Revelations 12

by De Freitas

  “What did she say?”

  “Oh she’s not happy, as you’d expect; she started screaming at me as I drove off. I’m sorry that it has come to this.”

  “She brought it on herself, Mom. I’m glad you noticed how she was with Linda. It has been a bit awkward; Linda’s asked me a few times in the past if my Aunt did not like her.”

  “Please apologise to Linda for me. I really should have dealt with this years ago. It’s terrible that she felt uncomfortable around her. Anyway, you can let her know that I’ve addressed the matter.”

  “I will, Mom. In fact…”

  “‘In fact’ what. Simon?”

  “No forget it…”

  “No, I want to know, Simon – tell me.”

  “I was just picturing you letting her have it, turning your back, getting into the car and it fails to start…”

  “Your right! Oh thank God it started, could you imagine? I don’t even want to think of what I’d have done then.”

  “Yeah, Mom, it would not have exactly been the ideal time to ask her for a jump start, huh?”

  “Oh, on a different subject, Simon, I forgot to tell you Jane from high school, said to say ‘hello’.”

  “Jane, really? Where did you see her?”

  “She was working in the shop where I bought the dress, she said you would remember her.”

  “Yes, of course I remember her. I used to fancy her back then, but I knew I never stood a chance.”

  Martha shook her head.

  Over the next week, Martha heard nothing from Annamae. She suspected this was really it for their relationship. They had argued before and her sister was always quick to come over, apologise and give her a hug. Not this time; Annamae must have really gotten the message and, in a way, Martha was happy she was not around.

  Martha could not decide. They had been at the studio now for over an hour and basically she wanted every photo she looked at.

  “You’re going to have to put some back, Martha,” said Fr. Mark.

  “I agree, Mom. This will cost you a small fortune.”

  “I know, but it’s so hard to decide; I like them all. I bet you’re a bit relieved, Father. I’m not seeing any that are too damaging.”

  “Yes. Thankfully they focused more on you than me!”

  “Oh, Mom. Please just make a decision.”

  Finally, Martha made her choice.

  “That is great, Ma’am,” said the photographer. “So, we have twenty-eight in total. Now, what sizes do you want them in?”

  “Oh no, Father. We’re going to be here for another hour,” said Simon.

  Fr. Mark looked to the heavens and motioned to Simon to follow him to the door.

  “Where do you think you two are sneaking off to? I need help with this,” said Martha. “Now, what sizes can you do them in, sir?”

  CHAPTER 17

  Martin and Brenda Bernstein had everyone over for the engagement dinner. Martha had not spoken much with Brenda at the graduation party but she really connected with her now. The two women had never realised they shared so much in common. They agreed to meet up every Tuesday for a coffee and Brenda started to stay back after Mass, just to chat with Martha on the way out.

  Martha had no plans to stop working at the accountancy firm for Mr Caine. It got her out the house and she enjoyed the job. Annamae never made contact, but Martha and Simon saw her on a suspicious number of occasions – so much so that, one evening, Martha met Simon for lunch at the café and caught Annamae looking in at them. Martha stormed out of the café and confronted her in the street, Simon had to step in and calm Martha down. He told Annamae, in no uncertain terms, to stop following them around.

  After Simon proposed, Linda wanted to abandon her plans of going on to complete her Master’s and instead to find a job. She knew Simon was working towards the down payment on a mortgage and she wanted to help. She calculated that doing her Master’s, would mean another eighteen months at least before they could get married, and she could not wait for that day. After much persuasion, her parents and Simon convinced her to continue her studies.

  Shortly after their engagement, Simon was offered a job working for Martin Bernstein at the bank. He was twenty-two years of age but still had no idea what he wanted to do. He explained this to Martin, who completely understood the young man’s position. He advised him to take the job and, if he did not like the banking industry after a year or two, he was still young enough to change his career.

  Simon settled quickly into his new role. He remained open minded about a career in banking but continued to look around and research other prospects. He lived at home with Martha, who refused to accept any money from him. “You and Linda have to save and plan for the future,” she would say.

  At one time, he contemplated buying a car but he could not justify the expense. Martha worked Monday, Wednesday and Friday and they would drive into town together. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, he would take the car, if Martha didn’t need it, or occasionally he would get the bus.

  Simon shared an office with Charles Rankin on the second floor of the Horizon Bank in the centre of town. The two had a good working relationship but it didn’t go beyond that, Charles was in his late forties and always looked unhappy with life. He kept to himself and would only reluctantly attend office functions.

  “Can you take my calls please, Charles?” asked Simon. “If Mr Robinson does call, tell him his account is set up and we have sent him a letter with the details and his new cheque book.”

  “Where are you going to eat, Simon?”

  “I’m thinking, I’ll walk up to Subway today. I’m tired of the café food. I can only eat so many hamburgers and chips.”

  “Where did you go today?”

  “Not far, just round the corner, and had a hotdog.”

  “Any good?”

  “Don’t waste your time.”

  Simon smiled. “Okay, Subway it is. I’ll see you in a bit, Charles.”

  *

  “That was a short lunch break!” said Charles.

  “I had to eat quickly as I saw it was going to rain. I ended up running most of the way back and still got soaked.”

  Simon took his jacket off and hung it up, hoping it would dry quickly. “Looks like my jacket took the worst of it. Thankfully my shirt is still dry.”

  “On your way out of the bank, Simon, you should have grabbed one of those customer umbrellas at the entrance.”

  “You’re right. I need to get in the habit of doing that, especially at this time of year,” Simon said. “Any calls, Charles?”

  “Just one, a guy. I told him you had gone to lunch and he just hung up – so rude. Anyway, Simon, if anyone is looking for me, I’m just heading downstairs. They are short-staffed and one of the girls asked me to cover her for lunch.”

  Simon looked at the time: 12:25pm. Great, he thought, I can close my eyes for couple of minutes. He pulled the lower drawer of his desk open, reclined his office chair, and put his feet up.

  *

  The bedroom door was ajar. He looked in and saw his victim across the room, she was studying at her desk. He squeezed the handle of the knife and approached her slowly from behind. He stood over her and as he positioned himself, the wooden floorboard below the carpet creaked. She turned around, but it was too late. She did not even have time to rise out of her chair. He covered her mouth and brought the knife down into her heart. She slumped into the chair.

  “It is done,” he said.

  *

  “No!” he screamed.

  Simon awoke violently. The drawer he had his feet on slammed closed and he fell over in the chair. He got up off the floor and looked around, but he was badly shaken. He focused his eyes, the clock on the wall said: 12:53pm. He looked at his hand, it was shaking but he could feel the k
nife in it. The memory had returned from all those years ago and it was as true and violent as it was then.

  “Are you okay, man?” asked the voice.

  Simon looked over to the doorway but he struggled to focus on the face.

  “Ah, yes. I’m fine. . . I’m fine, Charles.”

  “I was coming up the stairs and I heard you scream out. You don’t look okay, and why is your chair lying on the floor?”

  “Ah, I tripped… I tripped and grabbed the chair, but it’s on wheels, so I ended up pulling it over.”

  “I just came up to get this folder, and I need to go back downstairs again. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Charles took the folder off his desk. “I’ll be back shortly, Simon.”

  Simon picked up the phone immediately, but he felt he was holding the handle of the knife. He panicked and dropped it on the desk; his hand was still shaking. He composed himself, picked it back up and dialled Linda’s number but there was no answer.

  Tuesday, he thought, Mrs Bernstein is probably with Mom, having a coffee or more likely on her way back home. He was struggling to think. He held his head, he could feel a bump had formed. He looked down and realised he must have hit it on the corner of the wall behind him. He picked up his chair and wheeled it forward; I need to call Mom, he thought.

  “Hi, Mom. Is Mrs Bernstein still there?”

  “No. She left about twenty minutes ago.”

  “Is she heading back home?”

  “I didn’t ask, but I assume so. Are you alright? You sound uptight.”

  Simon closed his eyes and put all his effort into trying to sound normal. “I’m fine, Mom. I’ll try her again at home. She should be there anytime soon.”

  “How’s your day? You busy?”

  “Yes, pretty busy, Mom. I got to go, love you.”

  “Love you, son. Bye.”

  Simon stood, trying to think what to do, and then suddenly he heard the sound of sirens. God no, please no. He sat down and put head in his hands no… no, please no…he tried to think but, between the emotion and the blow to his head, he couldn’t.

  “Simon, Simon… SIMON!” the voice yelled out.

  Simon looked up from his desk.

  “Something terrible has happened; Mr Bernstein just got a call to go home immediately. I think you should go.”

  Simon got in his car and drove the short distance over to the Bernsteins’ home. He kept hoping he would wake from this nightmare but he knew it was too real. He sped through the front pillars as he approached the house. It was like a flash back to all those years ago; approaching Julia’s home, the many cars, flashing lights and an ambulance. It was all horrifyingly familiar.

  *

  Sheriff Amos sat in his office the following day, reviewing the initial murder findings with the senior members of his team. The press, who were camped outside the station, needed to be addressed. The murder was front page news and there were wild rumours and speculation. He knew he would have to form an official position and give a statement.

  “Sheriff, are you telling me you don’t think he did it?” asked Deputy Blaine.

  Sheriff Amos shook his head.

  “Come on, Sheriff. It’s like his signature. The guy is a monster. It bears all the hallmarks of his last girlfriend and you’re telling me there is no connection?”

  “I’m not saying that. For God’s sake, of course there is a connection. Two young girls stabbed through the heart with what looks like identical murder weapons. Yes, there’s a connection. I just don’t think it’s Holman.”

  Everyone in the room shook their heads.

  “Sheriff,” said one of the officers, “we have statements from three eye witnesses so far, saying they saw him leave the bank, and we have four statements from other eye witnesses who said they saw Holman running back to the bank approximately twelve minutes before the mother found the body. Now, I’m not sure, between the history of this guy and what we know so far, how much more evidence you need to bring him in.”

  Sheriff Amos looked at the faces gathered. “Guys, the seven of us in this room have worked together for many years, in some cases for over a decade. I completely understand why you all feel the way you do. I don’t want to go into the details but I have put a lot of time into investigating the Osbourne murder. Julia was like a daughter to me. I was convinced, like everyone at the time, it was Holman. It looked a slam-dunk case, yet today I’m almost certain it was not him.

  “All I ask is for everyone to keep an open mind and, wherever the evidence takes us, that is the direction we go. Remove any preconceived opinions you have gentlemen.

  “Gaby, please inform the press that I will be out to give a statement at 11am. After that, Deputy Blaine and I will drive out to Holman and question him.”

  Sheriff Amos approached the barrier. He looked around and the large crowd of reporters fell silent. He could see not only local news media but also large corporations from outside the state which had sent their people to cover the story. He cleared his throat and addressed the crowd.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to read a brief statement,” he said. “At approximately 1:05pm yesterday, we received a report of a suspected homicide. Units were dispatched and a twenty-two year old girl’s body was found and confirmed deceased by the coroner at 1:40pm. At this time, we are continuing our investigations.

  “The deceased’s name is Linda Anne Bernstein. Her family is well known to many of you here and I would like to ask you all to respect their privacy at this difficult time. We have posted officers at their home and you will be arrested if you trespass. Additionally, no one is to enter the Horizon Bank, unless his or her intention is legitimate banking business. There will be no questioning of bank employees on the premises.

  “Finally, we have set-up a hot line for anyone who believes they have information related to this case. We have handed out cards with the details and ask you please to share this with the public. Thank you.”

  As one the assembled crowd roared their questions at the sheriff, he shouted back. “One at a time!”

  “Sheriff, is it true the victim was stabbed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sheriff, should the general public be concerned?”

  “At this time, I’ll ask everyone to be extra vigilant. Lock your doors, keep in touch with your loved ones and report anything that you think is in the slightest way suspicious.”

  “Sheriff, is there any connection to the Osbourne murder?”

  “That will be one of our lines of enquiry.”

  “Sheriff, did the police’s failure to catch the killer in the Osbourne case result in the death of this young girl?”

  “That will be all for now. Ladies and gentlemen, we will update you in the coming days and weeks. I remind you all to respect the privacy of everyone involved.”

  Sheriff Amos and Deputy Blaine left the police station just after lunch and headed out into the country.

  “Have you met Simon Holman before, Sheriff?” asked Deputy Blaine.

  “I’ve met the mother, Martha, but not Simon. However, I’ve heard so much about him over the years, I feel I have.”

  “When do you think we will hear from the coroner?”

  “He is doing the autopsy as we speak. He told me he should have the initial report by the end of the day and, within a few more days, the toxicology results should come in.”

  “Look, Sheriff, I did not mean to challenge you in front of everyone in the room this morning. I’m sorry about that. As it stands, I’ll keep an open mind, but I just can’t see it being anyone else.”

  “Hell, that’s okay Blaine. I would not have made you deputy if I wanted a yes man. Now, you keep giving me your honest opinion on everything – you understand?”

  Sheriff Amos and his deputy approached the w
ooden house.

  “Hang on, there are two cars parked outside. I recognise the old banger. She must have a visitor,” said Sheriff Amos.

  “I know the other one, Sheriff. It’s the priest’s car. Fr. Mark is his name, a real nice guy. The wife and I like him a lot.”

  *

  Martha was sitting crying in the kitchen with Fr. Mark when she heard a car pull up, she looked out the window. “Oh no, Fr. It’s a police car.” She started to shake.

  “Do you want me to get the door for you?”

  Martha shook her head, pulled some fresh tissue from the box, and walked slowly towards the front door.

  “Good morning, Martha. I’m sorry, but I would like to ask Simon some questions, if that’s okay. Do you mind if we come in?”

  “Come in, Sheriff,” her voice was barely audible.

  The two officers entered the kitchen and greeted Fr. Mark.

  “Martha, perhaps I should really go,” he said.

  Martha put her hand on his shoulder and indicated for him to remain seated. Fr. Mark looked up at the officers and Sheriff Amos motioned for him to stay where he was.

  “I’ll have to get Simon,” said Martha. “He’s in his room.”

  Sheriff Amos looked around the kitchen. Martha has clearly been crying for hours but so had the priest, he thought.

  Martha entered the kitchen. “He will be a minute,” she said.

  “I understand, Martha,” said Sheriff Amos.

  As they waited for Simon, nothing was said. They all stared down at the floor. Simon entered the kitchen after a couple of minutes. He was dressed in a green towel robe. He half nodded at the officers and sat down.