Blood Loss

by Kerena Swan

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ I eventually say. ‘You must have something to talk about.’

  ‘How about you begin the conversation with an apology for stealing my fiancé?’

  I’d rather chew a slug than kiss that knob-head again but we’re here to heal our rift for Mum so I keep the thought to myself. ‘I was drunk, Lucy, and he kissed me. I don’t want your boyfriend. If anyone needs to say sorry, it’s you.’

  ‘I didn’t scare your bloody horse, Jenna, and I’m hurt you think I would.’

  ‘I feel hurt you think I’d make a pass at your boyfriend. It was your jacket.’

  ‘There must be thousands of light blue jackets in the country.’

  ‘But why wouldn’t you say where you’d been that afternoon? You were really cagey when I asked you.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter now. We’re here to talk about Mum,’ she says, claiming the moral high ground.

  Lay on the guilt, why don’t you? ‘I know, but if we’re here to sort out our differences, this is important. Where were you?’

  Lucy sighs and glances at the elderly couple on the next table who are sharing a huge slice of chocolate cake. She runs her finger through spilt sugar, gathering it into a neat little pile. She won’t look at me.

  ‘I was shopping.’

  ‘Why is that a big secret?’

  ‘Because I told Mum we’re saving hard for a house, and if she knows I was out buying a new outfit she’d be disappointed.’

  ‘You’re an adult. You can buy whatever you like.’

  ‘You don’t understand. I’ve told her I’m only wearing clothes I already own for the next year because Ellis and I are saving hard and I want to do my bit for the planet.’

  Wow. Lucy has been telling porkies.

  ‘You’re not the only person around here who cares about the environment, you know,’ she adds. Trust Lucy to turn it into a competition.

  ‘Why do you always have to be so perfect in Mum and Dad’s eyes?’ I say, then realise my mistake as Lucy looks stricken.

  I swallow, trying not to let my emotions get the better of me. ‘Sorry. It’s hard not saying Mum and Dad.’

  For a moment the incident with Merlin recedes to the back of my mind. I hate to see Lucy upset. I want to run around the table and hug her but she’d only push me away. I would have expected Dad’s death to bring us closer together but somehow it hasn’t. Maybe it’s because we grieve in different ways. My emotions are on display for all to see whereas Lucy keeps hers locked securely away in the equivalent of a safety deposit box in a bank vault.

  ‘What’s wrong with Mum?’ Lucy asks. ‘You told me on the phone that you’d ask Grace about what Mum said.’

  ‘She’s had some pain and the doctor is sending her for a scan on Tuesday. Grace seems quite upset by it.’

  ‘She hasn’t been working for Mum for long but they’ve grown quite close. Did you know Grace’s mum died when she was fifteen?’

  ‘God! How awful.’ No wonder she likes being with Mum. ‘Is her Dad still alive?’

  ‘I didn’t like to ask. You do realise you’ll have to put your travel plans on hold until we know what’s wrong with Mum? She might need you.’

  ‘Of course I bloody well realise it. I’m not that selfish!’

  ‘You are sometimes, Jenna.’

  ‘You just have to criticise, don’t you?’ The moment of conciliation is well and truly over. Ruined by Lucy, of course. I stand up because this conversation is a total waste of time. ‘I’ve got to go. I’ll see you around.’

  ‘Are you sure you’ll be able to travel alone anyway?’ Lucy asks, still goading me, her mean little eyes pure poison.

  At this moment it’s all too easy to believe she spooked Merlin deliberately.

  ‘You’re not as independent as you like to think,’ she continues. ‘I don’t know how you’d cope if Mum wasn’t looking after you – paying the bills, doing your washing and buying your food. I’ve worked hard for everything I’ve got, but you’ve been totally spoilt. Does Grace tidy your room for you too?’

  ‘Fuck off, Lucy,’ I say, eliciting a shake of the head from the man on the next table, and with that I leave the shop.

  She always manages to burrow under my skin like scabies. I know she's right about me still living at home rent free, but I’ve not had much luck at getting jobs that pay above minimum wage. I work long hours for little pay. It’s hard when I don’t have the same academic ability as Lucy.

  I drive home too fast and the gravel spits on the driveway as I stop. I won’t let her get to me. Of course I’m able to look after myself. Mum said it was okay for me not to pay towards household expenses while I’m saving up to travel. On my way through the utility room, I look again for the blue jacket. I rummage through the various coats and hoodies. What? There it is, under my thick Parka. I’m sure it wasn’t there before. It was this jacket I saw in the wood. It was definitely Lucy who waved the carrier bag to spook Merlin.

  Chapter 23

  The Previous March | DI Paton

  Paton was at his desk by eight to read through the reports from his team. Wendy was feeling better and coping with life again. He was grateful it had been a short episode this time but his good mood at her improvement was short-lived when he saw the reports. He was disappointed to read that the police were unable to use data from the DNA ancestry websites without a court order and there would need to be a strong case for the judge to consent to one. Paton tried to console himself with the interesting information Cheryl had gleaned from Robert Nash’s wife. Apparently, he’d been making regular trips to Manchester over the past eight weeks as he was negotiating the takeover of a small coffee shop chain. It sounded a long time for one negotiation but Paton didn’t know enough about that line of work to judge. He might take a trip down there and ask a few questions of the owners. He was about to check the journey time on Google Maps when Mitchell stopped by his desk.

  Paton looked up and, before Mitchell could speak, asked, ‘Have you interviewed Nash’s employer yet about the projects he’s working on?’

  Mitchell opened his mouth then closed it again. He shifted his feet. ‘I’ve spoken to him on the phone but I need to go and see him. Will you approve my expenses for the trip?’

  ‘Okay, so what have you been doing?’

  ‘We’ve checked CCTV at Glasgow airport and Nash was seen getting into a taxi.’ Mitchell spoke quickly, his face now animated with excitement. ‘We noted the number plate and showed his photograph to the driver. He remembered him because Nash gave him a generous tip and apologised for the short journey. Nash wanted to be dropped at a small hotel in Paisley.’

  ‘Good work.’ Paton’s stomach fizzed as another clue to the puzzle brought them closer to the suspect. This was what made his job worthwhile. ‘Any CCTV at the hotel?’

  ‘Sorry, boss. There wasn’t.’

  Paton’s smile wavered until he realised Mitchell was grinning. ‘But there’s a car showroom opposite with top notch security that covers the street outside the hotel entrance,’ Mitchell explained. ‘They’ve sent over the recording and Tony has watched most of it. He’s been here all night. The camera caught Nash arriving in the taxi. Tony’s got the recording paused at the bit where Nash is leaving the hotel again. We thought you’d want to see it with us.’

  Paton jumped up and hurried into the next office where Tony sat at a computer. He clapped his hand on Tony’s shoulder. ‘Thanks for waiting.’

  The three of them stared at the grainy screen as Nash left the hotel and stood by the roadside. He had his phone to his ear.

  ‘Mitchell, make a note to check the details of all calls made from his PAYG phone at or around…’ Paton leaned forward to read the time on the screen: 19.18. ‘We’ll be able to find out the number of the phone he was calling and all the locations where it’s been used from the cell site analysis.’

  Two minutes later, a small silver car pulled up and Nash got in. Bingo! Paton peered at the driver but he or she was invisible be
hind the glare of the showroom lights reflecting on the car windows. The car number plate wasn’t visible either as the angle of the camera had allowed only a narrow view of the scene, too narrow to record the car’s approach or departure but only it’s momentary presence, sideways to the lens. They groaned in unison and leaned back, disappointed. Tony puffed out his cheeks and rubbed his reddened eyes.

  ‘Don’t be too disheartened, Tony,’ Paton said. ‘We could see that the car was a silver Fiesta so we can check silver Fiestas on other cameras in the area on the morning of the murder and on the day of this recording. My hunch is that the killer will have been heading for the motorway. The ANPR cameras might give us more. Go home and get some sleep.’

  An hour later, Mitchell told Paton he had checked the list of vehicles joining the motorway at the junction closest to the murder scene. There were two silver Fiestas. He made a note of the number plates and owners’ details and handed it to Paton who decided to question the owners himself even though he usually delegated the task. He could do with some time out of the office to think.

  Paton enjoyed the drive to the small town of Aberfeldy. The gently sloping hills and trees along the banks of the river Tay soothed his busy mind. He found the row of houses with their brown pebbledash exteriors easily enough, but where were the front doors? He eventually knocked on a door at the back and was greeted by a middle-aged woman with dyed black hair wearing a blue overall with The Home Team embroidered on it. Paton introduced himself and explained his visit.

  ‘I look after older people in the community,’ she said, after she’d confirmed she owned the car in question. ‘I’d have been travelling from one customer to the next. My employer has an electronic rostering and monitoring system so it can verify where I was.’

  The shine of the day dulled a little but Paton thanked her and took the details of her employer to confirm her story.

  Paton drove on to the next address and saw a silver car on the drive. The front door was answered by a hairless, small-framed man in a cardigan and leather slippers. When Paton showed his ID card the little man called over his shoulder.

  ‘Ethel. Get the kettle on, we’ve got company.’ His face was as bright as a sunflower as he invited Paton in. Clearly they didn’t get many visitors. ‘And get the Jaffa Cakes out, love. We’ll have a treat.’

  Despite the warm hospitality, Paton couldn’t deny the taste of disappointment as he drove away. Ethel and Ted went everywhere together and both could verify where the other had been that day. Paton knew he was missing something. Think, man, think.

  He drove back towards Perth on autopilot. What if the killer had tried to outwit the police and changed direction after they’d driven out of the lane by the lodge? Not got on the motorway at all or at least not at the nearest junction? Paton had a hunch the killer was heading south. Robert Nash spent a lot of time in Manchester in the weeks leading up to his death. Maybe he met a woman there and started an affair.

  They needed to check all roads in the vicinity which had cameras, but first Paton was going to tell Mitchell to check the next junction of the motorway.

  Chapter 24

  March | Sarah

  ‘What do you think? Lovely, isn’t she?’ Mum’s neighbour, Derek, rubs his hands together and licks his lips, his eyes barely leaving my chest.

  He’s such a loser when it comes to women and I suppress a shudder of revulsion as I think about what I’ll have to do later to pay for this car. It’s not something I want to do, but it’s better than being caught and going to prison. Anyway, it’s not like I’m anyone special. This won’t be the first time I’ve had to resort to sexual favours to get what I need and besides, isn’t it what women in relationships all over the country are doing? All over the world, even? Wives, included?

  We’re standing on an apron of concrete outside a row of garages on an estate in Bletchley. The wind cuts through my clothes and throws my hair in my face. I’m staring at a black Fiat Punto on a 2004 plate. It looks clean enough but I know only too well that external appearances can be deceiving. It’s the stuff under the bonnet that matters.

  ‘It’s only got 80,000 miles on the clock,’ Derek says. ‘A nice little runner. You’ll have no trouble with it.’

  ‘What about number plates? I don’t want this one traced back to me.’ I wave an arm at my silver Fiesta. How close are the police to tracking it near the scene of the crime? Have they traced Robert to Paisley? Trawled through hours of CCTV and ANPR data? I close my eyes as a wave of nausea and fear threatens to expel my breakfast.

  ‘I can sort that. Easy. Shall we shake on it?’

  He holds out a grubby hand and I take it reluctantly. It’s clammy and I have to fight the urge to wipe my fingers clean afterwards. God, I’ll need a scalding hot shower after paying my debt later. I’m not sure I’m even getting a good deal. My Fiesta is better and newer than this one.

  For a moment I hesitate and my heart argues with my head. I don’t think I can do this. The price is too high. But I can’t take the risk of my Fiesta being tracked from Scotland. I’ve already kept the car too long. My head wins. I really don’t have any other option. I fish my Fiesta key out of my pocket and hold out my hand for the key to the Fiat.

  ‘Oh no.’ Derek’s smile is cold. ‘Payment first, exchange tomorrow.’

  ‘I’m only paying once.’

  ‘Of course, Sarah! Of course. I’m not asking for more.’

  When I get home the DNA paternity kit is on the mat. I scoop it up, grateful Mum hasn’t seen the post and wondered what is in the grey plastic bag, and shut myself in my bedroom, my heart fluttering with excitement. I read through the instructions and am surprised to learn that the laboratory strongly recommends that a sample of the mother’s saliva is included when submitting the home DNA test. This is to greatly increase the chance of obtaining a conclusive result. I slide the kit under my pillow. I’ll deal with that later.

  Right now, I need to find something sexy to wear for Mark. I rummage through my wardrobe and drawers, my frustration increasing as I realise I have nothing decent. In the end I settle for a pair of black jeans and a tight red vest top, grateful that I haven’t gained weight in the ten years since I bought them. In fact, they’re a bit loose. I’m probably shedding weight from all the stress. I find a short black jacket that has seen better days then apply a layer of make-up. The bruising around my eyes has faded to green and yellow, and is easier to cover now. Mark hasn’t mentioned it so the concealer must have done its job.

  The restaurant is small and intimate, and the menu pleasingly different. We choose several dishes to share and a cocktail each. It feels strange to be dating someone who knows my dodgy family history. I have no need to pretend I’m someone else. The conversation is light and friendly, but I can tell by the occasional lengthy pauses that he wants to ask me about my dad.

  ‘Do you ever visit him?’ he asks eventually. ‘Your dad, I mean.’

  ‘Nope, and I never will.’

  ‘What about your mum? Does she see him?’

  ‘She’s never sober enough. Why would we want to see the man who made our lives a misery? We were glad to see the back of him.’

  ‘Was he violent towards you?’ Mark looks at me, his eyes full of compassion.

  Well, I think it’s compassion. Maybe it’s just morbid curiosity. He lifts his hand and moves it towards mine then changes his mind as the waiter appears with more small plates of food. Once he’s left, Mark picks up his cutlery and smiles at me.

  I spear a garlic prawn and eat it. Hopefully, if I consume enough of them, Derek won’t try to kiss me later. The food is delicious. We share roasted peppers, chicken skewers and a bean salad, and the conversation turns to talking about people we’d known at school and old favourite bands.

  ‘He was violent,’ I say suddenly. ‘Dad, I mean, or perhaps I should call him John. More to Mum than me. He mostly looked through me as though I wasn’t there. I heard him once telling his mate that I was a big disappointment to hi
m and I thought it was because he wanted a son. It was only recently I realised that wasn’t the real reason.’

  Mark listens avidly but doesn’t interrupt my flow of words.

  ‘He punched that man, Colin, and killed him, because he thought Mum had been having an affair with him going back years. I’ve realised he also thought I was Colin’s daughter, not his, which is why he never showed me any love.’

  ‘Do you think you’re Colin’s daughter?’ Mark asks.

  ‘Maybe. I think Mum did have an affair but she’s too weak to admit it. She was certainly cut up about Colin. She’s always liked a drink but I don’t think she’s been sober since he died.’

  ‘That’s understandable though, isn’t it? Her husband was the one who killed him.’

  ‘I suppose. Anyway, I’ve written to John and he’s agreed to take a paternity test. I’ll know the results in a couple of days’ time.’

  ‘How will that help?’

  ‘I’m not entirely sure, but if I’m not my dad’s child, I hope I’ll be able to understand why he treated me the way he did. And if I am his child, I hope I’ll be more sympathetic to Mum’s drinking. Imagine being accused for twenty years of a sin you haven’t committed and having the shit kicked out of you for it? It would drive anyone to drink.’

  ‘Why didn’t she leave?’ Mark asks.

  I frown. I don’t know why she stayed. ‘Perhaps he was all she had and she didn’t have the means to leave.’

  ‘What about you, Sarah? You said you’ve just left a difficult relationship.’

  Mark’s digging too deep now. I don’t want to talk about past boyfriends. ‘He wasn’t the man I thought he was,’ I say. ‘Shall we order dessert? I need to leave soon. I’ve got a dog to see to.’