by James Arklie
‘Don’t piss me off even more, Andy. Try and reconstruct her movements that day. Who knows, maybe she left school early, anything.’
* * *
Ollie smiled sweetly into the face of a killer. Deep deception, she thought. Is this what Stockton meant when he said she had the skills?
‘Good morning, George.’
She’d made an effort to dress nicely today. Black, loose, mid-thigh dress, sandals, and all of her piercings removed except the diamond stud in her nose. She felt very different from dressing to attract, to highlight her figure, her tits, what she had to sell. She felt loosened, released, every cell in her body seemed relaxed and happy.
George had come straight from the gym that occupied one of the units of the complex. He still had a towel around his neck and his face was sweaty. There were damp patches on the front and back of his tee-shirt. He looked her up and down in an appreciative way. ‘Looking good, Babes.’
‘My soul feels good today. Full of sunshine.’
‘I like that. Mine too.’ He pointed at his face. ‘I have had shower, just so hot out here.’ He wiped his face with the towel. ‘And the cake of the day is…’
‘Coffee and walnut.’
‘You never called me for that drink, Babes.’
‘Several reasons. It was only yesterday that you asked me, I don’t have your number and I don’t want to meet you for a drink.’ She smiled again. ‘Coffee with your cake? Strong and black?’
‘Good memory.’
‘Like I said, it was only yesterday.’
‘Shows you were paying attention to me. I’m flattered.’
‘Don’t be. It’s called service.’
‘She looks happy.’ He nodded towards Lily who was painting something on a large sheet of old wallpaper. ‘Shouldn’t she be at school?’
‘Holidays started today. She likes to paint.’
‘That’s ‘yes’ to coffee.’ He smiled at her again and she wondered why his mind kept jumping from subject to subject.
‘That means I’ve said ‘yes’ to a drink with you, so now you have to reciprocate.’
‘That doesn’t sound as smart as you think it sounds.’
Ten minutes later she brought out his order. Lily was sitting at George’s table playing a game with him. They were chatting and Lily was laughing. Ollie’s gut turned over. She didn’t want him anywhere near her.
She unloaded the tray and saw that he was teaching Lily how to play chess.
‘Lily, I promised Joanna that you wouldn’t disturb the customers if you were allowed to spend the day here.’
George shook his head. ‘No. She’s fine. I like the company. Anyway, we’ve started the game so she can’t leave now.’
‘All the same, I think….’
He looked up at her with a questioning expression.
Ollie sighed. ‘Okay, just the one game.’
The last thing she heard was George telling Lily that games of chess could go on for hours and Lily laughing.
Chapter Nineteen
That evening Ollie spent her quiet time trawling through the internet for anything she could find about either of her fathers.
Billy Jones appeared as a murder in the Evening Standard and was followed as the mystery of the missing body. There was an appeal from the police for witnesses but clearly none had come forward. The story hung around for a couple of days, but then disappeared because the case didn’t develop in any kind of newsworthy way.
The disappearance of Emmanuel didn’t appear anywhere. As the detective said, just another male done a runner from his family. There was nothing to report. He was one of thousands every year who disappear from family, friends and usual haunts never to be seen again. Some leave notes, others don’t.
Mark had sent three texts and tried to call. She ignored the calls and put her mobile to silent. He was a concern, but he didn’t know where she lived so, for now, she was safe.
She sat with her Mother for an hour and had another glass of wine. She was pleased with herself and her self-progress. It was all to do with happiness, she thought. Happiness and security. If she could shed the dark shadows of the past that surrounded her it would help.
Maybe she should ignore them, do as her mother and Saran suggested, just let them go. The past is dead and gone. She had burned her bridges and there was no point raking around in the ashes of her or her mother’s past. It only takes one tiny ember to start a fire.
She thought of Emmanuel. Is this what he’d done? Not run from his family, but run from a past that he wanted to let go of but that wouldn’t let go of him? That’s me, she thought. You can duck and dive all you want, but eventually you get tired, you get pushed against the ropes and the beating starts.
She had one last go at her mother who replied with annoyance.
‘Ollie. Enough. I will not help you unlock what should remain buried. You and Lily need to move forward into a new life, not be burdened by the past.’
Then Alesha had refocused on Coronation Street and sipped her whiskey.
Later, Ollie checked Lily was asleep and not playing on her iPad, checked and ignored another pleading text from Mark, thought about calling Mike Stockton to let him know the day’s events and decided not to, and then had a revelatory moment.
Her mother had said it. The word ‘unlock’. She went into the kitchen and called Saran. She told her everything she’d done regarding her father and what she’d found out. Also, that she was now in an apartment provided by a ‘friend’. She left Saran to use her imagination on that one.
She moved to the reason for her call. ‘Saran, did you know about this? That I had two fathers and one was murdered.’
‘No way, Ollie. No way. I was always referring to Emmanuel and that he abandoned you as a family.’
‘So, what do you think I should do next? Keep going or stop?’
‘Ollie, perhaps it’s time to listen to the voice of reason, leave this go before it becomes all-consuming and move on. Things are happening for you now. No point screwing up.’
‘But then I’ll never know what happened.’
Saran sounded practical. ‘If your mother won’t tell you, end of.’
Ollie pressed on with her idea. ‘I was thinking, isn’t this what you doctor’s and psychiatrists do? Unlock people’s memories, make them understand what happened to them and help them come to terms with it?’
‘Ollie, that’s different. They know their trauma. What you’re really asking for here is the answer to a mystery. Get the answer, you get the trauma and then you get the treatment.’
’So, I have to force my Mother to tell me or solve this for myself.’
‘Shit, Ollie, I wish I’d never mentioned this the other day. Strange thing for me to say, even in a professional capacity, but some things are best left buried forever. Unlocking God only knows what that has been buried for twenty years could cause irreparable damage to you.’
‘But it could work?’
Saran let out a frustrated sigh. ‘This is you all over, Ollie. Refusing to let go. Refusing to listen. Oblivious and uncaring as to where it may lead.’
‘That’s not the answer to the question.’
Saran sighed again. ‘Yes, it could. Okay. But don’t.’
‘You know anyone?’
‘Ollie. I am not helping. It is the most ridiculous thing to do. And I tell you that as a professional and as a friend.’
There was a silence and Ollie could see Saran’s shake of her head as she spoke. ‘You’re going to do it, aren’t you?’
Ollie took a breath and hung up. Little Miss Self-Destruct, she thought.
And here you go again
Day Four
Chapter Twenty
When Ollie and Lily arrived at the Café the next morning one of the outside tables was already laid with a chess board, all the pieces in their places ready for battle. There was a book of chess moves beside
it. Lily jumped in the air with delight and rushed to the table.
The previous evening Ollie had gently tried to persuade Lily away from too much contact with George. Lily had resisted.
‘He’s very nice and makes me laugh. And he’s teaching me how to play chess.’ Lily held out her iPad.
‘Look. We downloaded a chess app so we can even play against each other when we are at home.’
Ollie definitely didn’t want a strange man, who was possibly a hired assassin, grooming her daughter, online, over games of chess.
‘I don’t think that’s such a good idea.’
‘George says it’s better to learn to play chess than most of the other games.’
Alesha had joined in at that point. ‘He’s right. The other games I’ve seen advertised are all very violent. Chess is a thinking game, strategy, attack and counter-attack.’ She moved her hands in a bish, bash, bosh kind of way and Lily laughed.
Ollie had stared at her mother in disbelief. Since when had she known how to play chess? She’d never passed that on to Ollie. Ollie had been taught in a squat when she was nineteen by a heroin addict who OD’d and died halfway through one of their matches.
Lily went on. ‘Next time we go to the charity shop for clothes can I see if they have a chess set? George is going to get me a book on playing chess, so I can learn some of the moves.’
Ollie was speechless at her daughter’s enthusiasm for a man and the game of chess.
‘Anyway, Mum. He really likes you. Asked if you were a good Mum and where Dad was. He wants to go out with you.’
Ollie had killed her mother’s comment with a look. The last thing she needed was her mother thinking Ollie was entering a relationship. She had a job to do on George and when it was done all this would be over.
Ollie left Lily at the table and went inside. Joanna had already baked the cakes for the day and the kitchen was full of the reassuring smells of frying bacon and sponge cake.
‘The fit looking guy, George, left that for Lily. Said he’ll be back after the gym.’
Ollie tied her apron. ‘Jo, do you know him? Is he all right? I mean, with Lils?’
Jo shook her head. ‘No idea, Ollie. He seems okay. Became a regular about a month ago. My guess is that’s when he joined the gym.’
‘He wants to take me out for a drink.’
‘Then go. That’s the easy way to find out if you can trust him, don’t you think?’
The morning followed its usual pattern with the ebb and flow of regulars and inquisitive visitors. The unusual name of the café, its location off Brick Lane, the quirky nature of the furniture and its reputation for top quality vegan and vegetarian food at a sensible price, had got it into a couple of guide books, numerous blogs, TripAdvisor, ‘where to eat in Brick Lane’, and personal Facebook pages.
Jo steered clear of all advertising feeling it was a waste of money and if the food and setting were good enough, then customers would return and spread the word by mouth.
George turned up at about eleven. One moment he wasn’t there, then Ollie went out again and there he was, opposite Lily, both with their heads down, chins in hands, staring at the board.
‘Who’s winning?’
George frowned. ‘No one. We’re practising. Lily is still learning how each piece moves.’
‘It’s complicated, Mum.’
Too right, thought Ollie Like life.
‘Usual, George? Cake of the day and strong black.’
‘And something for the lady. Can I buy you a drink, Lily? Your mother doesn’t want one so…’
He gave Ollie that smile and she walked away with a patient, but friendly shake of her head and a half-smile.
Lunchtime came, Lily disappeared inside to eat and Ollie was outside deliberately wiping a table next to George. He handed her a flat box.
‘It’s for the chess set. She can keep it.’
Ollie looked into his eyes, searching for a killer behind the façade. Looking for a paedophile. Trying to get his pupils, or irises, to reveal something wrong with him. Nothing jumped out.
‘You seem good with kids, George. You got any of your own.’
‘Not me. Far too busy.’
Ollie watched the eyes. Had something moved across them? A lie or a sad truth spoken?
He smiled at her, reading the inquisition. ‘You can trust me, Oleander. I’m one of the good guys.’
She nodded. ‘But no more presents. Please.’
She turned back to wiping the table. She’d known a lot of seriously bad people in her life. She’d learnt to smell them from a mile away. Read their body language. Nothing about George started any warnings in her brain.
He spoke from behind her. ‘So, if you don’t want a drink, babes, I have to assume you’re holding out for dinner.’
Ollie continued wiping down the table next to his and George continued to talk to her backside. ‘And as it’s Friday it’s going out night, tonight.’
The Drifters, ‘Saturday Night at the Movies’ drifted out of the main café building and George smiled. ‘There again, I could have this completely wrong and you could be a girl who likes a good film.’
Ollie turned and folded her arms. He smiled. ‘Hello. Finally getting some attention, am I?’
‘You want to take me out?’
‘I do.’
‘West End. Motown the Musical.’
Ollie laughed at the look of astonishment on his face, shrugged and wandered back inside to the food counter. Ten minutes later she carried a tray of food outside and George waved her across.
‘You want me to pick you up or meet me outside the theatre at seven. If I wasn’t busy, I’d take you for dinner first, but one thing at a time, babes. Don’t want to rush our relationship.’
‘We don’t have a relationship and a drink in the interval will be just fine.’
Ollie walked back into the café as casually as she could, but her legs had no power in them and the muscles across her stomach locked with anxiety and fear.
She had just moved this to the next level.
She was going on date with a killer.
* * *
When Ollie got home from the cafe she sat with her laptop and used Google to find a psychologist, psychiatrist, counsellor, whatever they called themselves, that she could talk to privately. In the end she chose a business in Harley Street, for no other reason than it was Harley Street and she liked the look of a couple of the practitioners advertised on a website.
She made an appointment for Monday after work and looked up to see her mother looking at her.
‘Ollie, what are doing?’ There was concern in her voice. ‘Why do you need to see someone?’
‘I don’t have time to explain, Mum. I have a date. I need to get ready.’
‘Ollie, I asked you to stop. Now I am begging you.’
‘Then tell me. It’s that easy.’
Alesha continued to look at her, disappointment and sadness washed over her face.
Ollie went to her. ‘Mum. I need to know. If you won’t tell me then I will go to one of these shrinks. It’s like popping a blister. They can let it all out.’ She sensed her mother was wavering and forced the issue.
‘I’ve talked to Saran and she says it could really screw me up. Mess with my head. But it’s already a mess, so hey?’
Ollie bent closer, sensing her mother’s will wilting. ‘You put me here, Mum. I think it only right that you get me out.’
Resignation swept across her face like the breeze across a field of grass.
‘Get me a whiskey.’
‘It’s only just five.’
‘And I’m seventy with the start of dementia and motor neurone disease.’
Five minutes later they sat in the lounge. Ollie waited while her mother took two large sips. She was struggling to understand why this was having such a massive impact on her.
Alesha looked into her whiskey. ‘You have forgotten because you were given hypnotherapy. I think that’s what they called
it. They considered it best that you forget.’
Ollie’s head span. ‘They? What’s hypnotherapy?’
There was an impatient anger in Alesha’s voice. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Social workers or whatever they call themselves. It was forced on me a bit and I think it was a little experimental, or the latest thing.’ She took Ollie’s hand, squeezing it tightly.
‘I agreed to it because I was scared for you. You weren’t talking, wouldn’t cuddle me, I had to force food into you, you had nightmares…’
Her voice trailed off with the memories. Then, ‘How can I remember all this horror and pain, but in ten minutes I’ll forget my name again?’
Ollie was incredulous. ‘I was made to forget and then to believe that another man was my father? This is why I have no real memories before I was ten?’
Her mother nodded and looked exhausted. Guilt rose in Ollie, but she had to know all of this. She went and poured herself a mouthful of wine, drank it and felt the immediate impact calm her.
‘Another question, Mum. No knife and no body, but do you have any idea who may have killed him?’
Her mother let out a little laugh and took a sip of whiskey. ‘Put the television on, love. It’s EastEnders soon.’
The Master Manipulator
‘A master manipulator will use every technique available to establish complete, unfettered control over their victim. Their ego will delight in the mind games, the outright lies and the tricks they use to make the victim a puppet of their will.’
Chapter Twenty-One
Ollie took her annoyance out with her to meet George. Her mother had refused to say anything else. Clamping her mouth shut with the fierceness of a child having a temper tantrum.
Ollie wasn’t sure which of her mother’s revelations was worst, the casual laugh that she knew more and wasn’t going to tell or that she’d had her daughter’s brain rewired.
Under the pounding of a power shower Ollie decided that neither mattered, but that she still had to make an appointment with a shrink.
So, she let some Motown Gold distract her as she got herself ready. There was no training for what she was about to do, but she was scared. Mark Anderson had named George as a killer and she was about to go on a date with him.
