted out to them, first Mariana and then Deborah. The symmetry of this pleased Edmund.
As the road unwound, the years continued to unwind as well, taking him into the night his father had died. I couldn’t let you live, he said silently to Crispin’s ghost. You understood that, didn’t you? After you told me the truth, I couldn’t risk you talking. And you would have done. You were losing your hold on sanity fast, and you would have talked.
A mad old man’s ramblings, dear boy, said Crispin’s voice sadly. You said yourself I was as near mad as made no difference by then…Would anyone have listened or believed…?
But I couldn’t risk it! cried Edmund silently. I couldn’t be sure! I needed to kill the past! You do understand that?
Of course I understand, Edmund, said Crispin’s voice. I understand it all…Suddenly it was the remembered, infinitely loving voice of Edmund’s childhood, and Edmund frowned because just for a moment his sight had misted over. Stupid! He brushed his hand impatiently across his eyes, and concentrated on the unfamiliar road.
You were afraid I might talk, weren’t you…? That was it, wasn’t it…?
Yes, said Edmund gratefully. Because you had talked to me, you see. You couldn’t stop yourself. (‘I just kept on stabbing him, over and over again,’ Crispin had said. ‘I had to wipe out the words he had said; I brought the knife down on his face – on his mouth – over and over again. And there was so much blood…’)
So much blood. The words had dropped into Edmund’s mind that night, exactly in time with the rhythmic ticking of the old clock on the landing. So-much-blood. Tick-tick-tick…Like little jabs into your mind. So-much-blood…
With the words ticking inside his mind, he had taken his father into the bathroom. ‘A nice warm bath – it’ll be refreshing. I’ll run the water for you, and then you can get in. I’ll help you – I won’t let you slip. And you’ll feel much better afterwards.’
I did all that, thought Edmund. But I did it for you, Crispin. And while you were in the bath I came in, and I brought the razor down on your throat, and you died, there in the steam-filled bathroom, and there was so much blood, you were right about that, Crispin…
Afterwards I did all the things I would have been expected to do if it had been a real suicide. I felt for a heartbeat and when I was sure there wasn’t one, I phoned the doctor.
And while I waited for the doctor to arrive, I sat on the stairs, watching the man I had murdered and the father I had loved and admired grow cold and stiff, listening to the ticking of the clock repeating his words over and over. So-much-blood…After a time it changed to No one-must-know…No one-must-know…
No matter the cost, no one must ever know that you were a murderer, Crispin.
One of the main problems was actually to find the address. Lincoln was a big place, and Edmund could not risk asking for directions. So before coming off the motorway, he pulled in at a big service station with a self-service restaurant and several small shop units.
Once inside, he wandered casually along the shelves of the shops. Magazines, convenience foods, cans of fizzy drink of all kinds. Ah, local street maps. Lincoln? Yes, there it was. Good. He picked it up in a rather absent-minded fashion: a traveller taking a break from his journey, spotting a map he did not possess and thinking it might come in handy sometime. You never knew where you might have to drive. He dropped a pack of sandwiches into his wire basket, along with a can of lemonade, a box of tissues and some peppermints, so that the map would not particularly stand out. He paid for everything in cash, of course.
The voice on Lucy’s phone was brisk and businesslike and very apologetic for the fact that the time was a few minutes before eight o’clock in the morning.