Blood List

by Ali Carter

  She picked up her suit jacket and purse, walked out of her office and headed down the corridor towards her husband’s. The door was ajar and the back of his soft leather chair faced her as she stood in the entrance.

  “Gareth?” Silence. She remained on the threshold, preferred to wait there instead of going up to him. He knew she would and waited, the chair stayed in its reverse position. Emily sighed impatiently and walked smartly across the soft wool carpet to the front of the desk. He sensed her closeness, detected her light citrus perfume… Gareth Stone swung the chair round slowly to face her and sat resignedly, patiently, knowingly.

  “Emily?” He questioned back, his eyes pleaded and waited for an explanation of her current reticent behaviour. Gareth knew the chances he would actual get one of course were nigh on zero. He’d still not questioned her fully, kept putting it off in the hope it was no more than a hormonal blip, that despite everything she was still committed to their marriage… and hadn’t started seeing someone. Emily held his gaze and took a deep breath;

  “Gareth, I’m meeting Faithe for a quick bite to eat at the little Mexican place on 4th, couple of hours of girly catch up, you know? God knows I could do with a break, it’s been full on this month.” Her words spilled out quickly, easily, too easily, tumbled one upon the other without much care. Why didn’t he believe her? “I won’t be late home, nine-thirty, ten maybe, okay?” And why was his heart jumping, pounding as if it would shoot upwards, burst right into his throat and stop him from speaking – breathing even? His eyes dropped to the desk looked at nothing at all in particular as his hands shuffled a few papers about before he brought his gaze back up to meet hers.

  “That’s fine Em it’s… fine…” it didn’t feel fine… he waved a hand in the air to demonstrate just how ‘fine’ it wasn’t. “No problem I’ll… grab a pizza or something.” She dipped her head in quiet acknowledgement and half-turned to leave before turning back to face him. She managed a weak hesitant smile, an expression worn so often with him lately that it had become almost permanent. She spoke softly, coaxingly…

  “Tomorrow – we’ll have dinner together tomorrow. I’ll cook something special, okay? Her husband returned her tentative smile with a gentle one of his own, the one that said; but you still won’t really talk to me about what’s troubling you, will you – and it still won’t make anything any better, will it?

  His voice said:- “Sure sweetheart, that’ll be great – I’ll look forward to it.” They both knew what their smiles actually meant, and as Emily walked from his office, Gareth made a decision. The following day must be the day he discovered what was eating into the heart of his very beautiful, but very distant wife.

  Emily took the elevator to the ground floor alone, and trance watched the orange light flick past each level. The manicured nails of her free right hand the only sound as they tapped anxiously against the metal of the wall behind her.

  She felt guilty, she always felt guilty when Gareth was unhappy, looked lost, concerned, obviously worried about them as a couple. Emily did love her husband, he was a good kind man, a wonderful caring partner, gave her more financially than she could have ever thought possible – but she wasn’t in love with him. She couldn’t have wanted for more, she knew that, but still there was that… that something missing. Something she had felt once a very long time ago, something she couldn’t let go of, something she would never forget and never feel again. Like a Terrier with a bone, her past had always been there to haunt her – taunt her, and tomorrow at dinner he would press for some answers, answers she could not, dared not give him. Somehow she’d have to stall him long enough to… her ride reached the ground floor with that slight ‘bounce back’, and she was jolted out of the one-way conversation in her head.

  She stepped briskly from the elevator and quickly snapped out of her reflective mood. With a lift of her chin, Emily Stone crime editor adopted a more positive expression, the one worn for her public. She smoothed imaginary creases from her jacket, marched across the marbled reception and disappeared through the revolving doors into the throng of an early Manhattan evening.

  In a quiet corner of Pepe’s, Emily sat in front of a ‘Chicken Fajita Salad’ for one. She sipped at the second glass of chilled white Prosecco and studied the room over its rim. It was a Thursday and the Mexican restaurant was still pretty empty, too early to have filled up just yet, which is exactly why she’d come straight from work.

  She replaced the glass on the table and flicked the screen on her mobile to locate the number. As it connected, Emily checked her watch. It would be 11pm there and she would either be in bed, hopefully not alone – or out somewhere. Either way she needed to be with him – and regularly. It hadn’t been easy to accept that part of the plan, but it was necessary nevertheless and although dangerous, there was no other way. Anyhow, although she felt uncomfortable, it’d never been about the sex for her.

  A voice answered, it sounded tense:-

  “Hi, I’m glad you’ve called.”

  “How are you? Do you have any more news for me?”

  “Things are hotting up over here Emily, and I don’t just mean with her. I’m not sure how much more of this I can take – it’s doing my head in.”

  “Why? What’s happened since we last spoke? You have to hang in there, it has to be completed!”

  “Another murder, everyone has been questioned since the first one, and not just by the police.”

  “What do you mean, not just by the police?” She whispered now as one or two people had started coming through the door for an early meal.

  “There’s this guy he –” there was a hurried rustle of bed clothes – “Hold on –” Emily heard a door close. “Sorry about that just being careful, I don’t want to be overheard.”

  “You’re not on your own then, is he –?”

  “No, no, not tonight, he’s got a dinner and dance thing on with her.”

  “Who’s questioning you? You said that –”

  “Yeah, some guy at work – thinks he’s Columbo or something, it’s got very uncomfortable Em.”

  “How clever is he? At digging and discovering I mean?”

  “Actually, not that great, which is the only saving grace, but he could hit home at any time by pure accident, you know? Throw enough balls in the air and he’s bound to catch one or two isn’t he?”

  “Hmmm… just be careful then. Your job is to make damned sure she’s put under enough pressure she falls apart completely – makes an irreversible mistake. At the moment she’s crazy, but still in that shrewd, controlled auto-pilot mood thing she does so well.” Emily’s eyes narrowed in pure hatred then, and as she scanned the room quickly hissed into the phone; “I want her destroyed!”

  “I’ll be seeing him tomorrow night and again on the weekend. I just hope she doesn’t follow him to me Emily, I’m taking a massive risk here and if –”

  “I know I know… look – just keep something with you at all times, for protection I mean just in case. You can’t get a gun easily over there, not without arousing suspicion, but – a knife? You can get a knife.”

  “Already do!” The woman caught her breath in a nervous laugh. “Look, I need to get some sleep if I’m to be on form tomorrow. I’ll catch up with you at the weekend, and ermm… Emily –” she paused long enough to give the impression what was to follow would not be well received, – “I know it wasn’t part of the plan but I…” Emily could sense what was coming next, her stomach tensed; she did not want to hear it…

  “I have to go,” she threw back quickly; “I’m meeting someone and I’m already late – we’ll speak again on Saturday.” Emily stabbed at the red icon abruptly, cut off the words she didn’t want spoken and leant back heavily into her chair. She stared hard at the cell phone in her hand. Love could not, must not come back into this. It was why she, Emily, had waited… allowed enough time to move on, move from hurt to anger,
from love to revenge – waited this long in order to be ready.

  The chicken fajita suddenly looked very unappetizing. She took another large gulp of wine, chucked some dollars on to the table, got up and walked out of the restaurant.

  Earlier Gareth Stone had looked at his pizza with much the same interest which was why it now lay at the bottom of the bin.

  Alone in the lounge of their Bay Ridge home, he’d poured himself a generous measure of Jack Daniels. It had been cradled in his hands for ten minutes as he sat deep in thought on the edge of the sofa. He looked down at the whiskey and wondered what would happen next – because it could, would, affect everything. If he drank it, it would be the first he’d had in fifteen years – his battle with booze had been a long hard one… an ongoing one. Alcoholism was not pretty or healthy.

  It swirled around in the crystal glass as he glanced up at their wedding photo above the fireplace. His eyes glistened, blurred out her white Angelo creation as the rich aroma filled his nostrils. He hesitated for a second more – then in one swift move the whiskey was warmly caressing his throat…

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Cumbria, UK

  The annual dinner dance in aid of the Kirkdale Children’s Foundation was an obligatory must. Miles and Charlotte always attended but it was one event he could have really done without this year. However, he was there as usual and now stood at the bar in the hallway just outside the Wordsworth room in the Grange Hotel. He was also in a reflective mood.

  Miles was more than happy to donate money to needy kids; he would’ve liked some of his own if Charlotte had been able to have them, but she couldn’t and had refused all other routes to achieve motherhood. That fact had always saddened him, even though he’d tried to suppress it and hide his feelings from her. Maybe a son or daughter, or both, would have kept him from falling into other women’s beds, although even he knew he couldn’t make that an excuse for his bad behaviour… or frankly, guarantee it would’ve made much difference. It just seemed to be in his blood.

  He wasn’t overly keen on these events, particularly that night when he could have been elsewhere with someone special, someone very special. However, it wasn’t all bad news, this year was a nineties theme so apart from requests mostly music from his era, the food was classy for once, and thankfully every person allotted to their table was under sixty. In addition, the evening so far, had proved highly rewarding.

  Whilst he leant on the bar to wait for drinks, his eyes scanned the tables once again as he searched for the leggy blonde tightly hugged in deep turquoise. He’d noticed her return from the hallway during dinner and zoned straight in on her perfect poise and fabulous figure. If Charlotte had been aware of his evening’s ‘discovery’ then she’d not made any comment so far…

  Frustratingly, Miles couldn’t see Ms. Turquoise anywhere; what he could now see during his detailed sweep of the room, however, was his wife’s poker-hot blistering glare. Seething from her seat at their dinner table, she looked decidedly explosive. He raised both eyebrows and smiled confidently back as if it was her he’d been looking for since he’d left to get the wine – of course they both knew this wasn’t true. He gave a brief wave and mouthed the unnecessary; ‘Red?’ She responded by turning to look massively interested in a group of large cheese plants… Lucky for Miles his drinks were put in front of him at that point and the tension was temporarily shelved.

  He paid the barman and picked up the two huge glasses of Merlot. As he turned to head back to the table, the size zero turquoise walked purposefully across his line of vision, she too had noticed him earlier. He couldn’t help but give out a smile that said he hadn’t been ‘fed’ in ages, but a glance at Charlotte realised anything further was quite futile, not to mention financial suicide. She sat stony-faced now as her eyes watched him like a hawk, and her chin rested on bridged hands as she dared him to step out of line.

  Their six dinner companions, who were really no more than annual acquaintances, hadn’t been able to engage her in much conversation since Miles left for the bar. Due to the awkward silence that had arisen, some had already got up to socialise elsewhere.

  Ms. Turquoise caught his flash of appreciation and smiled right back at him. She briefly dipped her eyes beneath her blonde fringe, before shiny even blonder waves were tossed over her shoulder and down a bare spray-tanned back. She also made full use of freshly glossed apricot lips as she continued on past – this one knew exactly the effect she delivered, thought Miles. He was surely hooked, but his attention was inevitably brought back to his ‘watcher’, and he quickly headed across the hall into the function room towards his table, and his wife.

  The nineties tribute band had started to play and he wondered if it would encourage her onto the dance floor, he thought a mix of hits from their early years might loosen her up a bit.

  “Okay sweetheart?” He placed Charlotte’s wine in front of her and offered a nervous smile at their few remaining diners. They smiled uncomfortably back at him.

  “Fine darling – thank you,” she replied crisply. Her steel shot eyes couldn’t have sent him a clearer message. Miles at least had the good grace to flush at his planned indiscretion and at the same time pretended to fuss over her. She accepted his arm around her shoulders and a light peck on the cheek as their last few dinner companions mumbled something about dancing and left them to it.

  They sat in awkward silence and listened to the music for a few minutes. It felt odd just the two of them sat alone at such a large empty table, although in some ways thought Miles, it aptly reflected their marriage. The music had slowed to a sultry romantic tune and he decided he really ought to take Charlotte onto the dance floor to try and ‘reassure’ her. Somewhere deep down he did care for his wife, although had to admit that some of that was due to her predicted substantial inheritance… particularly as she was the sole beneficiary. It was just that women seemed naturally attracted to him, a lot of very beautiful young women, and he found it so very difficult to say no. This ‘affliction’ was not easy to live with, keeping one step ahead of Charlotte was even harder. She was incredibly intelligent, very shrewd and he’d been caught out more than once. Suddenly his thoughts were interrupted…

  “I’m just going to the ladies Miles I won’t be long,” said Charlotte curtly. He could just make out her words above the music and squeezed her shoulder as he removed his arm. The song’s lyrics increased to a crescendo and he mouthed back;

  “Okay, see you in a moment.”

  As if she were kept in a completely different mental compartment that he could conveniently change gear and shift over to, his mind immediately switched to Jenny. They had planned two nights together that weekend and he had yet to work on a realistic excuse. It was getting harder and harder to find workable reasons to be away from home overnight, but Jenny was extra special and somehow he would come up with something.

  In reality, to revive their affair was utter madness. It had been six years since they’d last seen each other and he’d made his choice back then. He should have left the past where it belonged but since her unexpected arrival in Kirkdale he was drawn right back to the beginning again, and it had been his intention to see her as often as possible. He’d genuinely missed her, and had only ended it to safeguard his share of Charlotte’s massive inheritance. Much as he had adored Jenny, he could not live his life without the prospect of a very great deal of money.

  The move from sprawling Bradenthorpe back to his small hometown of Kirkdale had been at Charlotte’s insistence, a last chance for him and their marriage. Miles had to admit he’d been more than a little surprised the day Jenny had turned up out of the blue and walked into the leisure centre cafeteria. Since then they’d met up regularly, he’d enjoyed every minute of their renewed relationship and tried to condense those lost six years into the last few weeks in the hope of making it up to her. Yet despite all that… even Jenny wasn’t enough for him.

  As h
e racked his brains to think of something believable to tell Charlotte as to why he would be away that weekend, Ms. Turquoise walked directly up to the table and stood closely in front of him. His eyes began to drink up every inch of her soft young skin, from her painted toes in silver jewelled sandals, to the lobes of her ears where neat little diamonds nestled erotically. He was completely captivated. Jenny was well and truly back in her compartment…

  “Would you like to dance? I’m a very very good dancer,” she purred with a quick flick of her shiny blue hips in time to the music to demonstrate just how good she was. Miles felt that familiar feeling stir deep and low; and with all thoughts of Jenny now boxed, shot a quick glance towards the large open doors that led to the hallway. Charlotte would be a few minutes yet he reasoned; hair and make-up would need to be checked – he might just get away with it.

  Under normal circumstances most women might not have minded if their husbands danced with someone else, but Charlotte was not like most women. As a couple they were different; they had always been different – and they always would be different. Jenny was now in the far recesses of his mind; he smiled wickedly, took the girl’s hand and pulled her onto the dance floor.

  She watched their bodies blend and move together in time to the love song. His fingers stroked the small of her perfectly tanned back, then slowly returned to her shoulders to caress them, to pull her close to him; their eyes glued to each other, their lips barely a breath apart…

  Charlotte held on fast to the architrave of the doorway for support; she felt sick, she could taste the salmon as it repeated over and over again, the entire meal threatening to decorate the plush red carpet beneath her Vera Wang heels. To see it, to actually witness it, to watch him prepare the way for his later seduction was just too painful; each movement, each beat of the music was like a surgeon’s knife expertly filleting its way around her already damaged heart.