Read (2002) Deception aka Sanctum for Free Online Page A

was on the verge of calling the police to come over to the house and check on me. I asked her why on earth she would do that. She fluffed her reply but basically seems to think I might try to kill myself and Margie. I told her not to be stupid: if I kill myself, who’ll organize the papers for the appeal? Then I realized how depressed and subordinate this made me sound. She wants to come over and visit. I said she could if she liked but it’s unnecessary. I have a lot of support, and Susie will be home just as soon as this gets sorted out. Mum didn’t sound convinced but promised not to book a flight just yet. She said she didn’t mind that other people would read about us in the papers; what was important was my health and Margie and Susie. As long as we all had our health, it didn’t matter what other people heard about our family troubles. Everyone had problems, and our family need be no different. I think Mum and Dad’ve talked about this a lot and this is the line they’ve come up with.
    Dad came on and struggled to clear his throat for five minutes. Eventually he said he was sorry about what had happened. I accepted his condolences. He said they didn’t care about other people hearing about my problems (suddenly they’re my problems); what mattered was that we were all healthy. The devil-may-care posture was wearing thin.
    He said, “They can’t take your health away from you, can they?”
    I said, “Well, they can if they shoot you in the face,” which, far from sounding chipper and cavalier, only confused and frightened him. I hope he doesn’t repeat the comment to Mum; it would scare her as well. It’s imperative that they don’t come here.
    Dad kept saying never mind, never mind, things will buck up. I suspect he always thought Susie was a bit racy because of the money and is glad to see the back of her. He actually said, “Chin up.” What happens to expats in Spain? He was a GP in Ayr for fifty years, and suddenly he starts talking like a regimental sergeant major, all Colman’s mustard and fucking Bovril. They ended a discussion about my wife’s murder conviction by asking me to send them water biscuits. I felt like shitting in a box and sending it registered.
    * * *
    I keep thinking about Cape Wrath. There have been a lot of different versions printed in the papers. The articles reproduce a map of the cape with the red Ministry of Defense training area warnings saying DANGER AREA all over them. It’s very dramatic.
    My version of Cape Wrath is different from the others because it doesn’t start with a long drive or a beautiful, dark-haired psychiatrist walking into a small hotel. Mine starts with Margie eating breakfast and an early-morning phone call: it was a Friday morning in late September. Susie answered the phone in the hall, said, “Oh, it’s you,” and turned away so I couldn’t hear what she was saying. In the police’s version it was Gow on the phone, telling Susie where he was, perhaps inviting her there. In the Susie version it was Donna asking for help. In the Lachie version Susie hung up, came into the kitchen, and told me she was popping over to the supermarket, back soon. Bye, Susie. Bye, Lachie darling, and the door shut behind her. She drove for eight hours to the very north coast of Scotland and the pretty little hotel on the beautiful banks of the Kyle of Durness. She walked straight into the lobby and told the owner’s wife, a Mrs. Zoe Pascal, who she was and who she was looking for— not exactly the behavior of a woman who was sneaking about or intent on committing two murders. The woman handed her a sealed letter. Again Susie said it was from Donna; again the police said it was from Gow, but there’s no dispute about what it said. It must have mentioned Loch Inshore and the hut because, without even stopping for a cup of tea, Susie took the ferryboat across the kyle. (It is literally a ferry boat. It isn’t a ship or a steamer. It’s a wee man with a boat who