Death of a Butterfly

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Death of a Butterfly Page 12

by Simon Brown


  “Are you in pain?”

  “My head hurts.”

  He examined my head and looked into my eyes. Then he felt my pulse.

  “You received a nasty bump on your head and cut your lip. Can you move your fingers and toes?”

  I tried and nodded.

  “I don’t think you have been wounded by the bullet. Do you feel ready to be taken to the wheelchair?”

  I nodded again. The two men helped me up and carried me to a wheelchair at the bottom of the ramp. I sat down and one of the men started to wrap me in a blanket. I felt a surge of self-loathing. I hated myself for being so weak. I should have grabbed his balls and wrenched them from him, I should have kicked out, bitten his arm—

  “Amanda, Amanda!”

  I looked round and saw Edward trying to push through the crowd. A policeman restrained him.

  “Do you know this man, madam?”

  “Yes.”

  Edward was let through and walked to me.

  “My God, what happened? What a bloody mess.”

  Edward leant over and put his hand on my shoulder. His face was close to mine. He was sweating. His glasses were starting to mist.

  “I am so sorry, Amanda. I should have been here earlier.”

  I smelt alcohol on his breath. In panic, I recoiled and turned my head.

  “Get away from me. Leave me alone.”

  Edward stood up looking startled.

  “Would you please come with me, sir?”

  A policeman led him away.

  A small army of armed policemen converged next to me. They were dressed in black, with white writing on their uniforms, holding matt machine guns. There was a constant chatter from their headset, whilst shiny black helmets shrouded their heads. I could see more uniformed men closing the road with tape. I was lifted into the ambulance and a paramedic made me comfortable for the journey.

  In the ambulance, the thought that it was Edward kept travelling my mind. Sometimes it was quiet. Sometimes it receded. But it was always there creeping back into my thinking. Why Edward? Why would he do such a thing? One minute he is telling me he wants to be with me, and the next he attacks me. I began to consider the possibility that he was schizophrenic, a real life Jekyll and Hyde.

  My emotions subsided into an anesthetised numbness, similar to my state after finding Mathew dead on the floor.

  After an examination in the hospital I was diagnosed with trauma to my ear, bruises, cuts and grazes. The doctor decided to keep me under observation overnight. I still could not hear in my right ear.

  “Is there anyone we can contact?”

  I gave them Dorothy’s telephone number.

  Dorothy came to visit me with a basket of herb tea bags, fruit, nuts, vegetables and hummus. She took out a wide-mouthed thermos and poured me some hot soup. She forgot my nightclothes and toiletries.

  “Here you are, dear. You will soon be feeling better. What a calamity. And in the middle of Covent Garden. How extraordinary. What did the police say?”

  “They will come round tomorrow and talk to me.”

  Painkillers helped me fall into a deep sleep.

  Dorothy arrived early with a change of clothes, my toothbrush and toothpaste.

  The rushing sound had subsided and my aches were manageable. My lip felt swollen. I had to drink my teas through a straw. When I returned from the bathroom, Dorothy had made herself comfortable next to my bed and started knitting.

  Detective Inspector David Williams and Sergeant Janet Gough arrived at 10 a.m. The inspector was short, broad, shaven headed and I imagine about forty, whilst the sergeant was very tall and slim with long black hair. I guessed she was thirty. They made an interesting visual mix. They showed me their IDs and I introduced my aunt. Williams pulled over two chairs.

  They wanted me to talk them through the whole incident. Sergeant Gough took notes. After I described the events they wanted a description of the assailant.

  “I did not see his face. I think he was taller than me. I saw his hand, which was white. His cuff was dark. He smelt strongly of alcohol.”

  “We have a limited description from witnesses. His age has been placed between twenty and forty.”

  Then my aunt put down her knitting and spoke.

  “You do know my niece’s husband was murdered nearly three months ago and that she has been receiving threatening letters since.”

  I saw the inspector’s eyes widen. I explained about the murder, the photographs, the loans and missing money, escaping to London and being followed.

  “You understand I will need to talk to Sergeant Smiley?”

  “Yes.”

  “So far, we have been through the local CCTV and we know your attacker ran into Covent Garden underground station. He then ran down the stairs. He took off his black coat and left it on the stairs. I presume he also removed his sunglasses and hat. He then could have got on a train unrecognised.”

  Dorothy cleared her throat. I thought she was going to correct Williams for saying “got.” My mind even ran through more descriptive options; jumped, ran, leapt, stepped?

  “Excuse me, Inspector, but is it not possible that he could also have come back up in a lift and made his way back to Amanda?”

  “Yes, that is possible.”

  “It’s just that my niece considers Mr Edwards to be a suspect in both her husband’s murder and the threatening letters she has received. He arrived as she was being taken to the ambulance, also smelling of alcohol.”

  The inspector looked confused for a moment. He glanced at Dorothy and then at his sergeant. Sergeant Gough looked through her papers.

  “Isn’t he the man who was at the crime scene? Edward Edwards. I thought that was a strange name. He was detained and gave his address. I have it here,” Gough said.

  “Yes, that’s him.”

  My aunt continued.

  “My own feeling is that you should be looking for a much younger man. I feel sure the stolen photographs, the missing money, Mathew’s murder, the threatening letters and this attack are all connected. The letters seem to me to be the work of someone quite young and illiterate. If only we could find out more about Mathew’s past.”

  Dorothy’s voice trailed off as she stared across the ward. Sergeant Gough’s phone rang and she stepped into the corridor to take the call. Inspector Williams tried to regain control.

  “Was anything taken from your bag?”

  “Yes, I had nearly two hundred and fifty pounds. He took it all. Nothing else. Oh, wait; there was one strange thing. Just before he fired his gun, I thought he started crying.”

  Dorothy looked at me wide eyed.

  Janet Gough returned.

  “Excuse me, Inspector, the coat was reported stolen from a bar in Leicester Square. The owner just came into the station and identified it. A Mr Patrick Legsworth.”

  Williams looked at me enquiringly.

  “No, I don’t know anyone of that name.”

  The inspector turned to his colleague.

  “We’ll need to keep it as evidence. Check it in with forensics. I think we need to do a little research and then we will have another talk. Meanwhile I’ll arrange for a constable to watch over you.”

  The inspector and sergeant rose to leave. Dorothy looked up from her knitting.

  “I presume you will check to see if the bullets from Mathew’s murder match the bullet from the truck.”

  I cringed at my aunt trying to tell the inspector how to do his job. The inspector smiled and waved goodbye. I sighed as I slid down the bed to relax my head against the pillow.

  My mother’s chocolate phrase reverberated around my head for a moment. Perhaps it brought me some obscure, motherly comfort.

  “It’s the winter solstice in a few days. I thought I would invite my friends round for tea. Do you think you would feel up to it, dear?”

  “I’m sure I can manage a cup of tea. It is just that I feel so angry when Herr Huber keeps talking about illusions.”

  “Do you
get angry because you feel attached to the illusions? They can be so sticky sometimes. It is one of those dilemmas.” Dorothy became lost in thought for a moment and I let her think. “How long do you leave a child believing in Father Christmas, if you start such a story?” Then she sat up straight. “Oh, my dear, it will be Christmas in a few days. How would you like to spend it?”

  “With so much happening, I have not thought about it.”

  “Why don’t I take you out for a long relaxing lunch, just the two of us?”

  “That would be nice.”

  “I always think ‘nice’ is such an insipid word.”

  I smiled and felt a pain in my lip.

  “That would be really lovely, Aunty.”

  Dorothy smiled at me and pressed her hand on mine. Neither of us spoke for some time. Dorothy went back to her knitting and I lay back feeling drowsy.

  “I still can’t come to terms with how ferocious the man was. I felt he really hated me. As though years of pent up rage were being released.”

  “I know. I don’t think shooting Mathew gave him the resolution he was looking for. I think all these letters are his way of trying to make it more of a healing for him. He is building up slowly to a longer, drawn out ending. I am sure he did not want to kill you this time. A drunken, impulsive act, perhaps.”

  I felt a wave of dread at the thought that my torture would be someone else’s healing. My fears returned, ferociously gripping me in an ice cold vice. Dorothy reached out and held my hand.

  “Don’t worry, dear, there are many ways to bring about a healing and we will find another way for him. We just need to understand him first, get to know more about him. Oh, by the way, Francis’ Venice flat is free in the new year.”

  My eyes felt heavy and I drifted in and out of my aunt’s musings before falling asleep. I remember thinking Venice would be good. Next time I woke, I listened to Radio Four and remembered my mother.

  CHAPTER 14

  My second interview was at my aunt’s home. Detective Inspector David Williams and Sergeant Janet Gough arrived in the morning. This time Williams was dressed in black and Gough in white. It seemed too much to be an accident.

  My aunt fussed around getting tea for us all.

  “You two look most interesting. Did you plan to dress as a yin-yang combination?” she enquired.

  Sergeant Gough laughed.

  Williams ignored the comment and spoke.

  “Amanda, would you mind if we are joined by Sergeant Smiley? We need to connect the two incidences.”

  “That’s fine with me.”

  Smiley arrived after a few minutes and greeted me as though we were meeting for the first time. Something seemed wrong and then I realised the sergeant had whitened his teeth. His seasoned smoker smell felt out of place with his shiny, snow-white dentistry.

  “Mrs Blake, I must inform you that Inspector Pride has been removed from this case. I understand from your solicitor that you had some concerns about her behaviour and I would be happy to report any official complaint you would like to make.”

  We agreed I would make my complaint after Williams and Gough left. Williams started to update us. My aunt leant forward turning her left ear to hear the inspector better.

  “We now know that the gun fired in the truck was the same that killed your husband. We are therefore working on the assumption that the same man killed Mr Blake and later attacked you. We think it reasonable, given the history of when you received the letters and their content, not to mention the use of photographs taken from the murder scene, that the same man who shot your husband and attacked you wrote the letters. I understand you have since found three more letters; one at your home in Tewin and two since moving here. Could I have those please?”

  Dorothy got up and retrieved the folder with the letters. Now Janet spoke.

  “We have looked through CCTV and it shows your attacker running up to Covent Garden tube station and then seven minutes later Mr Edwards exits the station and walks down to find you. We have checked and this provides sufficient time to run down the stairs and return up in a lift.”

  The sergeant glanced at Dorothy and quickly moved on.

  “We have analysed the coat found on the stairs and there is nothing incriminating on it. We were hoping to find hairs on the collar but having tucked his hair into his hat and worn a scarf, no evidence remained on the coat. We noted that your assailant and Mr Edwards are of a similar size and build.”

  “Have you checked his Clam?”

  Everyone stared at Dorothy.

  “I thought you could check a person’s Clam to see where they have travelled and when.”

  “Oh, you mean Oyster card,” the inspector said with a smile. He turned to Janet. “Have we?”

  “It’s on my list,” said Gough whilst writing.

  The inspector took over.

  “In the meantime we have questioned Mr Edwards and searched his home, office and car.” At this point Dorothy leant so far forward I thought she would fall from her chair. “Nothing incriminating has been found, although he has yet to produce a convincing alibi for the time prior to him exiting the tube station. Sergeant Smiley, I believe he did not produce an alibi for the time Mr Blake was shot either.”

  “Correct, that morning he was working from home alone. His wife returned just before 2 p.m. but that puts him alone at the time Mr Blake was shot. He did show us numerous emails he had written, but Inspector Pride was convinced he would have enough time to run across the drive, shoot Mr Blake and return.”

  “Yes, but why take the photographs, money and watch? Surely that would only waste time and risk incriminating himself if he were searched?”

  Everyone turned to Dorothy.

  “We did search the Edwards’ home and they were not in his house,” Smiley said whilst looking at the floor in front of him.

  “It’s all so confusing. Part of me felt sure it was Edward attacking me. His smell and the way he acted just before I was put in the ambulance,” I said.

  “No, I don’t think he is in enough pain to want to kill and attack you like this,” my aunt added.

  Sergeant Smiley cleared his throat.

  “I understand that you were calling a Mr Harris from a phone box shortly before the attack.” Smiley turned to Williams. “Mr Harris ran a clothing shop with Mr Blake.”

  “Yes, there was a phone box on the corner.”

  “Did you call Mr Harris’s mobile number or landline?”

  “His mobile.”

  “It’s just that Inspector Pride had considered Mr Harris to be a suspect. There had been previous prosecutions and convictions.”

  Dorothy became interested.

  “So you think he could have been waiting for Amanda, taken her call and then attacked her.”

  “It’s possible. What has your contact with Mr Harris been, Mrs Blake?”

  “We have had several phone conversations. He does not know my mobile number and, as far as I know, does not know where I am. We have been trying to sort out what will happen to the shop.”

  Smiley leant forward to rest his elbows on his legs.

  “May I ask how that is proceeding?”

  “He claims my shares are worthless.”

  Williams said he would arrange to have an officer outside and that he would send a crime prevention unit round to ensure the flat was safe. Gough then went through the writing of a statement with me. As Williams and Gough rose to leave, Smiley hung back and turned to me.

  “Do you mind if I hear your complaint?”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “First, I would like your account of what happened the day Inspector Pride collected you for questioning.”

  I told him about the interviews, her aggressively restraining me in the car and running me off the road. Smiley made notes. Then he wrote out a statement on my behalf. I read through and signed it.

  “I thought you should know Detective Inspector Pride is on leave and unlikely to resume working on your
case. I cannot divulge any more for now.”

  I felt slightly guilty. Pride had been very kind to me at times.

  CHAPTER 15

  December twenty-first came quickly. The winter solstice began with breakfast meditation and then fulfilling my feeling for green tea, apricot juice and whole oat porridge with nuts and raisins. I had got to the point where I enjoyed my new foods so much and felt so much better, I could not understand why I ever consumed my sugary, commercial cereals, toast and breakfast tea.

  Dorothy sat opposite me and spoke softly.

  “I am really enjoying watching you return to your true self, my dear. Rather than wandering through life in some kind of virtual reality on autopilot, acting out of habits, you are engaging with your world.”

  Henrique, Sandy and Nirmal arrived midmorning. It was a cold but sunny day. There had been snow overnight. Sandy needed to stamp her feet and rub her hands to bring the warmth back. She crouched by the living room radiator warming her back.

  This time Henrique was dressed in casual brown trousers and a maroon cashmere sweater. It took me a while to get used to his softer, cuddly form. Nirmal silently took his usual chair and sat in stillness.

  We drank the various teas that Dorothy had made for each of us. The talk was of how London looked so different with its white coating. Then Dorothy turned to me.

  “Amanda, after your ordeal we would like to offer you a treatment. We want to put ourselves in service to you and make this your special moment.”

  I looked back quizzically, unsure what my aunt meant. Sandy explained.

  “Think of it as an hour at the spa. We will give you a healing session and gently lead you to a place where you may feel like generating your own healing from within.”

  “Well…”

  I hesitated not sure what it would be like, but then I looked at my aunt and stumbled forward into agreeing. A massage table was unfolded and set up in the living room.

  I climbed onto the table and lay on my front. Someone went to great trouble to arrange a horseshoe shaped sock so that my head felt comfortable.

  I felt a blanket being laid over me. Warm hands then tucked me in. My memory flashed back to being tucked in as a child by my mother. We had the same routine every night. I would run to my bed in anticipation of a story. My mother would tuck me in and cuddle me whilst my father read me the next chapter in his deep, growling voice. After they would each kiss me and quietly leave the room making sure to leave the door open, so I could hear them downstairs. A nightlight flickered on the chest of drawers.

 

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