Sweet Oblivion

by Rhiana Ramsey

  Louise was bored. Whilst she agreed that the ceremony itself had been suitably sycophantic, lots of hand shaking and false smiles, the party itself was rubbish. Now that the awards had been handed out and the speeches given, the hired DJ had resorted to old 80s tunes, as if that was what they all wanted to hear. She stifled a yawn as Ben sidled up to her.

  ‘Keeping you up?’ he asked, handing her another glass of champagne whilst sipping his own.

  ‘No,’ she answered curtly. ‘But this after party is the dullest I have ever been to. You’ve got to agree. I could be in Cornwall right now, my knees around my ears, Steve over me, enjoying…’

  ‘Ok, ok! Stop there! Too much detail!’ Ben laughed. ‘I’m sorry Lou. You could’ve gone you know. We would have managed.’

  ‘Now you tell me!’ she snorted.

  ‘Although, I have to say I am personally very pleased that you’re here. Good speech by the way. When did you write it?’

  ‘During the taxi ride over here. It seems I work better under pressure,’ she smiled at him. Ben took advantage of the moment to study her.

  Louise Jackson was one of those rare women who was totally unaware of her beauty, and in fact tended to believe the opposite was true. She was wearing a dark purple full-length dress that contoured her figure and seductively skimmed her ample bosom, the deep V-line displaying a perfect cleavage, a long sparkling necklace trailing from her neck to her breasts.

  Her silver high-heeled shoes lengthened her legs, adding inches to her height, making her only a little shorter than Ben himself at 6 foot two. Her eyes were bright, eye liner shading them into perfect orbs; her skin glowed, high cheek bones gently blushing, and her lips glistened with gloss. Her dark blonde hair was immaculately brushed, falling across her shoulders like spun silk. She looked fantastic.

  ‘Well I thought it was great. You got the tone just right. Lou, I just want to tell you how much I value you as an employee and as a person. I have no illusions as to how much you have contributed to the magazine’s success. You are truly amazing.’

  He took her right hand and gently kissed her knuckles.

  ‘Why, Mr Matthews. Are you trying to seduce me?’ she laughed, sipping her champagne, pulling her hand away.

  ‘No Ms Jackson, I’m not. I just want you to know how much you mean to me and to this company. And of course to thank you for getting that list to me today.’

  He was referring to the ‘list of doom’ that Louise had reluctantly left on his desk earlier that day.

  ‘You’re welcome, I think. But don’t you dare ask me to do anything like that again, will you? I agonised over that list and hate myself for putting those people on it. You shouldn’t have asked me to do that. I hope you’re suitably remorseful,’ she tutted.

  ‘Trust me, it’s going to be hell next week sacking these people, but it has to be done. You’re pragmatic enough to understand that sometimes sacrifices have to be made for the greater good, so to speak.’ he replied.

  ‘Of course I understand. Functionalism. Got to do what’s got to be done.’

  ‘I did notice that Derek was on the list. I thought you said he was a good writer?’ Ben asked.

  ‘He is quite a good writer, but he’s lazy, he needs constant pushing. He’s also got a shit attitude and rubs people up the wrong way.’

  ‘Does that include you?’

  ‘Yes it does. But he also upsets visitors, he’s so damn arrogant. Of all the writers and editors he has to be the one to go.’

  ‘Nothing to do with your history then?’ Ben questioned.

  Derek Cooper was the sub-editor that had been overlooked six months ago for the post that Louise now held. He’d always borne a grudge because of it and their relationship had become even more strained as a consequence.

  ‘Nothing to do with that, no. Although, if I’m totally honest, I won’t be particularly sorry to see him go,’ she crinkled her nose over the top of her champagne flute at him.

  ‘So, what did you think of the ceremony? Obviously, I was the highlight…’ she grinned, changing the subject.

  ‘You were the number one speaker, it has to be said. You looked stunning as well. I don’t know if you noticed Mr Shaman at the back staring at you. He could hardly keep his tongue in his head! But, you know, he could be a potential investor, so a little schmoozing and ego flattering from you could pay dividends.’ Ben said, his tone serious, but his eyes sparkling with mischief.

  ‘My God! You sound like my bloody pimp!’

  ‘Come on, take one for the team!’ Ben chuckled.

  ‘You git, you nearly had me there.’ She sipped her champagne aware that she was starting to feel a little fuzzy.

  ‘I’m glad I came tonight, despite the boring DJ and the sacrifice of the activities I should be engaged in right now with my beloved. It’s good to be surrounded by people and making small talk with you.’

  ‘Oh? Why’s that?’ Ben asked.

  ‘Oh it’s nothing really, I’ve just been a bit…out of sorts, I guess.’

  I’ve been having weird, mind blowing visions that have totally freaked me out and make me think I’m going nuts.

  ‘Out of sorts? Want to tell me about it?’

  Louise looked at him, deciding whether or not she would be safe divulging her fears to him, ultimately deciding she had to tell someone.

  ‘I think I’m just stressed to be honest with you Ben. I don’t really know what’s going on, but it’s like my brain is playing tricks on me. It makes me think that maybe I have some sort of problem, with my body I mean, that my mind is subconsciously trying to get me to pay attention to. You know how some people who have a really serious illness suddenly find their bodies rejecting cigarettes or booze, even though they don’t actually consciously know that they’re ill at that point? Or, it could just be that I am finally loosing it and going insane.’ Her tone was light but Ben knew her well enough to know that she was in fact deeply concerned.

  ‘What’s been happening to you?’ Ben asked.

  Louise drained her champagne flute and deposited the empty receptacle on the tray of a passing waiter.

  ‘It started a couple of days ago. The first thing was the morning after the launch of Steve’s restaurant. It’s silly, really.’

  ‘Tell me about it then.’ Ben said, curious now.

  ‘Well I was in the kitchen, eating pizza…’

  ‘For breakfast? Jesus!’ Ben declared in disgust.

  Louise ignored him.

  ‘…and I looked out the window to the bus stop opposite. There was an old man there. At first he looked quite normal, but then he looked at me, it was really disconcerting, like he could really see me, in my flat. I felt that he was looking directly at me, even though that there is no way he could see in. I have nets on the windows and my lights were off. But then he just smiled at me.’

  ‘Err, Lou. That doesn’t sound particularly strange.’

  ‘I’m not describing it very well. His smile was odd. He had these weird crooked teeth. When I looked back, he’d gone.’

  Ben looked like he was going to say something, but Lou raised a hand to silence him.

  ‘Then as I was coming into work the other morning, this random bloke said to me: ‘Your secret’s safe with me.’ I have no idea what he was referring to, or who the hell he was.’

  She reached out and grabbed another glass of champagne as another waiter walked slowly past. Ben followed her lead and took another glass too.

  ‘I just figured I was stressed out over the deadline of getting to print, or that I was just hung over or whatever and I put it out of my mind. It freaked me out though. Then this evening, I went to see Steve before coming here. We were in the process of… you know… in the living room,’ Ben looked slightly uncomfortable at this, ‘when I noticed a woman looking in on us. She smiled a fucking freaky smile at me and then just disappeared. By the time I’d told Steve there was a face at the window, she was gone.’

  Louise paused and sipped her fresh champagne. �
��I don’t know what it means, if I should be concerned, or if it’s all just a load of bollocks.’

  Ben took his time in replying, mulling over what she had said.

  Eventually he asked, ‘So they’re like hallucinations?’

  ‘Not sure. I don’t know if they’re ‘out there’ in the real world so to speak, or simply in my mind.’

  ‘Lou, it’s probably nothing to worry about. As you say, it’s probably just stress. The deadline, and the list I asked you to do. I’m sorry if I have in anyway caused this.’

  He looked genuinely upset and Lou was touched.

  ‘Hey Ben, that’s business, eh?’

  ‘Well yes and no. I don’t want you making yourself ill with worry. Do me a favour and go to the doctor on Monday, ok? Just make sure you’re ok and everything is in tip top working order. I’m sure it’s nothing but there‘s no harm in mentioning it to a professional right?’

  ‘Not unless they think I need to be locked up! I hate doctors. They’re all so supercilious and patronising,’ Louise began.

  ‘No excuses Lou. I want you to promise me you’ll go. Just tell them what you told me. I’m sure they’ll be able to allay your fears and reassure you that it‘s just a phase or something.’

  ‘Alright. I’ll call the surgery first thing Monday morning. Happy now?’ she asked moodily.

  ‘Yes… if you go. I know what a pain in the ass you are,’ he smiled.

  ‘Oh cheers! After everything I do for you!’

  ‘Right come on. I’m going to introduce you to Mr Shaman. He keeps looking over this way and I’m pretty sure it’s not to catch my eye.’

  Ben put his hand on Louise’s elbow, masterfully steering her through the people to the back of the room where Mr Shaman was stood smiling.

  ‘Don’t you dare leave me with him on my own!’ she growled at Ben.

  ‘I promise,’ he replied. ‘Time to plaster on our best smiles. I want him to agree to invest with us before the night is through.’

  ‘A tenner says I win him over before you do,’ Louise challenged.

  ‘You’re on! Let the games commence,’ he whispered to her as they approached.

  She smiled at Ben and tried to mentally prepare herself for a winning pitch. However, she was confused and concerned by what had been happening to her and found that she couldn’t keep her mind focussed on the present; it kept wondering off of its own accord, like a naughty child that wouldn’t stay in bed after lights out.

  She couldn’t stop thinking about the face she’d seen at the window. Who was this woman? What did it mean? She really didn’t want to go to the doctor. What if they thought she was mad? After all, look what had happened to her mother. She’d been sectioned and then topped herself. What if it ran in the family? Was she a nutter too?

  Swallowing some more champagne she forced her professional head on and pushed down her negative thoughts and concerns. She’d have plenty of time to try and figure it all out over the weekend.

  Now to business.

  Chapter XI

  DC Elizabeth Lane felt melancholy; she wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the lack of sleep since the murder investigation had begun. Maybe it was because they were no further forward. Maybe it was because she’d had nothing positive to say to DI Scott that morning.

  The CCTV had been a total wash out. The cameras had only recorded a fraction of the evening and the footage they had recorded was white snow.

  ‘We’ve never had to look at the cameras before,’ McFadden, the hotel CCTV guy had said, as if this was a suitable justification for the hotel’s piss poor security.

  Greg had just shrugged. C’est la vie - shit happens. The lack of CCTV was, however, a disaster. They were no further forward and as far as Elizabeth could tell, they had no other leads.

  She sighed forlornly just as Greg sat down beside her in the briefing room. They were waiting for DI Scott, who had promised them he’d be ready in five minutes, fifteen minutes ago.

  ‘Morning you. What’s up?’ Greg was holding a double Espresso, his latest addiction.

  ‘Nothing, just tired,’ Elizabeth replied, eyeing his cup suspiciously. ‘Is that what I think it is?’

  Greg raised the coffee cup with a wink and downed it in one large gulp. He grimaced as the bitter coffee slid across his taste buds: ‘Yup.’

  ‘Oh God help us all. You’re such a pain in the ass after you’ve had a shot.’

  Greg laughed. ‘Got to have something to keep my eyes open. This enquiry is keeping us all up at night, judging by the look of everyone else in here.’

  Elizabeth looked around the room and had to agree. Every officer there had the same weary look, the same air of fatigue. Rarely were so many paper coffee cups to be seen outside a coffee house, as the officers resorted to caffeine to keep their synapses firing.

  ‘Meadows is in the building by the way,’ Greg said to Elizabeth. She rolled her eyes and huffed: ‘Well he would have to come and put his oar in at some point wouldn’t he? Oversee this investigation, you know, tell us all what to do when we’ve all already been tasked anyway.’

  Superintendent Timothy Meadows was not liked. He had risen through the ranks impressively quickly due to his academic ability but had spent very little time actually on the ground running and leading investigations. Consequently, whilst his legal knowledge was encyclopaedic, his policing skills were somewhat lacking. He had failed to garner any respect from the detectives that worked under him due to his lack of policing experience and sometimes irrational and unnecessary orders, which he was only to happy to bark out from beneath the comparative safety of the crowns on his epaulettes. He had upset nearly everyone in the briefing room at some point in his career and unlike the detectives who were expected to forgive and forget, Tim Meadows harboured grudges that lasted years. When someone was in his sights, he would make their life very uncomfortable.

  ‘Thought that little missive would cheer you up. He’s with the DI.’

  As if on queue the superintendent and DI Scott walked into the briefing room. Meadows strode to a seat at the front of the room, his substantial bulk looming large in a room made small by the volume of officers present. DI Scott stood at the front of the room facing them.

  ‘Morning,’ he said.

  Murmured greetings echoed round the room in response. Robert cast his eyes around the office, his gaze flitting from weary officer to weary officer. It was only four days since David Saunders had been murdered, but it already felt like this investigation had been running for weeks. They’d all been working flat out, desperately scrabbling for clues.

  So far they had absolutely nothing. He’d already been told by DC Lance that the CCTV, which could have provided them with a picture of the killer, was useless. Nothing of any use had come back from the lab either.

  Of the samples taken that had been sufficient to provide a DNA profile, not one of them matched any of those stored on the database, and the samples could relate to any number of guests or staff members who had been in the room, so they were as good as useless on their own. Eventually though, the samples could be used for comparison against the suspect, if they ever apprehended the killer, to show that they had been in that hotel room, but they were useless in assisting in identification.

  From David Saunder’s employer they had discovered that he was well liked, respected, good at his job and had numerous clients on his books. However, on the night in question, his diary did not indicate any appointment in the evening. Wherever he had been and whatever he had been doing, it had not been business related, despite the papers found in his bag in the hotel room.

  Mrs Saunders had not been particularly forthcoming either with regards to her husbands sexual preferences. He had wanted her to say: ‘Yes, he’s into bondage and frequents all sorts of clubs!’ But of course, she hadn‘t.

  Where he had met the killer was still unknown. What he had been doing prior to meeting the killer was still unknown. Whether the killer was a man or a woman was still unknown. They s
till knew absolutely fuck all.

  As DI Scott set about tasking his detectives with their enquiries for the day under the watchful eye of Superintendent Meadows, he couldn’t help but feel that the whole exercise was a waste of time, they were clutching at straws; they had no investigative leads whatsoever and were just going through the motions.

  He felt that the killer was mocking them. The lack of clues in this case was in itself a clue; this killer was not likely to get caught unless he, or she, fucked up. They were too methodical, careful and clean. The Golden Hour in which most leads and clues came to light was long gone, all trails were now cold. It wasn’t looking good.

  Robert managed to muster up just enough enthusiasm to sound convincing as he reeled off actions to the team, giving them enquiries to undertake so that they could say they’d been done, not really because he thought anything would actually come of them. As the last detectives filed out the office door, he looked across at Meadows. Surprisingly, the smug git actually looked impressed.

  ***********************************************

  Louise sang along to the tunes bellowing out of her car stereo as she hammered down the M4. She had decided late the night before after the awards do that she would drive down to surprise Steve first thing Saturday morning. When he’d told her at the restaurant that he had booked a cottage, he had given her the name of the place. After a quick internet search, she had quickly obtained the full address and postcode.

  With said postcode now tapped into her satnav she was an hour into her journey. Four and a half hours to go, Tim the TomTom estimated, but Tim the TomTom was a law abiding citizen who did not operate above the speed limit and could not account for Louise’s penchant for speed.

  Last night at the awards do, she’d told Ben about the weird visions she’d been having and this morning she somehow felt lighter. It was as if she had shed an invisible burden, as if telling someone - without them judging her as insane - had banished her own fears regarding her sanity. She was her mother’s daughter, but that didn’t mean that she was also a nut, did it? Although the visions were still somewhat worrying to say the least, this morning, as she drove down towards Cornwall and her beloved, she felt on top of the world.