by J.G. Ellis
*
“Ms Johnston?” Late thirties, early forties perhaps. Blonde hair with dark roots tied back in a ponytail. Spray-on tan provided by a salon. Smartly dressed for business in black and white. We were in an office with two desks, in which she was something with manager in the title. I didn’t care. It hardly mattered.
“Yes.”
“Chief Inspector Black.”
“Yes?”
She was, of course, alarmed now, expecting bad news, which I duly delivered, though not before, considerately, inviting her to sit down behind her own desk. I watched her face spider-web into anguish, heard, oddly muffled, the accompanying soundtrack, and – appallingly – found myself wishing that she might have managed some restraint. Some expression of compassion was surely in order, and yet I simply watched her – observed her – with a mixture of detachment and distaste. The breakdown, the disintegration, continued. She shrieked obscenities, directed at her husband, and choked on sobs. She held herself and rocked backwards and forwards. She was struggling to breathe. I called for assistance, which amounted to a doctor to minister to her and a WPC to sit with her and accompany her to her sister’s, which was where she said she wanted to go. As she was being helped into the car, I asked about Samantha.
“I don’t know.” She shook her head. She seemed unfocussed, only vaguely aware of her surroundings. “I haven’t seen her. I think she might be dead.”
“What?” I stopped WPC Levitt from closing the car door and crouched down to Ms Johnston’s sitting level. “I need you to explain that to me, Ms Johnston. Why would you think Samantha was dead?” I thought she might be confused, addled with grief, and thus confusing her daughters.
“They were always talking about dying,” she said; “about life not being worth it. Chloe loved Samantha, and wouldn’t go on living without her. I don’t think Chloe would kill herself unless she knew Samantha was already dead.”
“You think both your daughters are dead?” I was dimly aware of the rain falling on my back, and of WPC Levitt standing over me.
“Yes, I think so,” she said vaguely. “You will find her for me, won’t you? I’d like to bury them together, you see. I think that would be nice, don’t you?” She reached out and touched me on the shoulder. “Thank you for your kindness.”
Kindness. I smiled bleakly and straightened up. I glanced at the clouds, which were surrendering rain in increasingly heavy droplets. WPC Levitt closed the car door. “Take care of her,” I said. “Make sure she isn’t left alone.”