by Ali Carter
The surgery’s pharmaceutical department spread out in front of him. Jason dropped the mini torch inside the tool belt as the voices laughed and squealed with delight, and with his heart in his mouth, a very, very dry mouth, he quickly searched for the opiates. Pethedine, Dihydrocodeine, Diconal, Palfium, Temgesic, and Methadone. His eyes ran swiftly over the labels on the neatly stacked canisters careful to memorise where each drug was stored. He was also ‘told’, very specifically, not to forget the Prozac and Seroxat or any similar ‘A’ grade drugs. Jason knew with every fibre of his being this was wrong. Equally, his hands flew in and out of each cabinet as they cleared the shelves of the drugs. Repeatedly he bent up and down from the bottles and jars to fill the collapsible bag he’d pulled from his belt and shaken into shape.
It was only by chance he thought he’d heard the click of another door somewhere else in the building. Jason stopped for a second not daring to move. He held his breath and strained hard to listen, but all he could hear was blood rush in his ears and his heart pound whilst he stood with one hand outstretched to a shelf as the other held the bag. Nothing. Did he imagine it? Must have. Even so it was time to make a move now he’d got what he’d come for, or rather what the voices had come for. It was imperative he got out and got out quick just in case there was somebody knocking about. Jason placed the overly full stretchy container onto the floor and carefully and quietly closed each glass cupboard door. Then he picked up the bag and flicked off the light which left him blind once more.
With the heavy awkward shape in his left hand, he fiddled deep into the belt for the torch with his right and thumbed the switch forwards one notch – it was just enough to give a slight glow. He opened the door and flashed the low beam up and down the dark corridor but was met with nothing other than quiet emptiness. He slipped out of the room and walked quickly back up the hall towards the kitchen – and escape.
As he turned the last corner, his blood froze. His legs were rendered useless as his feet stuck firmly to the corded carpet. Suddenly the corridor was fully illuminated which made his little light pathetically redundant. Jason let his torch arm fall to his side – his bowel juddered violently as he held on tight. Eyes wide with shock, he still looked briefly behind him even though he knew it was a dead end then returned his terrified gaze to his calm captor. Directly in front of him, arms crossed and barring his way, was somebody he actually knew. The woman stood with hands on her hips and a sneer on her face, clearly enjoying her surprise find which she intended to put to good use – very good use.
As Jason tried desperately not to lose control of either end of his digestive system, she casually pulled a half empty pack of cigarettes from her trouser pocket, shook the lighter from the box along with a cigarette and lit up. She drew heavily, eyed her prey and exhaled slowly as she replaced them. Jason felt a steel chill creep down his spine as he watched the warped satisfaction spread across Charlotte’s face. Through an icy smile, she spoke with sheer malice and manipulation.
“Well… well… well, if it isn’t young Jason Flood. Looks like I’ve been delivered two for the price of one.”
ELEVEN
Jason’s voices were uncannily quiet. Nobody offered any wise counsel now. No orders, no directions, no explicit instructions, not even any yelling… which meant it was down to one person and one person only to get him out of a very tight spot.
“I… can’t believe you’re here.” He started carefully, not wanting to antagonise her. “How come, I mean… why?… Why here?”
“Why not?” Charlotte replied crisply. “It’s as good a place as any to get away from that trashy husband stealing sister of yours.” She spat out the words like they actually tasted of the poison they represented to her. It was clear she’d still not gotten over Jenny’s and Miles’ affair – even six years down the line. What was also clear though, what stood out a mile and he’d thought rather odd, was that Charlotte was wearing a coat. A shortish lightweight summer coat admittedly, but the nights had got so unbearably hot in the last few days, a jacket was hardly necessary. Everyone in the streets and pubs had been in thin, cool clothing, as little as could be respectably got away with even at closing time, and here was Charlotte Peterson, in this surgery, at nearly midnight – very odd anyway – and wearing a coat? A coat with two large bulging pockets as well come to that, what the hell had she got in there and why come for it at this hour? Never mind him, she’d started to sweat! Charlotte caught him staring at her unusually swollen jacket, with the heavily drooping shape to each pocket. She instantly covered them with her hands, the left holding her cigarette awkwardly away from the material. Almost immediately she realised her guilty mistake and quickly removed them again. She switched her attention to Jason’s stretched bag that was now lying at his feet and held her free hand out.
“Mine I think.” She spoke pointedly, a distinct granite edge in her voice. “Hand it over but stay exactly where you are – thief! Just like your sister!” Jason passed the drugs over to Jenny’s most hated rival and couldn’t help but think how surreal it all was. He hadn’t even thought to run, not really, it was almost as if everything was in slow motion or on a film set, and he knew her for Chrissake! He’d been caught robbing in a strange town by someone he actually knew! Jason watched almost trance-like as Charlotte quickly rummaged through the contents and noted the types of medication he’d stolen as she lifted each one to the top of the bag. What would she do with him? His insides were really churned up now – he wished he could get the hell out of there and find a toilet. Charlotte looked back up at him, took one last drag of her cigarette and let the butt fall to the floor. Jason watched transfixed as she extinguished it with her heel.
“Where’s your sister?” The question came as a shock. He’d expected; ‘Why are you stealing these drugs?’ Or ‘Why are you in Kirkdale?’ Or more to the point, ‘I’m phoning the police’. He certainly wasn’t expecting questions about Jenny’s whereabouts. He had a gut feeling it would be prudent to stay quiet about Jenny’s location although how would he then be able to explain his appearance in the village? He hadn’t a clue. Jason ransacked his brain, not an easy task when it was home to so many. Somehow he dragged what he thought would be a reasonable answer from its crowded depths…
“I dunno. I guess she’s home this time of night.”
“Don’t play funny with me Flood. Where is she living? She must be local because I’ve already seen her. So where is it? My guess is you’re staying there too, although not impossible, it’s unlikely you know anyone else here. So where is she?” Jason started to feel more uneasy at this than he would’ve been if she’d just called the cops and he’d been collared for the job he’d pulled. Or tried to pull, but this? This was just plain creepy. They were still in exactly the same spot in the corridor, he’d been caught fair and square attempting to steal drugs from a locked-up surgery late at night, and the only thing this doctor wanted from him was Jenny’s address – and she wanted it pretty badly. Well she wasn’t getting it. He began to feel a distinct and urgent need to protect his sister.
“I don’t know exactly, as you said I’m just visiting.”
“You’re living there you must know where it is.” Charlotte swung the drugs bag angrily at the wall, her eyes flashed dangerously as its contents clattered together. She took a step towards him. Nervously, Jason took a step back and blurted out a quick response.
“It’s over the other side of town – somewhere – don’t ask me where, I haven’t a clue!”
“You’re lying!” Charlotte hissed – “Where on the other side of town?” The bag was swung again, this time there was the sound of glass breaking. She didn’t seem to notice. Jason hesitated, tried desperately to think of something – anything that would satisfy her without giving away Jenny’s actual property details.
“It’s on the outskirts of the main shopping area, I can’t remember the precise address I just… recognise it as I walk along, as I
get nearer to the fl– ” He bit his lip as Charlotte smiled. If Jenny was in a flat she at least had a rough idea of where she might be. There were certain areas that definitely had no flats at all, and others that had large designer-built loft conversions with amazing panoramic views over the lakes. They were hideously expensive – it was unlikely to be one of those. The rented quarter then…
“Why do you want to know where my sister is? She has a whole new life now she’s not going to interfere with you and yours again.”
“Maybe – maybe not.” Charlotte hesitated herself now, she didn’t want to appear too hostile… no point in raising any kind of suspicions, however slight. She calmed down a little and breathed deeply. “I… just like to know where trouble lies sleeping, Jenny caused me plenty of that six years ago, if she’s in the area I want to know about it.” Jason held her eyes and waited for the next development. What the hell was she going to do with him? They couldn’t go on like this all night.
“Go now.” Charlotte suddenly jerked her head sharply towards the kitchen, guessing that’s how he’d got in. “Go – and if you tell anyone you’ve seen me, I will report this incident to the police. That includes Jenny. Do you understand?” Jason paused for a second before he replied – why did she seem even more worried than he was about being found at the surgery? “Do you understand Jason? Because if you do, I’ll see to it your feet don’t touch the ground. It’ll be a police cell followed by court and at least the next three years in a very small room without a key.” Charlotte stood menacingly close to him now, and everything about her was hostile, challenging – and very, very threatening. The young man could feel her warm breath on his face, smell her perfume and sense her power. Even through her agitated behaviour her eyes held his steadily – waiting… Jason eventually nodded, resigned to the fact he had very little choice if he didn’t want to spend the night in a cell, or several hundred come to that. He was also a little apprehensive of, but also intrigued by Charlotte’s odd behaviour. He knew all about odd behaviour after all.
“Yeah… got it,” he murmured.
A few minutes later Jason had slipped out of the kitchen door and counted himself lucky he was all in one piece and still a free man. He hadn’t wanted to be there in the first place, it wasn’t his idea and it wasn’t his fault. Whilst he congratulated himself on getting away with what was essentially a forced entry, criminal damage and an attempted drugs theft, at the same time he tried to push aside an uncomfortable and unsettled feeling Charlotte had implanted. It was a feeling that was fast taking root. He walked back across the park and kicked out at a loose tuft of earth. He wished now he hadn’t wandered around that part of town on his own and noticed the damned surgery in the first place. Jenny had got an appointment that evening, more likely a date he’d thought when she’d mentioned it, and Jason had been left to his own devices. Well this was what happened when he was left alone and on reduced meds. The latter of course was his fault, but he quickly kicked that out of his mind too.
As he made his way towards the high street, a pair of blurry, but watchful eyes, studied him carefully from the damp rim of a large paper bag. They followed him back across the recreation ground, past the swings and the roundabouts, through to the road on the opposite side and eventually out of sight. They had also observed him earlier, from their hiding place behind the surgery’s enormous willow tree as he’d snuck round to the back of the building. Presuming he was breaking into it, they’d let the paper bag be still for a while for fear of missing his reappearance. The youngun di’n’t look like he were carryin’ nout though, not when he did come back inta voo, the owner had thought as they strained hard with hazy vision. It was a struggle to focus properly these days, a real struggle in order to be absolutely sure.
Those eyes had also seen Charlotte Peterson let herself in through the front entrance, bold as brass and at eleven thirty at night, for the second time that week too. The eyes didn’t like Doctor Peterson, didn’t like her one bit. Too stuck up bee arf if ee ask me they thought as the next arm raise brought another vodka shot comfortingly home. Allus shoutin’ ‘n’ movin’ us on ‘en she seen us, e’en though we’s not mitherin no one. She exhaled in appreciation of her liquid friend then scratched a permanent itch from another. She cuffed the snot from her nose, wiped the residue across the already stained skirt and smiled knowingly as she recalled her interactions with Charlotte. She may have been old and dirty with no posh house or flash car, but she knew a ‘wrongun’ when she looked ‘em in the eyes. She had looked deep into that woman’s eyes, and Charlotte Peterson was mad as a box of frogs. No, there wasn’t much that got past old Mary, even if she was three sheets to the wind most of the time, not that she’d ever admit to that. As far as she was concerned hers were just quiet empty evenings spent minding her own business, and occasionally she’d be joined by a bottled pal. Well, often joined by a bottled pal, “but that di’n’t make me no drunk. No Siree! Not Mary Tattershall!” She’d lived rough for many years and the nights were far more pleasant to endure in still warm summers than in cruel icy winters, but come rain or shine Kirkdale’s most famous vagrant slept that way every night in a whole variety of places. She took another swig in defiance of an angry memory before she let her arm drop loosely to her side for the last time that evening. As she sat propped up against the trunk her eyelids began to drop… “Yip – mad as a box of frogs…”
TWELVE
It was four a.m. when she startled awake to the noise of her best friend’s favourite music toy. With the heat of the summer nights, the duvet had long since been kicked off the bed and lay in a heap on the carpet, fortunately for Missy she’d been snuggled up in Andrew’s floored dressing gown rather than in her usual quilt position. As usual he lay sprawled at an angle across the bed in a deep sleep, and she watched the mobile light up and jitterbug its way off the side unit to bounce against his cheek. He half woke up, swiped the phone off his face which promptly fell on the floor just out of reach. Andrew groaned as he hung out of bed and scrabbled around in the dark with his hand till he found it.
“Molly – Molly is that you?”
“Yep – I’ve had another dream vision Andy. I couldn’t see her face this time thank God, just the body in undergrowth and trees, but there were boats in it too for some reason.”
“Could be Dorrington Sailing Club?” suggested Andrew, as he switched the table lamp on then got out of bed and looked for his jeans, “there are woods behind there.”
“That’s it – yes of course, I didn’t think… I just wish it would stop Andy, I’ve had enough now… same hideous wound as well.” He felt for her, it must be pretty horrific lying in bed wondering if you were going to be able to get eight hours without a nightmare.
“Try and get back to sleep Molls, I’ll get out to the Petersons’ place and see if there’s any movement in the next few hours.”
He knew he’d either not be able to help the latest victim, or may just have a very slim chance to prevent their death, particularly if his first suspicion of who the assailant actually was, was correct. The police weren’t likely to give any serious interest to Molly’s visions so she hadn’t told them, and as far as the three ‘sleuths’ were concerned, the chances of a further death being prevented by the professionals was significantly reduced because of it.
It took less than five minutes to throw on some clothes, slip out of the flat and drive over to Miles Peterson’s property on the other side of town. Gina had given him the address the other night in the wine bar and it was already in his Sat Nav.
Andrew had parked his old Ford up the lane a little distance from the Petersons’ Victorian farmhouse. He was now slouched low in the driver’s seat to wait. His heart beat uncomfortably fast and he could feel his hands start to sweat. There were no street lights and he stared at the long-fingered branches that looked quite eerie as they almost concealed the entrance to Willows Copse. He’d seen no one, and nothing had happened – yet,
but still his heart raced with what might happen. At the end of the day if it was Miles who was responsible for the murders, Gina could be in serious danger. He shivered then as an icy chill spiked the otherwise humid air.
By eight fifteen a.m. Andrew had followed Miles in to work. Having hidden in the lane for almost four hours and waited for him to either leave or return from something illicit, he realised nothing was going to happen that night and – certainly unlikely for the next few hours anyway. Miles swung the Morgan into the surgery car park and Andrew threw the Roadster’s rear window a last glance as he drove past, then turned his car in the direction of the flat for a quick wash and change before work. His stomach rumbled loudly and he made a mental note to pick up bacon rolls and coffee from Gino’s sister’s place opposite the wine bar on his way back. After the Café Calisé he would phone Molly and fill her in on the night’s events.
It was nine ten a.m. when Andrew pulled into his bay at the Courier, which bugged him because he was always on time. It appeared his latest chosen ‘career’ would mean he’d need to ditch some of his long-held principals. Oh what the hell, he thought, what did a few minutes matter, there were more important things in life than being obsessed with punctuality.
With his Calisé bagged meal between his teeth Andrew grabbed his phone, locked the car and walked into the office as he fought a yawn and a rumbling belly. He dumped the stuff on his desk and immediately slumped into his chair to dive into breakfast where he devoured every unhealthy morsel including the custard doughnut that really shouldn’t have been there. He swallowed the final mouthful and aimed the screwed-up bag at the bin. As it clipped the edge and bounced off into the aisle his mobile rang.