The First Cut

Martha pushed her chair back and stood up to leave. “Excuse me,” she said to Keith. “Must be off. Lots to do.”

“Aren’t you going to finish your cup of tea?” Keith asked.

“I’ve had two already. Anyway, it’s stewed.” And she hurried upstairs to her room. There, she locked the door, opened the window and enjoyed a cigarette as she leaned on the sill and looked at the small white clouds over St. Mary’s.

After she’d finished the Rothmans and paid a visit to the toilet, she picked up her holdall and set off down the stairs again. At the first-floor landing, she bumped into Keith coming out of his room. Just my luck, she thought.

“Want to show me around?” he asked. “What with both of us being alone here…Well, it seems a shame.”

“I’m sure you know more about the place than I do. I’ve just arrived, and you’ve been here three days already.”

“Yes, but you’re a native. I’m just a poor ignorant foreigner.”

“I’m sorry,” Martha said, “but I’ve got work to do.”

“Oh? What would that be, then?”

“Research. I’m working on a book.”

They were walking down the last flight of carpeted stairs to the hallway. Martha couldn’t just break away from him. She wanted to see which way he turned in the street so that she could walk the other way.

“Well, maybe we can have a drink this evening, after you’ve finished work and I’ve worn out my poor feet?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what time I’ll be finished.”

“Oh, come on. Say seven o’clock, all right? You know what they say: All work and no play…There’s a nice, quiet little pub just on the corner at the end of the street. The Lucky Fisherman, I think it’s called. Is it a date? I’m away tomorrow anyway, so you’ll only have to put up with me the once.”

Martha thought quickly. They had passed the door now and were already walking down the front steps to the path. If she said no, it would look very odd indeed, and the last thing she wanted was to appear conspicuous in any way. It was bad enough being a woman by herself here. If she acted strangely, then this Keith might just have cause to remember her as some kind of oddball, and that wouldn’t do at all. On the other hand, if she did agree to have a drink with him, he would no doubt ask her all kinds of questions about her life. Still, she thought, there was no reason why she couldn’t tell him a pack of lies. That should be easy enough for a woman with her imagination.

“All right,” she said as they reached the gate. “Seven o’clock in the Lucky Fisherman.”

Keith smiled. “Great. See you then. Have a good day.”

He turned left, and Martha turned right.

10 Kirsten

When Kirsten drifted out of the comforting darkness for the second time, she noticed the vases of red and yellow flowers and the cards standing on her bedside table. Then she turned her head and saw a stranger sitting at the other side of the bed. She gripped the sheets around her throat and looked around the rest of the room. The white-smocked nurse still hovered in the background-that, at least, was reassuring-and sitting against the wall by the door was a man in a light gray suit with a notebook on his lap and a pencil poised, ready to write. Kirsten couldn’t focus all that clearly on him, but he looked too young to be as bald as he seemed.

The man beside her leaned forward and rested his chin on his fists. He was about her father’s age-early fifties-with short, spiky gray hair and a red complexion. His eyes were brown, and a tiny wen grew between his right eye and his nose. Wedged between his left nostril and his upper lip was a dark mole with a couple of hairs sprouting from it. He wore a navy-blue suit, white shirt and a black-and-amber-striped tie. His expression was kindly and concerned.

“How are you feeling, Kirsten?” he asked. “Do you feel like talking?”

“A bit groggy,” she replied. “Can you tell me what’s happened to me? Nobody’s told me anything.”

“You were attacked. You’ve been hurt, but you’re going to be all right.”

“Who are you? Are you a doctor?”

“I’m Detective Superintendent Elswick. The bright young lad over by the door there is Detective Sergeant Haywood. We’re here to see if you can tell us anything that might help us catch whoever did this.”

Kirsten shook her head. “It’s all dark…I…I can’t…”

“Stay calm,” Elswick said softly. “Don’t struggle with it. Just relax and let me ask the questions. If you don’t know the answers, shake your head or say no. Don’t get worked up about it. All right?”

Kirsten swallowed. “I’ll try.”

“Good. You were at a party the night it happened. Do you remember that?”

“Yes. Vaguely. There was music, dancing. It was the end of term bash.”

“That’s right. Now, as far as we can gather, you left alone at about one o’clock. Am I right?”

“I…I think so. I don’t remember the time. I did go out by myself, though. It was a lovely warm night.” Kirsten remembered standing by the door of Oastler Hall and breathing in the honeyed air.

“And then you walked through the park.”

“Yes. It’s a shortcut. I’ve done it lots of times. Nothing ever-”

“Relax, Kirsten. We know. Nobody’s blaming you. Don’t get upset about it. Now, did you notice anyone else around at all?”

“No. It was quiet. There was no one.”

“Did you hear anything?”

“Only the cars on the road.”

“Nobody left the party and followed you?”

“I didn’t see anyone.”

“Were you aware at any time of someone following you?”

“No. I suppose I might have run if I had been. But no.”

“What about earlier in the evening? As I understand it, you were at a pub with some friends: the Ring O’Bells. Is that right?”

Kirsten nodded.

“Did you notice anyone taking an unusual interest in you, anyone who seemed to be watching you closely?”

“No.”

“Any strangers there?”

“I…I don’t remember. It was busy earlier, but…”

“There was some trouble, wasn’t there? Could you tell me about it?”

Kirsten told him what she could remember about the incident with the landlord. It seemed so silly now; she felt embarrassed to think of it.

“So you and your friends were the last to leave?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t see anyone hanging around outside?”

“No.”

“What about the attack itself? Do you remember anything about how it happened?”

Kirsten closed her eyes and confronted only darkness. It was as if a black cloud had formed somewhere in her mind, and inside it was trapped everything that this man wanted to know. The rest of her-memories, feelings, sensations-could only circle the thick darkness helplessly. It was a chunk of her life, a package of pain and terror that had been wrapped up and hidden away in the dark. She didn’t know if she could penetrate it, or if she wanted to; inside, she sensed, lived horrors too monstrous to confront.

“I was looking for the moon,” she said.

“What?”

“I sat on the lion-you know, that statue in the middle of the park-and I threw my head back. I was looking for the moon. I know it sounds silly. I wasn’t drunk or anything. It’s just that it was my last night and I’d always wanted to…to just…sit. That’s all I can remember.”

“What happened?”

“When? What do you mean?”

“You were sitting on the lion looking for the moon. What happened next?”

Superintendent Elswick’s voice was soft and hypnotic. It was making Kirsten feel sleepy again. Now that she had come round fully, she could feel her aching body with its tight skin, and she wanted to sail out on the tide again and leave it behind.

“A hand,” she said. “That’s all I remember. A hand came from behind, over my nose and mouth. I couldn’t breathe. And then it all went black.”

“You didn’t see anyone?”

“No. I’m sorry…I…There was something…”

“Yes?”

Kirsten frowned and shook her head. “It’s no good. I can’t remember.”