Double Mortice Read online

‘Yes.’

  ‘My name’s Maureen Donnelly – Gordon Parker’s girlfriend. I know who did it. I know who killed Gordon.’

  ‘Where are you calling from, Miss Donnelly?’

  ‘I’m not saying. If he finds me he’ll kill me too.’

  ‘Try to stay calm. No one’s going to kill you.’

  ‘You don’t know what he’s like. He’s insane.’

  ‘Who’s insane?’

  ‘Paul,’ she whispered. ‘Paul Gibson.’

  Charlie’s fingers tightened around the receiver. ‘What makes you think Paul Gibson killed your boyfriend?’

  Maureen’s voice went even quieter. ‘I was with Gordon the night he was murdered.’ Charlie clamped the phone to his ear, straining to make out her words. ‘I’d planned to go out with a girlfriend because Gordon was supposed to be rehearsing with his group in Edinburgh, but he phoned me at the last minute and asked me to meet him at Paul’s flat. He said he’d something important to tell me.

  ‘When I got there he was on a high. He’d been smoking pot all afternoon. As soon as I walked through the door, he picked me up and waltzed me round the room. He asked me to marry him. I laughed. I told him he was being ridiculous. I reminded him that we were both stony broke, but he said he was about to come into a lot of money. I didn’t believe him.

  ‘Then he blurted out the whole story – how he and Paul were going to help Anne Gibson fake her murder and arrange for her husband to find ‘the body’. The idea was to drive Michael Gibson insane so Anne would get control of his estate. Gordon told me he was going to be paid handsomely for his contribution so we could afford to get married.’ Maureen was speeding up, scarcely pausing for breath. ‘I didn’t like the sound of it – I begged him not to get involved. But Gordon laughed it off and said I was being silly. He told me about the ‘murder’ plan – how Paul was going to tie Anne to the bed and pretend to slash her throat, then cover her body in sheep’s blood he’d got from an abattoir.

  ‘Later, when Sergeant O’Sullivan broke the news to me that Gordon had been murdered, I asked him how he’d died. When he told me he’d been tied up and his throat had been slashed, I knew it had to be Paul who’d killed him. I was terrified he’d suspect that Gordon had told me about the plan and that he’d come after me, so I ran away.’

  ‘Tell me where you are and I’ll send someone to collect you. We’ll give you protection.’

  ‘I’m not coming back. I’m not telling anyone where I am. Not until that maniac is locked up.’

  ‘But Miss Donnelly…’

  The phone went dead in Charlie’s hand.

  ‘Tony, go across to Traquair House straight away and bring in Paul.’

  Philippa gasped when he tugged the hood from his head.

  ‘Paul! What are you playing at?’

  ‘You really didn’t know, did you? None of them did. They’re all so stupid.’ His eyes glazed over as he stared down at her, his look gaunt and feverish – like a consumptive.

  ‘Why are you doing this?’

  ‘To make sure the money comes to me. I’m entitled to it. You’re not.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Paul. You’re not making any sense!’

  Laughing inanely, he took a small white pill from his pocket and popped it into his mouth. ‘You know – those are the very words my mother used, just before I slit her throat.’ Philippa gasped and started to struggle violently, straining against the ropes, frantically trying to pull herself free. Paul made no move to stop her. He stood by the side of the bed with a smile quivering on his lips as he watched her thrash about helplessly. ‘You can struggle. You can struggle all you want. But you mustn’t scream. You promised. Remember?’

  Philippa exhausted herself within moments, having made no impression on her bonds, succeeding only in tightening the nooses around her wrists and ankles. She lay still – gulping for air. Tears welled up in her eyes but she forced them back. She had to keep him talking. ‘Why did you do that, Paul? Why did you kill your own mother?’

  ‘You really want to know?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I tell you?’ His smile was cold and distant. ‘You’ll appreciate it. It’s really neat.’ He sat down on the bed beside her.

  ‘You know Dad wanted to dump Mum? Of course you do. It was so he could shack up with you, wasn’t it? But there was no way she was ever going to allow that to happen. She was desperately hoping to be able to patch up their marriage. She knew he couldn’t walk out on her because she had a hold over him. When I went round to the flat one day for a coffee, she told me about it. She knew her paragon of a husband had shagged Saoirse when she was underage and she was threatening to spill the beans if he tried to leave her. But despite everything, she wanted him back. Can you believe that? Once you had ditched him, she was hoping they could start over. I couldn’t stomach the idea of Mum taking him back – you have no idea how much I hate the bastard – so I told her about Carole. That totally freaked her out.’

  Paul leaned across to wipe the beads of perspiration from Philippa’s glistening forehead. He smoothed away her hair and ran his fingertips down the side of her face, gently caressing her cheek. She made no attempt to turn her head away. She had no idea who Saoirse and Carole were, but the only thing that mattered right now was to keep him talking.

  ‘What freaked your Mum out, Paul?’

  Paul blinked twice, then carried on rapidly. ‘I hadn’t said a word about it to her in twelve years – not in twelve fucking years! Not to save his miserable skin, of course. Nothing would have given me greater pleasure than to see his face when Mum confronted him with it. But I couldn’t tell her, could I?’ Paul paused.

  ‘Why couldn’t you tell her, Paul?’ Philippa prompted.

  Paul sprang to his feet and strode to the bottom of the bed. ‘I knew she’d be devastated if she found out about Carole.’ He spun back round to face Philippa. ‘But I had to tell her – you can see that, can’t you?’ he shouted. ‘Otherwise she was going to take him back, for fuck’s sake! She broke down in tears. I knew she would. Then she started ranting and raving. ‘How could the bastard have shagged my sister?’ she screamed. There wasn’t any question of patching up the marriage after that, I can tell you!’ Paul chortled.

  ‘When she eventually calmed down, the only thing on her mind was revenge. And who could blame her, after the way he’d treated her? I needed money desperately – my dealer was threatening to cut off more than my supply if I didn’t pay up. I suddenly thought of an idea. ‘What if we could get him committed, Mum?’ I suggested. ‘That way we could get our hands on all his money. He’s pretty unstable at the best of times. It wouldn’t take too much pressure to push him over the edge.’

  ‘She thought that was a brilliant idea. Mum came up with the plan of a fake suicide, followed by a fake murder. She had the acting ability, the make-up expertise and the production skills to make it all happen – and she was confident she could carry it off. She promised me half the money if I helped her with it. She planned everything meticulously. She got her inspiration from a black comedy her amateur dramatic society put on a couple of years back. It was a spoof thriller about a stiff that disappeared mysteriously from inside a locked room. It was called Rigor Mortice – get it?’ He chuckled. ‘As she was planning to make her corpse disappear twice, I christened our plan Double Mortice. We needed a codename to use when we discussed the arrangements over the phone – you never know who might be listening in. So, Double Mortice it was. Phase I for the ‘suicide’, Phase II for the ‘murder’.

  ‘It was her twisted Catholic logic, you see. Having your husband certified as insane is more acceptable than him leaving you.’ Paul grinned broadly.

  ‘Having Mum tied to the bed, spread-eagled, for the murder routine was my idea. I knew that would drive him crazy. Oh yes, I knew that all right. Mum didn’t want to go along with that at first. She couldn’t see the point. But she didn’t take a lot of convincing when I reminded her about Ca
role.’

  Paul’s eyes positively sparkled. ‘We started with Phase I – the suicide ploy. What a scheme! Mum nicked the key to flat 14 from the caretaker’s safe, then I went with her and we bought the duplicate bedroom furniture.’

  Philippa was getting more confused by the minute. ‘Flat 14’ and ‘duplicate bedroom furniture’ meant nothing to her, but as long as he was talking there was a glimmer of hope. Perhaps someone might find her before it was too late? At all costs, she had to keep him talking.

  ‘Why did you buy duplicate bedroom furniture?’

  Paul continued as if he hadn’t heard the question, rattling on in a world of his own. ‘I ordered the furniture in Gordon Parker’s name so it couldn’t be traced back to me, then I picked the stuff up in my van, a bit at a time, and brought it round here and assembled it in flat 14 while Dad was at work. Mum went to great lengths to ensure everything looked identical. She ordered a duplicate set of curtains for the bedroom; she had a new number ‘15’ made in gold letters to replace the number ‘14’ on the front door; she even had copies made of the Rennie Mackintosh paintings on the bedroom wall.’

  Paul paused to swallow another pill before continuing at high speed. ‘We let Gordon Parker in on the act because we needed his expertise to fix the lift. He was magic with anything electronic. He came round one day and re-wired the control panel. Just like that!’ he shouted, letting out a manic Tommy Cooper chuckle. ‘Gordon showed us how we could switch the lift to stop at floor 14 any time we wanted. He also got a mobile phone jammer on the Internet and set it up for us. With just a flick of a switch we could block all mobile phone communications, in and out of the flat. Good old Gordon. He was desperate to get his hands on enough cash so he and Maureen could get hitched and Mum promised to see him all right as soon as she got control of Dad’s estate.

  ‘Everything went like a dream. I was hiding in the kitchen, nursing my baseball bat. You don’t know about my bat, do you? That’s it over there.’ He pointed towards it lying on the dressing table. ‘It’s a very special bat – a present from my old man, would you believe?

  ‘If, by any chance, Dad had gone to the kitchen or the lounge, the game would’ve been up. In that case we were going to switch to plan B. I’d smash him over the head with the baseball bat and we’d tip his body over the bedroom balcony and make it look like suicide.

  ‘Mum didn’t want to resort to killing him unless it was absolutely necessary. She just wanted to drive him mad. But me,’ he whispered hoarsely, ‘I wanted to use the bat on him.’ His eyes hardened as he spoke. ‘It would’ve been the ultimate poetic justice – using that particular bat to smash his skull to smithereens.

  ‘All my life I’ve had to suffer his patronising crap; how grateful I should be that he gave me a job in the firm; how I was wasting my time on a brain-dead rock group. My God, you don’t know how much I hate the smug bastard. But tonight,’ he whispered. ‘Tonight – I am going to use the bat on him. I’ll show him who’s brain-dead.’ Paul suddenly fell silent and stared at the wall. Taking another pill from his pocket, he slipped it between his teeth.

  Don’t let him stop talking! You must keep him talking! ‘What happened after that?’

  Paul switched his gaze back to her, studying her face. ‘When Dad arrived at the flat, Mum was lying on the bed doing her suicide act. She almost blew it when he held a mirror to her lips – we hadn’t reckoned on that. But she managed to hold her breath just long enough. Nice going, that. Then she disappeared off to Aberdeen. She told her parents that Dad had beaten her up and that she was terrified of what he might do to her next. She even gave herself a few fake bruises with theatrical make-up; a special skill of hers – very handy. She was establishing her rationale for going into hiding. After she’d got Dad committed, she planned to reappear as the terrified, battered wife who’d run away to escape from the violent, sadistic monster.

  ‘Clever, eh? After the suicide scenario, we decided to wait until Dad went back to work before enacting the murder. I went past his office every morning to check if his car was there. The following Tuesday, I saw it, and I phoned Aberdeen straight away. Grandad answered the phone so I used a high-pitched voice to ask for Mum. Double Mortice – Phase II – We have lift-off’. That was all I had to say; the pre-arranged signal for Mum to come back to Glasgow. I’m not boring you, am I?’

  ‘No, Paul. Go on. Tell me what happened next.’

  Paul furrowed his brow. ‘Mum was in a foul mood when I picked her up at Queen Street station. Apparently Gordon Parker had written to her while she was in Aberdeen. The idiot had told her he was worried about me because I was messing about with hard drugs and he thought she should know. The stupid pillock. As if I couldn’t handle it. As soon as she got off the train, she started giving me a hard time. She said she wasn’t going to give me any more money unless I promised to give up drugs. She went on and on about it all the way back to the flat. Eventually I had to promise – just to shut her up.

  ‘When I finally got her off that subject we set up the ‘murder’. I’d got hold of a container of sheep’s blood from an abattoir outside Edinburgh – I told them it was for the final scene in Hamlet in a school play. We switched the lift so it would stop at the fourteenth floor and we jammed the mobile phone signal. I nicked Dad’s razor from his bathroom and brought Brutus down to flat 14, leaving the apartment door wide open. Mum applied theatrical make-up to her throat to give it the appearance of having been slit – black lines and jagged red weals. She even managed a sort of 3-D effect – it was amazingly realistic. It almost convinced me. Then I tied her to the bed. She was stretched out, just like you are.’ Paul closed his eyes. ‘Just like Carole,’ he added in a hoarse whisper.

  Paul’s eyes flicked open and his gaze travelled the length of Philippa’s body, coming to rest on the shallow rise and fall of her breasts. He was breathing heavily.

  ‘The plan was that I would watch at the window for Dad’s car and when I saw it coming I was to pour the sheep’s blood over Mum’s throat. I went to the en suite bathroom – that’s where you get the best view of the road. It was really exciting. I knew we could pull it off – and I might even get the opportunity to smash the bastard’s head in with my bat.’ Philippa saw his eyes dance at the prospect. ‘Suddenly I had a craving for a hit. I had a needle and a speedball in my jacket. I’d been planning to save it for the evening but I felt an overwhelming need for a fix right there and then. Although Mum was only a few yards away, she couldn’t see into the bathroom. It was magic. What a rush. The best high I’ve ever experienced. The adrenaline and the speedball mixed beautifully. I was ecstatic.

  ‘Then, even lying tied to the bed, Mum started nagging me again, droning on and on about how worried she was that I was messing about with hard drugs, especially heroin. How it must be very serious if nosy-bloody-Parker felt he had to write to tell her about it. How she’d never give me another penny if I ever touched hard drugs again.

  ‘She was ruining everything. I was freaking out – and she was spoiling it. I shouted to her to shut up. She told me to stop shouting. I went into the bedroom and screamed at her. She looked at me – she knew I’d had a hit – I could tell by her eyes – she could tell by mine – we knew each other’s eyes, Mum and me. She ordered me to untie her immediately. She said the game was over; that we weren’t going to go through with it.

  ‘But I couldn’t allow that, could I? I desperately needed my share of the money. Speedballs are expensive. I already owed my dealer a fortune. He was leaning on me to pay up. You only get one warning, and I’d had that. He was threatening to cut off more than my supply. ‘I can’t untie you, mother’, I explained. ‘If I untie you, you won’t give me any money’. Then I suddenly thought of a way to get all the money for myself. I picked up Dad’s razor. ‘But you are right, Mum – the game is over. We’re playing for real now.’

  ‘Paul, you’re not making any sense!’ she shouted. I slashed at her throat and she went berserk, twisting and struggling like
a maniac. I cut strips of tape and fastened them across her mouth to shut her up. Still, she twisted and struggled. I slashed again and again.

  ‘Eventually she stopped moving – just an occasional reflex jerk. Jesus, I felt great. I went back to the bathroom window to watch for Dad’s car. It wasn’t long before I saw him arrive. There was already blood everywhere but I poured the sheep’s blood over her for good measure – a high budget production. The effect was brilliant. Then I hid in the kitchen.

  ‘When Dad found her body he was sick as a dog, then he ran off. I took Brutus back upstairs, re-set the lift and unblocked the mobile phone signal. All going according to plan. I was well on top of it. I went back down to flat 14 and watched from the window. I saw the cops arrive and I heard them go upstairs. I waited until I saw them leave with my Dad in a squad car, then I wrapped Mum’s corpse in a sheet and took it down to my van. I drove to a quiet spot in the hills and I tied her body to four trees to make it look as if the murder had taken place there. The following day I waited till the caretaker had gone to the pub at lunchtime, then I went back to flat 14 to clean up the floor, dismantle the furniture and load it into my van. I even went to the trouble of smashing it to smithereens and dropping bits off at several different rubbish tips around the city. That’s the way to do it.’ He nodded, relishing his ingenuity.

  ‘Of course, that left me with the problem of what to do about Parker,’ he continued. ‘I hadn’t told him that we’d triggered Phase II but I knew that as soon as the news broke about Mum’s murder, he’d realise I’d killed her and he’d run whimpering to the police.

  ‘I went through to Edinburgh for a rehearsal last Thursday and I came back to Glasgow on an early train on Friday morning. I’d given Parker a key to my flat so he could shack up with Maureen. I knew she was on the early shift, so I waited outside the apartment until I saw her leave, then I went upstairs and let myself in quietly. Gordon was fast asleep. I had his hands tied behind his back before he’d properly wakened up. I grabbed his feet and tied them too. I told him I’d had to kill my mother and it was all his fault because of that stupid fucking letter. The wimp had never done heroin in his life – he’d never got beyond smoking pot and dropping a few tabs – and he was trying to lecture me on what I should and shouldn’t use? For Christ’s sake!