Oleander Soul

by James Arklie

  ‘Followed you.’

  Ollie opened her mouth to challenge him but was too late. He had already eased his way into the lounge, deposited the boxes on the table and taken hold of Alesha’s hand. ‘And you must be Mum.’

  Ollie watched her mother adjusting her glasses, smoothing the front of her dress and fiddling with her hair. She also sat up straighter.

  ‘Call me….’

  She looked at Ollie for her name. Ollie answered for her. ‘Alesha.’

  ‘Great to meet you, Alesha. I brought you pizza and I understand you like a little bit of this.’

  A small bottle of Glenfiddich appeared from his jacket pocket. How did he know that, thought Ollie? Did I tell him?

  Lily was setting up her chess board. ‘Can we play?’

  George was opening the final box. ‘The only person without a present is Oleander. So, this is for you.’

  He lifted a record player out of the box, looked around for a socket and plugged it in. Ollie just stared at him. What the hell was this? It was like an invasion. Was he trying to buy her through gifts? Wasn’t this meant to be the other way round?

  ‘George. I can’t…Anyway, any vinyl I had went in the bin years ago.’

  ‘I guessed that so here’s some vinyl for you.’ He grinned. ‘Original vinyl.’

  From the box he produced three LPs, the covers old and worn. Ollie took them and just stared at them, staggered. Motown Greatest Hits, Volumes 1, 2 and 3.

  ‘George, you can’t get these for love or money.’ She held them out to him.

  ‘I can’t take them.’

  ‘Sure, you can. I’m just being selfish really. Making sure that if I’m ever round here I can listen to my favourite music.’

  Inside her head a voice was screaming, shit, shit, shit. She didn’t need this, not now. Christ. Why now, life? Why bring her a man like this now? A man she had to spy on, deceive and then run from.

  Later that evening she went back to his flat. They made love and she downloaded the contents of his Blackberry onto the USB. Just like that. Cold bitch, hot heart. She cried after she’d left.

  At midnight she arrived home and handed the USB to Mike Stockton waiting outside her apartment. ‘Now piss off.’

  She looked around nervously for Mark, but he didn’t appear. Later she lay in bed, feeling like a guilty shit, trying to convince herself that George would never find out and they could live happily ever after.

  She knew that was stupid and as she lay in the darkness, she sensed the winds of fate change direction as they blew around her.

  At seven a.m. they brought the storm.

  Day Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The hammering on the door threatened to break it in. Ollie answered it wearing her mother’s pink, fluffy dressing gown. She looked and felt ridiculous.

  It was the police. One plain clothes male detective and a female WPC. Ollie didn’t recognise them. They showed IDs which Ollie glanced at but didn’t note the names. They asked to come in.

  Ollie stood her ground. ‘What’s it about?’ She had so much history it could be anything.

  They glanced at one another. Another uniformed policeman appeared, but he knocked more politely on a door further down the corridor.

  ‘The body of a male has been found in the underground car park.’

  Ollie shook her head. ‘I don’t have a car, so I’ve never used it.’

  The detective held out his mobile with a picture. ‘This isn’t your car?’

  Ollie didn’t even look. ‘I just said, I don’t have a car.’

  ‘This is a black VW Golf, registration…’

  ‘I don’t have a sodding car.’ Ollie could sense her brain starting to go. What is it with authority? Then she blinked. Mark’s car, was it black or just a dark colour?

  The detective got insistent. ‘Look, we really need to come in. It’s about more than the car.’

  Ollie led them to the lounge. The chess board was still laid out and the Motown LPs scattered across the table.

  The WPC dug a notebook from her bag. ‘Sorry, but your name is?’

  ‘Oleander Soul.’ And here we go, she thought. Wait until they call that in.

  ‘You live here alone?’

  ‘Disabled mother and a daughter. Ten-years old. We rent it.’

  ‘Landlord?’

  How did she answer that one? Lie, that’s what she usually did to the police.

  ‘No idea. Through an agency.’ She watched the WPC scribbling in her notebook.

  ‘Please will you tell me what you want?’

  ‘The body of a male has been found in a car. I think it safe to say he was murdered. The car is parked in the space allocated to this apartment.’

  ‘I told you, I don’t have a car.’ How patient do I have to be, she thought.

  ‘ID on the victim identifies him as Mr. Mark Anderson. A lawyer. First assessment from forensics puts the time of death as long ago as the early hours of yesterday morning.’

  Ollie closed her eyes, thought about the happiness of last night, and got ready for a juggernaut of shit to hit her. When she opened them, they were staring at her with more interest. She tugged the dressing gown around her.

  ‘Did you know Mr. Anderson?’

  She nodded and her head started to spin as she played out how this was going to end. Her mother called from her bedroom.

  ‘Is that you, Ollie? My bag needs emptying if you have a mo?’

  Lily appeared in her doorway and stared at the police. ‘Lils, can you see to Grannie for me? Tell her we have visitors.’ She turned back to them.

  ‘Can we do this later? I have to get ready for work, I have to get my daughter ready and my mother out of bed. I have to wash her and dress her. She is wheelchair-bound. She can’t do it herself.’

  The detective scratched his head. ‘What was your relationship with Mr. Anderson?’

  Ollie breathed deeply and told a half-truth. ‘We were in an on-off relationship.’

  ‘And the last time you saw him?’

  Ollie considered lying, but she was on the top of their list already. There was no point. ‘Two nights ago.’

  That seals it, she thought. That puts her with him just before the early hours of yesterday morning.

  The detective looked round at the table and chairs. ‘You do what you need to do, but if you don’t mind, I think it best we wait.’

  An hour later there was tapping on the door and Ollie let in Donna Small and DS Mann. The juggernaut had arrived. Alesha moved into her outdoor electric buggy and took Lily to the café on the corner for breakfast.

  Donna Small fixed her eyes on Ollie. ‘Well. Well. You again.’ She looked around the apartment. ‘Nice place you have here. Perhaps I should check out how you can afford this.’

  Good luck with that, thought Ollie.

  ‘What was your exact relationship with Mr. Anderson?’

  ‘Client.’

  Small raised her eyebrows. ‘Prostitution? You told me you’d retired. What can you tell me about him other than the size of his dick?’

  Ollie sat at the table. How was she ever going to escape this fucking shitty life? She felt she was glued to the word failure.

  ‘We go back several years. He became a bit of a regular, then he went cold. Recently, he’s been all over me. Infatuated. It happens. I was trying to find a way to stop him seeing me.’

  ‘Well, that’s taken care of now. This wasn’t you stopping him?’

  ‘Would I do that and leave his body in my parking space?’

  ‘Was he married?’

  ‘He told me he had a partner, but it had gone sour. They had just split up.’

  ‘And he wanted to replace her with you?’

  ‘Who knows?’

  ‘This isn’t his place is it? Not keeping you here for himself?’ Ollie shook her head. This could get worse. She knew how their minds worked.

  ‘Ever meet this partner?’

  ‘Don’t be bloody stupid.’


  ‘Mind if we check your kitchen for large knives.’

  ‘I don’t have any because of Lily. I don’t want her growing up with them.’

  ‘But you’re working at the Café, preparing and serving food so you have access to plenty of knives.’

  Ollie didn’t answer.

  Donna Small leant forward. ‘What are you not telling me, Ollie?’

  Ollie shook her head. ‘That’s it.’

  ‘I’ll tell you then. He is the lawyer who defended you in an assault case five years ago. He is the same lawyer who bailed you over the disappearance of your partner, Stephan, last year. We have a witness on the floor above who saw you arguing with a man in the street in the early hours two nights ago. She’s certain the man had a knife.’

  Small paused and studied Ollie’s face. Ollie was trying to conceal her panic, but it’s probably obvious, she thought.

  ‘Okay. We did argue, but I calmed him down and we went back to his hotel room in his car.’

  ‘Something else you weren’t going to tell me. That he was living out of a suitcase.’ Small perched her backside on the edge of the table, reached out to the chessboard and knocked over the black queen.

  ‘I’m betting the argument continued in the car. You never got to the hotel. You killed him with the knife, drove back here and dumped the car.’

  ‘No way. And now it’s time you left. And I’ve already said, why would I put the car in my space?’

  ‘Because you’d never been down there and didn’t realise you had a space. You said as much yourself. And if you didn’t drive his car, how did you get back here?’ Small picked up the white queen and looked at it as she spoke. Thin symbolism.

  ‘I walked. It was a nice evening.’ And I’ve screwed myself there, she thought. She’d run to the comfort of the back streets, back to familiarity and security. CCTV on the main streets could have saved her.

  ‘Hoxton CCTV should show me leaving.’

  Small paused again and Ollie realised there was something bigger coming.

  ‘We’ve searched his hotel room. Nine thousand pounds in cash and two open tickets for flights to Sao Paolo in Brazil. One in your name.’ She stood and walked around the table to stand directly over Ollie.

  ‘Which leads to another theory. Hell, they rain down when Oleander’s around.’

  Ollie stared up at her, angry that she was in this corner through no fault of her own. ‘What theory is that?’

  ‘How about you didn’t murder him, but the two of you were planning a runner. That he helped you get rid of your partner, Stephan. Opens up a whole new line of enquiry for me. And what about his partner? Where’s she? No sign of her either. Both your partners gone and you’re both free to run away.’

  Small leant forward. ‘And I can add to that list. Your natural father and your stepfather. Two more unnatural disappearances that have happened around you.’

  Small stepped back and nodded to the others.

  ‘So, Oleander. I think we need to take you down to the station where you can make a nice long statement and then we can take it from there.’

  * * *

  Ollie spent the rest of the morning writing her statement. She’d called Jo to let her know what was happening. Jo had insisted that she send a solicitor to oversee everything. ‘He’s one of us, Ollie. He won’t let them get up to any tricks.’

  She also sent someone to the apartment to collect Lily and Alesha so they could spend the morning in the sunshine, at the café, with company.

  There was one thing that was picking at Ollie’s brain. She hadn’t seen George either on the day or during the night of Mark’s murder. Where had he been? Sure, he come round last night, but perhaps that was to move the car there or check if it had been discovered yet.

  If George was watching Mark to ensure that Mark completed some task, then George will have seen her. How did he say he knew where she lived? Followed her? What if he had been following Mark? What if he’d seen the argument in the street? George sees the opportunity to carry out his contract, kills Mark and leaves the body in Mark’s car, in her space? Conveniently putting her firmly in the frame for killing him.

  As Ollie was leaving the police station Small stopped her. She was full of anger. ‘Tell me, were you at that demonstration on Sunday? Your bunch of hippy friends from the café were there.’

  Ollie nodded and knew what was coming.

  DI Small smiled grimly. ‘See, Oleander. Death follows in your wake, wherever you go.’

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  At four pm, Ollie scrounged a lift home for Alesha and Lily from one of the other workers and took a taxi to her appointment on Harley Street.

  Some parts of your life are within your control, others aren’t. Ollie realised she needed this meeting. She was starting to doubt herself, what little self-esteem she had was disappearing rapidly and she was getting confused by the events going on around her.

  Where was her reality in all of this? She had to keep trusting herself and the decisions she was making, but it was getting harder. This morning she’d run to Jo. Yesterday to Saran. Trusting them rather than herself.

  Meeting a professional who would know and understand what had happened to her, and could explain it to her, was in her control. The downside was that anything uncovered may put even this tiny island of safety outside of her control.

  Amanda Southern was the psychotherapist Ollie had chosen for no other reason than she liked the look of her on the Practice’s website. In real life she didn’t disappoint. A bob of blond hair, professional white blouse and knee-length sky blue skirt. Her jewelry was nothing more than a silver watch and bangle. No glasses, no airs and graces and no judgemental attitude. Just kind, inquisitive, blue eyes.

  Amanda and her room oozed, exhaled, breathed, tasted and smelled of calmness. There was no notepad on her knee and no couch, just a table, easy chairs and a vase of fresh sunflowers. Somewhere, out of sight, was a recorder. Ollie accepted coffee and relaxed into a chair in the calmest room she had ever visited.

  She decanted her life story into a friendly silence. She ended with the revelation from her mother that her natural father had been murdered and Ollie had been found sitting in a pool of his blood.

  Amanda agreed that was severe mental trauma but was more astounded by the treatment. ‘And someone gave you hypnotherapy so you would forget the event?’

  ‘According to Mum, yes.’

  Amanda shook her head. ‘I almost feel as though I should apologise on behalf of my profession. It seems a bit random.’ She sat back. ‘But we need to be positive, Ollie. What is it you want from me?’

  ‘I want you to reverse it. I want to remember what happened. How did I get to be there? I want to see what I saw.’ She tapped the side of her head. ‘It must be in here. I’ve been told that I can be hypnotised and what has been locked away will be released.’

  Amanda took a deep breath and sat back. ‘I’m not sure it’s such a good idea, Ollie. Unlocking memories like that may be more damaging than leaving them there.’

  ‘But I’m older. I’ve told you what I’ve had to cope with in my life. I’m a strong person.’

  Amanda sat forward, hands clasped, worried smile. ‘This is different, Ollie, because it’s unknown. We’re opening a door to a dark room, then we shine a light. Who knows what we may find inside.’ She paused, then,

  ‘Look. Hypnotherapy was, and still is, experimental. It should never have been tried out on a ten-year old. No one is sure about side-effects. You change one thing in the brain, it has a knock-on effect to another part, which uncouples something else.’

  ‘Such as?’

  Amanda shrugged. ‘How about inadvertently releasing you from the social inhibitions that were taught to you. Degrading your responsibilities to yourself. You mentioned drink, drugs, stealing, prostitution. That’s some CV and it all started in the years following this treatment. Something took the shackles off your personal morality and it could have been this.’

&
nbsp; Ollie got defensive. ‘But I’m doing better now.’

  ‘Exactly, Ollie. It’s taken time, but you’ve relearned. Having a daughter will have helped. Deep down you always knew what was right.’ Another thoughtful pause, then, ‘And there are more modern interpretations. Everything you’ve said could point to you suffering from something called Borderline Personality Disorder.’

  Ollie shrugged, wondering if her brain was more screwed than even she thought. ‘That means nothing to me.’

  ‘Well, it’s associated with disturbed patterns of thinking or perception of past or current events, impulsive behavior and intense but unstable relationships with others. Inside your brain there will be a war of emotions going on. Anything good happens and you will try and destroy it with negative thoughts.’

  Amanda paused as she looked at Ollie’s increasing distress. ‘And now you wish you’d never come to see me.’

  ‘If I know what I should do, why don’t I do it?’

  ‘You have an on switch, but the off switch has been suppressed. You don’t remember it’s there.’

  Ollie’s mind twisted at the familiarity of these words with her actions. ‘In the morning I wake up not knowing what I’ve done or where I’ve been.’

  ‘That can be the case. Of course, it happens to normal people as well.’

  Amanda was shaking her head. ‘I would love to know who did it to you. They should have been monitoring and following up. Case notes would be good as well.’

  Amanda went and poured two glasses of water and handed one to Ollie.

  ‘Let’s take something positive from today. You still want me to hypnotise you? I can and if it does release any trauma, I can support you afterwards, but…’

  Ollie looked into Amanda’s eyes. They were calm and supportive. ‘I need to know. Now, while my mother is still alive. I want to understand what went on and why she won’t tell me.’

  Five minutes later Ollie was being gently encouraged by Amanda to recall and to try and say out loud what she was seeing.

  Ollie described her arrival at the kitchen door, pushing it open, but then she stopped speaking. Sweat appeared in beads on her forehead, the fingers of her hands, resting in her lap, writhed around each other like snakes.