Forgive me if I don’t spell out that last word. You can work it out easily enough for yourself but personally, I hate it. Swear words in books have always struck me as lazy and over-familiar. But the ‘c’ word is more than that. It’s used by sour, frustrated men, nearly always about women. It’s a word full of misogyny – crudely offensive. And that’s what it all came down to! That was what Alan Conway thought about the character that his ex-wife had got him to write. It was what summed up his feelings about the whole detective genre.
‘He told you, didn’t he,’ I went on. ‘That’s what happened at the Ivy Club. Alan told you he was going to share his little secret with the entire world when he went on the Simon Mayo show the following week.’
‘Yes.’
‘And that was why you had to kill him.’
‘You’re absolutely right, Susan. Alan had drunk a fair bit – that very good wine I’d ordered – and he told me as we left the restaurant. He didn’t care. He was going to die anyway and he was determined to take Atticus with him. He was a devil. Do you know what would have happened if he had told people that? They would have hated him! There would have been no BBC television series – you can forget about that. We wouldn’t have sold another book. Not one. The entire franchise would have become valueless.’
‘So you did it for the money.’
‘That’s putting it very bluntly. But I suppose it’s true. Yes. I’ve spent eleven years building up this business and I wasn’t going to see it destroyed overnight by some ungrateful bastard who’d actually done very well out of us. I did it for my family and for my new grandson. You could say I did it in part for you – although I know you won’t thank me. I also did it for the millions of readers all over the world who had invested in Atticus, who’d enjoyed his stories and bought the books. I had absolutely no compunction whatsoever. My only regret is that you’ve managed to find out, which I suppose makes you my partner in crime.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Well, I suppose it depends on what you intend to do. Have you told anyone else what you’ve told me?’
‘No.’
‘Then you might take the view that you don’t need to. Alan is dead. He was going to die anyway. You’ve read the first page of his letter. He had at best six months. I shortened his life by that amount of time and quite possibly saved him a great deal of suffering along the way.’ He smiled. ‘I won’t pretend that was uppermost in my mind. I think I did the world a favour. We need our literary heroes. Life is dark and complicated but they shine out. They’re the beacons that we follow. We have to be pragmatic about this, Susan. You’re going to be the CEO of this company. My offer was made in good faith and it still stands. Without Atticus Pünd there will be no company. If you don’t want to think of yourself, think of everyone else in this building. Would you like to see them put out of their jobs?’
‘That’s a little unfair, Charles.’
‘Cause and effect, my dear. That’s all I’m saying.’
In a way, I’d been dreading this moment. It was all very well to unmask Charles Clover but all along I’d been wondering what I’d do next. Everything that he had just said had already occurred to me. The world was not exactly going to be a worse-off place without Alan Conway. His sister, his ex-wife, his son, Donald Leigh, the vicar, Detective Superintendent Locke – they had all, to a greater or a lesser extent, been harmed by him, and it was certainly true that he had been about to play a very mean trick on the people who loved his books. He was going to die anyway.
But it was that ‘my dear’ that decided me. There was something quite repellent about the way he had addressed me. They were exactly the sort of words that Moriarty would have used. Or Flambeau. Or Carl Peterson. Or Arnold Zeck. And if it was true that detectives acted as moral beacons, why shouldn’t their light guide me now? ‘I’m sorry, Charles,’ I said. ‘I don’t disagree with what you say. I didn’t like Alan and what he did was horrible. But the fact is that you killed him and I can’t let you get away with it. I’m sorry – but I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.’
‘You’re going to turn me in?’
‘No. I don’t need to be involved and I’m sure it’ll be a lot easier for you if you call the police yourself.’
He smiled, very thinly. ‘You realise that they’ll send me to prison. I’ll get life. I’ll never come out.’
‘Yes, Charles. That’s what happens when you commit murder.’
‘You surprise me, Susan. We’ve known each other a very long time. I never thought you’d be so petty.’
‘Is that what you think?’ I shrugged. ‘Then there’s nothing else to say.’
He glanced at his empty glass, then back at me. ‘How long can you give me?’ he asked. ‘Would you allow me a week’s grace? I’d like to spend some time with my family and with my new grandson. I’ll need to find Bella a home … that sort of thing.’
‘I can’t give you a week, Charles. That would make me an accomplice. Maybe until the weekend …?’
‘All right. That’s fair enough.’
Charles got up and walked over to the bookshelf. His whole career was spread out in front of him. He had published many of those books himself. I also stood up. I had been sitting down for so long that I felt my knees creak. ‘I really am sorry, Charles,’ I said. Part of me was still wondering if I’d made the right decision. I wanted to be out of the room.
‘No. It’s all right.’ Charles had his back to me. ‘I completely understand.’
‘Good night, Charles.’
‘Good night, Susan.’
I turned and took a step towards the door and right then something hit me, incredibly hard, on the back of the head. I saw an electric white flash and it felt as if my whole body had been broken in half. The room tilted violently to one side and I crashed down to the floor.
Endgame