Carruthers' Demise, Final Chapters (standard:drama, 2300 words) [24/24] show all parts
Author: Brian Cross	Added: Jan 23 2014	Views/Reads: 2922/1627	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Things come to a head, as Carruthers, Chelsey and Casey face each other.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story


‘My diary!' 

‘Ten out of ten for observation. But it won't win you any prizes, too
late for that. Yes the cops attributed the parts found on Goldhawk's 
body to you, Marty dear, and to you Chelsey – before finally believing 
the culprit was Adrian. Not a single one twigged it was me.' A cold 
laugh, but she held the gun held menacingly straight. ‘I bided my time 
you see, I knew what I wanted to do, I followed you to Lyndhurst but I 
couldn't believe my luck, dear Marty, when you tore up the M3 with the 
intention of throttling Goldhawk. Tut, tut, dropping your room keys in 
the hotel car park like that...' 

Chelsey, her gaze unwavering on Casey, took a step forward. ‘What are
you going to get out of blasting us to kingdom come? Why are you doing 
this?' 

‘Goldhawk, Chelsey and you Marty. An unholy trinity out to deceive,
exploit me and steal my ideas.' 

‘What? You're out of your mind.' 

An ironic laugh, with more than a hint of madness barrelled into the
air. ‘Perhaps I am, but there's many a truth revealed in madness...' 

‘Alexander was about to abandon me, having made his money and abused my
services – in just the way he rejected you, Chelsey. And you Marty – I 
was so fond of you – but you devoted more time to her than was good – 
you should have known she mimicked my work. She didn't have half my 
talent. But now things have changed – I can write my final chapter – 
Stapleton's Demise will become my biggest seller, with a real life edge 
to it – and guess what Marty my boy – you're Stapleton. Even the most 
inept agent or crooked publisher will buy this one, and let's face it 
sunshine, they don't come any more inept than you...' 

‘Put the gun down, Casey.' Carruthers got to his feet, slowly
outstretching his hand. ‘I'll see you get help.' 

‘Stay where you are!' Casey gnashed her teeth. ‘Let me gloat on this
moment. I've been waiting for the right opportunity – there was a 
moment in the barn I thought I had you both at my mercy – huh! I even 
laid eyes on the perfect weapon, there was an iron shovel in the corner 
– but then Noades showed up and I had to put things on hold. Yeah, 
that's right, I hedged my bets. I reckon I'd make a darned good 
actress. I only pretended I wanted out of the woods. I guessed my 
chance would come and I'd get the pair of you together. Adrian was my 
problem, he had the gun – without it I could have taken him – and in 
any case he didn't quite fit the script.' Casey took a step closer. 
‘But he did leave me this as a parting gift.' 

Chelsey matched her movement. ‘Isn't the truth really that you courted
favour from all and sundry – and when the tide turned you couldn't cope 
with it? Give me that blasted thing...' 

‘No, Chelsey – no!' Carruthers yelled, but too late. Chelsey had sprung
forward, all lethargy blown away by the adrenaline that flooded her 
veins. She'd forced Carruthers aside, her hand grasping the weapon's 
nozzle, forcing it upward, her height and superior strength too much 
for Casey to cope with. The gun was levered still higher until Casey's 
wrist gave and her enraged screech invaded the air. 

‘I'll have that thank you very much – and you can have this...'
Chelsey's right fist struck Casey plum on the jaw, the power of the 
blow sending the dark haired woman crashing to the floor. There was a 
commotion in the outside corridor and Chelsey, after casting an 
assessing glance at her dazed foe threw the weapon to Carruthers. ‘Can 
I trust you with this?' 

Chelsey threw open the door to find Inspector Jack Manners, Higginbotham
and a handful of officers racing towards her. She turned, flung out an 
arm and glared down at the stricken woman. ‘I take it you're looking 
for her? A bit late in the day if I might say so. The matter's been 
dealt with.' 

She afforded them the faintest of smiles. ‘Well you were half-way there,
I suppose. At what point did you realise there was more than one 
villain in the piece?' 

It was Higginbotham who spoke, Manners appearing unwilling to do so.
‘The Inspector's been catching up on his homework,' he said in a manner 
which betrayed irritation. 

‘Not quickly enough,' Chelsey cut in, ‘nothing like shutting the stable
door after the horse has bolted.' 

Manners lowered his head, and for Carruthers, not the greatest admirer
of the man, there was some satisfaction that he actually seemed humble. 
He swallowed. ‘I apologise, Mrs. Carruthers, for getting my sums wrong 
initially – I failed to take into account Miss Jennings' history. ‘I 
came across the details purely by chance; I hadn't ruled out totally 
the fact that another party might be involved. I'd been trawling 
through records for unsolved cases at headquarters in Hounslow and 
picked up on one from 1988. A young boy drowned in the Grand Union 
Canal in the area. It was treated as a suspicious death and followed a 
heated classroom argument between the youngster and a girl by the name 
of Casey Jennings.' Manners studied their demeanour, waited for his 
words to take effect. ‘Yes – none other than...' he stretched an arm 
towards the corridor, where Casey was now being escorted away. ‘She was 
prime suspect; her schoolteacher described her as brilliant but 
potentially violent. Unfortunately her alibi was substantiated by her 
mother – chiefly that the girl returned straight from school after 
being dismissed from class and was indoors by three-thirty when the 
incident would have taken place. I found one or two other instances 
involving her - nothing more than minor skirmishes really – but all in 
all enough to get the cogs grinding. I slept on it, very unsoundly if I 
might say so – and then, when I obtained a warrant for Miss Jennings' 
house I came across her work in progress, Stapleton's Demise – it all 
fitted then. I was halfway here before I received the sergeant's call.' 
Manners remorseless grey eyes had yielded to a softer tinge reflecting 
abject apology as he added, Anyway, we need to get the woman back to 
the station.  I'll leave the Sergeant to take your statements – 
providing you feel up to it...' 

‘I just want the whole business over with,' Chelsey said tiredly. ‘I
thought it was until she barged in – I might have known.' 

‘Some right hand you've got there,' Manners said ruefully as he left. ‘I
sincerely hope you don't have to use it in that manner again.' 

‘I wouldn't bank on it.' But Chelsey Carruthers managed a wry smile,
rubbing her fist along her husband's chin. 

Manners left for London that night with scarcely a word to Higginbotham.
He knew that his explanation had been someway short of the truth and 
that the Sergeant resented him for that. And although the case was 
finished he'd been perhaps seconds too late to claim the credit; that 
hurt him more than anything, never mind what the yokel thought. 

  Chapter Forty Five 

‘So where are you planning on going?' The question had been on
Carruthers' mind throughout the journey back from the New Forest and he 
couldn't hold back any longer. 

‘Say again?' Chelsey, still pale from her ordeal led Carruthers through
the door, dropping her case in the hall. 

‘Well you were adamant you wanted a break away from me – from
everything...' Carruthers probed, following her as she bustled into the 
kitchen. 

‘Ah, that.' Chelsey raised her eyes to his, locked onto him. ‘Originally
yes, I guess I was so overcome by it all. But while you were driving 
back at snail's pace I had a chance to think, to untangle the brain and 
put the house in order so to speak.' 

Carruthers swallowed heavily. ‘Well, don't leave it there, I'm
intrigued.' 

‘Yes, I can tell.' Chelsey took a step forward, pinching his chin
between forefinger and thumb, and then turned away, pouring water into 
the kettle. ‘This little escapade needs writing about – don't you 
think?' 

Carruthers lowered his jaw, gave a loud exhalation. ‘I don't follow...' 

‘It shouldn't be too difficult for you. I mean there's a story waiting
to be written here, one with a real-life edge that you don't get in an 
everyday novel. So I guess I should be getting on with it.' 

‘Chelsey...' Carruthers clutched his forehead; the drive home may have
been at snail's pace in Chelsey's opinion but it had also been wearing; 
by her silence he'd assumed Chelsey had been making preparation for a 
break without him – permanently, had been his greatest fear. He should 
be mightily relieved that that didn't appear to be the case, but – 

‘Chelsey,' he raise a hand to her shoulder, drawing her towards him.
‘That was precisely what Casey was engaged in; no matter how demented 
she might have been in her reasons for writing it you can't simply 
steal her story.' 

Chelsey broke from his grasp, poured water into the kettle and then
swung back to him, clutching his hands. ‘But that's the point, it's my 
story hon'. No matter what she writes while she's locked away in her 
prison cell it won't compare with mine. It'll have my edge, my angle – 
a whole different perspective.' She pulled him onto tip-toes. ‘So don't 
go on about her story. Are you with me or not?' 

‘You know I am.' Carruthers took a strand of his wife's fair hair,
entwined it between his fingers. 

‘And you'll act for me? Find me a publisher who isn't a rogue or corrupt
in any shape or form?' 

Fixed on Chelsey's eyes Carruthers smiled at the mischief in them. 

‘That's another matter; you know I can't promise you that. And you know
that as different and compelling as your tale will no doubt turn out to 
be, you'll have to compete with the notoriety that will lend its hand 
to Casey's work. She'll have an unfair advantage...' 

Chelsey twisted her lips, the trace of a half-smile but said nothing,
simply strolling into the lounge and the mini-bar, selecting two 
goblets and a bottle of Burgundy. Handing the bottle to him, she said, 
‘Then let's christen my new baby with something stronger.' 


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