by James Arklie
Ollie delayed confronting her mother again, wondering if it would be worth the upset to both of them. There again, her mother may forget the conversation an hour later.
Ollie had removed a tiny clump of hair from each of the bodies and placed it into separate food bags. Then covered the bodies with a couple of old tablecloths from the store. All three samples were in the bag on the floor and she’d decide later where to hide them until she found a way to get them analysed.
The Amazon parcel sat on the table. She ripped it open using the tab and pulled out a new record player.
‘That’s nice, dear. Is that from….’
Ollie filled in. ‘George. I’m guessing so, Mum.’ How the hell did he know the apartment had been ransacked and the other record player destroyed?
Alesha mused. ‘Finding a good man is like finding a needle in a haystack.’
Ollie smiled at the words from a song her mother had forgotten about. She did remember them singing along together and dancing round the lounge when she was younger. That made her pause. A memory, triggered by a song.
She fished in the packaging and pulled out a single. Marvin Gaye, ‘I heard it through the grapevine’.
What grapevine is that, she wondered? Was there a message there? I’m listening out for you? Contact me if you need me?
Ollie made them both coffee and a sandwich, tried again to see if her mother could remember where Lily had gone, then sat with her in silence while Alesha remained lost in some daytime TV show.
‘Bag needs emptying, love.’
Ollie disconnected the bag and the mobile dropped to the floor. For a moment she just stared at it. How had she managed to forget about that?
She sorted out her mother, then took the mobile to the kitchen and switched it on. She checked through all the in-boxes for texts, emails and messages. All empty. There was no Facebook account. No Instagram.
She opened Photos. There were just over a thousand. She went to the most recent and scrolled back. There was only one of her, taken at the café without her knowing. There were pictures of cars. She recognised Mike Stockton’s car. Then Mark Anderson’s.
There were hundreds of pictures of both men. Mixed in were pictures of both men with her. At the Hoxton. On the streets. There were several of the night Mark had confronted her with the knife and she’d taken it off him.
What was this? Was he spying on her? Stalking her? Jealous? Both those men were dead. Had he killed them out of spite, to remove them from the scene? He’d disappeared but was still sending presents. That made no sense either.
She kept flicking across the screen. Images appeared of the Café, of Joanna, a couple of the other women. There were plenty of all the men. There were pictures of them loading the van with the picnic and placards for the demo.
Ollie shook herself. What was she looking at? Why did he want these pictures?
She flicked through the contacts. There was only one. It had a mobile number, but no calls had ever been made. She checked the outboxes and stopped at WhatsApp. Hundreds, if not all of the pictures, had been sent to that number.
‘Can I get another tea please, love.’
Ollie went and switched on the kettle. What was going on? Who the hell was George? In her mind she’d just decided that he was a good guy. But each step forward was becoming a step into quagmire of questions with no answers, suspicions with no facts. I’ve just left a basement concealing the skeletons of the three men in my life and now this.
The more she stepped forward the harder it was to drag each leg free and take the next step. But she had to keep stepping otherwise the quagmire would suck her down.
And if she was the person responsible for those three bodies, she needed help.
She poured water into the teapot and stirred the bags. On impulse she called the number. She let it ring and ring, but no one answered and there was no answerphone.
She took a mug of tea to her mother, looked at the record player and made a decision. In Lily’s room she tore a sheet of paper from a notebook and with a felt tip wrote in large letters – ‘George. I need help’.
She held it just below her face, took a selfie and then sent it to the number. Maybe George would get the message. Maybe not. Maybe she would get some answers. Or maybe she was inviting the wolf to her door and she would end up dead.
She took a plate of biscuits to her mother. ‘I’m going out for a bit, Mum. If Lils comes home or calls, let me know, okay?’
‘Where you off to, love?’
‘I need to see someone, Mum. Unfinished business.’
She stepped out into the sunshine of the street. Take control, Oleander. Make decisions. Go back and finish what you started with Amanda.
And face up to whatever happens.
Chapter Forty
Small took the call from Andy on her mobile. She’d sent him with the forensics courier because she didn’t want that knife out of her control. Meanwhile, she’d gone back to the office and the whiteboard, where she was mentally moving people around.
Finding the knife had put her on an adrenalin high, yet as she slid down the other side the ghost of her bad feeling returned to haunt her. Andy had been feeling it for a couple of days and now it was hanging over her. One minute she felt she had Soul in the palm of her hand, the next she started dribbling away through her fingers.
Simple question. Why would Soul kill with a knife she’d used before and then randomly leave it behind? A beacon flashing ‘here I am’. It made no sense. Soul was a clever, cautious killer and to just leave her favourite tool behind….
Her mobile rang. Andy was breathless with excitement. ‘Boss. They’ve found a second knife. Just brought it in. Wrapped in cloth and hidden behind a piece of skirting board. Blood on both the knife and the cloth.’
Soul had lived in that room for a year. If she was a serial killer it was where she would keep the tools of her trade. So it was logical they were both hers.
What did the Americans call this? A ‘slam-dunk’? She let her gaze wander across all the faces on the board. She wasn’t getting the ‘dunk’.
What is it I’m not seeing? Historic disappearances. Current killings. One thread linking them. Soul.
So why was her gut telling her something wasn’t right and there was more to this.
A lot more.
* * *
Ollie walked into the reception at Harley Street. She apologised for the short notice and asked if Amanda Southern was free. Answer, no, she’s fully booked for three days. You have an appointment booked. Is it urgent? Can it wait?
Ollie was tempted to walk away. Let it all go. This was her chance, but she couldn’t. I’ve found three bodies directly linked to me and the police already have me lined up for at least two more killings. I have to know, she thought, if I am the killer who forgets.
The receptionist agreed to call Amanda as soon as the current session had finished. She didn’t have to bother. Amanda appeared ten minutes later walking out with a client.
She saw Ollie, frowned, smiled, passed the client to the receptionist, and turned back.
Ollie stood. ‘Sorry. But I have to see you. More things have happened.’ Amanda tilted her head in question. Ollie held back the tears that always seemed so close these days.
‘I’m afraid of who I am or what I might be.’
Amanda spoke briefly to the receptionist, then gently took Ollie’s arm and steered her to her room and sat her down.
‘We never finished, Ollie. You know that? You never finished.’
‘I want to do it now.’
Amanda nodded. First, tell me what you saw.’
Ollie told her. ‘It was me. Sitting there. In my best yellow dress. Knife in hand. Blood everywhere.’
Amanda smiled reassuringly. ‘Let me tell you one thing right now. That person was not you. We are recalling what happened to you that day. If that person is you, your recollection would be from the perspective of that person. Looking down at your father.’
�
��But it’s me. Curly black hair. Yellow ribbons. That’s my dress.’
‘No, Ollie. You’ve recalled what you saw, not what you actually experienced.’
Amanda sat back, while Ollie digested the information, then asked, ‘It wasn’t me?’
‘Can’t have been. So, the question you want answering now is, who was it? To do that, we go back there again and you sit here until the very end. Whatever that might be.’
She went and got two glasses of water. Ollie sipped and Amanda reassured her. ‘You’ve come back of your own free will. Your subconscious is ready. It’s a good sign.’
Five minutes later Ollie had unlocked the memory and rolled it forward.
‘The girl is standing in the blood, looking down. Saying something. Dad is rolling off something. He’s holding his neck. There is blood pumping out. It’s like a hosepipe. It’s horrible. He’s holding his neck trying to stop it. The little girl has stabbed him in the back. Someone else is screaming.
‘There’s another person, pushing him off. Sitting up……’
Amanda gave her ten seconds, watched the shock on her face.
‘Ollie. Who is sitting up?’
‘Mum. Mum is sitting up. She’s crying. Screaming.’
‘And the little girl?’
‘She’s turning round. She’s heard me. I must be screaming. Mum, is trying to get up, but she’s slipping in all the blood. Dad…. His body is jerking, twitching….’
‘Who is the girl, Ollie?’
Ollie’s eyes were screwed tight. ‘I can’t see her. I can’t see a face. I won’t let myself. I’m trying, but I can’t get her features clear. I think I hear her laughing. Where’s her face? I…just…can’t….’
Amanda pulled Ollie back. Went and knelt beside her with water and tissues. Ollie wiped at the beads of sweat on her forehead.
She gave the little laugh of someone about to burst into tears. ‘What a bloody mess.’
Amanda was positive. ‘This is progress, Ollie.’
‘But no face.’
‘It will come, Ollie. Something will trigger it.’
Ollie sipped at her water. Made another decision. I have to ask the question, she thought. Face it full on. ‘That hypnotherapy, what it did to me? Could I kill someone and not remember?’
‘Ollie, we’ve just seen that you didn’t….’ Amanda paused, then pushed herself to standing, concern on her face.
Ollie stood as well. ‘It’s just that over the years a lot of people around me have died or disappeared.’
Ollie watched Amanda’s concern deepen. ‘Ollie, if you think….’
Ollie gathered up her bag and jacket and waited. Amanda sighed into the answer.
‘Look, Oleander, there are forms of amnesia brought on by stress or traumatic events, but it is not what you have. Trust me.’
‘You’re saying that it is possible.’
Amanda sighed again, then nodded. ‘Yes.’
* * *
At three pm, to coincide with the third, mournful chime of Big Ben, the first petrol bomb soared from the crowd of protesters and left a black smoking arc across the blue sky. Seconds later it exploded amongst the double line of riot police.
It was a signal to others and Joanna watched from a safe distance as a second and then a third were thrown. The screams, the anger, the premeditated violence erupted. Somewhere out there was at least one handgun. Today would never be forgotten.
She answered a call on her mobile. Quizzed the caller as to ‘why’? She accepted the answer, took one last look at a street battle framed against Westminster and the Houses of Parliament and thought how fitting that it should all begin in front of such a symbol for democracy. But this was only a small step. Nothing. A distraction. The next stage was the giant leap.
The next stage would make the world sit up and notice.
And the person who was going to deliver it was ready. Backed into a corner, manipulated like a puppet on strings, and ready for her final dance.
Oleander Soul, she thought and smiled.
Your day has come.
Chapter Forty-One
Ollie walked back to the apartment. Partly to allow herself to replay and accept what she’d just unlocked, but also to take in a couple of play parks where she thought Lily may be.
Both were fruitless and upsetting. The was no sign of Lily. I’ve lost my daughter, she thought. What kind of mother am I? The only consolation was that her mother had said she was collected by friends, so she would have to wait it out.
As for her brain, she gave up after asking herself a simple question – am I capable of killing, yes or no? The answer was ‘yes’. Did I kill my father, was now, ‘no’, but what about the others?
When she got back to the apartment the television was still on, but there was no sign of her mother. She hurriedly checked all the rooms. They were empty. The plate of biscuits was untouched. More concerning was that her mother’s outdoor electric mobility buggy was still in the hallway.
Ollie cursed. Not now, Mum. Not bloody now. The last thing she needed was for her to have wandered off, not knowing where she was going or how to get back.
Ollie rushed out to the local café and the shop. She wasn’t there and they hadn’t seen her. She knocked up a couple of neighbours who were at home. Nothing.
She slumped in a chair, exhausted and scared. Her mobile rang. It was Saran. ‘Hi Toots. After our chat this morning, just checking everything’s all right. Lils enjoy her Danish?’
‘They’re both out, Sars. First Lils, then Mum. No idea where. I think I should call the police.’
Saran tried to be calming. ‘Take it easy, Sweets. I have my car, so how about I meet you at the top end of the Lane and we’ll have a cruise round. Your Mum won’t have gone far. Not with her illness and all. And Lils is with friends, she’ll turn up.’
Ollie left a note and left her key in the lock so if they came home they could get in. As she was about to leave, she heard a new ringtone, the trill of a harp. She snatched George’s mobile from her bag.
There were three words across the screen.
‘Run. Hide. Now!’
* * *
Andy called Donna Small from the forensics lab where he was waiting for the results. Small wanted to be the first to know and had told him to wait it out.
Andy was ecstatic. ‘We’ve got her, Boss. Those knives are gold. Completely damning.’
Small was on the move, running through the office, mobile to her ear. She told Andy to get shifting while he spoke.
‘The first knife has got her prints on it. Blood is from multiple sources. She didn’t even bother to clean it between killings.’
‘Names?’
‘Stockton-Marston. Anderson. WPC Jane Morgan. Amal Khan.’
‘Bloody hell.’ That shocked even Small. Guns get a reputation for being used in multiple killings and being passed from hand to hand. But never a knife.
Small was in her car, accelerating from the car park. Thinking of the quickest way to Soul’s apartment. Then she had a thought. She’d better do this properly.
‘Andy. Get a couple of cars to that Café in case she’s still there. And get us a couple as back up and a fresh search warrant.’ If Soul wasn’t there Small was going through that door whatever.
‘What about the other teams, Boss. Shouldn’t we let them know.’
‘I’ll call Joe Tanner. I owe him. The others will get their calls from forensics.’
She was about to hang up, but Andy stopped her. ‘Want to know about the second knife, Boss?’ She could see his grin from here.
Small flicked on her small, blue grill lights as she hit traffic. ‘Go on.’
‘A child’s prints that are incomplete. No more than a ten-point match, but good enough to suggest a young Soul.’
Not in court, though, thought Small. ‘And?’
‘Two IDs from blood. One is Soul’s natural father, Billy Jones. The other is from her missing partner, Stephan Khan.’
That st
unned her. Soul had kept a knife that had been used to kill her father when she was ten years old? Only to use it fifteen years later to kill her partner?
She pulled a sharp left and her tyres squealed on the tarmac.
‘That’s crazy, Andy. Think that through. If she killed Billy Jones at the age of ten and we have never recovered the body, then someone was helping her. And it had to be one or more adults because I can’t imagine even five ten-year old’s being able to dispose of an adult body.’ And the woman who should know, she thought, was hiding behind the early stages of dementia.
‘I know, Boss. But we’ve got her on the first knife. We can focus there.’
Small took a deep breath as she turned left and approached Soul’s apartment block. One of the backup cars was pulling in from the opposite end and swung across the road, blocking it.
She had that creeping feeling again. Two minutes ago, I had her, she thought. But now she’s slipping through my fingers. Why is there always something not quite right when you investigate Oleander Soul?
She spoke her thoughts to Andy. ‘All these little irregularities, Andy. They’re pissing me off.’
‘Agreed, Boss.’
She braked hard, double parked, snatched her mobile from the cradle and tumbled out of her car.
‘So let’s go get her and sort this out once and for all.’
Chapter Forty-Two
Ollie sprinted from her apartment, her one thought was get to the safety of the back streets and the canal. There she could get herself tucked away under a bridge, out of sight of cars, cameras and people.
But she never got that far. As she turned into the first alley a man stepped from behind tall grey waste bins piled with rubbish. He wrapped powerful arms around her, clamping her to him.
From behind her a black plastic bag came down over her head and was pulled sharply and tightly around her neck. She heard the rip of tape being dragged from a reel as it was wound round her body, the growling engine of a van. The slide of a door.
