Blood Lines

by Angela Marsons

Kim could sense there was an element of doubt that remained in the woman’s eyes.

  ‘I will never forgive her for what she did, Lily,’ Kim said, quietly. She stopped herself asking why the woman thought she would lie. ‘But would I be able to see them?’ she asked.

  Lily shook her head. ‘If you didn’t write them then they have nothing to do with you. They are your mother’s private property.’

  Kim wondered at the Human Rights Act that had given a schizophrenic murdering bitch such power.

  Lily turned towards her. ‘I think you’d be surprised if you met her. She is greatly changed and since your… the letters started coming there is a new peace within her.’

  ‘I don’t want her to have peace,’ Kim exploded. The hatred and anger was no less now than it had been back then for one simple reason: Mikey was still dead.

  ‘You can’t mean that, Kim,’ Lily said, quietly, obviously hoping Kim would follow suit and lower her voice.

  She did not.

  ‘Her state of mind means nothing to me. I don’t care how she feels or thinks. My only wish for that woman is that she stays here until the day she dies, so she can cause no more harm to anyone.’

  ‘But this might not be the right place for her anymore,’ Lily said, gently.

  ‘It will always be the right place for her. I just don’t understand how there is a possibility that she will leave,’ Kim said, honestly, still rooted in disbelief that the whole world didn’t agree with her. ‘You’ve read her file; you know what she did.’

  Kim saw the sympathy in her expression. ‘Of course I know what she did but I can’t allow that knowledge to colour the level of care she receives. Other people made the decisions about her crime and punishment. And then they sent her here. It’s not for me to judge the fairness of the system. It’s my job to try and rehabilitate her ready for re-entry into the—’

  ‘But she’s assaulted people here,’ Kim raged. ‘How can you feel she’s fit to live in society?’

  ‘Kim, calm down. There’s been no violence for months now; she has been a model patient.’

  Kim would have preferred the term inmate.

  Lily continued. ‘We do believe in rehabilitation, Kim. We don’t lock people up and throw away the key. We hope to help them get better. If not, seventy per cent of what we do would be a complete waste of time. Otherwise we should kill them on sentencing.’

  Kim chose not to answer. That idea sounded fine to her.

  Lily leaned forward. ‘Maybe if you meet with her, see for yourself?’

  Kim said nothing.

  She had dreamed many times of coming face to face with her mother but the scenario always ended with her hands around the woman’s throat, squeezing every last breath from her body.

  ‘Could you ever give her a chance?’ Lily asked, tipping her head.

  Kim simply shook her head. Mikey had been everything to her. No day went by without her imagining her life with him still in it. To forgive the woman who killed him diminished the enormity of his suffering and his eventual death.

  Lily opened her mouth to say more, but seeing Kim’s expression kept the words on the right side of her tongue.

  Lily placed her hands on her knees.

  ‘How about I show you where she is and we can take it from there. You don’t need to speak to her if you don’t want to.’

  Kim hesitated and then nodded.

  She followed Lily back through the corridor and out the front door instead of heading back towards the gravel car park.

  She turned left and walked along the front terrace to the corner of the house.

  Four ladies were busy on a small putting green. A cursory glance told her that none of these ladies was her mother.

  She turned to Lily for clarification when she heard a sound that reached inside and wrapped an icy fist around her heart.

  The laugh was softer than she recalled, less manic than the one that had played in her head for the last twenty-eight years. But she remembered it well. She’d heard it every time the bitch had managed to outsmart her and get to Mikey. It was a laugh that she had learned to fear. It was a laugh that meant she was winning.

  ‘Your mother is the one… ’

  ‘I know which one she is,’ Kim said, without emotion.

  Her eyes had followed the sound that still haunted her to a slight woman wearing pale blue cotton trousers and a cerise T-shirt.

  The black hair, gifted to Kim herself, no longer hung down to the middle of the shoulder blades. It was completely white and ended at the nape of her neck.

  Kim felt the bile rise to the back of her throat as she watched her mother do a little victory dance.

  A low chuckle escaped from the woman beside her and Kim realised they were watching two completely different pictures: Lily wanted to see the woman happy and relaxed, but Kim hated every second of it. Every laugh, smile, peaceful moment was an insult to her dead brother.

  The thoughts were turning so quickly in her mind she wondered if her head was going to begin rotating and then fly off into the distance.

  She forced herself to continue watching as the woman approached her nearest companion and demonstrated the exact movement she’d used to pot the ball. She stood by her side adjusting her hand on the golf club.

  Kim could not reconcile this figure with the one who had handcuffed her and her twin to a heated radiator in the middle of a sweltering summer. This could not be the woman who had put her own medication in Kim’s drinks to tranquilise her so she could get her hands on her brother.

  The drugs had sedated her but not knocked her out. She had lain against the bathroom door while her mother tried to shake the devil from her brother.

  Eventually she had crawled up the porcelain pedestal of the sink and put in the plug. She had turned on both taps full and waited for the sink to overflow. She had cried with frustration for the ten minutes it had taken Mr Randall from downstairs to come knocking about the leak.

  Mikey had stumbled towards her, drunkenly, his brain still reverberating in his head. That was the night she had discovered she could stay awake with the help of a pin.

  She had lain beside her brother with the pin pointing towards her arm. If her arm began to relax the sharp prick into her flesh helped to keep her awake. It was also the day she learned to count her mother’s tranquilisers morning and night.

  And here she was staring at a stranger cheerfully playing golf.

  Could she really do this? Kim wondered to herself. Could she really be this close to that woman without causing her physical harm? Could she swallow her hatred and bitterness to find out what it was that her mother had that she would want?

  This surreal picture of her mother playing golf and laughing with her friends in the grounds of a grand estate was almost too much to bear. And yet, for a moment, she could see the picture before them through Lily’s eyes. That very same description was what gave Lily the opinion that the woman could live a productive life on the outside. But Lily had not seen her mother before. The darkness in the eyes, the hatred on the cruel face and the spittle that had erupted from her mouth when she had called Mikey terrible, cruel, horrific names.

  Kim stared hard at the back of the head, willing her to feel the hatred that was burning inside her.

  Her breath caught in her throat as the figure began to turn. She felt her heartbeat increase as her eyes rested on the face she knew so well.

  Her mother’s gaze rested on Lily. She raised her hand but it stilled mid-wave as the golf club fell from her other hand.

  Kim saw the recognition in her mother’s eyes, followed by shock.

  For a moment they were locked in the exact same battle they’d always been locked in. Kim felt the years slip away as their eyes remained fixed on each other.

  Her mother’s eyes softened with hope, tenderness, love.

  As her mother took a tentative step forward Kim knew one thing beyond a shadow of a doubt.

  Whatever her mother had, it wasn’t worth this.


  She allowed every bit of repulsion to show on her face before she turned and walked away.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  The ride back from Grantley was a blur. Kim was surprised to find herself in Halesowen.

  Her mother’s new face was everywhere. And that smile, that fucking smile. How dare she smile. How dare she even be able to smile.

  Her mind had held the same last memory of the woman since she was six years old.

  She had stood at the front door of the high-rise flat, triumph shining from her eyes, as she had left them chained to the radiator. Her final words to them both had been, ‘If I have to kill you to kill him, that’s what I’ll do.’

  As the hours had stretched into days the few dry crackers and half bottle of Coke had dwindled until she had offered everything to Mikey. Slowly she had felt his life fading away, and she had known.

  Their last few hours were spent with Kim telling Mikey of all the things they would do when they were rescued. She talked to him of juicy pizza and strawberry ice cream and of a park where the rides took you high into the sky.

  She had saved her tears for when he fell asleep. She refused to share her despair. During the fourth night, as she stroked his hair, she felt the last frail breath leave his body.

  It was two days until they finally found her.

  Today she had not seen the woman who had left them that day. And yet she had. Her mind could not compute the two expressions. She’d had only one picture in her mind, another one was too much. She couldn’t cope with another vision in her mind.

  She passed the station and debated popping in but her mind turned instead to Barney, who would be now anticipating his late-night walk.

  She turned onto Whistler Road. The quarter-mile road had wasteland on one side and a recently built trading park on the other. It wasn’t barrier controlled and acted as a magnet for illicit activity in the dark corners behind the units.

  The car in front slowed down causing her to brake sharply. A figure stepped out of the shadows and approached the passenger window. Kim saw a shock of green hair, and she got the picture.

  She hit her horn, twice. The car began to pull away, and the face beneath the green hair looked murderous.

  ‘What the… ?’ she exploded as Kim brought the bike to rest beside her. She wasn’t wearing the usual suggestive clothes of the night workers but she was in the right place.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Kim asked.

  ‘Waiting for my chauffeur to pick me up, bitch. What the fuck’s it look like?’

  ‘Thanks for the plant,’ Kim said, ignoring the attitude.

  Gemma stared at her dolefully.

  ‘Spikey, cactus – clever,’ Kim said.

  Gemma shrugged. ‘I nicked it.’

  Kim had guessed as much. ‘Still a nice gesture,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah well. I got manners, yer know.’

  Amongst the bad language, dramatic attitude, and shop theft, the girl had manners, Kim thought.

  ‘Did you report the mugging?’ Kim asked.

  She snorted. ‘Yeah, CID, MI5, CIA, they’re all over it.’

  Kim laughed out loud, surprising them both. An ounce of tension fell from her body.

  ‘Seriously, what are you doing?’ Kim repeated.

  ‘Seriously, I’m seeing if any of the nice men who drive down here want to contribute to my lunch fund. It was a no-go on crowd funder.’

  ‘No job?’ Kim asked.

  ‘You new to the area?’ Gemma retorted.

  ‘There are—’

  ‘I ain’t debating this, bitch. Now fuck off and let me get some food money.’

  Kim dug in her pocket and held out a tenner.

  Gemma looked at it suspiciously.

  ‘What I gotta do?’

  ‘Nothing, except get off this street, at least for tonight.’

  Her expression softened, just for a second, before rearming itself. She took the note and stuffed it in her pocket. ‘Okay, I’ll leave it tonight.’

  Kim reached for her helmet. ‘And tomorrow night there’ll be something potentially edible on my table around seven.’

  Gemma opened her mouth to speak.

  ‘Come, don’t come,’ Kim shrugged. ‘You know where I live.’

  She put on the helmet, revved the bike and pulled away.

  She drove to the end of the street and turned left. She travelled a hundred metres and turned left again. She continued going left until she was back on Whistler Road.

  She eased the bike along slowly. A few shapes were visible in the darkness but as she neared the telephone box she breathed a sigh of relief.

  The green-haired girl was gone.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  16 DECEMBER 2007

  Dear Diary,

  Her eyes were alight with fear as I opened the door. Her hair did not smell as good as yesterday but I did not want to repeat myself anyway. There were too many other parts to explore. She reminds me of a computer game. Who wants to stay on level one?

  There are many differences to the girl I saw on Monday. Her big-girl mascara that looked so assured and fitting has now bled from her lashes in rivulets down her cheeks. The lipstick applied secretly after leaving the house is now gone without a trace.

  A stain beneath each armpit is growing and appears the colour of teak wood on the cotton shirt. How is that possible? I wondered. Sweat is not brown.

  And although she has not left the place where I’ve stored her there is a grubbiness that is inevitably attracted to the white fabric of her shirt.

  And today her shirt was the focus of my attention. I could not tear my eyes away from the fullness of her breasts straining against the cloth, their outline deliciously clear. The cloth stretching as her laboured breathing intensified beneath my stare.

  I swallowed deeply as I reached out and felt the roundness beneath my palm. A jolt of electricity shot through me. Instantly I wanted to know what lay beneath. Would her bra be pink, lacy, white, virginal, smooth?

  That instant electricity gave way to hunger for more. I tore open her shirt and ignored the pleading in her eyes. This wasn’t about her. It was about me.

  I told her to shut her eyes. I didn’t want the interaction right then. She was not a person but an inanimate object solely for my exploration.

  The bra was white, bright against the grubby shirt. Fresh, untouched. The fabric was smooth, uncluttered by lace or useless, decorative bows. No flesh swelled above the curve of the fabric as it reached down to her breastbone.

  I swallowed hard to stop the saliva from spilling out of my mouth.

  I cupped the breast and squeezed, the jolt that coursed through me was stronger. I squeezed harder and ignored the cry that died in her throat.

  It was too much. My body lit up as the fire throbbed through my veins. My hand dived inside the bra and felt the supple skin against my fingers, a nipple against my palm.

  The ecstasy that overwhelmed me subsided quickly, like a minor explosion and left a trail of hunger for that deeper satisfaction, the satiation that could only be gained one way.

  I placed the nipple between my thumb and forefinger and squeezed.

  Hard.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  ‘Come on, folks, enthusiasm please,’ Kim said, clapping her hands.

  Her whole team seemed to have walked in dragging a lead weight this morning. Even Bryant.

  Every case they worked was different. They were dealing with killers that had different motivations, different priorities, methods but some cases seemed to falter to a definite stop part way. Sometimes a different perspective was needed.

  She stood at the top of the office. This was going to be a briefing with a difference.

  No hand feeding. More active thinking.

  ‘Everyone, move round a seat. Stace to Kev’s chair, Kev to Bryant’s, and Bryant take Stacey’s seat.’

  They all looked at her before getting up and moving around the room.

  They sat down and glanced across a
t each other and then at their surroundings. Stacey was now looking at the back of her own computer, Bryant was looking at a very tidy desk, and Dawson was staring at the photograph board. They were all looking around as though she had dropped them onto an alien planet.

  ‘Okay, let’s recap. Yesterday we learned that Geraldine was going to publicly acknowledge Maxine as her daughter.

  ‘We found out that her mother is a controlling “pageant mom” who barely gives her daughter permission to breathe. We learned that Jason Cross did indeed sleep with Deanna Brightman, he says once, I’m not so sure. And we now have the phone records of the whole Brightman family.’

  ‘Except Deanna’s old phone,’ Stacey interjected. ‘Still, ay got the bloody number.’

  Kim frowned. It really shouldn’t have been that difficult.

  She continued, ‘We’re still waiting on the confirmation of the DNA match for the hair, and we now know from Kev that Deanna’s car had been parked in that lay-by before.’

  ‘At least three times,’ Dawson confirmed.

  ‘So, given what we have and, more pertinent, what we don’t have, where to now, folks?’

  She looked at her team, who all looked a little uncomfortable in their new surroundings.

  ‘Go,’ she prompted.

  ‘Need to compare phone records to see if any strange numbers turn up,’ Stacey said.

  ‘Yep,’ Kim said.

  Dawson leaned forward. ‘Need to get back to tracing Maxine’s whereabouts in recent weeks. Get to know her larger circle of acquaintances and see if there’s any crossover.’

  Kim nodded. He was now free to resume that line of enquiry. Any further witnesses would be dealt with as and when they were back in the office.

  Stacey twirled Dawson’s pen between her fingers. ‘It might be an idea to see if we’ve gor anything else on Jason Cross – do some digging.’

  ‘Sounds good, Stace,’ Kim agreed.

  ‘Need to have another chat with Geraldine without the mother present,’ Bryant said.

  ‘Absolutely,’ she said.

  ‘Need to find out if any other forces have had anything similar,’ Dawson offered.

  ‘Good one, Kev,’ Kim said as Stacey tipped her head.