Chris Simms - Shifting Skin

Her face hinted at the slow and cumulative effects of pain. He’d seen a similar drawn look appear on his granddad’s face as the cancer really began to take hold. Jon was just wondering what was eating her when something caused alarm to flicker in her eyes.

He looked to his right and saw a heavy man standing just inside the door. His arms were crossed and a large belly pressed out over his belt. He nodded towards the door and Jon spotted a set of car keys hanging from one hand.

Fiona started scrabbling around for her handbag, hurriedly saying goodbye to the colleague she’d been talking to. Her movement was picked up by Melvyn and he glanced round for an explanation. Seeing the man by the door, he called out sarcastically, ‘Jeff! Good to see you. Joining us for a quick one?’

The man stayed exactly where he was and shook his head.

‘Yeah, and fuck you, too,’ Melvyn muttered.

Fiona was now standing, agitation and embarrassment on her face. ‘See you all on Monday,’ she said, struggling slightly with her words.

Melvyn got up and hugged her, then watched with a pained expression as she lurched across the bar and out the door. Jon looked around and saw similar emotions on everyone else’s face.

Melvyn sat back down with a sigh. ‘Fucking arsehole.’

‘That’s Fiona’s other half?’ Jon asked.

His question had gone unanswered as they all broke into conversations about why she stayed with him.

A woman walked through the coffee shop doors. She was wearing a strange mish-mash of clothes, her hair was down over her forehead and she tried to keep her head bowed as she glanced quickly round the room. Their eyes met. Simultaneously recognising her and seeing the damage to her face, Jon held up a hand.

She moved towards him. ‘How did you know it was me?’

‘We were introduced once. I was picking Alice up from the pub. You were there with the other staff from the salon.’ She was looking blankly at him. ‘Jesus, you really were pissed.’ He touched the scar above his own eyebrow and smiled. ‘Besides, Alice said we had something in common.’

Her eyes dropped in embarrassment and Jon cursed his clumsy attempt at breaking the ice.

‘What else did she say about me?’ she asked.

He chose his words more carefully. ‘Not a lot. Just that your husband gives you a hard time.’

She sat down, lit a cigarette and looked him in the eyes. ‘My soon to be ex-husband.’

Jon hoped so, but he’d heard that line plenty of times before. Abusive relationships fought hard to keep their participants in place. ‘I can put you in touch with specially trained officers. Start the ball rolling to make sure he can’t come near you again.’

She shook her head. ‘Thanks, but it’s OK.’

‘Where are you staying?’ said Jon, eyes straying hungrily to the smoke curling from the tip of her cigarette.

‘Sorry, would you like one?’ She held the pack out.

Jon pursed his lips. He’d agreed with Alice to give up last year. Apart from one lapse, he hadn’t smoked in almost six months. Most of the time it was becoming less and less of a problem, but certain occasions brought on an urge like the need for a cool drink on a summer’s day. A little voice told him it would be OK. She was a fellow smoker. She’d understand. Word would never get back to Alice. He wrestled the temptation down with a shake of his head. ‘Trying to give up, thanks. So, where are you staying?’

‘I’ve got a room just round the corner.’ She gestured vaguely towards the street.

‘In the refuge on Stanhope Street?’ Jon kept his voice low. Fiona’s face went from shock to realisation. ‘Sorry. They told me to keep the address secret. I should have known the police would know about it.’

‘How long are you there for?’

She sighed, and a tremor passed across her lower lip. ‘I don’t know. I really don’t know.’

‘Are you OK, Fiona? We don’t have to do this if you’re not.’

She smiled bleakly. ‘Am I OK? I’ve just walked out on my husband. And then what I heard last night. .’ She ground the cigarette out, drilling the filter hard into the ashtray. ‘Be strong, Fiona. Be strong,’ she said under her breath. Then she looked up. ‘I want to tell you about last night.’ Despite her determined tone, a shiver went through her.

‘Can I get you a coffee first?’

She smiled. ‘Thanks. A latte, please.’

Jon returned a couple of minutes later. He placed a frothfilled cup before her just as she lit another cigarette. ‘Take your time,’ he said, sitting down.

Fiona told her story, starting from when she’d staggered into the foyer of the Platinum Inn and had sat with Dawn in the back office, sharing a few drinks. She began to falter when she had to describe the sound of the couple undressing.

‘OK, Fiona,’ Jon helped her along. ‘They were on the bed by now.’

She nodded.

‘And I’m guessing you could hear them getting down to business? Pardon the pun.’

‘Yes. But then I heard them speak again and they moved. Changed — you know — positions I suppose. And that’s when the struggling began. And this awful choking sound. She was fighting to breathe.’

Jon knew the autopsies on Angela Rowlands and Carol Miller had shown evidence of strangulation. In the background the milk steamer’s splutters ground to a halt.

‘Eventually they stopped moving. Then one person got up, went to the bathroom and the taps came on. He wandered about the room for a bit, went back to the bed.’ She broke to spoon foam into her mouth, fingers trembling. ‘Then there was a thump, like something heavy being dragged off the bed and onto the floor.’

Jon tried to keep his thoughts objective, but he couldn’t stop the waves of excitement running through him. He dragged his eyes from the tip of her cigarette again.

‘I crept across to my door and looked through the spyhole. One person left that room, moving slowly, something big and heavy wrapped in a blanket over his shoulder.’

‘Did you see his face?’

‘No, just a flash of reddish-brown hair, but I reckon that was the girl’s, poking out from the top of the blanket. He headed away from reception to the door at the other end of the corridor. He must have left through the fire exit.’

‘Did any sort of an alarm go off?’

Fiona shook her head. ‘You should see the place. It’s falling apart. I doubt the alarms even work.’

Jon ran the information through his head. The motel was a few minutes’ walk from where the third body had been found. But where had the victim’s skin been removed? Did the killer have a van in the car park or had he even left the building at all? Could he have taken her to a storage room or perhaps the basement?

‘Fiona, do you know what time of night this was?’

She nodded emphatically. ‘Three thirty in the morning they woke me coming into their room. He left at about four I’d imagine.’

Jon’s excitement vanished. ‘You’re absolutely sure on that?’

‘Yes, I looked at my watch.’

‘And it was three thirty in the morning?’

‘Yes. Three thirty-six, to be exact.’

An image of the killer had just started to materialise in his head. Blurred and indistinct maybe, but just enough to create a tingle in his veins. It was a sensation he found completely addictive. Now the hazy silhouette evaporated like a mirage. His lips tensed in regret. ‘Fiona, I’m telling you this in confidence. The body found at just after six this morning. It had been there all night, not placed there just before dawn.’

Fiona frowned. ‘But I heard…What I heard, it wasn’t just sex.’ Her jaw set tight. ‘I really think I heard someone being killed.’

Jon took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling, wondering how much brandy she’d shared with the receptionist. Halogen bulbs glared down at him.