Page 109 of M for Murder

She wondered if he had intentionally married Kylan because of who she was. Had he planned to kill her all along?

The thought made her sick.

‘Come on,’ she said, squeezing Kylan’s shoulder. ‘Let’s get you out of here.’

Being careful not to rush her, Rebecca led Kylan down the stairs and into the kitchen. Now that she knew there weren’t any demons waiting to get her, she felt a lot more at ease. She flicked on the light switch, casting a warm glow onto the room, and sat Kylan down in one of the kitchen chairs. Finding a glass in one of the overhead cupboards, she poured her some water, telling her to sip it slowly. Then she picked up the phone that hung on the wall.

The line was dead.

Certain that she had seen a phone up in the bedroom, she left Kylan sipping the water and went back upstairs.

As she stepped back into the room with Parker, Rebecca screwed up her nose. Although she knew that he was dead, she was still hesitant to go near him, half expecting him to suddenly jump up and grab her, like in the movies.

She studied his face. Lawrence Parker had been a handsome man alive, but in death, his dark features only seemed to make him look ghoulish. Her eyes drifted down to the knife embedded deep in his flesh, and the blood spilling out onto his grey T-shirt.

Yuck! That had to have hurt.

Tearing her gaze away, she spotted the cordless phone on the far side of the bed.

Typical. To get to it she was going to have to pass him.

Coward!

Ignoring her inner voice and telling herself she had every right to be a little spooked after what she’d just seen, she sidled alongside the bed, choosing to get to the phone by clambering across the mattress.

As she picked up the phone, Parker suddenly gave a loud groan and lurched forward, his head dropping between his knees. Rebecca let out a yell, her heart pounding loudly in her chest. Dropping the phone, she scooted back across the mattress. She stared at Parker, expecting him to move again. He didn’t and she suddenly found her attention focused on the cut in the back of his neck.

Rough and jagged, covered by a film of blood. Carved in the shape of the letter P.

What the fuck?

From somewhere in the house came the sound of whistling. At first soft and distant, but gradually getting closer and louder.

Rebecca recognised the tune.

Tchaikovsky’s ‘Scene from Swan Lake’…

For a moment she found she couldn’t move. Sitting on the bed listening to the familiar whistle and the approaching footsteps on the stairs, she tried to rationalise with herself.

It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be.

Her legs unsteady, she climbed to her feet and took tentative steps towards the door. In her mind she replayed the scene she had discovered in the bedroom. Kylan huddled on the floor and Lawrie dead, stabbed with the knife. Self-defence. That was what Kylan had told her. Lawrie had attacked her, and she had protected herself. It had been self-defence.

Thinking about it, Rebecca realised that Kylan had never actually claimed it to be self-defence, not until Rebecca had put the words in her mouth for her.

‘It’s okay, Kylan. He tried to hurt you. You had to protect yourself.’

If Lawrie had attacked Kylan, how come she had been the one holding the knife?

Shit! This is insane. It can’t be Kylan. It doesn’t make sense.

Even as the thoughts passed through her mind, she realised that it did make sense. Everything that pointed to Lawrence Parker being the killer made sense. The tie. Kylan was the one person aside from Parker who would have easy access to it. The affair with Emma Keeley – a jealous wife. The alibis. Kylan had provided them for Parker, but would he have been able to provide them for her?

But what about Richard Lamb? He’d been watching her, following her. He must have known.

Not necessarily. The private investigator claimed to have followed her only during the day. At night he had been out hunting for the killer.

A killer who nobody would have suspected in a million years.