Unspeakable

by Marturano, Tony

  Jason’s tone was flat and annoyed. The change in his tone was sudden and it took her by surprise.

  “I told you. He was down there fixing stuff.”

  “What stuff?”

  “Are you serious? A little boy is dead, and the only thing you’re talking about is why Tom was down in the basement doing his job?”

  “No, the only thing I can talk about is why he was down in the basement with you.”

  “I told you. He was fixing the door. The place is falling apart.”

  “What’s wrong with your door?”

  She looked into his brown eyes to make sure he wasn’t just teasing her.

  He wasn’t.

  He was angry.

  “I’m not having this conversation with you,” she said, eventually. He was annoying her and she wasn’t in the mood. She turned her attention back to the silent images on the television screen.

  “I take it you’ve handed in your notice,” he said, getting off the bed.

  Rachel laughed. “No, of course I haven't.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well,” she stumbled to find the words. “I need the money for a start.”

  “You don’t need the money, I earn enough for us both. Just call and tell them you won’t be going back.”

  Rachel was about to respond, but instead she thought about it. The place was creepy, and she didn’t particularly enjoy the night shift.

  On the other hand, she’d only just started the job, and she needed to give it a chance. At least, until she found something else. And, most importantly, she wasn’t going to be told what to do.

  “No.”

  “What do you mean, no?” Jason asked, incredulously.

  “I mean, I can’t just hand in my notice, Jay.”

  “So, my opinion doesn’t mean anything to you, is that it?”

  “No, that isn’t it, but I’ve only just started there, I should at least give the place a chance and, despite what you just said, I need my own money. My own independence. You know how I feel about that.”

  “Fine,” he threw back, petulantly.

  “Oh come on, please don’t be like that. I’m pretty freaked out about all of this as it is. I don’t want us to fall out.”

  He walked up to the bed, looked down at her with cold eyes and said as dramatically as possible, “What if it wasn’t her? What if there’s some kind of psychopath running around out there?”

  It took Rachel a few moments to recover from Jason’s icy stare, after which she said, “Yeah, thanks for that. I feel much better now.”

  “Well, you need to understand the seriousness of this.”

  “You’re joking, right? I was here, remember? I think I appreciate the seriousness, perfectly.”

  “Then, quit.”

  “And do what?”

  “I have contacts. I’ll have you lined up for a job in no time.”

  Rachel thought about this.

  And Jason thought he’d actually managed to convince her.

  “No. As I said, for all of its weirdness, I like this job. And I like Lilly.”

  “Fine… just remember that you came down here to be with me, and I am not sure I like the idea of you working nights and sleeping during the day. I never get to see you.”

  “Well, what’s the difference? I never get to see you anyway. You’re out most nights, as it is.”

  Jason nodded. “Right, so that’s what this is all about is it.”

  “No, I…”

  “…You’ve taken on this job just to prove a point.”

  “…of course not…”

  “…So, now you want me to give up my work.”

  “No, Jay I didn’t say that,” Rachel protested.

  “What are you saying then, Rach?”

  “I’m just saying that if you’re out, then there’s no point me being here, on my own.”

  “Jesus Christ, you haven't even been here a week, and you’re already asking me to give up my job.”

  “No, that’s what you’re asking me to do.”

  He looked at her, as if he was about to say something, but instead, he waved his hand at her and mumbled, “Whatever, just do as you fucking well please.”

  With that, he left the room.

  “Jay!”

  She called after him, but he didn’t reply.

  Moments later, she heard the door slam.

  Once again, she was alone.

  36 The Investigation

  Ashley awoke to the rumble of an aeroplane as it flew overhead and to a relatively bright day. It seemed the sun was actually shining, albeit with lacklustre enthusiasm.

  The bedside clock surprised her; it was well after lunchtime. She’d drifted in and out of consciousness so many times, yet still felt somewhat groggy.

  She glanced over at Rupert’s side of the bed; it was empty. This made her sad.

  She sighed, as memories of last night cranked into action, drifting in front of her consciousness, like the white fluffy clouds she was watching in the autumnal blue sky, outside.

  Daylight was as comforting as the homely smell of baking that drifted down the corridor to her.

  She slipped out of the bed and padded over to the wardrobe where she was reminded, once again, that she still hadn’t retrieved all of her clothes from her flat. She hoped Rupert would manage to swing by there today, as promised.

  In the meantime, she had an excuse to wear another of Rupert’s shirts.

  She made her way up the short hall, to the dining room, where all the surfaces had been polished and now gleamed, as if excited by the sunshine’s return.

  Everything seemed in order until a loud clanging sound caught her attention; it was coming from the kitchen.

  She approached the restaurant-style doors just as they flew open. She screamed, which in turned startled the maid, who promptly dropped the vase she was carrying; it smashed onto the parquet flooring, sending shards skittering to the far extremities of the room.

  “Oh Maria,” Ashley gasped, holding her hand to her heart.

  “Oh Jesu mio, Signora, you give me art’ attack.”

  “Oh I’m sorry,” Ashley laughed, nervously, “I’m so sorry, Maria, I thought you were…” she left the words unspoken and then, realising, she asked, “Where’s Rupert?”

  “He gone to work, Signora. He ask that you call in the office as soon as you awake, and told me to take good care of you. I make lunch as soon as I clean this,” she said, holding her hands out, as if she were about to cast a spell on the broken pieces. “Oh Dio, I hope not expensive.” The woman said, “I go fetch a brush.”

  “Oh Maria, I’m so sorry,” Ashley repeated, feeling guilty. “I’ll help,” she added, and began to hunt down the fugitive shards.

  It was after Maria had disappeared back into the kitchen that the doorbell rang.

  Ashley looked at what she was wearing, and then at the kitchen doors, that were still swinging after Maria, and decided she would answer the front door.

  It took her a few seconds to recognise the woman.

  She was accompanied by a young man, in his early thirties, dressed in a blue suit, and sporting a military-style crew cut.

  His hazel eyes took in her legs and her chest, where the top button of the shirt had been unintentionally left undone.

  “Good morning, Miss Marshall,” it was Detective Inspector Taylor. “This is Detective Sergeant Warner,” she said, discreetly glaring at the man; she had noticed his roaming eyes. “May we come in?”

  Ashley hesitated, whilst subconsciously clasping the shirt collars together. She wasn’t dressed to receive visitors yet, reluctantly, stood aside.

  “Please, take a seat,” she said, gesturing to the lounge, “I’ll be right with you.”

  With that, she hurried back down the hall where Maria was re-emerging from the kitchen, dustpan and brush in hand. “Who is it? I hear the doorbell.”

  “Yes Maria, I just need to get some clothes on. There are people in the lounge; could you offer them
a drink for me, please?”

  “Of course,” Maria complied, putting down her tools and rubbing her hands on her apron.

  The detective and her companion declined Maria’s offer, causing the Italian woman to shrug her shoulders and return to her duties, mumbling something in her mother tongue.

  Minutes later, dressed in cut down jeans and one of Rupert’s cream sweaters, Ashley returned.

  “Sorry about that,” she said.

  Mark smiled at Ashley in such a way that made the Detective Inspector want to roll her eyes.

  “What can I do for you?” Ashley asked, gesturing at the sofas, and taking a seat opposite her guests.

  “Well, we were hoping to ask you some questions about what happened yesterday,” Taylor said.

  “I’m sorry, Detective. I’ve already told you everything I know.”

  Taylor consulted her notes. “No, not really. We have a statement from Mr Harrison but not from you.”

  Ashley frowned. “But we talked last night. Rupert and I, we saw you as soon as we came home.”

  Taylor smiled. “Oh I’m sorry, Miss Marshall, there’s obviously a misunderstanding. We’re here to see you about the break-in at your home, not what happened here.”

  “I’m sorry. What?” Ashley’s eyes widened, “Somebody broke into my flat?”

  She pushed the hair off her face, as a headache, and a throbbing in her arm, suddenly began their assault.

  “Well, not exactly…” The Detective Sergeant interjected.

  “May I ask what happened?” Taylor spoke, as she eyed the plaster on Ashley’s forehead.

  Ashley’s heart leapt. “We’ve had this discussion, Detective. I… I fell down.”

  “Nasty fall,” Warner commented.

  “Yes, yes it was, but you were telling me about my flat,” she said quickly in an effort to change the subject.

  “I’m afraid so. Mr Harrison has already made a statement…”

  “…Wait… Rupert knows about this?”

  “Well yes, he reported it.”

  “When?”

  “This morning.”

  “And he didn’t tell me?”

  Taylor fell silent. She exchanged glances with Warner. It was clear, from the expression on Ashley’s face, that she genuinely did not know anything about what had happened at her flat.

  Ashley stood up. “I want to see.”

  “Miss Marshall, perhaps now isn’t the best time.”

  “Why not?” Ashley snapped.

  “Well, you seem upset…” Warner started.

  “Upset! Of course I’m bloody upset, somebody broke into my flat, and nobody bothered to tell me.” She took in a sharp breath. “Do you think there might be some link with what happened to that little boy? Is that why you’re here?” She looked down at the detectives.

  “I doubt it very much,” Taylor said, calmly.

  “Then why are you here? Do you normally investigate burglaries?”

  “No…”

  “…Then why are you here?”

  “It’s just a courtesy, Miss Marshall. I’d already spoken to you last night, we were already here, and it made sense for us to come and talk to you about this. It really isn’t anything more than that,” Taylor said, as soothingly as she could. Then, gesturing to the sofa, “Please.”

  Ashley took her cue and sat back down.

  “So, do you have any leads?”

  “Not yet. Hence why we’re here. We’re hoping you could answer some questions. Perhaps shed some light.”

  “What kind of questions?”

  “There are a few irregularities that we need to resolve,” Warner said, way too eagerly for both women, who looked at him.

  “What kind of irregularities?” Ashley asked.

  “Well, there doesn’t appear to be any sign of forced entry, which would lead us to believe that whoever trashed your flat had a key,” it was Warner again.

  Ashley suddenly felt cold.

  “Somebody trashed my flat? What exactly did they do?”

  “Well,” Warner began, finally finding sympathetic mode, “they’ve turned over furniture, emptied drawers and vandalised a few things.”

  Ashley gasped, incredulously, “Why?”

  “That is what we are trying to find out,” Taylor said.

  “Can you think of anybody who might have a grudge, an old boyfriend or something?” Warner asked.

  Ashley took a few seconds and then shook her head, “No, I can’t think of anybody.”

  “Nobody you gave a key to or had access to yours?”

  “No, nobody, except for Rupert.”

  “Mr Harrison?”

  “Yes. And that was only today. He offered to go over there and collect a few things for me.”

  “And he’s told you nothing about what he saw there?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Any idea why Mr Harrison withheld this information from you?”

  Ashley shook her head. “No.”

  “You work as an editor, don’t you, for your boyfriend’s company?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “And what is it you do exactly?”

  “Well, I read manuscripts.”

  “For publication?”

  “Of course,” Ashley said, irritably.

  Why is she asking such stupid questions?

  “You must get through quite a few of those.”

  “Yes.”

  “Most are probably a load of dross.”

  “Some, yes.”

  “Do you reject a lot of them?”

  “Yes, yes, Detective, what’s your point?” Ashley asked.

  “Well, I’m just wondering about the possibility of the visitor being a writer. Writer spurned, and all that,” Warner added with a smile.

  Ashley considered this. “But, I’ve never met any of them. None of them know where I live.”

  “Sadly, Miss Marshall, these days, it wouldn’t be that hard to find out,” Taylor said, delicately.

  Ashley’s headache worsened.

  “Now, Miss Marshall…”

  “Please call me Ashley,” she said, quickly. The formality was actually starting to grate.

  “M…Ashley, can you think of anybody that you may have had a run in with, lately?”

  Ashley laughed. “Jesus, am I to include drivers? Because if so, there’s half a dozen of those. Let me think, there was a taxi driver yesterday, a bus driver the day before and let’s not forget that woman on her bicycle. Oh, yes, the porter I didn’t tip, the waitress who was shit and…” Ashley paused and ran her hands through her hair.

  Both detectives noticed that the woman was trembling.

  There was a long pause, then, “I’m sorry, Detective; I didn’t mean to be flippant. It’s just, well it’s frightening to think that some sick bastard has been out there all this time scaring the shit out of me.”

  The words slipped out of her mouth before she had a chance to reel them back in. She looked up; her guests were watching her, with interest.

  “Is there something you would like to tell us, Ashley?” Taylor asked.

  Ashley sighed.

  How could she even begin to tell this woman about the events of the past few days? The visit to Jackie’s house, her weird dream and all the other happenings? After all, she was one of them; Julianne Taylor and her sidekick were both police. For all she knew, all this could be their doing. They might be trying to scare her. She had said some damaging things about them. She had denounced them publicly, accused them of committing an unspeakable crime against one of their own, and vowed to publish a book about it.

  “Ashley?” Julianne prompted.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just. Well, I have a terrible headache, and I am finding it hard to think right now. Is there any chance we can finish this conversation later?”

  “Well, I think we should stay with this. After all, we still don’t actually have a full statement…”

  “Please… I just need to have a lie-down.”

  Taylor exch
anged looks with Warner who said, in his most sensitive tone yet, “How about I come back later this evening?”

  “That’ll be fine,” Ashley said, forcing a smile.

  Just get out!

  Reluctantly, Taylor stood up.

  Mark followed suit.

  Ashley escorted them to the door.

  Just before they left, Warner turned to Ashley and handed her one of his business cards. “Ashley, I know it all may seem a bit overwhelming right now, but we’re here to help. If you remember or need to talk about anything, I can be reached at this number, any time.”

  He smiled at her.

  “Thank you,” she said, returning the smile, before promptly closing the door.

  The detectives walked to the lift in silence, pausing momentarily to let a young lad in a security uniform pass them.

  “Seriously?” Taylor asked, as they made their way to the elevator.

  “What?” Was Warner’s response.

  Taylor rolled her eyes, “I can be reached on this number, anytime.” Taylor mocked.

  Warner smiled. “I was just being supportive. The woman’s obviously rattled.”

  “Yes, she is. The question is, by what.”

  The elevator’s doors slid shut, and it began its descent just as the penthouse doorbell rang once more.

  Ashley hadn’t even left the entrance lobby, her head was pounding and she’d had enough.

  She snatched the door open, “Detectives, I’ve already told you that…” she stopped mid-sentence, when she realised it was Paul’s security sidekick.

  The young man took in her bare legs then cleared his throat and said, “This just arrived for you, Miss Marshall. Special delivery. I tried to buzz you, but I don’t think your phone is working properly, so I thought I’d bring it up here, personally.”

  “Thank you,” Ashley said, taking the packet from the young man, “That’s kind.”

  “My pleasure,” the boy said, snatching another glimpse of her legs.

  Then, he turned and left.

  Ashley smiled and closed the door behind him.

  She studied the packet; it was a small, yellow Jiffy bag. Other than the typed address on the front, it bore no details of the sender, nor was it big enough to accommodate a manuscript, yet it was heavy.

  She carefully pried open the flap, which was folded over and stapled down, as she walked over to the window. It took a while, but eventually she managed to create an opening wide enough to push her hand inside.