Blood on the Cards

by Chris O'Donoghue

  BLOOD ON THE CARDS

  Chris O’Donoghue

  A DI Sonny Russell Mystery

  Chris O’Donoghue 2020

  All Rights reserved

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  First published in Great Britain by Chris O’Donoghue.

  Edited by Greer Harris

  Cover design by Paul Harwood

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 1

  The Tarot began as playing cards. In the late 18th century, some Tarot packs began to be used for divination and, later, specialist decks were developed for such occult purposes.

  DETECTIVE INSPECTOR Sonny Russell climbed the short flight of steps up to the gaily painted gypsy caravan. It was a bowtop wagon with intricately carved and decorated woodwork. Reaching the platform at the top he pushed the beaded curtain to one side, the glass spheres rattling against one another. After the bright sunshine outside, the interior was gloomy; just a single oil lamp burned, the smoky glass globe softening the darkness. As the policeman’s eyes acclimatised he could make out a figure seated at a small cloth-covered table.

  ‘Come in and sit down here, dearie,’ she said. The sound of her gruff and nicotine tinged voice made him start. ‘I’ve been expecting you.’

  Russell walked forward, pulled the stool out and sat opposite her. ‘Miss Lee?’

  She cackled. ‘You can call me Ivy Rose.’ Then reaching forward she demanded: ‘Show me your hands.’ Without considering he held them out. The woman grasped them in her own gnarled hands which were tipped with sharp, talon-like nails. Deftly flipping them over, she stared hard at the palms. ‘Mmm. You’ve a very long lifeline, but…’ She bent forward, her face almost touching his palms, the fringes on her headscarf tickling his wrists. ‘But, there are some significant events.’ She looked up; her dark eyes seeming to burn as she stared at him. ‘Something happened in your recent past – something unexpected and painful. Am I right?’ The disturbing eyes bored into him.

  ‘Maybe…’ His answer was non-committal but he felt an icy trickle of sweat rolled down between his shoulder blades.

  ‘Thought so.’ She gave a smug smile, as if she’d scored a point. ‘This other line…’ She traced it with the stained nail of her index finger. ‘It suggests something momentous. Something that has just happened or is about to happen.’ Russell shrugged. She pushed his hands away. ‘Let’s see what the cards have to say.’ Reaching into the folds of her clothing she produced a small package wrapped in a velvet cloth. Reverently she unfolded the fabric to reveal a deck of Tarot cards. She pushed them towards him. ‘Shuffle them, please.’ He picked them up and did as she’d asked, then passed them back. Smoothing the cloth out flat she turned the first five cards over.

  The five of Wands

  The Hanged Man

  The Knight of Swords

  The Hermit

  The Tower

  The old woman stared intently at the cards for some minutes. Slowly she lifted her gaze and transferred it to Russell. ‘Why did you come to see me?’

  ‘I was curious.’

  ‘Hmm.’ She looked back down at the cards then adjusted them so they were perfectly in line.

  ‘What do they say?’

  ‘Ah, now there’s a thing…’

  ‘You came highly recommended.’

  ‘Of course I did. That goes without saying.’

  ‘So can you tell me?’

  ‘I can. But I’m not sure how much help they will be, in your present situation.’

  ‘Tell me anyway.’

  She breathed in and exhaled noisily. ‘Right. You hold a position of responsibility, yes?’

  Russell nodded.

  ‘This card,’ she tapped the Five of Wands, ‘shows me your determination. The next, The Hanged Man…’ She paused and looked at him again for long moments. ‘Interesting. Most people are alarmed. You’ve remained calm. Anyway, it doesn’t necessarily mean anything bad, and taken with the other cards, it suggests that you’re good at letting go, maybe turning everything upside down in search of the truth.’ Russell gave a wry smile. ‘It’s confirmed by the next card.’ She tapped the Knight of Swords. Again she paused and looked intently at him. ‘You’re a loner by nature, aren’t you?’ He gave a nod. She covered the next card, The Hermit, with the palm of her hand and grunted. ‘This one confirms it. But the last card is curious. The Tower usually refers to accidents and losses. Have you had either of those lately?’

  He nodded again. ‘An accident, yes. But not serious.’

  ‘I think you should be very careful,’ she said slowly. Picking up the cards she returned them to the pack and folded it neatly in the velvet cloth. ‘But you didn’t come to see me about work, did you, Mr Policeman?’

  Russell’s eyes widened. ‘How did you know I’m a policeman?’

  She smiled, gold glinting in her mouth, and tapped the side of her nose. ‘Anyway, what did you come here for? It’s about a woman, isn’t it?’

  Russell decided he wanted to hear no more. He cleared his throat and rose from his stool. ‘I’ve taken enough of your time.’

  She cackled again. ‘You’ll be lucky in love – eventually.’ Her tone changed. ‘Haven’t you forgotten something?’

  Russell turned and reached in his pocket. ‘Sorry,’ he said, and placed two half-crowns on the table. Quick as a flash she covered them with her hand and pulled them towards her.

  After leaving he wandered round for a while – not going anywhere in particular, just turning over in his mind what she’d told him – trying to make sense of it. He’d experienced something unnerving. Her insight felt as if she knew more about him than he thought she decently should. It was as though his soul had been bared – well, perhaps not his soul but certainly his innermost thoughts. After half an hour of aimless meandering, and still uncertain about what she had meant, he found himself back at the foot of her steps. He hesitated briefly then made up his mind. He would ask her to explain – get his five bob’s worth. As he was about to climb the steps again the beaded curtain was thrust aside with a loud clatter and the figure of a large man barrelled down the stairs, knocking him aside. Before Russell could react the man had disappeared out of sight between the vans. He shook his head – an unhappy customer presumably. He hesitated but before he had a change of heart he went ahead up to the caravan.

  He was just about to push the curtain aside when a voice barked out: ‘Go away! I told you – I don’t want to see you again!’

  ‘Pardon?’ Russell said mildly.

  ‘Oh it’s you.’ Her voice lost a little of its harshness. ‘Sorry dearie. I’m closed for the day. Something’s come up. You’ll have to come back another time.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘I said come back another time.’ There was a quake in her voice as she gave him a gentle push and pulled the door closed.

&nbs
p; -0-

  He had gone in to see the woman on a whim. He wasn’t sure what he was going to ask but for the first time, for as long as he could remember, he felt he was entering into a romantic liaison – a relationship perhaps. It was completely out of character to seek advice from a fortune teller but he felt out of his depth. The object of his affections, Isobel Bailey, had been in hospital after being shot in the shoulder by a Frenchman who had been holding her hostage. He had been trying to fence a large quantity of valuable items stolen in Germany towards the end of WWII. Despite being injured in an accident involving a Post Office motorcycle in London, Russell had managed to get back to Compass Point in time to apprehend the Frenchman, recover the Nazi plunder and save Isobel from more serious injury. During his visits to the hospital they had become close and now they were seeing each other regularly. He shook his head. Reluctantly he pushed thoughts of Isobel to the back of his mind. Now, a week after his visit to the fortune teller he had a more pressing matter to deal with.

  Russell was standing in the gathering twilight, with his DC, Johnny Weeks. They were on a damp river bank, next to a concrete pillbox just outside Appledore, waiting for the portly pathologist, John Crooks. He and his assistant were busy inside with the deceased.

  ‘Do we know who it is, lad?’ Russell asked Weeks.

  ‘Not in detail, Sir. A woman in late middle age apparently.’

  ‘Who found her?’

  ‘A couple of schoolboys – out on a ramble. They thought she was a tramp. One of them gave her a shake and when she didn’t move it spooked them. They ran into the village and told the local bobby, PC Gold. At first he didn’t believe them but when he came here and looked he realised they were telling the truth. A phone call to the station at Collinghurst and the troops were galvanised into action.’

  Russell stamped his feet and wrapped his arms round his chest. ‘I just hope they don’t take too long. It’s getting chilly standing here.’ His little terrier, Aggie, with her thick rough coat had no such problems. She was delighted to be somewhere different, somewhere with new sniffs. She scampered excitedly about but didn’t stray too far.

  Almost on cue the rotund form of the pathologist appeared. The entrance to the pillbox was narrow and he struggled to extricate himself. Russell disguised a smile with a hand held to his mouth. ‘Ah, Sonny,’ Crooks boomed. ‘We’ve a right one here.’

  ‘What do you mean, John?’

  The pathologist chuckled. ‘We haven’t disturbed her. You take a look first and let me know what you think.’

  ‘How long do you reckon she’s been in there?’

  ‘Difficult to say. About twenty-four hours, at a guess. I’ll have a better idea when I’ve conducted a thorough examination.’

  ‘So it’s unlikely that whoever did it is still lurking around here?’

  ‘Unless he’s very stupid,’ he snorted, his nostrils flaring like a bull’s. ‘Anyway, we’ll go back in when you’ve had a gander. You’ll need this, Sonny,’ he said, handing him a heavy torch.

  Taking it the officer clicked on the powerful beam. ‘Thanks. Keep an eye on Aggie, will you? Best she doesn’t come in.’ He entered the pillbox followed by Weeks. As they rounded the internal wall the torch lit up a figure, fully clothed, in a seated position, leaning against the blockwork. It was a woman. Her eyes were wide open. ‘Oh God!’ Russell suddenly exclaimed and staggered backwards, nearly knocking his DC over. The beam of the torch shot up over the ceiling, down the wall and across the floor before he steadied it again on her face.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘I know who it is. I saw her only a few days ago.’ His voice was controlled – his tone hushed.

  ‘Who is she?’

  Russell took a deep breath. ‘She goes by the name of Ivy Rose Lee. She’s a fortune teller – a clairvoyant. She was at the funfair, on The Salts at Nottery Quay.’

  ‘But how…?’

  ‘Don’t ask.’ Russell bent down in front of the woman, careful not to disturb anything. Weeks was about to speak again. Russell held up his hand. ‘I’ll tell you about it later.’ He leaned in closer. ‘It’s pretty obvious how she died.’ There was a deep gash beneath her chin, running from one ear to the other. At first glance the blood that must have welled up wasn’t obvious as she was wearing a dark red, velvet top. Russell peered intently at her. The top was a lighter colour at the sides, but the front was a deeper colour, stained by the blood.

  ‘Why would anyone want to do that – and in such a bizarre place?’

  ‘That’s something we’ll have to find out. It’s too late to do much here tonight. We’ll leave PC Gold guarding the site and send someone out to relieve him later. First thing tomorrow we need to round up as many uniforms as we can. They’ll have to conduct a fingertip search as well as do a local door-to-door to see if anyone knows or heard anything. Then we’ll need divers to search the canal. If we’re lucky the murder weapon won’t be far away. Come on. Let’s get out; there won’t be room for us as well as John Crooks. We might as well adjourn to the pub until they’re done. I’m sure he’ll join us when they’ve finished.’

  -0-

  They sat at the bar in the Red Lion. When they arrived Russell had shown the barmaid his warrant card and asked her if she had seen any strangers in the past couple of days.

  She smiled sweetly. ‘Sorry, Sir. I ain’t been in for a while. I came in this evening to help out.’

  Russell cocked his head to one side. ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes, the landlord’s been called away.’

  ‘Where’s he gone?’

  ‘I don’t know exactly. Said he had to go off urgent like. Think it might be somewhere on the coast. Sorry.’ Her neck reddened and a blush spread to her cheeks.

  Russell took pity on her. ‘That’s all right, dear. Do you know when he’ll be back?’

  ‘Oh, he said he’ll be here tomorrow.’

  ‘Let’s hope he is. I need to speak to him.’ Russell smiled warmly. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Edna, Sir.’

  ‘Right Edna, let’s have two pints of your best bitter.’

  -0-

  They were on their second pint. Aggie was curled up at their feet. ‘What do you think happened, Sir?’ Weeks asked.

  ‘I’ve no idea, lad.’ Russell took a drink from his glass.

  ‘It looks like she’d upset someone.’

  ‘It certainly does – right royally, judging by the way she was killed.’

  ‘Who would do a thing like that?’

  ‘That’s what we’ll have to find out.’

  Weeks rubbed his hands through his mop of dark curly hair. ‘Blimey, where do we start?’

  Russell shook his head. ‘I don’t know at the moment. Hopefully Crooks will be able to give us some clues.’

  Weeks took a large gulp and set his glass down. ‘Sir. You said you’d seen her recently.’ He spoke hesitantly, aware that this might be a sensitive subject.

  The DI sighed. ‘I suppose it will have to come out at some time. I know I can trust you.’ He looked pointedly at Weeks, who gave a slight nod. ‘I’m sure you’ve noticed that I’ve grown fond of Isobel.’ Another nod. ‘It’s a bit more than that. The bash on the head when I was clobbered by the motorbike in London made me think. It could have been a lot worse. I reckon I was lucky to get away with mild concussion.’ He sipped some of his beer; a thoughtful expression on his face. ‘Listen, I don’t want this to go any further…’

  Weeks wasn’t sure what he was about to hear. ‘Of course not, Sir.’

  Russell stared straight forward, a distant look in his eyes. ‘It was towards the end of the war. As you know, I finished up in Asia.’

  ‘Yes, you told me. It’s where you became interested in eastern philosophy. Isn’t that why you became a vegetarian?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. I also met someone out there – someone special.’ The DC nodded but said nothing. ‘She was called Lottie, a nurse. Look…’ He reached into an inside pocket and brought out his wallet
. From an inner compartment he produced a passport-sized photograph. Almost reverently he handed it to Weeks.

  The picture was of an attractive, dark-haired girl, staring confidently at the photographer. Despite the small size of the photo Weeks could see a sparkle in her eyes and a mischievous smile playing on her full lips. ‘She is a pretty girl, Sir.’

  ‘Was a pretty girl, lad.’ A shadow passed across Russell’s normally cheerful face.

  ‘Oh? What happened?’

  ‘A stray bomb – one of ours, unfortunately. Hit the hospital she was working in.’

  ‘She was killed.’

  ‘No, not then, worse luck.’ Weeks didn’t understand but waited for his boss to explain. ‘It would have been better if she had. What happened was that she received horrific injuries, but survived – for a while anyway. She was in hospital – intensive care – for several weeks. I visited as often as I could. She told me not to – to just forget her. We both knew that she would be seriously crippled and would need constant care for the rest of her life. She told me to go away and find someone else. I told her no – I would stand by her, look after her when she came out. We both knew this wouldn’t be for many weeks –if at all. The last time I saw her she said I wouldn’t have to worry about her any more. I asked her what she meant but she refused to say. I went in the next day and they said she’d passed away in the night.’

  ‘I guess her body just gave up.’

  ‘That’s what they said.’

  ‘It seems logical.’

  ‘That’s what I thought – at first. But she had such spirit. I couldn’t believe she would have given up without a fight – it just wasn’t like her. Then I though back to her last words to me: “You won’t have to worry any more”. The more I thought about it the more it seemed wrong somehow. I decided to investigate – probably where my interest in becoming a policeman started.’ He gave a grim smile. ‘I tracked down a couple of her colleagues – nurses who’d worked the same wards. At first they were reluctant to talk. Then one took pity on me. I think I was in a bit of a state and she felt sorry for me. She wouldn’t say exactly what happened but hinted that, because of the confusion, things were a bit lax.’