by Colin Davy
He sighed, the Victorian maiden aunt act was wearing. “So, I’ve seen your tits,” he said. “Get over it, woman.” This time, she showed visible annoyance. “Sorry,” he continued. “But it’s hardly a hanging offence, and they are very nice tits, and ….” He stopped himself saying more - best stop digging.
“I ought to leave,” she whispered. “It’s not fair on you.” This time, the look on her face was less sure. He might be winning her over, he thought, she was much less certain now. When her face showed the first hint of acceptance, he wondered if she was as upset as she seemed. Maybe she felt the need to make the offer and hope he’d persuade her otherwise. “You shouldn’t go,” he said. “Why blame yourself for sleep-walking when you mind is overwrought, it’s a natural reaction in the circumstances.”
“It’s no excuse.”
“Of course, it is,” he said. “What about your premonition? It came true, and if Lucifer’s on the prowl, am I safe here on my own?”
Her lips tightened. “I never mentioned the Devil,” she said firmly. “It was a human agent who killed my sister.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.” No hint of doubt in her voice.
He nodded, he’d leave that conversation for the future, preferably when her raw grief had subsided. “You realise how selfish you’re being?” he asked.
That caught her by surprise, “Selfish? How?”
“If you leave today, I’ll worry myself sick.”
“You would?” Her surprise sounded genuine.
“Of course,” he said. “You shouldn’t be on your own at this time. I’d feel I’d let you down if you left.” Her lips parted and he thought she was going to say something, but changed her mind at the last second. “Please stay,” he added. “We’ll go to Southport this morning and pick up what you need. Then we’ll search Debbie’s diary and see if there’s anything solid in it.”
She frowned. “There were personal passages, Gary. I’m not sure Debs would like-”
“Do you trust me?” he asked, an unfair question, but he needed to see the diary, if only to ease her feverish speculation.
Although her eyes narrowed, she finally nodded. “You know I do.”
He gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “I’ll ignore the personal stuff,” he said. “I’ll do anything I can to help, but it’ll be easier if you’re here and we do it together.”
“If you’re sure?”
Yes, definitely a look of relief on her face now. “I’m sure,” he said, deciding he’d take a gamble on that quicksand after all. A tentative step in the quagmire should be safe. “And …”
“And what?”
“I’ll have coffee, please,” he added.
When she smiled for the first time, he breathed a sigh of relief. It’s the least he could do, and if she walked out now, Sophie would never forgive him, even if he forgave himself.
Over coffee, he reminded her about the diary and she rummaged in her handbag, producing a soft pocket diary which she placed beside him. “Debs wrote a lot,” she said. “I didn’t manage to read it all …” She broke off suddenly.
“I understand.”
After swallowing twice, she headed for the bedroom and closed the door behind her. Although he was tempted to follow and commiserate, he felt awkward, knowing there was little he could say. Instead, he headed for the settee and settled down to read Debbie’s diary.
The entries began in early June and she wrote in a chatty, inconsequential manner, but she was lengthy and the entries would take time to read. Making himself comfortable, he began to read, even though the small, cramped handwriting made it tricky.
Her flat had been a cash purchase. and furnishing it a labour of love, seemingly helped by the advice of her next-door neighbour, a man labelled as W. Further on, he was revealed to be William … ‘a lovely, but overly-camp man with a wicked sense of humour.’ His boyfriend however, who she labelled S, seemed to be … ‘furtive and serious, as if he carried the cares of the world on his shoulders.’ She’d also suspected he was a frequent visitor next door without being a live-in friend.
Only when he read on to July, did he find something relevant. The evening meeting in the pub with K1 and J1, who he presumed to be Keith and John, was well documented. ‘Even with alcohol loosening his tongue, J1 said very little about the finances, while K1 refused even to discuss them. Something is definitely not right. They are hiding something. Maz may be a worrywart, but she might have called this one right. Lots of money splashing around, but where it goes, no one know or cares to say. I’ll keep this to myself until I find something concrete because Maz will go ballistic if she thinks anyone is embezzling. Her sense of outrage could prove a dangerous distraction. These two are dangerous.’
Hmm … obviously Debbie suspected but had no proof. And she’d appointed herself as Maria’s guardian, a role-reversal of what Maria thought. Why was she using initials only? He was slightly piqued but unsurprised to find Debbie regarded him as a nuisance, and a potentially dangerous nuisance. ‘Maz excited and enthused at meeting a man she felt was perfect for her. But G2 came over as taciturn and a user, and like many men, the possessor of a one-dimensional mind. I never trust anyone with unfaithful eyes, I may have to discourage him, or at worst, take one for the team.’
Not exactly a glowing endorsement, he thought, but unfaithful eyes? He’d heard of roving eyes – did she mean he had unfaithful genitalia? Why was he only G2? Was G1 her friend Gail, the blonde woman he seen her with in Southport? Things didn’t improve when he continued reading.
‘Discouragement should work because Maria’s self-imposed celibacy is a trump card to play if necessary. If I offer it on a plate to G2, I’m sure he’d jump at the chance, but I’d rather not, even if it’s likely to work. Maria would be incensed and might take a long time to forgive me. I’ve tried to warn her, but she’s beyond helping at the moment. It’s a pity her talent for seeing the future blinds her to reality in the present. He’s a user not a helper.’
Thanks, Debbie, but it was probably a fair cop. In the end, Maria’s blanket ban on her sister seeing him had forestalled her plan to divert his attention. Reading on, it appeared the previous Sunday had brought out her paranoid streak. ‘So R1 is a friend of G2’s? No surprise there. Two people-users together. Could this be a two-pronged attack? My darling G1 likes both but she is so shallow at times. After the service, Maz was stricken by one of her premonitions of the future and the resulting migraine. I hate to see her taken home by G2, but for her, he is Mr Golden Bollocks. She’ll learn soon.’
That seemed to be the last entry, as the space for Monday was empty. R1 must be Raif, he suspected, and G1 would be Gail, and he was golden bollocks, no doubt. Yet on first reading, it seemed Maria needed an accountant or the police rather than someone like him. Her faith in him was flattering, but misplaced. How could he tactfully convince her?
Would it be kinder to be cruel? Possibly, but he’d find it hard to do. Had the quicksand developed a sudden suction he’d not anticipated?
When Maria returned, he felt a sudden rush of sympathy. If he told her point-blank it was all circumstantial, he’d prove Debbie right. To cast her aside would be heartless. He might be selfish, but he couldn’t do it. And the thought of her suddenly recognising his feet of clay was disturbing. He could wait and hope the police convinced her she was seeing shades of darkness where none existed. Once they saw the diary, he’d add his opinion to theirs and leave them to it. Perhaps he could end his association with an ‘It’s in their hands,’ flourish? Thus, escaping with Maria’s over-inflated opinion of him almost undamaged.
Somehow, he doubted it would work so conveniently.
“You’ve read it?” she asked suddenly from the kitchen alcove. How long had she been there? “Yes,” he said.
She frowned at him. “All of it?” she asked.
“All the relevant bits.”
Her frown eased but didn’t disappear. “Debs saw the outer surfaces of peo
ple,” she said. “Often that’s accurate, but I see the inner workings, the real them.”
She was apologising for Debbie’s opinion of him, but she didn’t need to. Her sister had been her own woman and she’d been looking out for her twin without Maria’s rose-tinted glasses. Even Sir Galahad in bright sparkling armour would have received a ‘must do better’ verdict. On an impulse he reached out a hand, and to his surprise, she came to sit beside him. “What do you think?” she asked.
“Of the diary?”
“Of course, you dummy.” The half-smile eased the insult.
He thought carefully before answering. “Debbie had the knack of seeing the bad in people,” he said. “That can be helpful but also a handicap.”
She gave a quizzical look. “In what way?”
A difficult question, he thought, and fraught with potential misunderstanding. “Do you think Debbie was murdered?” he asked, instead of answering.
“I do.”
“Why?”
She leaned back a fraction. “Partly premonition and partly the diary. We have a motive now.”
“You think so? How?”
“Debbie was investigating the group’s financial affairs. They must have got wind of it.”
“Who’s they?”
“Whoever.”
He tried not to show his scepticism. “How is your sister’s death connected to the disappearances? It doesn’t seem to fit. You surely don’t think there’s several bodies hidden away. Victims who knew too much.” He tried not to smile. “Instead of a peace-loving and Christian group, you have the Mafia on steroids.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know what to think, but I feel there’s a connection with Deb’s death and I can’t shake that conviction.”
“Logic or premonition?”
“Both I suppose.”
“The police will prefer evidence-based logic to your inner convictions.”
“I know,” she said firmly. “That’s why there’s no point telling them anything yet.” At his frown, she squeezed his hand tightly. “We mustn’t tell them about the diary.”
“Why not? Surely it’s relevant.”
She sighed. “Relevant but misleading. They’ll read about my premonitions and it’ll give them the perfect excuse to ignore my concerns.”
She had a point there, he conceded. “Your premonitions seemed accurate about this building,” he said. “Is this the disaster you predicted, or is there more to come?”
“I fear there’s more to come,” she said. “But I can’t see anything clearly, it’s shrouded in mist and darkness. And it was you I feared for, not my sister.” He had a sudden urge to apologise for being alive still. “She had suspicions about the Church’s financial transactions,” she continued.
“She might be right or wrong,” he said. “But it’s a job for an accountant.”
She squeezed his hand tightly. “But Debs is dead,” she said, her voice rising. “Only days after writing that. Do you think it’s coincidence?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “We need to wait for the medical verdict on Debbie.”
Her eyes flashed. “Why?” When he said nothing, she answered her own question. “I know you think I’m being hysterical but a thirty-two-year old woman doesn’t die suddenly from natural causes.”
“Probably not.”
Her breathing slowed but her eyes watered. “Sorry,” she said. “I know you’re trying to be logical … but.”
“But waiting is frustrating,” he said. “I understand that.”
She looked away. “I wish I could do something.”
“Let’s do something,” he said. “We can work out our options.” Talking them over might help her, he decided. Looking back, he saw a spark of something in her eyes.
“Why not,” she said. “If Deb’s died from natural causes, a heart defect or something, I might be able to put the diary entries down to coincidence.”
Would she? He doubted it. “And if not?”
“It’s because of something she became too curious about.”
More likely a drug overdose, but he’d go along with her reasoning for now. Even the thought of doing something had lifted her spirits. But murdering a woman because she suspected something odd about financial matters seemed a bit steep. “Even if … And it’s big ‘if’,” he said. “Debbie’s death wasn’t natural causes, it doesn’t mean it was murder.” He wondered how to approach the obvious subject without upsetting her. “Accidents do happen.”
“Such as?”
She wasn’t going to be deflected. “Food poisoning? Choking on food …” He tailed off when her jaw tightened.
“You mean a drug overdose, don’t you?” she said.
“It’s a possibility,” he said. “A first-time user, a bad batch, someone who experiments and has little experience.”
Her eyes widened. “Debs would never do drugs, never. If you knew her like I do, you’d know that.
“I admit I only knew her briefly,” he said. “But I’m saying if the police find drugs in her system, that’s what they’ll think. And that’s assuming they rule out suicide. To them, misadventure is a logical conclusion. Like any logical person, when they hear hooves in the street outside, they suspect horses, not zebras. That’s why showing them the diary might make them reconsider.”
“No.” She was adamant. “It would be pointless, they’ll only dismiss my worries as the ramblings of a God-botherer who sees visions. That poor girl – the strain of losing her twin sister has scrambled the few brain cells she had.” He said nothing, there was no point pretending it wouldn’t cross their minds. It had certainly crossed his, even if the horrible accuracy of her premonition had shocked him.
The ring tone of his mobile sounded loud in the lengthening silence and he fumbled in his pocket to quieten it. “Hello?”
“Hi.” A female voice, the policewoman from yesterday, Riya. “Is that Mr Maddison?”
“It is.”
“May I speak to Ms Kowalcyk, please?” He passed the mobile over without comment. “Hello,” Maria whispered. “Oh … yes, of course.” After listening for a few seconds, she looked at Gary in confusion. “It’s the police,” she said unnecessarily. “The policewoman wants to come and see me now.”
He nodded quickly.
“That’s fine,” she answered into the phone. “We’re available at any time.” After nodding, she passed the phone back. “They’ve something they want to come and discuss, they’ll be here in five minutes.”
“What’ it about?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “But Riya says there’s been a development - a major development.”
Chapter Ten
Jumping to her feet, Maria grabbed the diary and hurried into the bedroom. No doubt, to hide it before the police arrived. Had he missed something vital during his rushed reading? The only person libelled in the diary looked to be him. When he heard taps running a few seconds later in the bathroom, he wondered if she was planning a shower. Five minutes before the police arrived? She’d have to be quick.
In fact, it was barely three minutes before he heard a knock at the door, and opening it, he saw the thin policewoman standing outside. “Hello, Mr Maddison,” she said. “Is Ms Kowalcyk available?”
“I think so.” Turning his head, he saw her standing stiffly at the bathroom door looking paler than before. “Are you up to this?” he asked, wondering if she had a migraine coming.
She nodded, and some life came back into her eyes. “I’m fine” she said quickly. “Let’s get this over with.”
Riya’s dark eyes softened with sympathy, but Maria hurried her into the main room, leaving Gary to trail behind. Once they were settled, the policewoman opened her notebook and produced a pen. “First of all,” she said gently. “I’d like to offer our deepest sympathy to you, Ms Kowalcyk.”
“Thank you.” The curt reply from Maria sounded nervous, he thought.
Riya stared for a moment. “We hope to release your sister’s flat
to you tomorrow afternoon. I’ll drop the keys off here if that’s alright.”
“Yes, that’s fine.”
Riya hesitated for a moment before lowering her voice. “There will be an inquest but the date has yet to be set. We have to wait for full post-mortem results.”
“I understand,” Maria replied with a tremor in her voice.
“It may take time for the full toxicology screen to be completed, Ms Kowalcyk.”
“Maria,” she said. “You can call me, Maria.”
“Thank you,” Riya said. “It can take six weeks for the results to be validated, but we noticed something in your sister’s mouth before she was removed to the hospital morgue.”
“Oh?” Maria leaned forward. “What was it?”
“A small, plastic stick.”
Riya waited for their reaction, but neither said anything until Maria broke the silence. “A plastic stick?” she asked “Is that relevant?”
“It could be, Maria, we believe it’s a lollipop stick.”
Maria’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t understand.”
When the policewoman’s eyes flickered over to Gary, he felt a sick feeling in his stomach. This wasn’t good news. “It can be used to deliver a particularly potent drug,” he told her.
“Which one?” she asked.
Riya answered for him. “Fentanyl citrate.”
Maria sat back and frowned. “I think I’ve heard about it.”
Leaning over, Riya put her hand over Maria’s “It’s been in the news recently, a very powerful opiate. Available on prescription only, but becoming popular with drug users. Manufactured illegally and available from …” She shrugged. “Various sources. Was your sister a registered addict, or did she have intractable pain of any sort?”
“No, definitely not.”
“I see.” She gave Maria a sympathetic look. “The residue of the white powder in her mouth is being analysed, as are her blood and urine samples,” she continued, giving Maria’s hand a gentle squeeze. “As you understand, we’re at the beginning of a full and lengthy investigation that may take time.”