by Toni Parks
“Sorry to bring you in at such short notice, but needs must and all that. I thought today’s media conference,” here she glanced at her watch, “in six hours time, would be solely about the dunking man video. Had that been the case I would have been confident that I could field it with no problem. But now it appears that we do have a problem, well several actually. As well as the aforementioned, the press is also on the case of our ‘waxwork black museum’ murder; and along with a photograph I might add. So it will be hitting the breakfast tables just in time to put readers off their square sausage and eggs. And on top of that we now have another three murders, thankfully all tied-in together as opposed to individual. But this whole raft of murders convinces me that we’re dealing with the beginnings of major turf warfare. There is a hidden message in this agenda and we urgently need to find the key. Any ideas?” She threw the question out and looked around her colleagues, all making eye contact but still wearing ‘rabbits in the headlights’ syndrome. This gave her a satisfying and calming effect, as she was able to compare this, like-for-like with the mirror reflection she had been so hard on earlier.
*
Waking at eleven o’clock at night can be beneficial if you’re late for the night shift. In Emma’s case it ended a four-hour doze, which left her feeling desperately hungry. She also had a pang for something a little stronger but the thought of what could already be growing inside her added extra strength to her increasing willpower to desist. She rubbed her eyes, stretched, to tease out the aches and pains, and weaved her way to the bathroom as if drunk. Having relieved herself, she set to making a sandwich and accompanied it with a wholesome bag of crisps and a coffee. A good four hours nap had now thrown her out of her sleep pattern and with fresh calories to burn she would certainly be kept wakeful for some time. She spent the first ten minutes channel hopping, but it was not the same, her watching without Jessica. She finished her coffee and made another thinking, ‘in for a penny, in for a pound. If I’m going to stay awake I may as well do it big style,’ and at the same time scooped up a pen and paper from the kitchen drawer. ‘I’m going to have to make a list of things that will help Jessica and then find a way to make them happen,’ she said, addressing the mug of her second coffee that she kept stirring with her other hand. She then put pen to paper and wrote:
What to do – 1) Get Jess out of jail 2) Find a way of getting her out of UK 3) Get money to finance first two 4) Send signed documents back to solicitors 5) Buy a pregnancy tester 6) Maybe get in touch with Barnham?
How to do it – 1) Don’t know 2) By car, bus, train, boat, plane? 3) From Jeremy’s will or from Zurich vault or check exchange rate on dollars 4) Buy stamp and post off 5) Buy at same time as going to post office 6) Only if five is Yes but he probably won’t be able to believe me or he’ll pretend he doesn’t.
Surprised by her own enterprise, Emma studied both columns of the list again, looking over the rim of the coffee mug as she drained it dry. She held her pose for what seemed like an age as her grey matter churned over the inherited problems and its possible solutions. Emma ended with a broad grin as she said aloud, “1) Can’t resolve myself but I know a man who can 2) Ditto 3) Get money from Zurich 4) Easy 5) Worrying 6) Will it cause additional problems for Jessica, and possibly me?”
She looked at the time displayed on her mobile added the extra hour for standard European time and contemplated that the ‘man who can’ would still be asleep. Of the two options remaining to her, sleep or Internet, she chose the latter and checked on flight availability from Edinburgh to Naples. Not Zurich, Naples. The way Emma calculated it, it was better to go to Naples first and talk the scenario through with Eduardo (the man who can) and then fly on to Zurich for the cash.
Googling the flights she was confident of leaving Edinburgh on Sunday at the latest with easyJet. The only two problems being that it was a 6.40 departure but based on the fact that she was sleeping peculiar hours at present this did not really faze her. The second problem was how to pay. She had a wrestler’s neck of one hundred dollar bills but that would not travel through the Internet nor was it sterling. Then, with a little deduction, she remembered Jessica’s credit card, which was more often than not tucked into a small side pocket of her everyday handbag. Although Jessica was a very private person she had freely allowed her sister access to her different card pin numbers, not necessarily in anticipation that this present situation would ever arise, but you never knew. And before she did know it she had booked a one-way flight and surmised that her sister would not be too hard on her as it was in her best interests anyway. ‘I’ll take the dollars too, but while I’m in the swing I may as well call at a cash point and use her debit card to get some readies,’ she thought, considering how simple it would be to go the whole hog and slip back into her old ways.
Daylight streamed in whilst she was daydreaming. The slow rising of the sun patiently brought St Boswells back to life. Activity began early as farmers, milkmen and greengrocers made the most of the early morning hours, so ensuring that the dawn chorus was complemented with their more industrial sounds. Emma, not comprehending that she must have dozed off again, now felt the warm rays caressing her cheek. It took her a few moments to gather her bearings and recall why she was slumped on the sofa with the laptop at her feet and an upturned mug. Then a moment of nausea caught her off guard as she rushed to the bathroom for her by now ritual morning heave. Familiarity of this daily event had given her a laissez faire attitude towards the thought of pregnancy even though the physical action of throwing up was still not high on her bucket list. Talking of lists, Emma retrieved from the floor the one she had made and picked up her mobile, convinced that 5.55 UK time would be an OK time to ring Italy, particularly with their added hour. She thumbed through her register, stopped and pressed ‘call’. Clicks and beeps preceded a male voice, “Salve.”
“Hello. Am I speaking to Eduardo? Eduardo Martini?” “This is he … Jessica! Emma! Which one are you? It’s lovely to hear your voice, which ever you are. Are you beautiful girls well?”
“Yes, hello Eduardo. It is Emma here,” replied Emma with a touch of the Allo Allo’s. “I’m well, sort of and no, Jessica’s not well at all. That’s why I’m ringing. I need to see you and ask for your help. I’ve booked a flight into Naples tomorrow. I should arrive just before 11.00 your time. Are you free to pick me up?”
“For you, amorina. I am always available. Do not worry. I will be there to meet you and we will sort this problem. In fact I need to visit Aberdeen in the near future. Is that near you?”
“I think it’s about 170 miles further north, but that’s pretty near really. What are you going there for? Business?”
“Yes, how do you say, ‘to knock some heads together?’”
“Yes, that’s about perfect. I think you’ve said it.”
“Well, anyway. See you tomorrow. 11.00 at Aeroporto Internazionale di Napoli.”
“Is that the same as Naples airport?”
“Yes, amorina it is. Ciao.”
“Yes, chow to you too,” replied Emma allowing a smile to both lighten her face and quicken her step.
CHAPTER TWELVE She relaxed into her seat, drew in a long breath and released it slowly. Her mind played over the last 24 hours as she made a ‘not too taxing’ checklist of what she had undertaken. More to ensure that nothing had been forgotten but also to use as prompts when talking to Eduardo. She recalled: searching for her passport, which turned out to be with all of Jess’ other important documents. Printing out her flight boarding ticket and thinking with pride that she was now becoming more proficient when dealing with computers and technology in general. Popping into the post office, with the postmistress asking how her sister was keeping, and hoping that they were both enjoying life in the village. Getting cash from the hole in the wall, her second crime in less than 12 hours. Picking up a pregnancy tester and then drinking more coffee than was good for her to make her want to go. The shock, the major shock at confirmation that she was going
to have a baby. A Baby. She wanted to shout it from the rooftops and her thumbs were within millimetres of texting Barnham to spread her news. And finally, how stupid she felt for forgetting, to not organise a taxi for the trip to the airport.
‘Jessica would never have forgotten that!’ she scolded. ‘The most important aspect after booking the flight and I nearly fluffed it.’ But she did remember, even if by default. Eduardo had texted back saying that he might be struggling to be at the airport and if that were the case he would be sending a reliable taxi service that could be trusted 100 percent, so not to worry. Emma’s thought process enabled her to wish for the same on the outbound flight. That’s when she came up short with a “Bloody hell!” And phoned around two or three services until she landed on a minibus service which already had travellers booked from Jedburgh for the same flight. So she was able to piggyback on their travel arrangements to the airport, and cheaper than planned, as if that mattered. And now she was sat next to one of those excited holidaymakers, a young girl of eleven who would be experiencing her ninth outbound flight. This put Emma’s second one to shame but she was not about to divulge that fact.
The flight was smooth, quiet and restful; most people being still tired from their early rises and from the stress of guaranteeing that they were in the right place at the right time and with all the right documentation. Emma took advantage of the calming atmosphere by attempting to claw back lost sleep from the previous two nights. And so far her morning sickness was absent. ‘Possibly it doesn’t affect you the same on an aeroplane,’ she considered. She revised her view after takeoff, but 30 minutes in as the trolley made its way up the aisle her tummy flutters were a faint memory and she was enjoying the hypnotic affect of the orange tinged clouds passing by her portal and looking forward to a light breakfast. Her adjacent neighbour had already been snacking and was now wrapped in her own little iPod world, whilst playing a multitude of games on her Kindle. She had obviously gained many flying hours on her previous flights and had all the distractions to prove it.
The three hours flew. The inviting sun moved direction outside the aircraft with the earth’s rotation and the plane’s flight path and it lived up to expectations on landing. The heat rushed to meet the passengers as they descended the steps and so caused still-tired travellers to become crotchety even though the majority was supposedly now on holiday. Enjoying the sun on her back, Emma went with the flow, arrived at customs and sailed through without mishap. ‘No Terry Barnham spectre here to catch me out,’ she thought as she gave the passport officer a longer look than necessary in response to his glance at her photo and his even longer lingering look at her face. But then she was used to that interaction, it spoke volumes that dialogue could never express, and taking her passport back she felt her cheeks flush at the words that had not been spoken.
Worrying that she would not recognise the taxi driver, Emma scanned the various shaped bodies leaning over the barrier as the new arrivals exited customs. She was scooped up suddenly, leaving her telescopic handled trolley bag to rise to the occasion too. Eduardo had obviously been far more observant than Emma as he squeezed the breath from her lungs. He had made it after all and now Emma was concerned that it may end up being detrimental to her health. But just as soon as he had swept her off her feet he planted her back down on them again. “Emma, I was shocked to hear from you so soon. Don’t misunderstand; it was a lovely shock but a shock nevertheless. It is wonderful to see you and so soon after the last time. And I must say you look positively glowing.”
“Thank you so much, Eduardo for your warm greeting and affection and for being here for me,” replied Emma, each word being dispensed slightly easier than the last as her lungs began to refill at a steadier rate. “I don’t just mean, here now, I mean more so for what I’m going to tell you and for hopefully how you can help. You do understand, don’t you?”
Eduardo had taken her bag in one hand and held her arm with the other as he aimed towards the departure doors, saying, “Si, si. I understand. But let’s get you out of here. I’ve already got two ladies who are dying to see you and Sacerdote Abatangelo knows you are here too and sends his regards and prayers. It’s hard to keep anything secret when you are in a packed church on a Sunday morning.”
“I don’t mind any friends knowing I’m here. It’s not the same as the first time Jessica and I came and called in at that church in Secondagliano as strangers.”
“It certainly is not, you’ll never again be a stranger. And you said on the phone that Jessica is not well? Is she in hospital?” asked Eduardo as he opened the car doors and boot.
“Not quite, no. She is institutionalised though. If you can call a prison that,” replied Emma over the car roof.
“Prison. Jessica! If anyone was going to get into problems, I was sure trouble would have had your name on it, not Jessica’s,” replied Eduardo before seeing the slight he was casting on Emma’s character. “Forgive me that thought.”
“Aye, well there but for the grace of God,” replied Emma leaving Eduardo in the dark as to her faint sigh of relief. “I’ll tell you about it later, I don’t want to be responsible for you crashing the car before we even get out of here,” she continued as he edged into the other traffic leaving the airport perimeter.
“OK. We can lighten the atmosphere for a while. Back home, there’s a select few waiting to meet you for Sunday lunch. And then we can pick up where we’ve left off.” Small talk punctuated the remainder of the short stop-start journey to Secondigliano. The surroundings again became familiar to Emma as the car approached the village and tears pricked her eyes on seeing the near deserted square, which had been the crowning glory of their send off less than three weeks ago. How cruel that fate and justice can work at such speed when pressured or in fickle mood.
On entering the bar her disposition lifted with not only Mama being there to greet her, but Gabriella and Pernille too. Both standing beautiful and statuesque in their individualities as they flanked Mama. She hugged Emma tightly, showering kisses on both cheeks in the process. Emma was then passed down the line for more of the same, giving Mama a chance to regain her breath whilst accusing Emma of nearly squeezing the life from her. With this being the third occasion of the Grandma and granddaughter embrace, Emma was now wilier as to whose enthusiasm was the greater. All four women spent time recuperating and openly wiped joyful tears from their eyes. Emma was then caught wrong footed with questions being asked as to Jessica’s absence, but the scraping of chairs as Mama put those present in their places masked her hesitation. To divert attention Eduardo said, “Didn’t you say that Jessica had a course to attend this weekend and that’s why you took the opportunity of paying us a surprise visit?”
Emma, having grown up spinning yarns and more serious untruths, only nodded her agreement as she had too much respect for her Mama to expose her to verbal lies, no matter how innocent. And so the three courses meandered over two or three hours of the Sunday afternoon with wine, soft drinks and coffee flowing in equal measure to complement the food. Gabriella observed that Emma had only limited herself to one small glass of Verdicchio, even though the chilled white was so refreshing and played counterpoint beautifully to the heat leaching in from outside. The question why, would have to remain unanswered as the conviviality of the diners prevented a discreet opportunity arising.
Mama was the first to make a move. Mopping her brow with her scarf and holding her arm across her ample stomach gave confirmation that she was now replete and in need of a riposo. Dining chairs had their place but that place was not for relaxation. She stiffly rose, pecked each member of the party on each cheek and chose Emma and Gabriella to escort her back to her own home. A short walk, which helped with digestion but also, brought on exhaustion in the prickly heat of the day. Both women returned having ensured Mama was comfortable in her favourite chair, overlooking the orchard and with a glass of chilled water to hand.
The dining table had been cleared and replaced with a fresh cafetière I
talienne and the Spode Blue coffee cups. Eduardo and Pernille were sat chatting and invited the two ladies to take a seat. Pernille poured as Eduardo turned the conversation to the subject of Jessica. “As we all know, and well done for keeping Mama in the dark, Emma has come to ask for our help. Jessica is in a situation of which we have yet no knowledge. So Emma if you feel comfortable, please begin.”
Emma held court to her silent audience. She regaled how their journey home had turned from joy to almost disaster at Edinburgh Airport. How then they had spent several days relaxing, letting the excitement of the previous couple of weeks slowly seep out of their brains and bodies. How then a ‘clever dick’ DC, Detective Constable, she explained, clever dick needed no such explanation, had linked a DNA sample to Jessica’s DNA and so hammered the first nail in her freshly constructed coffin. The audience obviously did not understand idioms of the English language but let her proceed anyway. Another link would be fatal, she extolled, and it was found at her place of work. She explained the files Jessica had written adding confirmation to her knowledge of the people in question. And so Jessica felt remorse and would most likely plead guilty to her crimes, and thus seal her coffin totally.
Eduardo trying not to appear either rude or ignorant stopped Emma at this point, with, “Emma, what you say does seem to flow in a certain order but I am in the dark as to what Jessica has done and also whether or not she is dead or alive, already? Is she in this coffin, you talk about?”
