Instantly embarrassed and annoyed with herself, Christine wiped at her face angrily, turning from Kelly once more.
‘Don’t.’ Kelly said, as she released her grip on the now not-so-cold, but certainly damp compression that she had been holding to her cheek. Bringing both hands to Christine’s face and lightly wiping away the tears, she said, ‘Please. Don’t turn away from me. I’ve been wanting to speak to you again . . . but, I didn’t really know what to say . . . didn’t know how I was every going to speak to you again after you found . . . those . . .’
‘The paintings.’
‘Yeah . . . I was . . . I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. And I didn’t know whether you’d want to speak to me at all. Again. Ever. I felt like a kid that was being punished for something they hadn’t done, but couldn’t prove that they hadn’t done it, you know? And I couldn’t move past that look on your face; past the idea that you might think I could have had something to do with . . .’
‘The murders.’
Kelly nodded. ‘I felt . . . ashamed. I actually felt guilty. But, the thought of you looking at me the way that detective fella does . . .’
Christine sniffed and allowed Kelly to thumb away the latest pooling tears from under her eyes. ‘Prior? How d’you mean? How does he look at you?’
‘With revulsion and loathing. With open and unabashed, harsh, judgemental disgust!’
‘Oh,’ Christine chuckled, unable to help herself, ‘that look.’
Kelly smiled a crooked, little half-smile and let her hand drop away from the previously sad, dark puddles that were now Christine’s sparkling, puppy-dog brown eyes. Even as she did, the psychologist caught hold of her hand and Kelly felt her chest rise and fall again suddenly.
‘There are certainly a fair few things I could see myself being with you, Kelly Livingstone, but disgusted is not one of them. Please, don’t ever think that.’
‘Oh . . . really?’ Kelly said, her voice sounding a lot smaller than she had expected.
She had tried to respond in her old confident and cocky style; her own personal line of defence and patented avoidance strategy when faced with an all-too intense set of emotions like those that now swirled in the pit of her stomach. But — whether it was the surprise of seeing Christine reclaiming the moment with a sudden and self-assured control, or something else entirely — the sound had resonated as anything but the cool, calm confidence it was supposed to convey.
‘Really.’
‘Like what?’ she said.
‘Like being confused. I could quite easily see myself being and have — indeed — been very confused by you in the past few days. Perplexed, even.’ Christine paused and Kelly gave a small accepting nod, suggesting that she understood completely. ‘I’ve been annoyed with you. Really annoyed. Though, if I’m honest, that’s not really your fault at all. I was annoyed with my own indecision; my absolute and crippling inability to make a decision. But,’ she said, with a wry, delicious smile, ‘I could also see myself being annoyed with you on quite a regular basis.’
‘Oh, I do hope so.’ Kelly said with a grin, as a licking flame of the old self-confidence returned to her voice.
‘But then, I know that I could also find myself becoming quite enamoured with you. Falling dangerously head-over-heels in love with you, in fact.’ Christine spoke the words quickly, not allowing herself the luxury of pausing this time, for fear — it seemed — that she might not otherwise speak them at all.
Silence.
And now, the silence seemed deafening. And it seemed to last an age.
Was she simply waiting for a reaction? Was she trying to find the right words to continue?
Would she ever speak again!
Kelly felt herself beginning to flush red; feeling that she was being subject to a vast and crushing scrutiny. Her mouth was suddenly very dry. She swallowed hard, trying to pull something together. Some suitable response.
She had nothing. No words.
‘And that scares me.’ Christine said, finally, ‘Because it’s so intense. That’s an intense and all-consuming kind of emotion and it’s not something I’m used to. Not in this way. I don’t think I’ve ever known this or ever felt this way about anyone before.’
Kelly opened her mouth to speak once more. Then closed it again. She swallowed, and smiled at Christine. ‘Now I understand.’
‘Understand what?’
‘I understand the real reason for you beating me over the head with that book.’ she said, a wry smile spreading across her face, ‘Caveman tactics, wasn’t it? You suddenly went all dominant on my ass! And why use words when actions speak so much louder, eh?’
Christine laughed heartily.
‘Yeah right, I can just see me now trying to drag you back to my modestly furnished cave. Can you imagine? I wouldn’t even know what to do with you when I got you there!’
‘Christine . . .’
‘Kelly. It’s ok.’ she said, in that soft and juicy accent of hers, ‘I don’t even know why I told you. Why I felt I had to tell you. Though, I do feel a little better for doing so. I think.’ She smiled sweetly and released her grip on Kelly’s hand, ‘I know about you and Shona. And I know I can’t compete with that. I don’t want to try and compete with that. She’s beautiful and young and tight and supple . . . and annoyingly nice. And, d’you know, I didn’t even realise that I looked at other women in those terms until I met you, but . . .’
Kelly couldn’t help but laugh and — without a second thought — she leaned in, taking Christine’s face in her hands once more, pressing her lips gently against those of the compliant — if not slightly terrified — psychologist.
The kiss was soft and uncertain and there was something remarkable about that. Something beautiful and tentative about it. About the simplicity of it. The innocence. It was cautious, but it was entirely giving; unassuming and without expectation.
Kelly felt Christine begin to relax further into the kiss, her lips parting and allowing her the opportunity to flick her tongue beyond the outer walls of those delicious fleshy battlements. To meet with Christine’s tongue and to really explore her in a way that could only be achieved through such close, physical intimacy.
She tasted of spearmint and winter.
This discovery made Kelly smile as she gently rested her forehead against Christine’s, planting a final kiss on her parted cherry-lips.
‘You seriously need to re-examine the way you view yourself. Because that rock-bottom self-confidence of yours isn’t exactly the charm that most women are looking for.’
‘I don’t know,’ Christine said, moving in to land another kiss, meeting with Kelly’s open mouth once more, ‘it worked on you.’
‘Well, I’m not most women.’
‘Oh, I know that.’
Kelly laughed at the comment. It seemed too loud to have been genuine, though it was. And besides, Christine didn’t seem to mind, she appeared completely blissful; content to sit there all day.
Then, like a sudden sharp, autumn breeze on a still day, she changed.
She stiffened and pulled away from Kelly, concern spreading across her face.
‘Oh, my God. Oh . . . my God, I’ve been so selfish, I . . . Kelly . . . how did you get back here? Where did you come from? What can you remember from . . . earlier? Do you know where Shona — ’
Before she could finish the sentence, Christine’s phone rang out loudly.
After days without signal and especially after the intense silence that seemed to have swallowed them in the last few minutes, the sudden volume and shrill pitch of the phone made both Kelly and Christine jump, even as Christine cursed and scrambled to answer the call.
‘Where Shona what? What’s wrong with Shona?’ Kelly asked, concerned.
Christine flipped open the phone and held it to her ear, trying to ignore Kelly. Instantly hating herself for it.
‘Christine.’ she confirmed, flustered.
Though Kelly could follow only one half of the conversat
ion, she paid close attention to Christine’s answers, watching as she stiffened; her professional, sensible other-self returning to take the reins once more.
‘Yes, I’m fine. I just lost track of time . . . I should have checked in . . . No . . . I’m in Kelly’s room now. She’s here with me . . . yes . . .’ her eyes met with Kelly’s for the first time since the phone had rung, ‘. . . she just arrived, now.’
Kelly couldn’t help but smile to herself briefly.
Without realising or meaning to, Christine had just revealed the identity of the caller.
It was the Detective. The Security Officer; Prior. Checking up on her.
Like an old, married couple!
Or a jealous lover.
‘Yes . . . yes, I’ll talk to her now . . . Okay, I’ll ask her.’ she continued in frustration, ‘Yeah . . . okay. Okay, bye. Bye’
With that, she snapped the phone shut and sighed, rubbing her temples. Kelly waited patiently until she could wait no more.
‘Ask me what, Christine?’ she said, concerned, ‘What’s happened to Shona?’
22:58
Sunday 15th May, 2011
Prior hung up the call and sat back in his chair. His brow furrowed as he stared blindly at the monitor before him.
‘Everything ok?’ Davies asked, still busy sifting through all the useful and completely unhelpful pockets of web-based information that he could find on Isaac Leigh Simmons now that the satellite system was finally sending and receiving again.
‘Yeah. Christine just sounded a bit . . . flustered, that’s all.’
‘Kelly back then?’
‘What do you mean by that?’ Prior said, sharply.
Davies spun his chair round slowly to face him, ‘I just meant is Kelly back, Guv’.’
‘But, why? Why say it like that? And in response to my comment about Christine being flustered?’
‘I didn’t say it in response to anything . . . I was . . . it was just a question. Sorry. Anyway, I thought that’s what we were hoping for. That Christine’d find her and that she wouldn’t be some kind of bloody, horrific mural when she did.’
‘It is.’ Prior said. ‘It was.’ Then he returned his attention to the computer in front of him, bashing heavy-handedly on the keyboard.
Davies watched him in silence for several moments, before venturing to speak out again. ‘So . . . is she ok? Does she know what happened to Shona?’
‘I don’t know. Christine’s going to speak to her about it now.’
‘Guv’ — ’
‘It’s alright, Marc. Just leave it.’ Prior said, as a new window opened revealing the slow progression of the several dozen selected files currently downloading. He had logged into a number of different previously-created email accounts with little trouble. These were the accounts in which he had successfully managed to store — undetected — the information that he had known he might one day need again.
Davies nodded, confirming that he had got the message.
Loud and fucking clear! He thought.
He decided to give Prior another few minutes before he would even attempt to speak to him again. When he eventually did, he made sure that he had altered his tone sufficiently enough for his commanding officer to easily recognise that he was — in no way, shape or form — foolish enough to even consider broaching the previous subject.
‘So what, exactly, are we looking for here?’ he said, as he typed a new batch of criteria into the colourful search engine.
‘Anything.’ Prior said, with a sigh, ‘Anything that might tell us . . . something about what Isaac Simmons has been up to for the past eight or nine years. Any previous known whereabouts; particularly the most recent. And — if we can find one — we could do with printing out a decent and fairly up-to-date photo. That way we can see if anyone recognises him. See if the picture matches the guy you ran into.’
Davies nodded, only half listening as he began reading an article he had just pulled up from the Chester Chronicle website. ‘Hey, I might just have found something here, Guv’.’ he said, skimming the text, ‘It’s recent too. Something about Simmons and . . . oh, my god, it’s to do with that skeleton they just found in Delamere. Did you see that?’ he asked, turning to face Prior. ‘It was on the news just before we left.’
‘I had heard something. So, do the police think he’s involved with that?’
‘Apparently so.’
‘If he’d heard that an old skeleton of his had been discovered in the woods, that there might finally be something solid to connect him to a body . . . well, that might just have done it. That might have been what drove him to come aboard, despite — as you, correctly said — his overwhelming fear of water.’
‘D’you think he was planning to disembark in the Caribbean? With no intent of return?’
Prior nodded slowly, thinking.
Davies looked over at Prior’s pc, distracted by the succession of small beeps indicating that several of the downloads had now completed. ‘What are you doing?’ he asked, bobbing his head in the direction of the monitor.
Prior returned to the workstation, manoeuvring his chair so that Davies still had a clear view of the screen. ‘It’s some stuff I put aside before I left the police. Documents, reports, CCTV video files. All specifically related to the Simmons’ investigations. The Simmons’ debacle.’
Prior stared at Davies for a long time; his piercing, bottle-green eyes hard and unwavering as he searched the blue counterparts of his colleague and his friend.
Davies felt as though his soul were being hand-washed and checked for impurities; for weaknesses and snags. ‘I understand.’ he said eventually.
Seeming to accept this, Prior summoned him over, wordlessly, and Davies scooted along on the three-wheeled office chair, coming to rest before the whirring pc.
He clicked on an icon and the computer began making even more noise, complaining as it reluctantly attempted to start up the media player software.
‘Now, obviously he’ll be older, but hopefully you’ll be able to identify him and then we can — ’
‘Me identify him?’
‘Yeah.’
Davies looked confused. ‘Why me?’
‘Because, you ran into him the other day. Literally. Outside medical.’ Prior said, patiently, mistaking Davies’ confusion for dumbfounded horror at the fact that he had unknowingly run into their killer and done nothing about it. Because, he hadn’t then known. ‘Roberts and I managed to track him on the CCTV following the murder of Stacey Atkins.’ he continued, opening another file and double-clicking on a still image, ‘He’s only slight, but then he always was. The bastard seemed to know where all the cameras were, so we never got a decent shot of his face. But, we did find this.’ he pointed to the screen as the image slowly revealed itself; moving from incredibly fuzzy and pixelated to slightly less fuzzy and pixelated over the course of a few seconds.
The younger man felt a sudden chill, followed by an immediate heat that seemed to radiate up from the inside out. The picture seemed to confirm Prior’s story and revealed him, Marc Davies, picking up papers with a blurry figure outside the medical bay.
He remembered the day; remembered that moment clearly.
He felt suddenly sick to his stomach.
‘Leigh.’ he whispered.
‘Isaac Leigh.’ Prior said, nodding. ‘His brother often operated using his middle name too; Matthew rather than Jacob. He idolised his brother, so I’m not surprised he’s chosen to do the same thing — ’
‘No, Guv’,’ Davies said, shaking, ‘It’s not that. It’s not that at all . . .’
22:58
Sunday 15th May, 2011
‘Is it that freak that burst into her room before? That Mike?’ Kelly said, jumping to her feet furiously, ‘Has he hurt her? What’s he done, Christine? Tell me!’
‘He hasn’t done anything, Kelly. Sit down. Please.’
‘What d’you mean he hasn’t done anything? I was there! The guy was insane! Jealous, bit
ter, dangerous and insane.’ she said, pacing around the room, ‘I mean, for fucks sake, Christine, he left little to the imagination when he was explaining the reasons for his visit . . . at knife point! I know exactly what he had in mind. And so do you. It wasn’t your average fucking social call, believe me!’
‘It’s not Mike!’ Christine said, raising her voice to a level that managed to stop Kelly in her tracks. ‘We arrived just as he knocked you out. We took him in for questioning, but it’s really not him. It’s got nothing to do with him.’
Kelly stared at Christine for a long time; her eyes filling with wet despair and disbelief.
Eventually she returned to the appalling bed that — she felt ashamed to admit — reminded her of something by Tracey Emin. Only worse. And, for the briefest flicker of a moment she contemplated photographing the horrific, blood and paint-stained mess.
But as quick as the thought came, it was gone again and she sat across from Christine waiting — as patiently as she could — for her to divulge the rest of the tale.
‘You were taken to the medical bay. Shona and Marc Davies followed . . .’
Suddenly, Kelly lurched forward, doubled over as a violent, metallic pain sliced through her skull and twisted in her gut. Christine’s voice became quiet and distant as she tried to focus on the psychologist’s still moving lips.
She closed her eyes, her head spinning and pulsing with mixed and muddled memories.
She tried to stand. She was standing.
She was on her knees.
She was on the bed.
She looked back to that Emin bed and her stomach tilted and rolled again. Her head pounding as she started to recall . . .
‘Kelly? Are you listening to me?’ Christine said with obvious concern in her voice, ‘Can you hear me?’
She watched as Kelly continued to stare in horror at the bloodied bed. She was beginning to shake now, and all the colour had drained from her face as a single, heavy, bell-bottomed tear fell from her terrified eyes.
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