Bill roared like a tiger whose prey has escaped, then let out a stream of swear-words that could have made your ears bleed.
Graham and I raced across the room, leant over the parapet and saw, to our immense relief, that Angelica had landed in deep water. She bobbed to the surface but seemed to be making no effort to swim.
“You stupid—!” bellowed Bill from inside the room, and Graham and I spun round to face him. I’m not repeating what he called us – you can probably imagine.
It was obvious that he knew that we knew all about him. He must have been listening at the door while we worked it out. And now something was contorting his features: something that terrified the pants off me. It was the cold, savage rage that had clearly inspired him to stab Josie.
For the first time I noticed how extremely well-muscled his arms and shoulders were. We were two against one, but I doubted we’d stand much chance, especially as he’d just pulled a knife from his pocket and flicked it open.
“Come over here,” he said, “and get what you deserve.”
I looked at Graham. He gave me a faint nod and his eyes slid seawards. In that split second we made our decision.
Let me assure you, climbing over a parapet and plummeting – what, thirty metres? – into the sea is not a pleasant experience. Don’t try it at home. The water whacked me so hard, it knocked the breath clean out of my lungs and I sank deep, deep down in a rush of bubbles, and soon I didn’t know which way was up. I thrashed and kicked but couldn’t tell if I was swimming deeper or back to the surface, and it was all just lung-bursting panic until a hand grabbed mine and pulled. That gulp of air as I broke through into the sunlight was the sweetest breath I’ve ever inhaled.
I looked around. Graham was treading water a couple of metres away. The hand that had grabbed me belonged to Angelica.
The pair of us splashing down so close to her seemed to have jerked her out of her dream-like state. Letting her husband frame her was one thing. Allowing the deaths of two innocent children was quite another. Her face had taken on a determined look.
“Can you swim to the beach?” she demanded.
“Yes,” I spluttered. It wasn’t that far – just around the rocks – and it wasn’t like there was a heavy current to contend with. Angelica struck out in a smooth crawl, and Graham and I kind of doggy-paddled behind, still winded by the long drop.
When we reached the cove we were faced with a new problem. Bill was already at the top of the path, descending fast, the knife glinting in his hand. He didn’t look like he was after a cosy chat.
Our only hope was the pedalo. Graham and I began to pull it across the sand and Angelica pushed from the other side, but we were all so panicked by the sight of Bill that our teamwork wasn’t exactly impressive. We reached the water’s edge just as he reached the beach. He was less than ten metres away now, but the soft sand was harder for him to run on than the cliff path had been.
“Stop!” he screamed.
I took strength from the edge of fear in his voice: he must think he couldn’t reach us in time. We gave the pedalo one last shove, then Graham and I jumped into the seats and started pedalling frantically while Angelica leapt onto the back.
Behind us Bill’s heavy footsteps thudded over the last bit of dry sand and came splashing into the waves. Angelica stuck her legs in the water and kicked desperately to give us more momentum. Bill lunged, but her sudden spurt of energy took us beyond his reach. And thankfully Bill wasn’t a good swimmer like Angelica. Once he found he was out of his depth, he turned back for land, defeated.
“If we can get round to the big beach there’ll be loads of people,” I puffed. “He can’t do anything to us there.”
For a while we pedalled along the shoreline in silence. But after five minutes or so I couldn’t help asking, “It was Bill, wasn’t it? He killed all of them. Starting with Mick.”
The pedalo lurched as Angelica moved up to perch between me and Graham. “You know about him?” she said incredulously. “How?”
“Well … we kind of worked it out,” I said. “It took a while, though. Bill’s Mr Nice Guy act is very convincing.”
“Tell me about it,” she said wearily. “It was years before I saw through him. If I had done so sooner, Mick might still be alive.”
“You shouldn’t blame yourself,” Graham put in helpfully. “Con men don’t go around with flashing neon signs on their heads saying DON’T TRUST ME, I’M A GIT. They’re charming. Likeable. Plausible. That’s how people get taken in.”
“Perhaps you’re right. I was so young when we met! Just a kid, really. I didn’t know any better.” She let out a sad, tired laugh. “He made me ditch my friends. I thought it was romantic that he wanted me all to himself. Stupid girl! It was only later that I realized he had me in a stranglehold. Then along came Mick…”
“And you fell in love with him?”
“Head over heels. But Bill refused to give me a divorce – he said he’d never let me go. Mick tried to make him see sense, be reasonable, but he wouldn’t. Then one day I couldn’t take any more. I told him I was leaving and went to pack my case. Mick must have been out walking his dog. By the time I was ready to go, the police were at the door. As soon as I heard, I knew exactly what Bill had done. I couldn’t think straight. I ran through the wood, I just had to find Mick. When I got back I was too distraught to tell the police what I thought had happened. After they left, Bill kept me prisoner. Locked me in my own home! And then he met Josie, and he worked out his little plan. After that he made sure no one believed a word I said. The more I protested, the crazier I looked. But I had to try. I knew the whole wedding was set up to trap me, but I had no choice. I had to come. That poor girl! She had no relatives, no friends to protect her. That’s why Bill chose her.”
“Did you tell Ruby all this?” I asked.
“Yes. She didn’t believe me. And when I found her – when I saw what he’d done to his own mother – I knew Sizal would be at risk too. I used to talk to him sometimes, you see? I’d asked him to help me. But even he thought I’d gone mad. I ran back to the villa but I was too late. This morning I went down to plead with Josie again – I knew she wasn’t safe – but she was already dead. I don’t suppose she’d have believed me anyway: no one ever does. Even his mother couldn’t see what Bill was really like…”
“But we can!” Graham said staunchly.
“Believing is one thing. Proving is another,” said Angelica miserably. “If it was that easy, don’t you think I’d have done something?”
“There’s a photo of you taken that day in the bluebell wood…” I said. “You look dreadful.”
Angelica let out a wry laugh. “Thanks.”
“Sorry, but you know what I mean. It was taken before Bill met Josie. It proves you must have been upset about Mick, not about Bill leaving you for another woman. OK, it’s not much, but it’s a start. And we’ll back you up.”
We’d been pedalling for a good twenty minutes. My legs were starting to feel distinctly wobbly around the knees and Graham’s breathing was ragged with effort. “Not far now,” I puffed encouragingly. “If we can just get around the headland we’ll be home and dry.”
We neared the rocks, and, turning the corner, caught a glimpse of the golden stretch of sandy beach. My heart lifted for a moment. Then it sank to the bottom of the ocean. I could hear a speedboat engine. And I could see Bill powering towards us.
Angelica curled into a tight ball. “There’s no escaping him,” she whimpered. “He’ll never let me go. Never! I won’t be free of him until I’m dead!”
We didn’t have time to argue with her before Bill’s boat was on us, nudging the pedalo backwards, around the headland and out of sight of the beach. Then he powered up his engine and ploughed on, pushing our helpless little craft further and further out to sea. The pedals were now whirring round so hard and fast, we had to lift our legs high in the air for fear of having our feet chopped off. All we could do was cling on and wait for Bill to stop. And, in his own good time, he did.
Coolly, casually, as if he was picking up a mop or broom, Bill took a boat hook from the floor of his speedboat. He raised it above his head and then, with a force that might have been impressive if it hadn’t been so terrifying, brought the pointed end down into pedalo, just centimetres from where Angelica was cowering. And in about five seconds flat, our heroic vessel started to sink.
I looked back at the island. We were at least a kilometre out to sea. There was no way I could swim that far, and neither could Graham. We were done for.
“You know, kids,” Bill said, smiling his charming smile, “pedalos are dead dangerous. Ain’t no escaping the currents around here.”
“You won’t get away with it!” Graham shouted as the pedalo finally gave up and began to disappear beneath the surface. We were ankle-deep. Knee-deep. Thigh-deep in water.
“Sure I will. Two drownings? Two more deaths by misadventure? Tragic, but not suspicious, I think you’ll find.”
We were treading water now. We couldn’t even strike out for the shore with Bill’s boat in the way.
He leant over the side and extended a hand to his ex-wife. “Come to me, angel,” he said in a silky-smooth voice that made my flesh creep. “You know you want to.”
Angelica let out a soft moan, but instead of swimming towards Bill she struck out determinedly in the opposite direction. Her long hair streamed behind her and Bill had only to reach down and grab it to haul her back. He held her there for a moment, a grin playing on his handsome features. He had her just where he wanted her. Then he bent down and plucked her from the sea as if she weighed nothing.
Angelica collapsed on the floor of the boat. All the fight seemed to have gone out of her. Bill booted up the engine, turned the vessel round and steered towards the shore. In no time at all they were ten, twenty, fifty metres away. Half-heartedly Graham and I started to swim, but we knew our chances of survival were zero.
Then, suddenly, Angelica struck. I don’t know what she’d found to use as a weapon, but it must have been good and hard. We couldn’t see exactly what happened – just a figure leaping at the pilot. He staggered, and the engine sputtered and died. She struck again. There was a yell of pain, a splash, a desperate, angry roar. Bill was in the water, trying to haul himself back on board. But the engine started again and the boat lurched sideways, out of control, out of his reach. Angelica had clearly never steered a speedboat before: it was all over the place, spinning in a circle, shooting off, turning … then heading in a straight line for the man in the water.
Bill let out a high, hideous scream, which was cut short when the boat thudded into him. He didn’t make another sound, and when the boat had passed over where he’d been, he didn’t bob back to the surface. Instead we saw red spreading across the water. It looked like someone had poured a can of paint into the sea.
Graham and I grimaced in horror but didn’t say a word: we were saving our breath for swimming.
We didn’t need to. Angelica had finally got the boat under control. Five minutes later she had plucked us from the water and we were heading for the shore.
There’s not much to add, really. Tessa clearly had had ambitions to become the third Mrs Strummer. When Graham and I returned to the villa with Angelica, dripping wet and with a long story for the police, she was None Too Pleased. We gave our statements, a bemused Sally standing by as the Responsible Adult, her eyes growing wider by the second. “I am never, ever taking you two anywhere again,” she told us afterwards – which I didn’t think was very fair. It wasn’t us who’d committed all those murders. “What on earth will your mother say? No – don’t tell me. I can imagine. You’ll be lucky if she ever lets you out of her sight in future.”
After paying Sally an enormous wad of cash in tight-lipped silence, Tessa despatched us off the island as fast as she could. Somehow I suspected she wouldn’t get in touch with her old college friend a second time.
When the news got out about Josie’s murder she was elevated to heights of fame that she could only have dreamt about while she was still alive. She became the embodiment of tragically doomed youth and beauty – standing somewhere between Marilyn Monroe and Princess Diana. It can’t have been much compensation for being murdered by the man she’d had a crush on since she was seven.
Overnight, Bill went from being rock-star-superhero-who-does-so-much-for-charity to murdering-scum-of-the-earth-who-deserved-everything-he-got. While his reputation nosedived, Angelica’s rocketed into the stratosphere.
She seemed to develop a new lease of life. With our evidence backing her version of events, her story was accepted not only by the police but by the public at large. Everyone wanted to know her side of things and she suddenly found herself invited to chat shows all over the world.
Mick’s dog, Dinkum, was freed from the canine equivalent of death row, where he’d been languishing since Mick’s so-called accident, and was rehomed with Angelica. It was good to know that one innocent life had been spared.
The fact that Angelica had steered a speedboat over her ex-husband didn’t seem to bother anyone unduly. She claimed it was an accident and everybody believed her. Well, almost everybody. Graham and I weren’t convinced. I mean, she’d managed to handle the boat well enough when she rescued us. We didn’t say anything, though. We couldn’t exactly blame her after everything she’d been through. And if she hadn’t killed him, we’d both have drowned. Bill suffering death by misadventure seemed like poetic justice.
The rock star had left his entire fortune to Angelica but she didn’t want to touch a penny of it – she gave everything away to good causes. A large chunk went to the children’s home where Josie had been brought up and they erected a really nice memorial to her in the garden.
Meanwhile, Angelica made her own fortune by writing her autobiography. Please Believe Me became an international bestseller. It was dedicated to Mick. And to me and Graham.