Gay Longworth - The Unquiet Dead

The black mist turned red. Jessie felt the fury whip through her like the wind as she turned on Mark. ‘Did you ask for it when your mother abused you?’ she said in a mean whisper.

‘You bitch,’ spat Mark.

Jessie stood. ‘And when you said, “No, don’t lock me in this cupboard,” you really meant, “Yes, leave me here in the dark for hours.”’

Mark didn’t respond immediately. Finally he said, ‘I’ve been waiting, wondering how long it would take you to throw that back at me. All that bullshit about how I could trust you – what a load of shit. Mum had no choice and you know it.’

‘Trust! You don’t know the meaning of the word. Moore has been here two seconds and you turn on me in an instant. And as far as choice is concerned, there is always a choice.’

He flew down the stairs towards her. ‘Sanctimonious cunt.’

It was reflex. A spasmodic response to his ugly words. To his descending mass. A bent elbow, fast and hard, into the solar plexus. Mark fell forward, letting out a high-pitched wheeze, landing on his knees on the hard floor. Jessie reeled from the shock of the words, from the shock of her own actions. Mark coughed. Jessie stood motionless.

‘You all right, Mark?’ asked Moore from the top of the stairs.

‘It’s the damp,’ he croaked.

Jessie bent down to his level. ‘Don’t ever speak to me like that again,’ she whispered.

He turned to face her, a look of real hatred in his eyes. ‘I’m going to see to it that you end up in fucking Dundee.’

Jessie stayed low, talking low. ‘Don’t count on it, Mark. That lid hasn’t been moved for years. You’ve just stumbled across some old skeleton, that’s all.’

‘What are you two whispering about?’ They both ignored Moore.

‘I saw hair. I saw flesh. I saw clothes. You’re wrong, and that’s something you can’t stand. Go away,’ he seethed, echoing the words of another delirious man.

Jessie backed off, but only because she was so frightened of her own feelings. She had already hit him, but still she wanted to grind her nails into his face and pull the flesh off. She wanted to hurt him, destroy him.

‘We’ve been given clearance,’ said Moore as she passed. Jessie didn’t care. She wanted to get out. She ran up the steps, back along the corridor, through more doors and up more steps until eventually she found herself bursting out on to the street. A dozen cameras flashed. The news was already out. Behind the barrier, men and women jabbed microphones and shouted questions. Jessie took gulps of air as the name Anna Maria filled the cul-de-sac. The dead end. There were only two ways to go. Through the pack on the street or back into Marshall Street Baths. For the first time ever, she preferred the press pack to her fellow police officers. Nothing would induce her to return to that place. She may have been at loggerheads with Mark on many previous occasions, but nothing like that had ever happened. She had been taught unarmed combat in order to be able to disarm a person, defend herself, break up a fight. She never thought she’d use the skill to start one. A small corner of her brain had to applaud Mark for not hitting her back. He must have wanted to, but he didn’t. She’d lost control. He hadn’t. Now she’d have to apologise to him. Violence was never the answer. Wasn’t that what she was always telling the schoolkids, the young men banged up time and time again?

‘DI Driver,’ called a woman’s voice as she walked to the car. Jessie turned. It was Amanda Hornby, the Channel Five crime reporter. ‘Have they found a body?’

‘No comment.’

‘They’ve sent SOCO in there, so they’ve found something.’

‘No comment.’

‘Come on, Detective, give me a break.’

‘Leave me alone,’ Jessie hissed, pushing on past her and out into the gathering crowd. Dazed, she walked on as the pavement grew thick with onlookers, some staring without shame, some shuffling past and smiling into mobile phones, trying to pretend they weren’t really interested, while others stood away from the gossipmongers, watching and waiting for the body-bag. She had to elbow her way through the crowd. ‘Excuse me –’

‘They’ve found a body,’ Jessie heard one woman say.

‘All cut up,’ spoke another.

‘I’m trying to get through –’

‘That poor girl,’ said a third. ‘Her dad buggered off, her mother’s always away …’

An old man blocked her way. ‘Will you please move!’

The man turned, tipped his hat and stepped aside.

‘Thank you,’ said Jessie, escaping at last.

The man nodded. ‘Check the date,’ said a voice. Jessie turned back, but the man in the hat had already merged into the crowd.

Jessie moved on, turning down streets in no particular order, fuelled only by a desire to lose herself. She looked down at her hand and saw that she was shaking; the fight had caused adrenaline to rush around her system. Wanting Bill, she phoned the flat but there was no answer. She cursed herself for not making an arrangement with him, she should have hired him a phone. Where would he be? Where was she, for that matter? Jessie’s phone buzzed in her hand. It was a local number she didn’t recognise.

‘Hey, Jess, fancy a drink?’

‘How did you know?’ she said, smiling with relief.

‘Because you’re terribly bad at hiding your alcohol dependency,’ he replied.

‘Where are you?’

‘In a phone box, outside, hang on …’

Jessie saw the glass door rotate towards her. Bill emerged, looking skyward.

‘It’s okay,’ said Jessie. ‘I know exactly where you are.’

‘You do?’

She put her phone away and called his name. He waved, astonished. She hugged him tightly.

‘That’s weird,’ said Bill.

‘That’s magic.’

He took her arm. ‘I always thought you were a bit of a white witch.’

Jessie took the seat opposite her brother. Before picking up the tumbler of neat whisky, no ice, she slid Bill’s packet of fags towards her, pulled one out and lit it. Bill said nothing. She inhaled deeply, took a sip of whisky, inhaled again, then stubbed out the cigarette. Bill winced. ‘I’ve got some fairly serious codeine at the flat,’ he said.

‘Thanks, but I like to annihilate myself the old-fashioned way.’

‘I thought you didn’t smoke.’

‘I don’t.’ The alcohol hit her empty stomach and the nicotine rushed to her head. Her heart beat a little faster for a while and then settled back down again. She finished her drink.

‘Feel like a new woman?’ said Bill.

Jessie nodded. ‘Yeah, and that new woman’s thirsty.’ She stood up. ‘Same again?’ Bill passed his glass over. ‘You’d better grab a menu – they do food and you look like you need some.’

‘Liquid lunch today.’

‘What’s happened?’

‘I’ll tell you when I get back.’

Jessie ordered another round, picked up a menu for Bill and returned with the drinks in hand.

‘I hit Mark Ward,’ she said, once a good amount of the second drink had hit her stomach. ‘Don’t worry, no one saw.’

‘You hit him? Why? Where?’

‘In the solar plexus.’

‘No, I mean where were you?’

‘In this horrible place around the corner. I’m feeling a bit better now, but as soon as I walked in there, I don’t know …’ She frowned, trying to remember where the feeling had come from. ‘I can’t explain it. He’s called me names before. Big deal, right; don’t dignify it with a response, all that crap … So why today? I could have killed him. I’m not joking. I have never felt so angry in my life. Except … no, not even then.’

‘Except when?’

Jessie paused for a moment. No one really touched on this subject. It was taboo. ‘When Mum died, and the doctor told us she’d known for months. I was furious, still am. But not like today. I didn’t want to kill the doctor.’