by Dan Scottow
‘Charlie! My office, now.’
The youngsters glared at him as he walked past. It seemed that everyone was staring at him.
‘Close the door,’ Derek commanded tersely as Charlie entered the room.
Again Charlie frowned, but he followed the instruction. Derek was sitting at his desk. He didn’t offer Charlie a seat.
‘What’s going on?’ Charlie asked.
‘What can you tell me about a bottle of perfume?’
‘Eh?’
‘Perfume, Charlie. Expensive stuff, birds wear it to smell nice. Chanel to be precise.’
Charlie didn’t understand. Gifts came into the office all the time. Derek had given Anna loads of stuff, he always called dibs on the best items. He’d once taken her an entire lingerie set from Victoria’s Secret and passed it off as a birthday gift.
‘Is there a problem?’
‘Yes, mate, you could say that. A bloody huge one!’
‘Derek, what the hell is going on?’
‘Ellie Beeson, from accounts. Sits behind you. Apparently, you gave her a bottle yesterday?’
‘I didn’t exactly give it to her, it got sent in, and she asked if she could have it. What about it?’
Derek stood up, pulling off his jacket. Huge dark patches pooled beneath his armpits.
‘When she went home and sprayed it on herself it burned half her fucking face off.’
The blood flowed out of Charlie’s head, fast, as if it was all falling straight out through his ankles. He felt dizzy. He blinked a few times, as the world seemed to go quiet and the room span. Everything appeared to be happening in slow motion.
‘Wh… what?’
‘Acid, they think. The police are running tests.’
A bead of sweat formed above Charlie’s eyebrow and ran down to his chin. It dripped, and he watched as it fell to the carpet below. He felt hot, thought he might pass out. He stepped towards Derek’s desk, steadying himself on the corner.
‘So?’
‘So what? You don’t think I had anything to do with it?’
‘No, mate, of course not. But this is bad. Very bad. I’ve got a duty of care here.’
Derek sat down in his chair, running his hands over his head.
‘Where did it come from?’
‘It was sent in. I found it with all the mail yesterday.’
‘Addressed to you?’
Charlie paused. If he admitted that the envelope had his name on it, it would make him involved. And he didn’t want to be involved.
‘No,’ he lied. ‘Nothing on it.’
‘Do you still have it?’
‘I threw it in the recycling. It will have been emptied by now.’
‘Damn. Right. The police are gonna want to talk to you.’
‘I’m not sure I can tell them anything of any use, to be honest.’
‘Doesn’t matter. You’re the person her husband has said gave her the perfume, so they will need to ask you some questions.’
‘Right, of course. How… how is she?’
‘She’s in hospital. Pretty shaken. The burns are nasty. She’s going to have… extensive scarring.’
If things had been different, Charlie would have taken the bottle home. Beth, maybe even Daisy, would have sprayed it on themselves. It didn’t bear thinking about. But Beth was clearly the intended target. Charlie was absolutely sure of that.
‘I’ll have to get security to start vetting the mail. This is a PR nightmare.’
‘Mate, I don’t know what to say… it’s horrendous.’
‘Imagine if I’d found it before you, taken it home for Anna.’
‘We’ve both been very lucky.’
‘Okay, Charlie, you get to work, buddy. I’ve given the police your details, so you can expect a visit at some point today, I reckon.’
Charlie walked out of the office, back to his desk. Again the chatter stopped as he approached. He sat, aware that all the attention was on him. He turned around.
‘I’m really sorry about your friend. I… I had no idea about the perfume. It was sent in. I had nothing to do with it.’
They glared at him, suspicion in their eyes. But nobody spoke. At least it had shut them up for a minute, Charlie thought, instantly regretting it. He sat in front of his computer and scrolled through his emails. He had a backlog to work through. He didn’t know where the time had gone this week.
One email caught his eye. It had been sent a few days earlier.
The subject line said Perfume and the sender’s name appeared as unknown.
Charlie’s head swam. A tiny vein in his temple pulsed and bulged, and more perspiration ran down the back of his neck, soaking into his collar. He glanced around nervously, as if people knew what he was looking at.
He clicked the email.
Hope Kitty liked the perfume.
* * *
Charlie looked about the office again. Then clicked delete on the message.
He was aware that what he was doing was wrong, but he was scared.
He emptied his deleted messages folder. He was sure this wouldn’t be enough if the police felt inclined to go through his computer, but he’d have to make sure it didn’t come to that.
He would try to charm them. He was usually able to get people on side. It was a skill he’d possessed since his teens. If it was a female detective, perhaps he could even flirt a little.
He stood and walked through the office to the toilets. Past the room full of eyes on him. He pushed the door, and it banged against the wall. He was burning up. Standing at a sink, he ran water into his hands, splashing it on his hot face. It trickled down, soothing his skin. Feeling suddenly dizzy and nauseous, he lowered himself to the ground, with the tap still running. He lay on his side, the cold tiles felt good against his body. He pressed his cheek into the surface, sighing as he did so. He didn’t care that it was a communal toilet floor. He needed it. Let them see. Let them laugh.
Charlie wasn’t sure how long he lay there, but eventually his phone beeped. He sat up and pulled it out of his trouser pocket.
A text. From an unknown number.
He opened it.
Kitty had a lucky escape. She still has her pretty face…
A second message appeared immediately on the screen.
For now.
41
June 1985, Perry Barr, Birmingham, England.
As Kitty’s eyes adjusted to the dark, she stood up and looked around the vast space she now found herself in. She couldn’t see Kieran, didn’t know where he had gone.
‘Kieran?’ she called out feebly.
No reply. Something dripped, echoing in a far corner. A noise to her right. Scurrying.
The interior of the old hotel was huge. Shafts of pale sunlight shone down through splits and gaps in the roof, illuminating areas, making others look darker.
The smell. Kitty didn’t know what it was. But it was unpleasant. She screwed up her face.
A lot of the internal walls had collapsed, reduced to piles of bricks, rubble, scattered around the floor. An old chandelier sat shattered a few feet from where she stood. She took a few steps into the darkness.
‘Kieran. I don’t like this. I’m going home.’
Still no reply. Out of the corner of her eye she saw something move quickly through a shaft of light. She turned, terrified.
‘Kieran?’
‘Kitty! Help me!’ A strange, scratchy voice, then a low gurgling noise.
She followed the sound through a dilapidated doorway. The next room was darker. She could hardly see anything. But in the middle, a dark shape lay on the floor.
The noise had ceased. Everything was quiet.
Kitty heard birds twittering outside in the sunshine and desperately wished she was out there with them. But rather than turn and run, she walked towards the mass. As she drew nearer and her eyes grew accustomed to the dim light, she realised it was Kieran. His eyes closed, hands by his side.
‘Kieran, this isn’t funny. Wh
at are you doing?’
He didn’t react. He lay deathly still. Kitty crouched, holding her breath, leaning over his body. She reached out her hand, touching his shoulder.
His arms shot up and grabbed her. She screamed.
Kieran sat up in fits of laughter.
‘You should have seen your face!’ he shouted in between hysterical cackles.
‘I hate you, Kieran! That wasn’t funny. I thought Bloody Mary had got you. You’re a pig!’
‘There is no Bloody Mary. I made that up. This place isn’t haunted. It’s cool. Don’t you think?’
Kieran stood up, dusting himself off, brushing gravel from the seat of his jeans.
Kitty did a slow three-hundred-and-sixty-degree rotation, taking in the space they were standing in.
‘I don’t like it,’ she said finally.
‘How come? It’s a fab place to play. We can make it our hideout. It can be our secret.’
‘But it smells funny.’
‘It’s only damp. You’ll get used to it. It’s the rats you should be more worried about.’
‘Rats?’ Kitty shivered, wrapping her arms around her bare shoulders.
Kieran slapped her back.
‘I’m kidding. It’s fine here. Relax, won’t you? Come on, come see this other room.’
Kieran grabbed Kitty’s hand and rushed to the other side of the space, dragging her behind him. There was a large archway, derelict like the rest of the structure. Three shallow steps led up into a huge cavernous space with a high ceiling. Huge domed skylights in the roof were covered in leaves and dirt. Dappled light filtered through in between.
‘I think this was the ballroom or something,’ Kieran said. Kitty looked around the space. To her left was an old staircase, leading up to a balcony. Kitty had never seen anything like it in her life. She ran to the steps, placing one foot onto the bottom. She climbed a couple, gripping what remained of the bannister.
Her leg went straight through the mouldy board, like it was made of paper. She screamed, managing to catch herself on the handrail, which came away from the wall. Fortunately, she had regained her balance already. She gulped, eyes shooting to Kieran.
‘Careful. Don’t wanna be taking you home to your mum in bits.’ He giggled.
Kitty continue to climb the stairs, sticking to the perimeter. When she reached the top, she crawled carefully along the floor. From this new position she could see the area was even larger than she had initially thought. She made her way to the outer edge, glancing down from time to time through holes in rotting floorboards. It looked much higher from where she was now situated than it had from the ground.
Peering down at Kieran on the other side of the ballroom, it amazed her how small, how insignificant he seemed in the space. Like a tiny insect.
‘Woah, it is so cool up here!’ she shouted.
‘Oh wait up!’ he replied, running over to the steps.
He ascended the staircase, taking his time, having already seen Kitty nearly go through.
‘Stick close to the wall, it’s safer!’ she warned.
Once he reached the top, he stood, rather than crawled, probably to prove to Kitty that he wasn’t scared. He edged along towards her. As he took a step into the centre, the whole structure wobbled. Kitty screamed, clutching frantically at the edge of the balcony. Kieran took another step forward; his foot went straight through the plasterboard. He fell to all fours, and again the floor trembled. Rubble and dust tumbled to the ground.
‘Kieran, don’t! Get down. You’re too heavy!’ Kitty screeched fearfully.
‘But I want to see!’ he shouted. ‘I’ll crawl, like you did.’
‘No! You’re too big! Please!’
Kieran’s face crumpled, but he obeyed, descending the stairs tentatively.
‘How high do you think this is?’ Kitty wondered aloud.
‘Dunno. Pretty high.’
‘Do you think I would die if I jumped from up here?’
‘Yeah. Probably. Depends how you landed. Give it a go.’
Kitty dangled her legs over the ledge, swinging them playfully. She shuffled her buttocks forward until she was perched on the outermost edge. For a moment, Kieran looked like he believed she might actually do it.
‘I’d like to push my dad from up here,’ she said, brushing some dirt from her dress, absent-mindedly.
‘Your dad would never get up there. He’s definitely too fat.’
Kitty crawled back to the stairs and joined Kieran on the ground, where he was drawing lines in the dirt with a stick he’d found.
‘He’s a bad man,’ Kieran said quietly, without looking at Kitty.
Kitty remained silent, nodding slowly.
‘We should kill him,’ Kieran continued. He shot her a sideways glance.
‘Yeah. I wish. I hate him.’
‘Let’s do it!’ Kieran had a wicked grin on his face. ‘We could leave him for the foxes to eat.’
‘Do foxes eat people?’
‘Course they do. They eat anything. They’re wild!’
‘I wish somebody would kill my dad.’
They both stood, staring at the ground. Kieran took Kitty’s hand in his.
‘I would do it, if he wasn’t so big,’ Kieran said, sticking out his chest like Superman.
‘But we’re too small. If he was little we could do it. Like that cat,’ Kitty replied. They looked at each other, bursting into laughter.
‘Come on,’ Kieran said eventually. ‘This is boring. Let’s go.’
He dropped her hand, running away into the darkness.
42
Brighton, East Sussex, England.
The detective sat staring at Charlie, notebook in hand, pen poised, ready to write.
‘So in your own time, Mr Carter. If you could tell us about the perfume?’
Charlie cleared his throat.
‘It’s like I told Derek at the office. It was sent in. We get stuff sent in from clients frequently, so it wasn’t out of the ordinary.’
‘I see,’ said the detective, who had identified herself as DI Burns. ‘Was there anything distinguishing about the envelope?’
‘No. Nothing. It was just a brown jiffy bag. Nothing suspicious.’
‘Printed?’
Charlie hesitated. ‘No, handwritten.’
‘Okay. What was the writing like?’
‘It was… handwriting. Black pen. I don’t know what else to say.’
‘And you told your boss you threw it away, is that right?’
‘Yep. Straight in the recycling bin with all the other rubbish. That gets emptied every day a few times. We get through a lot.’
The detective scribbled some notes down on her pad.
‘And how did the perfume come to be in the possession of Ellie Beeson?’
‘I gave it to her.’
‘Right. Why?’ Burns’ dark-brown eyes surveyed Charlie coldly. Watching. Waiting for him to slip up. As he returned her gaze, taking in her muscular physique, and rather masculine looking attire, he suspected his charms were not going to have any effect on her. Beth would probably have more luck.
‘Because she asked for it,’ he replied, regretting his choice of words immediately.
The detective glanced at Charlie’s wedding ring.
‘You didn’t think your wife would want it?’
‘My wife?’
‘You are married?’ She nodded towards Charlie’s hand.
‘Yes, I am. But we’re… I suppose we’re separated… at the moment.’
‘You suppose?’
‘We are. We’re separated.’
‘Since when?’
‘Is that relevant?’
‘I’m trying to get the bigger picture here, Mr Carter.’
‘Yeah, sorry. Since… the weekend.’
‘Right. So this is a new thing?’
‘Yes. So that’s why I didn’t take the perfume. Not much use to me. The girl… Ellie, she asked if she could have it, so I gave it to her.’
‘I see.’
More note-scribbling. Charlie wished he could see what she was writing.
‘How is she?’
The detective looked up.
‘She’s stable. She’s obviously distraught. The substance caused considerable damage to her skin. It’s not particularly pleasant for her.’
Charlie swallowed. Why did he feel like he was being interrogated? He hadn’t done anything.
‘Do you know what it was yet?’
‘Sulphuric acid. Probably common DIY-store drain cleaner. You can pick it up anywhere for a few quid. Nasty stuff in the wrong hands.’
She looked up from her pad, making eye contact with Charlie. Her face deadpan. Her cocoa-brown skin smooth, reflecting the sunlight that streamed in through the window.
‘Is there anything else you’d like to tell me, Mr Carter? Anything that might help us?’
Charlie shook his head.
‘Nothing?’
‘No.’
‘Right. We will have the bottle sent to forensics. Hopefully, we’ll be able to lift a print from it, or some other DNA. Should shed a little more light on this situation, don’t you think?’
She paused, looking at Charlie again for a reaction.
She didn’t get one, so she continued.
‘Do you have any idea why anyone would be sending a bottle of sulphuric acid disguised as perfume, into you at your place of work?’
‘They didn’t. Not to me directly anyway… it was sent to the office.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Because we spoke to the bloke who deals with the mail, and he told us categorically that he would never put random stuff on somebody’s desk. Only personally-addressed letters would end up on their desk. Anything else goes to a different pile.’
Charlie swallowed hard. His mouth and throat were parched.
‘Then he must have made a mistake. He’s human. It happens. Can I get a drink, please?’
‘Sure, it’s your apartment.’