Sam thought that he was onto something. “Why was it unhappy? Was it money? Or was she having an affair? Were you, perhaps?”
“No, nothing like that.”
“Then why did you kill her?”
“I…”
Sam wasn’t interested in his protestations. “Come on, Doctor. There’s no point in refusing to tell us. You’re going to be convicted of murder whether you say anything or not. The only difference is whether you get parole sooner rather than later. The Parole Board don’t like people who refuse to accept guilt.”
Reed turned to Sam’s boss. “I didn’t murder Kate, Hannah. I loved her.”
Hannah raised her eyebrows. “So you what? Put her out of her misery?”
Reed might have been about to protest, but instead he paused, then said, “That would be a fair description.”
“But why? What misery did Kate have to be put out of?”
Reed had begun to weep again. For protracted seconds he said nothing, his head bowed low, then he said sadly, “Death.”
“That went well, I think.”
Reed, who was tired, raised a smile as he brought a tray of dirty crockery out to the kitchen. “It was superb. The desserts were brilliant.”
“Thank you. I thought so.”
“Mind you, it was obvious that Will and Ruth preferred my main.” He decided this with perfect seriousness, apparently after considered study.
Kate was outraged. “You think? You really think?”
Careful not to smile. “I know.”
She shook her head. “You sad man.”
He had put down the tray and was helping his wife unload the dishwasher. “Where does this go?”
“Don’t you know?”
“Obviously not.”
“You should be ashamed of yourself. It just goes to show how little you do around here.”
“Thank you for that. I’ll tell you what, I’ll give up the day job-and the money it brings in-and become a househusband. You can support us.”
She straightened up. She was wearing a figure-hugging bright blue, almost iridescent evening dress. “I may only be a humble publisher,” she pointed out, “but I think you’d notice it if I packed it in tomorrow.”
“I seriously doubt it.”
And, abruptly, her demeanor changed and became almost fearful. “You really think so?”
“What does that mean?”
A slight hesitation now came upon her. “It’s still supposed to be a secret, but Ruth’s just found out that she’s pregnant. She told me this evening.”
“Really?”
“She’s thrilled.”
For a moment, he was blind to her thinking. “I’m not surprised…” It was at this point that he came to realization. “Oh…”
“Wouldn’t it be wonderful? To have a baby?” Something joyous had come into her face, something that frightened him.
“Well… I suppose so.”
“Maybe twins,” she rushed on. “At any rate, we could eventually have two, or maybe three.”
He held up his hands. “Whoa. Hang on there. We’ve haven’t decided on having one yet. We’ve only been married three years.”
“But you want children, don’t you? You’ve always said that you did.”
He felt buffeted by her passion, wanted to swim to shore. “Yes…”
“Well, then.”
He gestured with his hands that she should slow down. He was fully aware that if he just refused she would be upset, there might even be a row, and he didn’t want that. At the same time, he wanted her to calm down, think rationally, where now he was sure that she was driven by instinct. “I just wasn’t expecting things to change quite so quickly. We’ve got a good life together.”
“And we’ll have an even better one when we’re parents. You’ll see.”
“This is all a bit sudden, Kate.”
She couldn’t see it. “After three years?”
“I hope we’re going to be married a long time.”
Despite his wish to avoid confrontation, she was plainly becoming angry at his intransigence. “But what’s the point of marriage without children?”
“For Christ’s sake, marriage is more than just a means of making babies, Kate.”
“But it’s also more than just two people enjoying themselves.” Her voice was rising, a frown beginning to form on her face. “It’s more than just dinner parties, holidays, and good sex.” She stopped. Her next sentences were dug out of a very deep pit of emotion. “I want a child, Phil. I want a baby.”
And before such depth of passion he found too late that he had nowhere to swim to, no safe haven to find. Before it, he was powerless. “Oh, God… Come here, Kate.”
As they held each other, she said through tears against his shoulder, “I didn’t realize before how much I wanted children, but I’ve been unable to get the idea of babies out of my head. And then when Ruth told me…”
Even then, he knew not only that she would have her way, but also that her way would be costly.
“About five months ago, Kate was diagnosed with glioblastome multiforme.”
“And what’s that?”
Reed smiled sadly. “It’s a lovely name, isn’t it? Sounds properly scientific, suitably imposing. Much more impressive than words like cancer, or brain tumor.”
“Is that what it is? Cancer?”
He sighed. “Oh yes. It’s a brain tumor, but it’s a brain tumor and a half… a supercharged brain tumor. A really nasty, aggressive one. Down the microscope, it looks beautiful, but then all the really vicious diseases look like that. It’s one of God’s little jokes.” He paused, then with intense sourness he added, “Full of jokes, is God. Full of them. A right comedian.”
Hannah glanced at Sam, then asked Reed, “But she was being treated…?”
“She was being palliated.”
“What does that mean?”
“It’s a euphemism. Have you noticed how we live in a euphemistic society? Everything has to be disguised, hidden, pushed away. Call it by another name and then all will be better. The trouble is, deep down they’re still the same. The unpleasant is still unpleasant, the vicious is still vicious, the untreatable is still untreatable.”
“She was going to die?”
“Oh yes. She was going to die, and how. Maybe in three months, maybe in six.”
Sam thought that he understood. “So you killed her.”
“So I did as she asked,” Reed said with justifiable pedantry.
Sam, though, seemed less impressed by Reed’s aspiration to mercy. “Why like that? Why naked in a bath? Why not tablets? You must have access to any number of tablets.”
“I know about death, Sergeant. It’s my job, God help me. You have to be careful with tablets. They can make you sick, they can make you fit, they can give you unendurable stomach pains. Whereas lying in a warm bath, your lifeblood slowly draining away… there is no pain or vomiting or convulsion. Just slow, lazy unconsciousness from which you never wake up.”
“You say you slit her wrists and that she was quite happy for you to do it. I can’t believe that. It must have hurt like hell. No one would willingly allow someone else-no matter how much they love them-to put a blade through their flesh.”
Reed’s demeanor suggested that he was in front of a particularly dense medical student. “You’re right, of course… unless you use local anaesthetic first.”
Hannah understood. “The puncture marks on her wrists.”
Despite everything, Reed seemed impressed by this piece of professionalism. “They were noticed? Good. Who’s your pathologist?”
“Colin Browne.”
He nodded, then said gently, “Tell him to treat her with dignity.”
“I’m sure he will.”
Sam remained untainted by sentimentalism and intruded on the moment. “Forgive me for being dense, but you’re asking us to believe that you sat there and watched her die? Isn’t that a bit ghoulish?”
“What was I supposed to do? Go and make a cup of tea? Perhaps watch Countdown on the telly?”