by Ali Carter
Her eyes stung as she turned away sharply and leant her head against the wall, her mind a fast reeling picture house of cinema photography, each clip a shiny turquoise image splashed heavily with red.
She blinked through salty tears, looked away embarrassed from a concerned woman that had hurriedly approached, and made her escape back to the ladies’ room. It was empty, and as Charlotte leant on the washroom unit and looked slowly up into the huge elongated mirror, she noticed that its very size seemed to magnify how dreadful her face looked at that moment; and just how important her campaign had now become. She remained staring at her reflection for a few moments, tried to concentrate, to focus on what must be done; there was just so much to be done now, so much to complete. There was no time for tears. Charlotte was well aware she’d given herself the bathroom mirror chat many times before, but this time would be the last. There would not, must not be anymore weakness.
She worked quickly with tissues, mascara and eyeliner, her makeup soon repaired – the only thing that could be. Finally with lipstick renewed and hair revived, she looked at the reflection of a very different Charlotte. A harder, stronger, more determined Charlotte; one who would not be made a fool of and would remain in control – one who would reap another revenge, another despatch before the weekend was out.
Back in the hotel hallway at the entrance to the Wordsworth room, Charlotte saw Miles as he left the dancefloor with the simpering twentysomething bareback. The child smiled and giggled stupidly, whispered something in his ear and slipped something in his pocket. She watched as they behaved like a couple who had the whole damn universe in front of them, certainly not like polite acquaintances, or like they’d been married for almost twenty years. She winced at the last comparison, and at Miles’ clear enjoyment of Miss Perfect’s girlish charm. How could he not enjoy it? She was young, carefree and beautiful just like the others – and how she hated her right now just as she had hated them back then.
Over a perfect spray-tanned shoulder, Miles caught sight of his wife as the music cranked up to a faster key and Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Little Lies’ hit the air. He paled significantly. He was in trouble, big trouble. Once home there would be hell to pay. The thing was Miles knew what was to come… but the girl? She hadn’t the slightest clue of just how much trouble she was in…
Across the other side of town Molly Fields was in the Carpenters Arms pulling a pint for one of their regulars. A week out of hospital, she had begged her reluctant parents to let her get back to work, said she’d convalesced enough for a whole ward of patients. She was bored stiff and needed to get her life back to normal, well as normal as it could be for her at the moment, although Molly obviously didn’t share that little nugget.
It was when the ghostly impression of a dead woman in a turquoise dress floated above her customer’s head that she let go of the pump. The pint was next, and amidst the distant sound of breaking glass and someone yelling her name, she slumped heavily to the beer-soaked shard-sprayed floor.
TWENTY-SIX
Molly had only been back at work for a couple of days since she’d returned home from hospital and now been made to follow her parents’ advice to rest properly. They were still unaware of her visions and investigative involvement with Andrew and Gina; so had attributed her collapse in the bar the previous evening to severe stress and side-effects from the horrific chloroform attack.
Snuggled in a blanket on the sofa and scrolling through Facebook with a pile of magazines may have been relaxing, but wasn’t exactly her idea of dealing with the situation – hence she was on the phone to Andrew to check he’d received her text the night before.
“I couldn’t believe it Andrew! There she was clear as day floating above his head! That’s all I can remember, I crashed after that and woke up in bed this morning. Mum and dad had carried me upstairs after I passed out. I was lucky I didn’t cut myself too badly on the broken glass – got away with just a couple of scratches. I’ve toyed with the idea of telling them what happened, but they’ve been so worried about me I daren’t mention the visions as well.”
“No best not,” replied Andrew, as he stirred coffee with his spare hand, “the fewer people who know about that the better anyway. Did you mention them to Harry Longbridge by any chance?”
“No why? He did ask me if there was absolutely anything I could remember that might help, but decided against telling him.”
“Well it’s just that he’d probably think you were bat crazy, he already thinks I’m a bit odd – although…”
“Although . . ?” she pressed.
“Well… we kind of reached an unspoken understanding, a sort of truce if you like, back at Josie’s cottage – the vet that was found murdered last week – Rachel’s friend?” Molly ‘hmmed’ an acknowledgement…
“Well I’d gone over to see her as she’d paid me a visit at the paper that day. I was going to tell her how we’d realised it couldn’t have been Miles who’d murdered Rachel.”
“Yeah I remember,” she added. “It was particularly ghastly from what you told me. Strange I didn’t see that one coming.”
“Perhaps it was the stress of what’s been happening, or maybe you’d had a few drinks? You’ve said before that with visions and all that spiritual stuff, a person needs to be clear-headed, calm and relaxed.” Molly agreed that could be a possibility. Andrew took a sip of his Calino and glanced at his watch before he continued…
“Anyway, we had a good chat after his initial lecture at me for turning up so fast at yet another of his murder scenes. I don’t think he really believes I’m a suspect anymore – he’d have pulled me in by now if he did. Longbridge understands I’m looking into this because of my loyalty to Rach even if he doesn’t like it.”
“Yes I guess so, although Jason’s meds were proved to be a different strength from the bottle found near the third victim, yet I don’t think the police are going to let go of him anytime soon. They haven’t anything or anyone else to go on, and have already said they’d prefer it if he didn’t go back to Bradenthorpe.”
“Which presumably means he’s still staying with Jenny?”
“Yes, that’s what he told me outside the station the day they released him. I think he’ll lie low for a while now though – so would I if I was him.”
“To get back to your vision last night Molls, can you remember what she looked like apart from the long turquoise dress?”
“Well… she had long wavy blonde hair and was youngish, I guess about twenty-five, twenty-six? Then there was that… that awful hole in her chest exactly the same as the others, and the blood – obviously… all that… blood…” She tailed off and fell quiet for a moment.
“Do you think I should tell Longbridge about this Andy? I mean, if I’m right and we can’t find her in time either, she’ll be number five, I could’ve been six… maybe I should say something?” Andrew thought about it for a moment as Gina put a plate of rye toast in front of him.
“Okay tell him – but don’t be surprised if he rubbishes the idea. We may have an understanding between us, but he still doesn’t strike me as a guy who’d consider ghostly visions as a link in a murder case, or any case for that matter.”
“Okay, well maybe I will, maybe I won’t, I don’t know, but he’ll have to come here if he wants to interview me officially, I won’t be driving anywhere with my car still in dock. Dad got it towed to the garage after that night it broke down on the way to meeting Jenny, or who I thought was Jenny.”
“Which reminds me –” interjected Andrew a little unclearly, mouth half full of toast now as he tried to get dressed one-handed;
“I’ve been wondering, just how, whoever it was, got your mobile number in the first place?” Molly just about worked out his question…
“It was the pub mobile, we have one in addition to the landline in case that’s engaged, because of all the deliveries and bookings for the new restauran
t, you know? It’s freely available in all our advertising so anyone could find it – I often have it on me.”
“Mmmm… Molly, did you see anything else, or feel anything else when you had the vision last night? Anything at all we could go on?”
“No, not really, except…”
“What, except what?” pushed Andrew – he began to sound as desperate as Harry Longbridge…
“Well… there was this sort of big ‘S’… in her hair, I don’t know, it could have just been a wave I suppose, but it looked a kind of thicker, darker blonde strand than the rest. It sounds stupid out loud that’s why I never mentioned it.”
Andrew swallowed his last piece of toast, picked up his coffee and walked into the hall.
“Okay, well it could be something I s’pose, maybe a personal name initial? You’ve not had that before so at least it’s a start, but from previous experience, there’s not much gap between your premonition and the actual murders.” Molly gave a long impatient sigh, she felt exasperated and quite useless at not being able to help any more than just getting creepy warnings. Andrew sensed her frustration even through the phone. He checked his watch again and quickly drained his mug, he was rushed now;
“Look – I’ve got to get to work. Gina just yelled out ‘Hi’ and said to tell you to rest!”
“Yeah right!” Molly only half laughed – reminded that her long-time ‘step-sister’ spent more and more nights over at Andrew’s flat these days. She missed Gina – missed her a lot, although she had come back to stay the first week Molly was out of hospital.
They said their goodbyes and Molly remained on the sofa, knees peaked under the throw, her chin tapped in thought with her mobile. The letter ‘S’ had certainly been very strange, as if the visions weren’t strange enough, but she’d never seen letters before. She wondered what the police would make of her apparitions; it certainly wouldn’t be easy to speak about them, or to receive any scathing scepticism.
She only hesitated a few moments more before a quick root around her handbag produced what she was looking for. Having found the card Harry left with her at the hospital, she decided there was only one way to find out. She brought up the keypad again, punched in the direct line number for Kirkdale’s Detective Chief Inspector – and waited…
The mauve plastic folder had been the first piece of real evidence Harry Longbridge had been given in this case, and it had been rendered pretty much useless. He’d not been a happy bunny when it had arrived smothered with the fingerprints of half of Kirkdale General’s medical staff. One of the nurses had found it beneath the bed of the girl who’d been subjected to the chloroform attack, complete with the wet chloroform pad inside. By the time it had reached his station half the town could have been considered suspects, which at that point in the investigation was probably about right. He’d sent it for DNA testing, but with no suspect to match anything up to, and no prints that corresponded with anyone on their files, it may as well have been binned. He just prayed something could come of the chloroform pad as he’d ‘been assured’ that the folder hadn’t been opened.
When the call had come through from Molly Fields, she was the last person he’d expected to contact him. For a moment his heart had jumped at the thought of something, anything at all frankly, that might kick-start this damned case and give him a lead. When he’d heard what she had to say, however, that initial ray of hope dissipated rapidly. He leant his elbows on the desk, rolled his eyes and massaged his forehead with his thumb and forefinger to ease the tension, and the disappointment.
“Visions of dead women you say – that float in the air; and you see one shortly before each murder takes place, except for the one time when you didn’t?” He listened to Molly’s detailed encounters with tired disinterest.
“Tell me, does Mr. Gale have any views on this?” On learning that Andrew appeared to be going along with her mediumistic ‘experiences’, Harry felt a twinge of disappointment. He’d come to quite like the lad, even respect him, grudgingly of course, but still felt he was wasted as a reporter, even if the boy hadn’t realised it himself yet.
Harry politely declined Molly’s suggestion of a formal interview with regard to what she felt was of relevant help. Unless she remembered anything tangible with regard to the attempt on her life, he wouldn’t need to speak to her for the foreseeable, and hoped she would soon make a full recovery.
He leant back in his chair and sighed heavily; four grotesquely murdered women, no real leads, a misguided reporter and now a budding clairvoyant. Terrific! Topped his day right off – roll on retirement…
As he massaged his head again he half-heartedly lifted up the piece of paper he’d been doodling on whilst talking to Ms. Fields. A rough outline of a woman in a long dress with the words ‘blonde hair’ and ‘turquoise’ sat beside it. He was about to screw it up and aim it at the bin when a large overly inked letter ‘S’ stopped him. Instead he folded it in half and in half again, opened his top drawer and dropped it inside. No harm in keeping an open mind.
Two days later Charlotte was parked in the surgery Range Rover in one of Kirkdale’s most respectable leafy side roads. A quick glance up and down ‘Farringdon Avenue’ had the area evaluated in a nutshell and to be honest she was quite surprised. The houses were all rather nice, in fact very nice indeed; maybe not opulent, but certainly up market – in a modest way naturally.
She flipped the contact card over and under, running it through her fingers repeatedly back and forth as she watched the house she was interested in through the window. It had not been difficult to lift the card from Miles’ pocket the night of the dinner dance. He’d barely noticed what his wife was doing in the sheer relief she hadn’t created a scene over Susie – ‘Ms. Turquoise Spray Tan’.
Charlotte didn’t know if he was aware the girl’s contact details had been dropped in his pocket as she enveloped her body around him, and she didn’t care. That night she’d continued to watch them from the hallway outside the Wordsworth room, and saw the girl’s hand disappear into his jacket. It was quite obvious what she’d done, and all Charlotte needed to do was get that card, something that had been achieved more easily than she’d imagined. Charlotte also didn’t know if Miles was now frantic the card was missing, racking his brains at how he’d lost it, or worse still worried sick that somehow she had found it. And Charlotte didn’t care about that either. The important thing was that she was the one who now knew where to find Miss Susie Sarrandaire – and find her she would.
The blue nylon zipped box sat in its place beside her on the passenger seat. On top of it, neatly folded, a new pair of opaque surgical gloves. The black and gold oriental mask lay snugly in one deep Barbour coat pocket, and the chloroform-soaked pad, tightly bagged, waited in the other. She glanced at the box… there was not much time.
Susie Sarrandaire was an aspiring young actress. She’d worked hard at drama school and kept working since leaving five years ago. A few walk-on parts in the odd soap opera and drama, a bit of extras work, commercials and so on were all okay, but now she was waiting to hear from her agent about a lead role in a new family saga set in the Highlands. If she got that part, and there was a good chance as the audition had gone brilliantly, the name Susie Sarrandaire would soon be on everyone’s lips. Of course Susie Sarrandaire wasn’t her real name, but Danielle Mogg didn’t have quite the same ring to it. It hadn’t taken much to persuade her to change – like a lot of people she’d never really liked what was printed on her birth certificate anyway.
Susie was also waiting to hear from a rather gorgeous looking mature blonde guy she’d met at a charity function a couple of nights before, and was rather disappointed that so far she hadn’t. Today though was all about a lounge lazy afternoon flipping through magazines, large frothy cappuccinos and waiting for her agent to give her some exciting news.
Her comfortable four-bed detached nestled in the sexier part of Kirkdale if it could b
e described as that. She certainly wouldn’t have purchased anything in the drab-looking apartment block area. London was where she would have preferred to be based, but until work really took off her hometown would have to suffice.
Licking chocolatey froth off her lips, Susie idly turned glossy pages not really interested in what lay between them. It was the silent phone that held her attention – that was of course until the doorbell rang.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Jenny watched from a covert position having parked round the corner from where Charlotte had left the surgery Range Rover. Owning a bright yellow Mini Cooper maybe helpful when searching for it in a supermarket car bay, but it definitely had its drawbacks when undertaking a surveillance operation.
She watched intently now as the local doctor stood waiting for the householder to answer the door of a large attractive new-build property. Jenny noticed Charlotte had a large blue box with a wide strap handle that was carried over her shoulder. It certainly didn’t look like any doctor’s bag she’d seen before.
When the door opened and Jenny saw Danielle stood there, she nearly collapsed in shock. Danielle Mogg had been one third of an all-girl band at Bradenthorpe High School. Jenny had been another; a third girl, Fiona Blake, had made up the trio. It was hardly a band in reality, but they’d had loads of fun with their karaokes and cheap microphones in each other’s bedrooms, and one performance at a school pop concert. Jenny hadn’t seen her in donkey’s years, but even at 80 metres and through a hedge, could never mistake those up to the armpit legs and trademark blonde hair – they were both legendary.