by Julie Howlin
I waited. Nothing happened. I was just thinking that I would have to make some random choice when my mobile rang.
I answered it. It was Jess. ‘Hey, Jess, what’s going on?’ I greeted her.
‘I’ve just heard the juiciest bit of gossip. Ever.’
‘Tell me!’
‘You remember that girl in our class? Tania Snow? The one who was really religious and went to church and the Christian Union and all that?’
‘Oh, yes! I haven’t thought about her in years.’
‘Guess what, she’s pregnant! And nobody knows who the father is! She was such a goody-goody, I can hardly believe it! Especially after she tattled on me for snogging Martin Skinner behind the bike sheds, because she thought she was saving me from a life of sin!’
‘Well, that’s a real surprise! Thanks for telling me. Listen, I’m with Rob just now, so I can’t really talk, but I’ll see you Thursday, and we’ll have a proper old gossip.’
‘Oops, sorry, I wasn’t interrupting anything important, was I?’
‘No, we’re just discussing where we’re going to go skiing.’
‘You’re going skiing? Wow. I can’t wait to hear all about that! See you, Tabs. Byeee!’
Tania Snow. If that wasn’t a firm sign as to which place to choose, I didn’t know what was.
‘La Tania,’ I said.
‘Good choice,’ Rob said. ‘I’ll go online and book it now.’
Jess had been green with envy. Simon had wrinkled his nose and said he could not understand what anyone sees in a sport that involves sliding down a freezing cold mountain on two planks.
My mum absolutely loved Robert and so did Caroline. I seemed to have hit just the right balance between lack of commitment and control freak this time. Dad, as ever, said very little. Only Amber didn’t seem so sure. She liked the fact that he bought her Paramedic Mitzi, complete with ambulance, for her birthday. But when I asked her if she thought he was The One for me, she shook her head. ‘Naw.’ It clearly took more than a few expensive Mitzi accessories to win her round.
**
Jamie Swan called me. At first, I was too embarrassed to speak to him and didn’t return his calls, but then he called me at work, where I had to answer the phone, and he knew it. He had a ring and a watch he wanted me to read. We arranged to meet in a café - I think he was being careful not to draw attention to his unexplained meetings now that the media were on to the idea that a psychic might be involved in the case. I was afraid to ask whether my brief arrest and the ‘serious strings’ he’d had to pull were having repercussions for him - I remembered how furious he’d been at the time.
He was friendly enough when we met, as if nothing had happened. I detected a little more distance than when we’d been to Epping Forest, but I told myself it didn’t matter. This was work, nothing more. He bought me coffee and explained why he’d called. ‘A body was found,’ he said. ‘Quite badly decomposed and with nothing on it to identify it. We’re looking at dental records but nothing so far.’
‘What intrigues me,’ I said, ‘Is that if you have no idea who the corpse is, how can you possibly know who their dentist is?’
‘Ah. Well, it depends on the person having been reported missing. We can get the dental records of people who’ve been reported missing and compare them with what we’ve got. Anyway, there’s no match so far so I’d like to see if you can come up with any leads.’
I took the ring, a woman’s signet ring, and held it in my hand, feeling the cold metal on my palm. I tried to forget that it had been on the finger of a decomposing corpse for several months.
A few images began to form. A book containing rows of figures, and a calculator. A dark-haired woman wearing glasses and a dark suit bending over them. She was rubbing her jaw and I felt a stab of pain, like a toothache. I saw the woman reach into her bag and bring out a packet of painkillers, and down a couple. She was not happy. She was hoping the pills would work so she would not have to go looking for a dentist. She hated dentists, and had managed to avoid them since she was a child.
Okay, that explains why they can’t find your dental records, but who are you? What’s your name? How did you die? Who killed you?
‘The money's almost gone.’ The words came to me. ‘When the money is gone, they’ll know I’m gone, too.’
There was a bedsit. Even smaller than my place. She went back there alone, stopping off to buy a dinner for one. I could sense loneliness. She had nobody to notice that she was missing. She was tossing and turning - the pain was back. I could also sense a feeling of completion, of rounding off. Something had been finished and signed off. I could see her handing a file to a man. ‘A drink to celebrate?’ he asked. His eyes were ice blue.
I related what I had seen to Jamie. ‘Looks like she’s an accountant,’ I said. ‘Seems she’d just finished off an audit somewhere. I guess she must work for an agency rather than a firm - so if she didn’t have any more work lined up, nobody would notice she was missing. If they tried to call her to offer her work and she never called back, they would simply assume she’d found herself a job and didn’t need them.’
‘I’d like to know what she meant about the money being gone, and that people will know she’s gone when the money is gone,’ Jamie mused. ‘That could be significant.’
‘I think she probably pays her rent by standing order - I do that. Probably she had money in the bank so the landlord was automatically getting the rent each month without her having to do anything. Now she's dead, no more money is going in, so there will come a point when the rent will bounce.’
‘When the money’s gone they’ll know I’m gone, too,’ said Jamie. ‘You’re a genius. So we’re looking for rent defaults. And people registered with employment agencies for accountants, who haven’t been heard from in a while. Anything about the killer?’
‘It was the man she was working for. She gave him the file, he asked her out for a drink, and killed her. He has blue eyes.’
‘Well, I’ve got a few things to check out,’ he said.
‘Any more on the Mitzi killer?’ I asked. ‘Did my text help?’
‘Hard to say. Nothing yet.’
‘How’s Alison? How’s the wedding planning going? Set a date yet?’
‘We’re thinking of June,’ he said. ‘There’s a lot to organise. It’s scary. Anyway, we’ll send you an invitation. And if there’s anyone you want to bring...’
‘Possibly. It’s early days, but there is someone.’ I blushed.
‘I’m glad,’ Jamie said. ‘I hope it works out.’ I could tell he meant it.
As I walked to the station afterwards, that last dream came back to me. I remembered where I’d heard the words, ‘It’s going well so I thought it was time.’ The words Jamie had used when he told me about his engagement. ‘Not a good reason, Kelly. The reason needs to be that you love each other.’ I almost turned back. The compulsion to go back and ask Jamie if he really loved Alison was so strong that I actually stopped walking for a minute.
‘It’s absolutely none of your business, Tabitha,’ I told myself. ‘You’ve made a twit of yourself with Jamie too many times already. It’s his life - let him live it.’
31 CHristmas
For Christmas I got an amazing state of the art, internet ready laptop from Rob - I dread to think what it cost him. And as if that wasn’t enough, there was the promise that I was going to be taken to the January sales so he could buy me an outfit for skiing. I spent Christmas Day with my family, and Rob went to his - it seemed too soon to be spending the holiday together and disappointing either, or both, of our families. Amber got three more Mitzi Dolls and Mitzi’s pony and stable from Rob. She still didn’t seem impressed with Rob but was happy enough to accept his gifts. ‘I’ve got loads of dolls now,’ she said, proudly, ‘look.’
She handed me her list.
Accountant
Air Hostess
Artist
Ballerina
Barmaid
Che
f
DJ
Doctor
Fire-fighter
Footballer
Gymnast
Horsewoman
Journalist
Karate Queen
Kennel Maid
Life Guard
Lollipop Lady
Member of Parliament
Model
Movie Star
Native American
Nurse
Paramedic
Photographer
Pilot
Policewoman
Pop star
Princess
Prison Officer
Racing Driver
Scientist
Secretary
Shop Assistant
Skater
Ski Instructor
Space Woman
Super-heroine
Surfer
Swimmer
Taxi Driver
Teacher
Tennis Player
Traffic Warden
Train Driver
Trucker
TV Presenter
Vet
Vicar
Waitress
Witch
WRAF Officer
Yachtswoman
I felt quite odd looking at it. There was something... ‘Can I borrow this, Amber?’
‘Sure,’ she said.
I copied out the list and made my own notes and crossings out on it.
Accountant - That last one
Air Hostess - Clare Mulholland
Artist - Abigail Thomas
Ballerina - Wendy Smith
Chef - Yvonne Cullen
DJ - Samantha Scott
Doctor - Rima Patel
Fire-fighter - Jenny Givens
Footballer - Monica Harman
Gymnast - Amy Smart
Horsewoman - Probably next
Ice Skater
Journalist
Karate Queen
Kennel Maid
Life Guard
Lollipop Lady
Member of Parliament - That will be high profile!
Model
Movie Star
Native American - This will be tricky
Nurse
Paramedic
Photographer
Pilot
Policewoman
Pop Star
Princess
Prison Officer
Racing Driver
Scientist
Secretary
Shop assistant
Ski Instructor
Space Woman - not easy to find
Super-heroine - where’ll he get one of these?
Surfer
Swimmer
Taxi Driver
Teacher
Tennis Player
Traffic Warden
Train Driver
Trucker - might not be many of these around
TV Presenter
Vet
Vicar
Waitress
Witch - This will be tricky too
WRAF Officer
Yachtswoman
He was working his way through the list, as if he wanted to kill each doll in turn. The unknown accountant had been the first. Then Clare, an air stewardess. And so on. Next he’d be looking for a horsewoman.
Jamie’s mobile was switched off - understandable - it was Christmas, after all. I wasn’t sure anyone else would listen to the mad ramblings of a deluded psychic demanding that a warning be issued to all young girls having riding lessons. I could only hope that our killer was taking a holiday just like everybody else.
I went home on Boxing Day. Having fed my cat, called Rob to see how he was getting on with his family in Cornwall (had his mother and his aunt fallen out all over again over whose turn it was to make the Christmas pud?), I was at a bit of a loose end. ‘What should I do now?’ I asked nobody in particular.
‘What about Cynthia’s hunt?’ said a voice in my head. The Smythe-Gores were among those who disapproved of the hunting ban to the extent that they were willing to defy the law and ride out on Boxing Day anyway. Cynthia was holding an aprés-hunt soirée at their rural retreat in Essex. She’d invited the development group along - all sorts of random people would drop in, so the Major wouldn’t suspect anything, but I don't think she expected any of us to turn up in any case. I wouldn’t have gone, either, but something was telling me that I should.
The lack of public transport meant it took for ever to get there, and the hunt was returning and disbanding as I arrived at the Smythe-Gore residence. Empty handed, I was pleased to note from the conversations I heard. It was dark by now, and I could see no sign of Cynthia. I asked a pompous gentleman with a huge girth and baying laugh where I might find her.
‘Oh, she’s probably stabling her horse,’ he said. ‘Do you wish me to take you to her?’
I was about to say that it could wait - I’d see her inside, but a voice in my head said clearly, ‘Let him take you.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, and followed him down a muddy path by the side of the house. As we turned the corner, I heard a scream, and the frantic neighing of a frightened horse.
‘What the Devil...!’ the gentleman cried, and took off towards the commotion at a speed I would never have imagined someone so fat could manage. ‘I say! What’s going on in there?’
A man in dark clothes and a hooded top came running out of the stable, almost knocking me to the ground as he passed, and disappeared up the alley. I started after him - but he had already vanished into the darkness.
‘Nigel! Thank GOD you got here when you did. That man had his hands around my throat! He was going to kill me!’ I heard Cynthia saying.
‘Cynthia? Are you all right? What happened?’ I cried, running into the stable, where Nigel was helping her to her feet. A skittish horse, tied to a post, whinnied and fidgeted.
‘Tabitha, Darling,’ She brushed some hay from her jacket. ‘I’m so glad you could make it.’
‘Just as well she did, Cynthia,’ Nigel said. ‘I was bringing her round to find you - if I hadn’t, well, I dread to think.’
‘He’d have killed me,’ she said. ‘There’s no doubt. He intended to kill me, though I’ve no idea why. Such hate emanating from him. Such an evil energy.’
‘We must telephone the police at once,’ said Nigel. He turned to me. ‘I don’t suppose you have one of those mobile phone contraptions, do you, my dear?’
I phoned 999 first, and then tried Jamie Swan - whose phone was still switched off.
It would appear that the man had slipped into the stable during the hunt and was lying in wait for whoever came. Cynthia said she did not think she knew him, but did not get a good look at him - it all happened so fast. He was white, she had noticed, but no more than that, apart from the evil energy. I had been unable to see him properly either, but as he’d pushed past me I’d estimated his height – about six feet.
Cynthia had been lucky. For the first time, the Mitzi Doll killer had failed.
The police came, and took statements from us all. When they had gone, I tried Jamie again and when he still didn't answer, left a message. He'd hear about it from his colleagues soon enough. No doubt he'd be in touch if he thought Cynthia or I could fill in any gaps.
32 la tania
There are a number of laws of air travel. The check-in desk for your flight is always the one with the longest queue. However high or low your gate number is, it’s always the furthest away from the departure lounge. If your seat is near the back of the plane they will start boarding from the front and vice versa. The couple with the screaming baby that did your eardrums in while queuing for security are always sitting right behind you on the plane. It was far too early in the morning to put up with all that bawling. I put my fingers in my ears and stared doggedly out of the window, willing the baby to shut up and that the parents would stop its older sibling from kicking the back of my seat. The heady feeling I’d had that I was going skiing with my boyfriend had been shattered all too quickly b
y the realities of actually getting there.
‘Now that all flights are non-smoking, perhaps they need to start asking you at check-in - children or non-children,’ said Rob. I couldn’t agree more. I wondered what Jonathan would have said. Something along the lines of, ‘You’d better get used to it - this is your future.’ I’d had a narrow escape.
I was a lot more tolerant of the four guys in large felt jester’s hats who had sauntered along the travellator singing ‘We’re riding along on the crest of a wave’ and getting filthy looks from everyone else. ‘They’re in our chalet,’ Rob said.
‘How do you know?’ I asked.
‘First rule of skiing holidays. The loudest nutters in the check-in queue are always in your chalet.’
And sure enough, they were. So, unfortunately, were the couple with the baby and its budding footballer brother. There were a couple of men in their sixties, two thirty-something guys and another couple. Then there were our chalet hosts, Emma and Sophie, neither of which looked any older than sixteen, but they had both been to university and were having a gap year before settling into ‘proper’ jobs.
Our room was wood panelled and had a balcony with a view of the mountains. It seemed idyllic. The snow was tinged salmon pink by the setting sun, and the air was crisp. Apart from the Crest of the Wave Gang banging around unpacking in the next room, it was remarkably peaceful.
Not that we really had time to enjoy it, as we had to go down to the ski hire shop - thank goodness Rob came with me as I didn’t have a clue what to look for in a pair of skis. Though apparently you don’t have to look for much when it’s your first week. ‘You’ll spend more time on your arse than on your skis for the first few days, anyway,’ Rob said.
We spent the evening trying to remember everybody’s names over a delicious beef stew and several glasses of red wine.
Then all of us, apart from the young family and the older men, went to the bar. I could only listen to their tales of wipe-outs, vicious drag lifts and black runs - and what were moguls, crud, T-bars, rear entry boots and champagne powder, anyway? They might as well have been speaking Chinese, but I listened politely, hoping to pick up some of the buzz words. I had to ask Rob for explanations on the way back. Moguls, evidently, are mounds of snow on the slope, a T-bar is a sort of ski lift, crud is snow you do not want to ski in, and champagne powder is snow that you DO want to ski in. I went to sleep feeling I’d learned quite a lot about skiing, even though so far, I had only worn ski boots inside the hire shop.