Another Bloody Love Story

by Rachel Green

  He switched on the shower; brushing his teeth while the water heated, then stood under the jets for several minutes before even picking up the soap.

  “Shower’s free, Pennie,” he called, hunting through the linen basket for a cleaner pair of underpants than the ones he was wearing yesterday. He did have a clean pair in his top drawer but was saving those for the wedding tomorrow.

  Back in the bedroom, his lady hadn’t stirred. Come on, Pennie,” he said, going around to her side of the bed. “Shake a leg.”

  He pulled back the bedclothes. What had, from the outside, been the perfect outline of a woman asleep was revealed to be nothing more than accidental folds and air pockets and a note which said ‘Gone to work. See you tomorrow.’”

  He shuddered. He had been convinced that Pennie was still there, in the bed with him. And since when had he been using pink sheets?

  He rubbed his eyes and the pink faded, leaving his sheets the off white they had been since the first time he’d washed them. He stared at the space for several minutes, wondering when she’d left and hoping, despite the sick feeling in his stomach, she was all right.

  He sat on the edge of the bed and picked up his phone. The image of masculinity in his shabby underwear, he thumbed through his contact list until he got to Pennie’s number when a single press summoned a ringing tone.

  “Come on, girl,” he said as the phone rang. “Pick up.”

  As the ringing continued, Winston tried to imagine where she would be. At the animal sanctuary, presumably, doing hours of unpaid work in the hopes of getting a shag from her boss. That was no way to live. She should go out with him.

  “There is no answer at the number you are calling. The phone may be switched off or out of service.”

  Winston stared at the phone, willing the computerised voice to suddenly change its mind, apologise and connect him. It didn’t and he shut the phone with a sigh.

  He pulled a shirt off the dressing table, sniffed the underarms and sprayed it with aftershave. It would do. Sunday’s jeans had only been worn for a few hours and were clean enough as they were. He pulled them on and fished around in his drawers for a clean pair of socks. He bought them by the dozen.

  “Latitia,” he called as he clattered down the stairs. “Have you heard from Pennie this morning?”

  His sister peered out of the kitchen. “Why would I have heard from that white girl? She don’t know me an’ I don’t know her. You’d better not be harbouring any thoughts of bringing that one home to roost.”

  “How can you say that?” Winston pulled his boots from under the coffee table and sat to put them on. “You’re marrying a white dude tomorrow.”

  “Jim ain’t hoity-toity like that one o’ yours is. She thinks she’s too good for the likes of us. She’s all gilt-edged securities and ‘Have another cucumber, don’t mind if I do.’ Where you going so early?”

  “I have to go and see her. I’ve got a funny feeling.”

  “Blue balls is what you’ve got. Blue balls an’ a soft head. There ain’t nothing wrong with that girl that can’t be solved by money or a bullet. You going to miss breakfast? I’ve made pancakes and bacon.”

  “I’ll have mine to go.” Winston pulled on his coat. “Where’s Jim? I need the day off.”

  “I’m right here.”

  Jim appeared at the door to the stairs. “It’s too short notice to have the day off. I’ll have to dock you a day’s pay.” He stepped in front of the mirror and began knotting his tie.

  Winston frowned. “Sure,” he said. “If you have to. Some things are more important than work. You should know that, since you’re getting married tomorrow.”

  “Not until after I’ve checked things at the office.” Jim brushed a speck of lint off his lapel. “Without my work I wouldn’t be able to give your sister everything she deserves.”

  “You can say that again.” Winston took a slice of bread out of the bag and dropped a couple of pieces of bacon on it. “Look, I’ve got to go. See you later?”

  “Later?”

  “Your stag night at the Dog?”

  “Oh, that.” Jim sniffed. “I could put in an appearance.”

  “Don’t force yourself, mate. We’d have a better night without you.”

  “Winston!” Latitia slapped the back of his head. “Don’t be so mean.”

  “Sorry.” He stopped in front of Jim and stared hard in his eyes. Jim used to be like a little brother to him but ever since he got the promotion he was a different person. A person Winston didn’t like very much. Jim stared back, his eyes dark and unmoving. Winston did his best not to shudder.

  “It doesn’t matter.” Jim smiled that perfidious smile that Winston had come to hate. It usually meant he felt that whatever was happening was beneath him. “I’m not made of plastic.”

  Winston left the house, allowing the door to slam as he stalked to his car. The bacon tasted bitter in his mouth. He’d forgotten to add ketchup. He scowled at Jim’s last words. What did ‘I’m not made of plastic’ mean anyway?

  He walked the thirty yards to where he’d parked his car. Latitia wouldn’t have it parked outside, she’d said it made her house look bad He climbed in and started it with the screwdriver. It caught first time but he waited until the engine had burned through the accumulated oil and stopped spouting black smoke. He pulled away from the kerb, hoping the almost-bald tires would hold out a little longer.

  He was already signalling to enter the car park at Pennie’s flat before the meaning of flashing blue lights registered. What were the police doing here? His sick feeling got suddenly worse.

  The blaring of car horns serenaded him as he cancelled the indicator and pulled back into the flow of traffic. The car park outside the White Art Hotel had spaces and he parked up out of sight of the security cameras.

  Winston walked back to Pennie’s flat, his heart hammering and his stomach threatening to eject the bacon sandwich all over the pavement. There were three police cars, an ambulance and the coroner’s wagon, as well as a battered fawn saloon sporting a piece of cardboard inscribed with ‘Police’ in the window.

  A copper younger than Winston stopped him going through the gate. “Sorry sir,” he said. “Possible crime scene. You can’t go in.”

  “What’s happened?” Winston tried to crane his neck, but the lad’s height and helmet prevented him from seeing anything other than a couple of men in white safety suits.

  “Who are you, sir?” The policeman got out his notebook. “What business have you got here?”

  “Winston Campbell. Pennie Black is my girlfriend.”

  “Girlfriend.” The boy’s demeanour softened and he put an arm around Winston’s shoulders. “Trust me mate,” he said, “You don’t want to see. You don’t want the memory of that in your head for ever more.”

  “Memory of what?” Winston tried to edge past. “What’s happened to Pennie?”

  “There was an accident sir.” The policeman bared his teeth and sucked air through the gaps. “I’m afraid Ms. Black…Hold on…”His brow creased as he ran through the facts of the case in his head. “No, you’re all right.” He grinned and clapped Winston on the back. “Your girlfriend is fine.”

  Winston visibly slumped with relief. “Thank God for that,” he said.

  “That’s right.” The constable grinned and put away his notepad. “It was a Ms. Pennie Lowry that was brutally slaughtered.”

  “But…” Winston sagged against the railings separating the car park from the group of houses. “Lowry was Pennie’s married name.”

  “It was?” The policeman frowned. “I wasn’t aware of that, sir. Thanks.” He looked closely at Winston. “Will you be all right here for a minute? I’ll have to tell the inspector.”

  Winston shook his head and waved him away. To have your hopes raised so high,
only for them to be dashed a moment later was the cruellest trick of fate. He leaned back against the railings, unbidden tears slipping down both cheeks. He could see the lavender flowers bright against the red brick and taste their scent over the noise and bustle of the policemen around him. The air took on a super-clear quality, like a photograph blown up to poster size and he could hear the buzz of a bumble bee in the trumpets of the snapdragons at his feet.

  Absently, he watched the police at work. He could see the young copper talking to a man in ordinary clothes who turned in his direction when he was pointed out. He must be the inspector from the unmarked car.

  Winston would remember this tableau for a long time. The policeman and the inspector, the sunlight on the house and two men in white suits lifting something onto a stretcher and covering it in plastic. From the downstairs flat, the one belonging to Pennie’s tenants, came a series of blue flashes. Something had happened there as well. Were they all dead?

  “Mister Campbell?”

  Winston looked up. The inspector was standing over him. He didn’t remember falling over.

  “Are you all right? You’ve had a bit of a shock, I think.” The inspector turned to the young policeman. “Sykes? Go and get this man a cup of tea, would you? I think there’s a shop a couple of doors past the bookies.”

  “Yes Sir.” Sykes hesitated. “Er, what sort of tea?”

  “The milk and two sugars sort.” The inspector held out a hand and helped Winston to his feet. “That’s better, isn’t it, Winston Campbell? I’m…”

  “Inspector White.” Winston rolled his tongue around his mouth, turned and spat into the flower bed. “I remember you.”

  “That’s right.” White took half a pace back. “I thought the name sounded familiar. You’re the chap from that affair at the Manor last year.”

  “I wasn’t stealing anything,” said Winston, “and no charges were made.”

  “No, of course not.” Inspector White rubbed his chin. “And now you turn out to be the boyfriend of the deceased. Where were you between the hours of five and seven this morning?”

  “I was in bed, asleep and before you ask, no. There’s only one person who could verify it and she’s the one I shared my bed with. She’s the one under the sheet up there.” He paused. “You know her place was ransacked yesterday?”

  White nodded. “We’ve got the report, yes.I suppose your fingerprints are going to be all over her flat?”

  “Mine and others.” Winston scrubbed his face with his fingers. “She was seeing this other bloke as well. Chase. He runs the animal sanctuary where she worked. Her ex-husband’s missing, too.”

  “Is he really?” White made a note and glanced back at the house. “I have to get back up there. They’re about to move the bodies.” He looked back at Winston. “We’re going to need a formal statement.I could send someone round or…”

  “I’ll come to the station later,” said Winston. “Was it murder?”

  “Looks like it. We thought it was an accident until we found the Palmers in the downstairs flat.”

  Winston nodded. “Poor sods. I never even met them.”

  Inspector White nodded. “Here’s your tea, son.Sip it slowly. ” He handed Winston a card. “Give me a ring if you think of anything that might help.”

  “Sure.” Winston took the tea from Sykes and headed back to his car. “Poor bitch,” he said aloud. “Who’d have wanted to kill her?”

  “It was Steve, actually,” said Pennie from her seat on the bonnet of a red jaguar. “Or something that looked like him made of metallic plastic. I always said loving a scientist would be the death of me.”

  Chapter Forty

  Valerie growled at the hammering. Whatever had woken her at this god-forsaken hour of…she checked the bedroom clock. Ten a.m. and they didn’t seem to have any intention of stopping.

  She rolled out of bed, reaching the tiny window in one fluid motion and yanking it open. “Don’t you know what time it is?” she shouted down at the head beneath her. “You’re lucky I don’t crack your skull open with a…” she glanced around the room, “jar of pot-pourri.”

  “Don’t be like that.” Winston let go of the knocker and looked up, squinting against the sun. “We’ve had a really crappy day so far, and you’re the only one who would begin to understand.”

  “Winston?” Valerie yawned. “I was supposed to see you last night but I got waylaid. Did you speak to Fliss and Jules?”

  “Yeah. It ain’t going to happen.”

  “Good.” Valerie yawned. “I’ll be right down.” She pulled her head back in and reached across to the dresser for fresh underwear. She dressed in record time and clattered down the stairs in jeans and a sweatshirt. She pulled open the door. “Come in then,” she said. “You woke me up and now I need the bathroom. Can you make tea?”

  “Sure.” Winston glanced to his right. “Show me where the kitchen is.”

  Valerie pointed. “The house is too small not to find it,” she said. “It’s there, under the stairs.” She headed back up them. “I’ll be right down.”

  “Is she always like that?” Pennie asked. “She acted as though I wasn’t here. Is she one of your ex girlfriends?”

  “She probably hasn’t got her lenses in,” said Winston. “She can’t see…disadvantaged people…like I can.”

  “Disadvantaged?” Pennie snorted. “You mean dead.”

  “I was trying to be tactful.” Winston headed toward the kitchen, finding and then filling the kettle. “Can I get you anything?”

  “Har-de-har.” Pennie hoisted herself onto the work surface and did her best not to sink slowly through it. “I’d die for a coffee about now.”

  “Bit late for that.” Winston set out two mugs. “Did she say tea?”

  “Yes.” Pennie gave up trying to sit on the Formica top and dropped through it to the floor. She wandered around the kitchen. “I like all the herbs,” she said. “Very rustic. I never did find out what half of them were. I know lavender, of course, and thyme but…”

  “Which is all very well but gets us no nearer your killer,” said Winston. He found the teabags and finished the two mugs.

  “Whose killer?” Valerie appeared at one end of the kitchen, still brushing her teeth. “What have I missed?”

  “Pennie’s dead,” said Winston. “Do you take sugar in your tea?”

  “She doesn’t,” said Pennie.

  “No thanks.” Valerie spat into the kitchen sink and rinsed out her toothbrush. “I’m sweet enough, your mother used to say.”

  “You didn’t know my mother,” said Winston. “She died before I met you.”

  “If you say so.” Valerie sipped her tea and grimaced. “You used Meinwen’s de-caff,” She poured it down the sink and switched the kettle on again. “How did Pennie die? I thought you were supposed to be looking after her?”

  “I was.” Winston looked at the ghost. “She left me first thing this morning and went back to her flat, where she met her untimely end.”

  Valerie snorted. “Who talks like that except in books? Untimely end? I mean, really? What happened to her?”

  “She was cut in two by a malevolent pane of glass.” Winston grinned. “Have you got any of your magic contact lenses? Ask her yourself.”

  “She’s here? A ghost?” Valerie backed off several feet. “You should have said.” She went back upstairs. “Why don’t you tell me what happened,” she called.

  “There was a terminator in her flat,” said Winston.

  “A what? An assassin?” Valerie’s voice was faint, echoing from the bathroom.

  “A terminator. A big metal robot that looked just like her ex husband.”

  “Really?” Valerie appeared in time to take the boiling kettle and make a replacement tea. “It got finished, then. I saw it last night but
it hadn’t got a head at the time. So that’s what killed you?” This time she looked directly at Pennie, unfazed by the translucent form.

  “Yes,” said Pennie. “Well, not, not exactly. He came toward me and I backed away so much that I fell down the stairs and went through the stained-glass panel.”

  “Which acted like a guillotine and cut her in two,” added Winston. “It wasn’t a pleasant sight.”

  “I can imagine.” Valerie stepped closer to the ghost. “So the silver puppet didn’t actually touch you?” she said.

  “No,” said Pennie. “It was really scary though. It kept coming toward me, closer and closer, stretching out its hand.”

  “Could it have been trying to communicate?”

  “No.” Pennie looked affronted. “It didn’t speak at all.”

  “Ah! So it had a mouth?”

  “Not exactly. A sculpted one.” Pennie tried to grip her arm. “You weren’t there,” she said. “You’d have been frightened too. It looked just like Steven.”

  “Possibly.” Valerie stepped back. “You’re taking this very calmly,” she said. “I’d be shitting myself if I died and got stuck as a ghost. How did that happen?”

  “I missed the golden staircase,” Pennie said. “I was shouting at Chase so much but he didn’t hear me. When I turned round the Palmers were half way up the stairs. I missed the boat completely.”

  “The Palmers?”

  “The people who live downstairs. I don’t know why Steve the monster killed them.”

  “I’ll see if I can get hold of the police report.” Valerie finished her tea. “So what exactly do you want me to do about it? I’m sorry and everything but there’s not a lot I can do for you. I can only redeem the living.” She perked up. “I could pray for you, if you like.”

  “I want rest,” said Pennie. “What am I supposed to do? Hang around Winston as his ghostly sidekick?”