Murder on the Short List by Peter Lovesey Page A

come asking questions and you’ll lead them straight to me.”
    â€œI don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    â€œGet with it, Donna dear. Lionel is history.”
    She felt the hairs rise on her neck. “You killed him?”
    â€œThe evening he brought me up here to look at the stupid bench. I waited till we got here and then told him what an arsehole he was. Do you know, he still tried to con me? He walked to the cliff edge and said he would throw himself off if I didn’t believe him. I couldn’t stand his hypocrisy, so I gave him a push. Simple as that.”
    Donna covered her mouth.
    â€œThe tide was in,” Maggie said in a matter-of-fact way, “so I suppose the body was carried out to sea.”
    â€œThis is dreadful,” Donna said. She herself had felt hatred for Lionel and wanted revenge, but she had never dreamed of killing him. “What I can’t understand is why we’re here now – why you went through this charade of advertising for him, trying to find him – when you knew he was dead.”
    â€œIf you were listening, sweetie, I just told you. You knew too much even before I gave you the full story. You’re certain to shop me when the police come along.”
    It was getting dark in the car, but Donna noticed a movement of Maggie’s right hand. She had gripped the champagne bottle by the neck.
    Donna felt for the door handle and shoved it open. She half fell, trying to get out. Maggie got out the other side and dashed round. Donna tried to run, but Maggie grabbed her coat. The last thing Donna saw was the bottle being swung at her head.
    The impact was massive.
    She fell against the car and slid to the ground. She’d lost all sensation. She couldn’t even raise her arms to protect herself.
    She acted dead, eyes closed, body limp. It wasn’t difficult.
    One of her eyes was jerked open by Maggie’s finger. She had the presence to stare ahead.
    Then she felt Maggie’s hands under her back, lifting. She was hauled back into the car seat. The door slammed shut. She was too dazed to do anything.
    Maggie was back at the wheel, closing the other door. The engine started up. The car bumped in ways it shouldn’t have done. It was being driven across the turf, and she guessed what was happening. Maggie was driving her right up to the cliff edge to push her over.
    The car stopped.
    I can’t let this happen, she told herself. I wanted to die once, but not any more.
    She heard Maggie get out again. She opened her eyes. The key was in the ignition, but she hadn’t the strength to move across and take the controls. She had to shut her eyes again and surrender to Maggie dragging her off the seat.
    First her back thumped on the chalk at the cliff edge, then her head.
    Flashes streaked across her retina. She took a deep breath of cold air, trying to hold on to consciousness.
    She felt Maggie’s hands take a grip under her armpits to force her over the edge.
    With an effort born of desperation she turned and grabbed one of Maggie’s ankles with both hands and held on. If she was going, then her killer would go with her.
    Maggie shouted, “Bitch!” and kicked her repeatedly with the free leg. Donna knew she had to hold on.
    Each kick was like a dagger-thrust in her kidneys.
    I can’t take this, she told herself.
    The agony became unbearable. She let go.
    The sudden removal of the clamp on Maggie’s leg must have affected her balance. Donna felt the full force of Maggie’s weight across her body followed by a scream, a long, despairing and diminishing scream.
    D onna dragged herself away from the crumbling edge and then flopped on the turf again. Almost another half-hour passed before she was able to stagger to the phone box and ask for help.
    When she told her story to the police, she kept it simple. She wasn’t capable of telling it all. She’d been brought here on the pretext of meeting