Blood List

by Ali Carter

  Surprisingly, after her ordeal with Jason, she’d slept soundly, fallen into quite a deep sleep, might even have needed an alarm to wake her any other day. No, it wasn’t cold at all. In true visionary style, Molly Anne Fields had woken from that blissfully happy slumber a few minutes earlier as if hit by a thunderbolt. Lying flat on her back and facing the ceiling, her eyes had shot open… whereupon she immediately and indisputably witnessed her own death.

  EIGHTEEN

  Stella Gray placed her teacup back on its saucer and leant heavily into the cushions of her armchair. Her foot was throbbing and itching again under the cast which caused a foul mood.

  Just then the doorbell went. Ye Gods! That’s all I need! she thought irritably. It had taken fifteen minutes just to get up and out to the loo and back again. Now there’d be another bloody circus, necessitating complex and intricate balancing, just to get on those damned crutches to hobble back out to the hall and now open the front door! She’d never get used to the wretched things, they may as well have been chopsticks – she couldn’t use them either! Stella sighed heavily as she pushed herself forward to the edge of the chair for the second time in the last twenty minutes.

  “Hang on!” she called out – both hands found a wooden support as gingerly she eased herself up, engaged one carefully under each arm, and after a fashion began to head slowly for the hall again. The bell rang a second time, faster and more urgently. “I’m coming darn it, be patient!” she yelled at the top of her voice, wobbling un-rhythmically through the hall, and more by luck than judgement, managed to reach the front door.

  “Sorry Stella,” Andrew called through the glass. “Forgot you’d have a problem what with…” His boss now stood before him, the door opened, “… the foot and… everything,” he finished lamely.

  “Not to worry Andy, lucky it’s you. I’d probably have been very uncharitable to anyone else.” She winked. “To be honest I’m glad you’ve called. Come in lad.” He helped her through to the kitchen where she sat down gratefully at the table whilst he made them both a coffee. As the kettle boiled he rifled through the biscuit barrel for the Bourbons he knew would be there. Andrew Gale and Stella Gray went back a long way. Many’s the time they’d sat at her kitchen table with mugs of tea or coffee, digging into the biscuit or cake tin, or both!, and pondered over local burglaries and street muggings. Often they’d agonised over Rachel, but there had never been anything like this to fuel their conversation.

  “What the hell is going on with that murder business?” she questioned straight out, exasperated. “Have you turned anything up yet? With poor Rachel being… ohhh…” She shook her head slowly – clearly upset. “I know it’s not strictly your area but with this damn foot I’m stuck here in these four walls, it’s driving me crazy!” Andrew could well imagine what it was doing to her. Stella Gray was known for scratching away at the surface of a story and uncovering a whole new world of information beneath – he secretly called her the ‘Iceberg Detective’. For her not being able to zoom around town unearthing anything and everything, must be like finding a fountain in the desert locked behind a triple glass wall.

  “I know this may sound odd to you because you hardly know her,” he began – “Well, I hardly know her, but I think that somewhere in the middle of all this is… Jenny Flood.”

  “What our new reporter? Are you sure?” He nodded.

  “Our Jenny?” his boss continued incredulously. “Why on earth should she be involved?” Andrew brought Stella up to speed with what had happened since she’d broken her ankle over the next fifteen minutes or so and left nothing out. Molly’s visions, their suspicion of Miles via vet Josie Kinkade and the note to Rachel in the pub, Andrew’s following him and discovering Miles at Jenny’s flat, and his and the girls’ plans so far. Right up to the surveillance op that had gone so badly wrong the previous evening, and Jason’s psychiatric condition. When he’d finished she was surprisingly quiet.

  “So… what do you think?” Andrew asked hesitantly. He wasn’t used to silence. This half of the Courier’s editorial executive team was never stuck for words.

  “I think we don’t alert Jenny or question her anymore,” she said decisively. “If you really think she’s connected?” Andrew hunched his shoulders, the expression on his face screwed into ‘well I think so but can’t be absolutely sure’.

  “Thing is there’s definitely history between her, Miles and Charlotte Peterson,” he replied, “probably Jason knew about the affair in the past and I’ve witnessed it recently. Jason has been under suspicion from the police but is now out on bail. According to Josie Kinkade, Miles definitely gave Rachel his mobile number that night in the pub. Connections are there. Molly hasn’t had another dream or vision, so we don’t know what, or more to the point, who is next.” Stella stroked a finger up and down her coffee mug her eyes darting around in thought.

  “I remember the Petersons coming to this town from Bradenthorpe about six years ago. That’s where Jenny moved from, at least that’s what she said in interview, and her landline STD confirmed the area when I rang her. I think you’re right. She’s followed them here, presumably to locate Miles, albeit six years later, but how does all this fit in with actual murder – other than the fact she and her brother are new here and arrived just prior to Rachel’s death?”

  “Exactly – we haven’t a clue – as yet. The girls and I came to the conclusion because Miles was with Jenny for at least part of the night of the third killing he couldn’t really be considered a suspect. He was far too cool and relaxed when I played squash with him the following evening anyway. I think it’s a woman doing this Stella, obviously not Jenny but… don’t ask me why, I just had a feeling about it out of the blue this morning.”

  “What are you suggesting exactly? Charlotte Peterson’s had a hand in this? Is that what you’re getting at?” Stella asked. Andrew remained quiet. “She isn’t a big woman you know, and from what you’ve described, the victims’ injuries are quite grotesque. She is a GP after all. I know I don’t always hold the greatest respect for the NHS, ankle aside, but I draw the line at murder!” Stella sat back in her chair in exasperation – arms open and palms upwards.

  “Well I didn’t actually mention anything about our Dr. Peterson female, but interesting you should have jumped to that conclusion Stella…”

  “No, no Andrew you’re barking up the wrong tree if you’re even thinking that lad. All my instincts tell me this is the profile of a male, probably with inadequate sexual abilities, and opportunities.” Andrew raised a tired eyebrow. This was typical of Stella, blaming the male sex for everything from moaning to murder. She was a good clue sifter, but when it came to pointing the finger, dear old Stell tended to lean a little too automatically towards men as a uniform aggressor. Andrew put it down to a miserable childhood. Her father had been a nasty piece of work, something she’d let out in a weak moment during one of their kitchen table tête-à-têtes.

  “There was no evidence of sexual interference,” he replied. “Not even clothing removed. Usually in cases like that the man would want to humiliate the female victim, expose and control physically as well as emotionally and psychologically.” Stella eyed him quizzically.

  “So what about Rachel – I’m damn sure that wasn’t the case with her was it?” This was true. She was the only one of the three women where evidence of sexual intercourse had taken place. It didn’t necessarily mean it was down to the murderer though.

  “Yes you’re right,” he said. “But she could have met someone else for a liaison, prior to the killer arriving at her house, whether that killer was male or female. Neither of the others was personally interfered with, which unless there are two attackers, could imply a woman aggressor. In Rachel’s case I believe she’d simply agreed to meet someone earlier in the afternoon. That person I’m convinced was Miles Peterson. That’s his connection with this, but he didn’t kill her, which is why I’ve not said anythi
ng to the police. You know what they’re like, they’ll hold on to anything with a remote possibility whether it’s relevant or not.” Stella looked approvingly at her young reporter.

  “Time you came off sports columns lad – you’re way beyond cricket and football league now.” Andrew smiled appreciatively. He drained his mug, popped one last Bourbon in his mouth and one in his pocket before replacing the lid on the barrel. Stella grinned. “Just like my grandson, you lads never grow out of your favourites!” He laughed as he made his way to the front door.

  “I’ll see myself out, take care, and rest your foot – that’s an order!”

  “And you young man, you keep me in the picture a damned sight sooner from now on!” Andrew acknowledged her with a backward wave as he strolled down the path. He walked round to the driver’s side of his car, opened the door and slid into the seat of the new Mondeo. This, he thought, holding the steering wheel, is infinitely better than the tired old saloon I held onto. Not a Morgan Roadster granted – but definitely an improvement. That graffiti artist did me a favour. He stuck the key in the ignition, slipped the gear into first and gently pulled away from Stella Gray’s front gate. Time to seriously consider some new possibilities he thought as the car made its way back to work. Not least of which could lead to a promotion.

  Miles was out that evening… again. Charlotte paced the lounge floor, occasionally glancing up at the oriental mementoes above the fireplace. Hong Kong… Things had been really good on that trip, so long ago now – so forgotten by him… .

  She reached up to trace a finger along the black and gold striped mask that sat next to a rare silver sculpted horse head. The mask’s diamond was centred just above the nose bridge, and the huge gold swirls, like spider leg eyelashes, surrounded the slanted sensuous eye slits. She took it down and stroked the velvet surface. Her heart began to beat faster, thudding densely, heavily, drumming Black Sabbath style in her ears as she realised what she was going to do next. What she must do next. Charlotte looked back up at the horse head handle and placed the mask over her face.

  Molly refused to be scared, going out and about carrying on with day-to-day activities as usual. She wouldn’t take any undue chances, but nobody was going to stop her from living her life, not even under present circumstances.

  She hadn’t told Gina about her latest death vision yet because she’d stayed over at Andy’s the previous night. Had she been in her bedroom that morning, Molly would have told her immediately, but as it was she hadn’t so actually nobody knew at all. She could always have texted or rung her or Andrew, but it had been really busy in the pub and now it was nine in the evening. Gina had stayed at Andrew’s all day too, and wouldn’t be coming back that night either. Molly felt sure it wouldn’t be long before her friend moved out altogether, which was understandable, but sad nonetheless. It would feel like the end of an era somehow, the end of the ‘sibling’ closeness that had always been there, always been strong.

  She watched the customers carefully from behind the bar – scanned the room over the heads of those she knew well and had been chatting to. Everything was normal, there were no disturbances and nothing seemed out of place. She began to think that rather than an actual visionary prediction, it had just been a bad dream in the early hours due to last night’s abduction by Jason. She was obviously hoping that was the case.

  A glance at the clock reminded her it was still only ten past nine. Maybe she should just take a quick break and phone Andrew and Gee – let them know? As her mind tossed the idea around, her father came over to suggest she took an early finish as she’d worked the bar all day. For once Molly would have preferred to have kept busy, but it had been an exhausting shift. Smiling at her dad, she finished drying a glass and walked through to the private quarters where she slumped down onto the lounge sofa and put her feet up on the coffee table. Just as she picked up the TV remote, her mobile buzzed noisily from the floor. Molly reached into her handbag, retrieved the phone and turned it over in her hand. It wasn’t anyone she recognised.

  Meet me in park by swings 9.30p.m. tonight

  I need to explain to you about Jason.

  Jenny.

  Well, that’s a turn up for the books thought Molly dropping the phone back into her bag. Maybe Jason told her what had happened and asked her to speak to me? He must be really concerned – feeling guilty I guess. Maybe that means he does like me and thinks he’s blown his luck? To be honest he probably has but… well, everyone deserves a second chance, an opportunity to explain themselves, she thought rationally. At least I know he has a problem, can understand to a certain extent. Maybe his tablets aren’t agreeing with him for some reason?

  It wasn’t long before Molly had slipped a jacket on, grabbed her car keys and left by the rear entrance. She longed to know the full story behind Jason Flood, and now it looked like she was about to find out.

  The lights from the pub together with the street lamps were deceiving as they mixed with the last of the low dusky hue of a September evening. It made one think it was brighter than it actually was, that there was still some daylight left.

  Soon she was driving along the river road, with the pub lights far behind her and the night suddenly became darker and her mood less upbeat. It wasn’t long before the chug chug lurch of her little Fiesta brought her up sharp. Shit! Dad said he thought the engine sounded dodgy last week. She now cursed her procrastination in booking the car in. The noise became louder as she drove over the bridge at Devil’s Drop and around the corner past St. Peter’s Church. It became worryingly obvious the car wasn’t going to make it all the way to the park. Once she hit the hill she was able to coast down to the bottom, but a few metres of lunging on the level road brought her to a grinding halt. Molly looked at her watch. It was twenty past nine. It shouldn’t take me more than ten minutes to walk from here if I don’t hang about, she thought.

  Standing outside the car it felt distinctly chilly. A cool wind had gained some ground since she left the pub and was now quite nippy. She pulled her jacket collar up around her neck and locked the door. The steering wheel clamp her dad had insisted on buying when he bought the car for her eighteenth lay idly in the passenger well and stared up at her through the window. Molly sighed. Well it’s not like it can go anywhere is it?

  Impatient to meet Jenny and discover more about this brother of hers, she began the rest of her journey on foot, quickly walking through town and out the other side towards the children’s park. There were plenty of people and cars around – it was after all not even half past nine yet. As she neared the recreational area the tree density increased and the brisk autumn breeze whipped up, howling through their branches. She hurried along a little faster. Jeez it feels like winter’s arrived already, how this country’s climate can change overnight beats me.

  Her footsteps picked up even more quickly as she consoled herself with the knowledge it wasn’t too much further. At least there would be the comfort of finding out some more about Jason, after all that was what she’d been trying to do the previous night.

  Just as the roundabout, swings and slide came into view beside the huge oak trees her mobile bleeped. She dug it out of her pocket and read the text.

  Sorry I’ll be a little late

  Please wait by the bench

  Jenny

  Molly sighed heavily, snapped the lid shut and dropped it back in her pocket. As she sat down on the bench beneath the massive old trees, she felt something cold and wet on her cheek. Looking up into the dark sky the rain plopped selfishly onto her hair, slipping in and out of her carefully created waves that hung past her shoulders. Great! That’s all I need – and no umbrella or hood on this jacket either – typical! She hunched crossly into the collar even more. At that precise moment, Molly couldn’t possibly have known that the classic Cumbrian weather was the least of her worries…

  Jenny Flood tensed in his arms and waited for the final thrust. When it
came, the experience was not new to her, but as always it was exceptional, as satisfying for her as much as it was for him. Her whole body shuddered violently, clinging on to him, not just with the ecstasy of it, but with the relief he was there with her, and not with another woman. For a selfish bastard like Miles, one might have thought his consideration relatively lacking in the bedroom, but in truth his vanity would never have allowed that, and anyway, not with Jenny, never ever with her.

  He fell back onto the once crisp hotel sheets, panting with the exertion of their lovemaking, but still he covered her hand with his, stroking it affectionately. Something she recalled he’d always done, so they remained connected – to let her know he loved her, let her know she was different from the others.

  “I’ve missed you Jen, you know that don’t you?” He squeezed her hand now, reassuringly, reaffirming that memory. She was quiet at first, thinking how best to answer this, knowing full well he’d almost certainly been bed-hopping ever since their break up. Realistically, he could have left Charlotte for her six years ago, at any time during their three-year affair – but he didn’t. Miles would never commit to anything that would risk his slice of a massive inheritance. Money always came first. She turned over on her side and watched him lying there, tiny beads of sweat glistening across his forehead.

  “I’ve missed you too darling,” she breathed huskily – then added, “More than anyone.” She kissed his cheek gently, then immediately slipped naked from between the sheets and disappeared into the luxury bathroom. Jenny didn’t want to be questioned over who ‘anyone’ might be, particularly as it was a reference to anyone else who might have missed Miles, rather than any guy she might have missed from her past. Let him think he’s the main man, she thought – which of course sadly for her, he was.