Blood Loss

by Kerena Swan

  Lucy swallows then says, ‘Of course I do. I’d never hurt you, Jenna.’

  I open my mouth to remind her of the black eye she gave me at the party but Grace puts a warm hand on my arm.

  She looks from me to my sister. ‘Your mum was just confiding in me that she’s not well and she’s concerned about it. Haven’t either of you noticed how much weight she’s lost?’

  We glance at each other but don’t speak.

  ‘She didn’t want me to say anything as she didn’t want to worry you, but you need to know and focus on her right now instead of fighting with each other. She thinks it’s serious.’

  Chapter 20

  The Previous March | DI Paton

  The meeting room at the forensic laboratory was bright and airy. The furniture was modern and there appeared to be state-of-the-art equipment everywhere. A sharp contrast to Paton’s dingy and dated offices. He could see where the money was being spent. A screen illuminated one wall, showing the murder scene. He watched Yvonne Reynolds, the crime scene manager, through a glass partition. She was talking on the phone but as soon as she finished the call she was going to explain the blood spatter analysis to him and Metcalfe, the SIO.

  Paton felt tense. He’d enjoyed working with Superintendent Metcalfe so far as the man was fair but clear in his expectations, but he wouldn’t be impressed when he heard how Paton had compromised the blood spatter evidence at the crime scene. Paton should have told the man about it in private but it was too late now. Paton was also conscious that he was under scrutiny for his commitment to the deputy role. The chief had commented about him rushing home on occasions when others worked on into the evening.

  Yvonne’s call ended and she walked back into the room to press a key on her laptop. ‘Ready?’ She looked up and Paton nodded. ‘Our specialist forensic biologist usually attends scenes like this but unfortunately his wife went into labour early so he asked me to take photographs. He’s examined them and analysed the direction, speed and force of the spatter.’ Yvonne pointed to a photograph showing the wall of the cabin near the bedroom doorway.

  Paton forced himself to look at the screen and inhaled deeply before letting his breath out slowly. He couldn’t make a fool of himself again. Maybe he should look into some sort of treatment for his phobia – Cognitive Behavioural Therapy or Neuro-Linguistic Programming. A bloody stage show hypnotist even.

  ‘If we look at the archways of this blood pattern we can see it’s from a pumping main artery. We already know the victim was stabbed in the heart and this is the correct height for that wound. What is interesting is the void in the spatter where the assailant stood. This tells us their height and width and also that their clothes and face must have been covered in blood. It also tells us that the assailant pulled the knife from the chest, allowing the blood to pump freely, and stabbed again, this time leaving the knife in the chest.’

  Paton coughed and pointed at the photograph on the screen then said, ‘How do we know that void pattern outline isn’t just a witness?’

  ‘It’s almost impossible for more than two people to fit in the room alongside the single bed. If another person was on the bed we’d have seen their footprints in the blood as they left.’ Yvonne turned back to the screen but not before she’d frowned at him. Clearly she’d remembered him damaging the crime scene. ‘We also have smaller arcs of cast-off spatter here and here which indicate the victim was flailing his cut hand, possibly trying to defend himself.’

  Paton braced himself for what was coming next.

  ‘There were some drops of blood on the floor that looked as though they’d dripped straight down from a larger wound – possibly a nose bleed – and we believe the victim may have struck the assailant when he tried to protect himself. Sadly, the evidence was contaminated so we couldn’t get photos or a sample of it.’

  ‘Contaminated? How?’ Superintendent Metcalf lifted his head sharply from his notebook and frowned. ‘Surely your main focus should be the preservation of evidence.’

  Yvonne straightened her spine and pursed her lips. ‘I think you’ll find that it was one of your officers who put their bloody great foot in it and I’m talking literally here. The blood samples were mixed together.’

  Paton knew he had to own up now or it would be worse for him. ‘I felt unwell, sir, and had to leave the room quickly. I didn’t want to add evidence of my own.’ He smiled ruefully as he remembered how sick he’d felt but no one reciprocated. ‘I caught Cheryl – DC Campbell – off-balance. She fell off the step plate and trod on the blood drips.’

  ‘Unless we have the perpetrator’s DNA on file it won’t make a significant difference plus there are other ways to collect DNA,’ Yvonne said.

  Metcalf grunted and waved a hand at Yvonne. ‘Carry on.’

  She gave Paton a small smile of thanks for saving her from criticism then turned her attention to the screen again. ‘These things happen,’ she said, then pressed a button on her laptop.

  Another photo appeared, this time of the body on the floor. Paton swallowed several times. Raspberry jelly on a fruit flan. That’s what the shiny surface of the blood reminded him of. Bloody hell. Wendy had just made him one of those. When she started to feel better she always baked treats to show she was well again. He’d struggle to eat the flan now.

  ‘We looked at the pool of blood surrounding the body and how it had solidified at the edges.’

  Paton’s stomach roiled and he swallowed.

  ‘After checking the ambient temperature of the room and the algor mortis of the deceased we’ve estimated the time of death as between 9am and 11am. We examined the knife for fingerprints but due to the amount of blood on it we were only able to find the victim’s prints and a partial print of another person. This partial is replicated on other kitchen items in the drawers, on the bed frame, coffee table and doors, which suggests the assailant was there for some time.’

  That figured. Paton was confident now that this was a love tryst gone wrong. Maybe the lover discovered the existence of Mrs Nash.

  ‘We’ve also found hairs and fibres but as this property is a holiday rental there are numerous different DNA samples scattered around.’

  Paton’s optimism faded. He’d been hoping the DNA would lead to one individual. Yvonne caught his expression and smiled at him. He was clearly in her good books now he’d confessed to his blunder.

  ‘There’s more,’ she said. ‘We’ve examined the body for DNA as well. We took a sample from the victim’s penis and found traces of vaginal fluid. We’re currently running the DNA through the police database for any match.’

  Metcalf shifted in his seat. ‘What if the woman has never committed a crime before and isn’t known to us? Can you check the ancestry website databases and the clinics that carry out DNA tests? They must have thousands of samples of people checking their family relationships.’

  Chapter 21

  March | Sarah

  I’m pulling on a denim jacket I’ve resurrected from my teenage wardrobe when the letterbox clatters and post falls to the mat. I rush forward and gather it up, shuffling through the junk leaflets for the letter I’ve just spotted. It’s addressed to me and I can’t rip it open fast enough. My chest lurches with excitement when I see it’s from John, my so-called dad.

  Dear Sarah,

  It was good to hear from you after all these years. A letter is as rare as a gourmet meal in this place. How are you and how’s your mum?

  Why the sudden desire for a DNA test? Has your mum finally confessed to cheating on me? You were right when you said in your letter that I’ve always questioned whether I’m your father and I agree it would be good to know once and for all. Things might have been different if I’d done this years ago but it wasn’t heard of then – well, not in my circles, anyway.

  You say I can do a cheek swab. The only snag is I don’t have any money and I’m told the kits cost about £99. So, if you organise and pay for it then send the kit to the governor of the prison (he’s the one who
oversees the process), I’ll willingly do it for you.

  Let’s see what happens but either way I want you to know that I’ve had a lot of time to reflect in here and I wish things could have been different. I’m sorry for the way I treated you and your mum. I see now that I let the jealousy eat into my brain. I’m half-hoping you’re not mine to prove I was right to be suspicious, but I’m half-hoping you are mine and that you’ll keep writing to me.

  Let me know as soon as you get the results.

  Yours,

  Dad

  I don’t know what to think and want to keep re-reading the letter to make sense of my emotions but I’m running late for work at the kebab shop. I stuff it in my bag and rush out of the door, not bothering to say goodbye to Mum. She’ll still be asleep in bed at this time of the morning.

  It’s chilly outside despite the thin sunlight and I regret not wearing a warmer jacket. As I reach the kebab shop, Nikos, the owner is waiting for me by the door. Inside, the air is warm and heavy with the stink of fatty meat and chips. I can almost taste it and imagine it seeping into my clothes only to linger and waft out again later.

  ‘Clean the front of the shop and scrub the grill, then prepare the kebab skewers and salads,’ Nikos instructs. He locks the front door behind me and hangs the key on a nail. ‘I’ll be back in time to serve lunches.’

  ‘Can I get paid today? I need money and I’ve done five days’ work for you.’

  ‘Pay is weekly.’

  ‘Just this once? I need it urgently.’

  ‘No. You kids are all the same, can’t wait for anything. What’s it for? Some of that weed stuff? Bottles of gin?’

  ‘Nothing like that.’ I fetch the broom and mop bucket from the cupboard. ‘Not to worry. I’ll sort something else out.’

  I don’t want to annoy him. The other worker didn’t turn up yesterday so Nikos has said I can carry on for the time being. I need to make myself indispensable.

  Nikos goes out of the back door and leaves me to the cleaning and food prep. I sweep and mop in case he comes back, then sit and read my letter again. So, my old man has developed a conscience at last. Too bloody late, though. I almost laugh when I read again about him half-wanting us to be related. I certainly don’t, and, once I have the saliva sample and have relayed him the results, he won’t hear from me again. I shove the letter in my pocket and tie a stained apron around my waist before dragging trays of raw chicken breasts from the fridge.

  Two hours later I open the front door to Mum’s house quietly, hoping she’s still in bed. I creep through to the kitchen and take her purse from the microwave. Stupid place to leave it. Burglars always look in fridges and microwaves. I rifle through her cards which are mostly loyalty ones until I come to her debit card. Perfect. I slip it into my back pocket and hear the toilet flush upstairs.

  ‘I’m off to the library,’ I call up the stairs. ‘See you later. I’ll fetch something for tea.’

  I order the kit and pay for it with Mum’s card. I’ll give her some cash when Nikos pays me. I’m not a thief.

  I’m happily choosing books for our housebound customers to be delivered later by volunteers when Mark walks in with a bunch of yellow tulips. I glance around with embarrassment but no one has noticed.

  ‘I’ve booked a table for eight o-clock tomorrow,’ he says. ‘I fancy trying that new Tapas place in the Xscape building before we see the film.’

  He hasn’t asked me if I like Tapas. Have I attracted another man who doesn’t respect me and thinks he can control me? I won’t allow myself to be vulnerable this time. I’m the one in control, though Mark doesn’t know it. Yet. ‘Perfect,’ I say. ‘I’ll meet you there.’

  His smile fades slightly. ‘I thought perhaps we could share a taxi then you could come back to mine for a coffee.’

  Bloody hell. He doesn’t hang around. I’m keen to move this relationship on quickly because the idea of hiding at Mark’s place has grown on me, but it doesn’t pay to be too easy a conquest. Treat ‘em mean and all that.

  ‘I can’t come back to yours tomorrow night. I’ve promised the neighbour I’ll take his dog out as he’s away overnight. I’m sure I can next time though.’

  It’s not Derek’s dog I’ll be keeping happy. I’m getting a new car in the morning and I’ve got a debt to pay.

  Chapter 22

  The Following July | Jenna

  ‘Morning, Grace, do you want a drink?’ I’m embarrassed still to be in my dressing gown when Grace is busy doing the ironing. I’ll try and get up earlier tomorrow.

  ‘I had some water, thanks.’

  I fetch a glass of orange juice then perch on the arm of the sofa. Dad would have told me off for this. He always said arms weren’t strong enough to be sat on. I feel guilty and slide onto the seat. Grace’s ironing is smooth and thorough. She’s one of those if-a-job’s-worth-doing-it’s-worth-doing-well people who has more patience than I’ll ever have. Housework bores me to distraction. Grace reduces the volume on the television. She must have sensed that I need to talk because this is the first chance I’ve had since yesterday.

  ‘What do you think is wrong with Mum?’ I ask her. ‘Why didn’t she tell us she’s ill? We’re her daughters.’ I’d never call Grace ‘only’ the cleaner – there’s no ‘only’ about honest hard work – and in any case she’s also become a friend. But she isn’t actually family and I’m hurt that Mum confided in Grace before us.

  ‘She wasn’t going to tell me either but I saw her wincing and asked her what was wrong. She tried to tell me it was nothing but I made it clear I wasn’t going to be fobbed off so it all came out. Apparently, she’s been to the doctor and he’s referred her for a CT scan.’ Grace lifts a silk blouse from the ironing board and drapes it onto a padded hanger. ‘Shouldn’t you be talking to your mum about this instead of me?’

  ‘She’d probably give me the sweetened version like she did the other day when she told me she was losing weight to get healthy. I want to know the facts, Grace. What are her symptoms and what does the doctor think it is?’

  ‘She’s been getting stomach pains and she has no appetite. When she does eat, she feels sick. The doctor said it could be a number of different things but the scan will tell them more.’

  I feel sick myself. This sounds bad and I’m tempted to Google the symptoms but I know that will probably only scare me even more. How many times over the past few months have I offered Mum some food and she’s said she’s already eaten?

  ‘When’s the scan?’ I ask.

  ‘I don’t know. You’ll need to ask her.’ Grace stops ironing for a moment and stares out of the French doors to the garden. She blinks then fishes a tissue from her pocket and blows her nose.

  I’m touched by how much she cares about Mum but even more alarmed about it all now. I get up abruptly and go upstairs. Mum’s bedroom door is open and I see her sitting on her bed with a book in her hand but she isn’t reading it. She’s staring at the wall.

  ‘Mum?’ I continue into her room. ‘Grace tells me you haven’t been feeling well.’

  ‘Not quite myself, no, but that’s to be expected when you lose your husband.’ She closes the book and rubs the raised title with her fingertips.

  ‘Grace says you’re going for a CT scan.’

  ‘I told her not to say anything. I didn’t want to worry you unnecessarily.’

  ‘She only told us because she thought it would stop us arguing. When is it? I could take you, if you like?’

  ‘It’s on Tuesday. Thanks for offering but I can drive myself and I think I’d rather get there in one piece.’ She lifts her head and laughs but I’m not fooled.

  I’m also a bit miffed. I might have been a scary driver when Mum took me out as a learner but I’m a good driver now. I sit next to her on the bed.

  ‘Are you worried? What do you think’s wrong with you?’

  ‘I’ll be fine.’ Mum puts her book aside then turns to take both of my hands. ‘Jenna, I want you and Lucy to make up. All this fric
tion between you is stressing me out. Maybe that’s why I feel sick.’

  I think her illness is about more than her daughters falling out with each other, but I take a deep breath and say, ‘I’ll try.’

  God knows how I’ll manage it, though. I still suspect Lucy of spooking Merlin. She could have caused me or him a serious injury. I realise I’m actually more than a little wary of her too. Bickering – even serious bickering – is one thing, but trying to hurt me physically is serious shit.

  Mum must have guessed the direction my thoughts have taken. ‘I can’t believe Lucy would do a thing like that. I’ve spoken to her and asked her to be at the Stripes coffee shop in Woburn Sands at four thirty to meet you. She’s leaving work early. You’ll like it there. They do vegan paninis and stuff. Can you do this for me?’

  Bloody hell. ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Sure.’

  I reach the café early to give Lucy no excuse for criticising my punctuality, or rather the lack of it. She’s still there before me. Her hair is scraped back into a tight pleat and she’s wearing very little make-up. She’s in a neat blouse and cardigan and looks like she’s had a spinal rod inserted.

  I remind myself that this is for Mum and walk towards her. ‘Not working late today?’ Lucy usually claims to work late every day.

  ‘I arranged to finish early to please Mum.’

  From her expression she wants to be here even less than I do. I order a smoothie and a slab of carrot cake then sit down. Lucy glares at the cake resentfully. She’s always watching her weight but is still a bit plump whereas I can eat whatever I like and still stay slim. Maybe that’s another reason why she dislikes me – but surely not enough to hurt me. She watches me eat and neither of us speaks.