by Dawson, H A
Her heart skipped a beat. ‘Can’t we talk about something else?’
Erin giggled. ‘You’ve got it bad.’
Her heat was rising. She placed her hand in her pocket, wrapped it around her phone, and resisted pulling it free. Now that she had made a decision, she wanted to act immediately, and as she strode towards the stone arched exit she started planning what she would say. Once outside the perimeter, she turned to Erin. She wasn’t by her side, and had stopped a few metres behind and was gazing along the length of the park wall.
‘What is it?’ Brittany asked.
She shook her head. ‘Probably nothing.’
Brittany peered over her flatmates shoulder. No one was there and nothing was happening.
‘I keep seeing someone. It’s probably coincidence.’
‘Someone? Who?’
‘I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.’
Brittany frowned, urging her to continue.
‘There was a woman in the park, small and in her fifties. I saw her near the flats this morning . . . and yesterday.’
Brittany was shaking. ‘What!’
‘Do you know her?’
‘Did she have red-rimmed glasses and shoulder length hair in a bob?’
‘Yes, I think she did.’
Her heart hammered and her face scrunched. She stepped back into the park and looked along the wall.
‘She’s gone now.’ Erin said. ‘I saw her leave out of the bottom exit. Who is she?’
Brittany gawped. ‘My mother! She’s been given parole.’
‘What? When?’
‘I found out at the hospital. A nurse, someone I knew back when I was having treatment, told me.’
‘Aw, that’s rough.’
‘I can’t believe she’d do such a thing. I’ve waited years for this, and she can’t even be bothered to speak to me.’
‘It does seem a bit odd. Something must be going on, something you don’t know about. Have you thought anymore about speaking to Scott’s widow?’
‘Yes. I rang my father last night. He took some persuading but eventually he told me where Scott and Lisa used to live. I am going to see her later today.’
‘It sounds like it’s the only way you’ll get answers.’
‘I agree.’
Brittany stopped outside number twenty-seven and checked the address on the scrap of paper in her pocket, confirming it was the right place. It was a terraced house set in the middle of a row. There was no front garden and net curtains were draped across the windows. Nervously, she rapped on the door.
A woman appeared, looking hostile and aloof.
‘Can you help me? I’m looking for someone who used to live here, Lisa Cole.’
‘That’d be me.’
‘I’m Brittany Handley. I wonder if I could come in for a quick chat.’
Lisa frowned. ‘Michelle’s daughter?’
Brittany nodded.
‘I haven’t anything to say to you.’
‘Please. Michelle, my mum, won’t talk to me and I need to know what happened. It’ll only take a few minutes.’
Lisa studied her for a second before making her decision. ‘Come in then. If you must.’
‘Thank you.’
The hall smelled of paint. There was a spray of artificial flowers upon a table, a large tapestry on the wall, and the carpet was a bottle green. The lounge, which was deceptively spacious, benefited from the full effect of the afternoon sun, and had a wonderful aroma, slightly fruity and slightly woody. There was a large flat screen television above the fireplace, and there was a corner unit next to the leather sofa. The walls were bare except for one photograph of a young man. Brittany assumed it was Scott.
‘What is it you want?’ Lisa asked.
‘I’m sorry for what my mother did. I’ve only seen her once since she went inside. I’m trying to find out what happened.’
‘She’s been given parole, has she not?’
‘So I’ve heard.’
‘Hardly seems like punishment to me. I’ll get life for what she did. He was my soul-mate. There will never be anyone else.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Why won’t she speak to you?’
‘I don’t know. When she went inside, she insisted on no contact, so I don’t have her address or anything.’ Brittany faltered, aware of Lisa’s stern gaze. It was important she got the balance right between creating sympathy and turning Lisa against her. ‘But that’s not your problem,’ she continued, ‘I’d just like to understand her motive.’
‘Why does it matter?’
‘She’s hiding something. She told me she’d put me in danger by giving me an explanation. But rather than putting me off, it’s made me even more determined to find out what’s going on.’
Lisa was impassive.
‘And that aside, it happened around the time of my transplant. The timing seems odd. She should have been happy.’
‘Maybe it was coincidence.’
‘It probably was, but my gut says otherwise. Do you know why she killed Scott?’
She heaved a sigh and looked to her lap. ‘Scott and I were in a car accident a few months before his death and she appeared in accident and emergency, offering her support. Scott was lucky to survive. He’d taken the brunt of the crash and had a head injury.’ Lisa glanced up, caught her eye. ‘She was very supportive . . . very kind.’
‘That’s how she always seemed to me. What she did . . . well . . . it seems out of character.’
‘Our friendship evolved, and in a very short time we became best friends. She often came around, keen to offer her support to Scott and wish him well. I even wondered if they were having an affair, but he said not.’ Lisa looked up. ‘Can I offer you a drink?’
‘No, that’s okay thanks.’
Lisa grasped a pendent on her necklace and walked to the window. ‘I got the impression Michelle was trying to find you a living donor. She didn’t say it outright, but we got the idea she wanted us to be tested. She was forever bringing around leaflets and suchlike.’
‘Yes, my consultant, Dr O’Riordan is involved in a charity to promote living donors. I think he’s been campaigning for a few years.’
‘Right.’
‘So what happened?’
‘I wasn’t keen, but Scott seemed to be. He was that kind of guy . . . the altruistic type.’
‘Was he tested?’
‘No, definitely not.’
‘You know that for certain.’
‘Yes, I know for certain. Anyway, one day, the police came around. His body was discovered in the basement of the hospital. He wasn’t dead but there wasn’t much hope. She confessed a few days later.’
‘Had they argued?’
She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. The four of us, me and Scott and your mum and dad, always seemed to get on. We laughed such a lot . . . had the same sense of humour. Michelle said it was the best therapy to help deal with your situation. I don’t ever remember any friction.’
Lisa stepped to the photograph and traced Scott’s youthful features with her finger. There were tears in her eyes, pain in her face.
‘He’s very handsome.’
‘He was beautiful. The most generous, thoughtful man you’d ever meet. Once, he queued over night just so I could get tickets for a show. He hated stuff like that, but he’d always accompany me.’ She looked up and smiled. ‘I caught him napping once. I knew it bored him rigid but he insisted on going. He wanted to be by my side for always.’
‘How long had you been together?’
‘A couple of years. We were trying for children, and when he died, I prayed every night I carried his baby. I even convinced myself I was pregnant. The realisation I wasn’t added to my grief. I don’t know if I ever got over it. It would have given me a purpose to go on.’
Tears trickled down Lisa’s cheeks. The loss was still devastatingly real, and Brittany could feel the burning embers of pain radiate from her. She wanted to offer her consolation and
condolences, but it all seemed rather false. Instead, she vowed to listen for as long as needed.
‘I still have all his clothes and his other bits and bobs,’ Lisa said. ‘Even though I saw his body, it still won’t sink in and I expect him to walk through the door as cheery as ever and offer me chocolates and flowers.’ She leaned over the side of the sofa, reached for a tissue and blew her nose. ‘He told me he’d never leave me and I believed him.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
Lisa looked to her, blank. ‘Is your dad still around?’
‘He works abroad. He struggled to come to terms with what happened and they divorced a few years later.’
‘I never saw him after what she did. There were times when I wanted to. We’d all been such good friends. I’ve often wondered if they had been planning on killing Scott’
‘I don’t think so. He was as devastated as me. In fact he put it down to stress.’
‘Stress?’
‘Yes, apparently I was getting sicker and they thought I was going to die. He thought she probably lost control. You know, a momentary blip.’
‘I never saw any signs of stress. In fact, it seemed the opposite to me. I thought she handled the situation unbelievably well. Better than I ever would have done.’
‘Really?’
‘Oh yes. She was lot stronger than me. I never saw her worry or anything. Perhaps she was just good at hiding it.’
It made no sense. If it wasn’t stress, what was it? Her father had sounded convincing and she didn’t believe he would have lied. But maybe, as Lisa had said, her mother hid her feelings well, especially from her immediate family, and if that had been the case and she had never had a release for her emotions, they could have eventually got the better of her. It must have been a split second decision, an extreme reaction to a harsh word.
‘If it wasn’t stress, what do you think it was?’ Brittany asked.
Lisa shook her head. ‘I’m beyond trying to work it out.’
‘Do you think she even did it?’
‘She confessed, so I guess she must have.’
‘But your instincts say otherwise.’
Lisa fiddled with a fresh tissue, stretching it out and scrunching it up, before folding it neatly. After what felt like an eternity, she glanced up. ‘There’s nothing more I can say.’
Brittany’s heart skipped a beat and their eyes locked. Lisa’s reluctance to blame Michelle for the death of her husband, and the hesitant tone of her voice was the most she had had in days, and finally she felt as though she had the starting point she desired.
‘Can you think of anything that would prove her innocence?’ Brittany asked.
‘She’s not innocent.’
‘But, I-’
‘She confessed Brittany. No mother would do that unless she was guilty.’ Lisa stood up. ‘Conjecture is all well and good but it’s futile. I don’t have any facts. I’ve just spent years, probably as you have, wondering why my best friend would do that to me. Her motive, if in fact she had one, has always been very well hidden.’
Lisa reached into a drawer to retrieve something, and then thrust a card into Brittany’s hand. It was for a private investigator, Luke Adams.
‘Maybe you should contact them,’ Lisa said, ‘I hear they are very good.’
Brittany gazed at the card.
‘The police are not interested. As far as they are concerned, Michelle admitted it and there’s been no evidence to disprove it.’
‘Do you think it’s worth a shot?’
‘If she won’t speak to you, and it’s eating you up, then yes I do.’
With her thoughts whirring, Brittany thanked Lisa for her time and headed to the outer door. Once outside, standing in the refreshing and blustery air, she gazed at the fine print on the card. Perhaps it was worth giving it a go; it may be her only hope.
Chapter 5
Luke reached in his office desk drawer for the photograph of his long-standing ex-girlfriend, Sarah McKinley, and bit his lip, fighting his longing. Months previous, he had pleaded with her to give him a chance to prove himself, yet she had paid no attention, seemingly resolute and in control. So what had changed? His thoughts drifted to the previous night and a smile slipped to his lips.
He had visiting a jazz bar with a friend and they had met two beautiful women, a blonde and a redhead, and his confidence had swelled. Crystal, with bouncy red curls, a pointed nose, and an hourglass figure, chuckled with a beautiful innocence. She had been a perfect companion, fulfilling his every whim. Then the spell broke.
The tone of Sarah’s voice, forever imprinted into his mind, had echoed through the air. He spun around and witnessed her telling her friends how she missed him. It was barely believable, something he had dreamed of hearing for so long. Frozen to the spot, his pulse surged and his skin burned. He could not remove his eyes from this wondrous vision let alone stop his ears from tuning in to her every word.
After a few moments of gawking, Crystal mouthed something in an attempt to compete with the blaring music. Fighting a burning longing, he struggled to look to her, one second away from Sarah was one second lost, and his eyes flickered back and forth, moving between Crystal and the back of Sarah’s head. There she was, the woman of his dreams, with a peachy glowing skin, lush dark brown hair, and delicate fingers.
Crystal’s gaze grew more concentrated. ‘Who are you looking at?’
‘Just someone I once knew.’
She nodded, accepting his weak explanation, and leaned across, removed a floating wisp of hair from his face and planted a delicate kiss upon his lips. He glimpsed at her and smiled. She was easy going, pleasant company, and dotingly attention, and in addition, and probably more importantly, she had not disproved her worth.
Sarah on the other hand had lied to him, disregarded him, and treated him appallingly. He must not forget that, and should not allow himself to be drawn into her charm, no matter what her needs were.
The exit beckoned. Luke took hold of Crystal’s hand and guided her to the exit. Just before the door closed, he glanced back. Sarah was laughing, and the strain upon his heart intensified.
The doorbell sounded. Luke replaced the glossy image back into his drawer and glanced up. Imogen was tottering through the reception to the office with a grey pallor and tired eyes, and slumped onto her swivel chair.
‘Morning,’ Luke said.
Their eyes met. She had a distant look and mumbled a reply.
‘Hard night?’
‘We went out with some friends of my Mark’s. It was a friends thirtieth birthday. I didn’t get to bed until four o’clock.’
‘I can tell.’
A concerned glance crossed her face. She opened her drawer, peered into a small mirror, and groaned.
‘You don’t look that bad . . . if I squint.’
‘Gee, thanks. Now you know how I feel when I have to look at you.’
‘That’s quick for someone half a sleep.’
Luke pushed himself away from the desk and strode to the kettle to make a strong coffee. Moments later, he placed it on a mat in front of her.’
‘What are you after?’
‘Just trying to be nice,’ he replied, returning to his desk.
She puffed out, flicked on her computer, and breathed in the aromatic vapours.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in the same outfit two days running,’ he continued. ‘I wish I’d brought a camera.’
‘Hardly. It’s the same skirt and jacket but a different blouse.’
‘It looks the same to me.’
‘You should approve. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in two different outfits.’
‘I like to look professional.’
‘It’s probably comfortable as well.’
Puzzled, Luke’s eyes narrowed.
‘My Mark wears things into the ground. The fabric has faded so much it’s almost see-through, yet he doesn’t seem to care.’
‘It must still serve a purpose.’
‘He looks like a tramp. I’ve even thrown some of his clothes away, but he’s retrieved them from the bin.’
Luke chuckled. ‘My kind of man.’
‘You can’t be serious?’
‘The scruffier the better.’
Dismayed, Imogen shook her head.
‘I bet you even paint in decent stuff.’ She caught his gaze. ‘I can just picture you holding a brush at arms length, and dipping it into a can as though it was poison.’ Luke pulled a face and extended his arm, imitating.
‘You are so not funny.’
Luke laughed. ‘I’m right, aren’t I?’
‘I’ve done my share of painting I’ll have you know.’
‘What, painting your fingernails?’
‘You’re such a comedian.’ She folded her arms and leaned forward onto the desk. ‘Picture this – I’m wearing a headscarf, old trainers, and my Mark’s overalls, but nothing else. Think I’d still look hot?’
Luke lowered his gaze, the image vivid.
‘You’re blushing.’
‘I am not!’
Imogen laughed. ‘You’re such a poor liar. Don’t forget, I know what goes on in your dirty little mind.’
Luke scurried to the other side of the room, opened a cupboard, and searched for a binder with his case notes.
‘Don’t worry, I think it’s sweet.’
Every since he split with his Sarah, he had found his eyes wandering, and especially to his colleague. She was not his type, far too fastidious and wrapped up in her appearance for his liking, but she was hot, undeniably. Even today.
He bided his time, shuffling the binders waiting for his discomfort to fade, and kept his gaze averted. Something caused him to turn. Imogen was staring. She blew him a kiss and winked. Flustered, he placed a binder onto the top of the cupboard, kicked the doors shut, and scurried to the door into the reception area.
‘Not so fast,’ Imogen said. ‘I want to see you squirm some more.’
He stopped abruptly. ‘I’m not squirming.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘We have a new client today. See the appointment?’
‘I did. I’ve done a bit of background work . . . got the details of the murder.’