Part 27 (1/2)
”Its an answer. Probably the one most people would come up with.”
”Youre not most people. Youre better than most people.”
”Then let me hasten to prove my worth,” Charlie said sarcastically. ”Hindley, the concentration camp guard, all the killers in Tim Brearys books-theyre all distanced from their crimes in a significant way, either by time, or contrition, alleged contrition . . .”
”Which doesnt apply to the killers Tim Breary wasnt reading about.” Charlie heard the excitement in Simons voice. ”Harold s.h.i.+pman, the Wests, Saddam Hussein, bin Laden. s.h.i.+pman was still at it, wasnt he? Only stopped killing when he was caught. Fred West: the same. He and Rose would have carried on, probably, if the police hadnt stopped them.”
”Do we know enough about any of these people to be able to say that for sure?” asked Charlie.
”I think so,” said Simon. ”Bin Laden and Saddam Hussein were both still openly proud of their murderous achievements when they carked it, werent they? They might have found time to fit in a few more murders if theyd lived.”
So you dont know for sure, then. Charlie was sensible enough to keep her mouth shut.
”Some murderers will always be murderers,” Simon said. ”Its how they are. Others you know wont do it again. Pinochet and that n.a.z.i guy-didnt people say about both of them that there was no point making them stand trial now that they were old and infirm?”
”Ive no idea,” said Charlie.
”Theyd both been free for years, decades, and not clocked up any new victims,” Simon said. ”Same with the Lockerbie bomber. Hes been sick and dying and claiming hes innocent for as long as I can remember. His killing days were over long ago, a.s.suming he ever was a killer.”
”Myra Hindley,” Charlie put her doubts to the back of her mind and joined in. ”Contrite, BA Hons, claiming to be a whole new s.h.i.+ny person, that idiot Lord Whatsit lobbying to let her out.” She took Simons tea from him and sipped it. He didnt seem to notice. ”So . . . what? Tim Breary wanted to kill Francine, but he didnt want to be saddled with the guilt and the blame forever? He wanted to know if it was possible to shake off the taint of evil, once youve done something terrible?”
”No, not the taint of evil, not in himself,” said Simon. ”This is about trying to detect the presence of evil. Or guilt.”
”In who?” Charlie could think of only one possible candidate. ”Francine?”
”Hold on. Lets be sure were right about this. Hindleys different from the others in Tim Brearys collection. She never had the chance to prove she wouldnt reoffend if released.”
”But . . .”
”But she wouldnt have, would she? No one believed shed have killed or tortured again.”
”No. It was the combination of her and Ian Brady that was lethal,” said Charlie. ”Without him, shed never have done it. Wait, is that another thing theyve got in common, the monsters in Brearys books? The n.a.z.i-did he come out with the old excuse about having to obey orders?”
”What, you mean without Hitler he wouldnt have done it? Probably. Most n.a.z.is who werent ringleaders said afterward that they were just following orders. Pinochets defenders certainly claimed hed never known about the murder and torture his minions had been involved in. The Lockerbie bomber-some people, including him, seem to think he isnt guilty.”
Simon turned to face Charlie. ”This is about the presence of guilt,” he said. ”Or the absence of it. Brearys collection of murderers-theyre all people you might argue about: to what extent can they still be blamed? Were they ever evil? Are they still evil now, and just hiding it more successfully than people like Harold s.h.i.+pman and the Wests?”
”So before Francine had the stroke, she made Tims and everyone elses life a misery,” said Charlie.
”But she couldnt have done it without his willing partic.i.p.ation, to go back to your point about it taking two to tango.” Simon sounded excited again. ”He stayed with her, so how far could she be held individually responsible for whatever happened between them?”
”He was just obeying orders, if we believe Kerry Jose,” said Charlie. ”Orders he could and should have disobeyed.”
”After the stroke, Francine was harmless, powerless, almost unrecognizable, but she was still Francine,” Simon said. ”Her mind was at least partly intact. Perhaps she was sorry and couldnt say so.”
”Theres no reason to a.s.sume she was sorry, is there? Apart from for herself.”
”No,” said Simon. ”Thats the point: Breary didnt know what to think, and he wanted to know. Needed to. The stroke put Francine at a distance from the person she used to be. Breary had no idea if it was still acceptable to have all the same feelings about her that hed had before.”
”To want to kill her, you mean?”
”Maybe. Think about it: imagine he had wanted to kill her, before. In his position, could you have done it once shed had the stroke, and been sure you were killing the same person? What if she didnt remember anything from when she and Breary lived together? What if the stroke had affected her mind as radically as it had her body, and she was desperately sorry, but couldnt say so?”
”And you think Breary was looking for answers in his books about monsters who might have stopped being monsters, or who might never have been monsters in the first place?”
”If I had to guess-and this is just a total guess . . .” Simon drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. ”He couldnt forgive Francine. He read those books to see if they could help him decide who was more guilty, him or her. Him for being unable to forgive her even in her weakened, altered state, or her for having been the person she was before the stroke-and maybe still was, until her death. Most people feel their feelings and leave it at that. Not Breary-he a.n.a.lyzes them right down to their tiniest components. That sonnet he gave me for Gaby Struthers, its all about love being a paradox. The poets trying to work out what love is.”
”Isnt it freezing your a.r.s.e off in a cold car?” said Charlie. ”Thats what I heard.”
”Tim Brearys obsessed with love, and with guilt. He wants to understand them both better: his love for Gaby and his blaming of Francine. Big question is: which matters more to him, the love or the hate?”
”Explain?” said Charlie hopefully.
”When he left the Culver Valley and moved west, was it his love for Gaby that drove him away or his hatred for Francine?”
”Dunno. I couldnt have less of a clue if I tried.”
”He left them both: love and hate. Then when Francine had her stroke, he moved back to the Culver Valley. Was it his love for Gaby that brought him back, or his loathing of Francine?”
”Thats . . . easier?” said Charlie doubtfully. ”Had to be the love, surely? Though Gaby says he didnt contact her at any point. But why come back and look after your invalid wife if you loathe her and youre not even together anymore?”
”Because you can see how easy it would be to kill her,” said Simon, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. ”Then, once shes dead and youre unenc.u.mbered, thats when you think about getting in touch with the woman you really love.”
”But Tim Breary didnt get in touch with Gaby, even after Francines death. And you dont think he killed Francine,” Charlie reminded him.
”I didnt,” Simon conceded. ”I dont know what I think anymore, except that whatever the f.u.c.ks going on, its stranger and more complicated than anything Ive come across before.”
”Well, thats a lucky coincidence,” said Charlie, swallowing a sigh. ”Stranger and more complicated is exactly what you need. Virtually everyone I meet comments on the disappointing lack of strangeness and complication in your professional life.”
”Do they? No, they dont.”
”No. They dont.”
”This case is all about feelings, Charlie.”
Youd better ask to be taken off it, then. She didnt say it; it would have been cruel. Wasnt every case about feelings? Did he mean romantic feelings, specifically? He seemed to have latched on to the idea of Gaby Struthers and Tim Breary as the hero and heroine of a doomed love story; so far, Charlie hadnt had the heart to point out that Breary might want Simon to think precisely that, or to tell him to stop staring at that sodding sonnet as if it was suddenly going to offer up an ingenious solution. Shed been woken at three this morning by Simon switching on his bedside lamp, and had opened her unwilling eyes to find him lying flat on his back and pillowless, holding the poem directly above his face as if to fend off non-existent rain.
Charlie hadnt been able to get back to sleep. Shed been hoping for an earlyish night tonight to compensate. Who am I to judge Lizzie Proust? she thought. Would Lizzie be able to understand Charlie not daring to say, ”Im going inside now-I refuse to spend the whole night in the car,” in case it broke some kind of spell?
”I should be able to make sense of this case,” Simon said. ”Im exactly like Breary. I put every emotion under the microscope.”
”Even your pa.s.sionate love for me?” Charlie asked, having first put all the usual low expectations in place.
”No. Too big. Wouldnt fit under the lens.” Simon smiled at her.
”Excuse me? Could you say that again?”
He turned away. ”One day well never see each other again. Do you ever think about that?”
”No. What do you mean?”