Chapters (156)
- A DATE WITH DEATH
- Also by Mark Roberts
- A Date With Death
- Copyright Page
- Contents
- The Past
- 1977
- Day OneWednesday, 1st December 2021CatoptrophobiaFear of mirrors
- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- 5
- 6
- 7
- 8
- 9
- 10
- 11
- 12
- 13
- 14
- 15
- 16
- 17
- 18
- 19
- 20
- 21
- 22
- 23
- 24
- 25
- 26
- The Past
- 1979
- Day TwoThursday, 2nd December 2021OneirophobiaFear of dreams
- 27
- 28
- 29
- 30
- 31
- 32
- 33
- 34
- 35
- 36
- 37
- 38
- 39
- 40
- 41
- 42
- 43
- 44
- 45
- 46
- 47
- 48
- 49
- 50
- 51
- 52
- The Past
- 1980
- Day ThreeFriday, 3rd December 2021MonophobiaFear of being alone
- 53
- 54
- 55
- 56
- 57
- 58
- 59
- 60
- 61
- 62
- 63
- 64
- 65
- 66
- 67
- 68
- 69
- 70
- 71
- 72
- 73
- 74
- 75
- 76
- 77
- 78
- 79
- 80
- 81
- 82
- 83
- 84
- 85
- 86
- 87
- 88
- 89
- 90
- 91
- 92
- 93
- 94
- 95
- 96
- 97
- 98
- The Past
- 1982
- Day FourSaturday, 4th December 2021ThanatophobiaFear of Death
- 99
- 100
- 101
- 102
- 103
- 104
- 105
- 106
- 107
- 108
- 109
- 110
- 111
- 112
- 113
- 114
- 115
- 116
- 117
- 118
- 119
- 120
- 121
- 122
- 123
- 124
- 125
- 126
- 127
- 128
- 129
- 130
- 131
- 132
- 133
- 134
- 135
- 136
- 137
- About the Author
- An Invitation from the Publisher
Norma Maguire took a series of short, shallow breaths.
‘The only mirror in your house is in the basement,’ said Hendricks. ‘Would you say you had particularly low self-esteem?’
She wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands and looked down at her lap.
‘I have a hideous face. I can’t bear the sight of myself.’
‘Your face isn’t hideous,’ said Clay.
‘My face is twisted. I have the eyes of a dog. My nose is pig-like. My hair is like black straw. My ears stick out at odd angles. Both sides of my face are at war with each other and it’s reflected in my whole being. My skin is riddled with deep pockmarks from the years of chronic acne I had when I was a girl. I am hideous. I am vile. I am an abomination.’
Her breath came and went in shallow waves, and her chin was wet with saliva.
Norma Maguire looked up at Clay as if she was waiting for her to say something else. After many silent moments, Norma Maguire asked, ‘What are you thinking?’
‘I’m thinking about your mother’s picture, when she played Jocasta at the Everyman.’
‘And?’
‘Was it when you were a child?’ Clay waited. ‘When were you told you were hideous?’
‘She told me I was hideous and she was the most beautiful woman in the world.’
‘Your mother said that to you? Was it said to you over and over, a form of brainwashing?’
‘Mother said it every day, but she had no need to. I’ve got eyes. I told me.’
‘Right now, I want to talk about your victims, Ms Maguire. Was Sandra O’Day hideous? How would you describe her?’
‘Young and beautiful.’
‘How would you describe Annie Boyd from the pictures she sent to you?’
‘Young and beautiful.’
‘How would you describe Amanda Winton from the pictures she sent to you?’
‘Young and beautiful. Why are you torturing me?’
‘Just answer the questions, Ms Maguire. How would you describe Fran? Day in, day out, in your office for little chats. How would you describe Fran?’
‘Young and… very… very beautiful.’
‘Is she young and very, very beautiful and alive? Answer my question,’ said Clay. ‘Or is she young and very, very beautiful and dead?’
‘Young and very, very beautiful and I don’t know.’
‘Do you love Fran?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then show that love. Have mercy on her.’
‘She… She had no mercy on me. Walking out on me like she did.’
‘You only claim to love her. If you really loved Francesca Christie, you’d tell us where she is,’ said Clay. ‘Or is it too late?’
128
1.59 pm
In Interview Suite 3, Cole looked at the row of framed photographs from the wall of Norma Maguire’s office, and drank in the musty smell from the scrapbooks found in her loft.