Every Second Counts

Chapter Twenty

I DRIFT AIMLESSLY with little to do as Red's apartment looks as if it's been swept clean by professionals as well. Lila just has to keep herself busy so while she was here, every time I took Floppy for a walk she pulled on my thick plastic gloves and went to war on my apartment.

I need to take my head away from the gruesome death of Damien so I scatter the printouts of Reuben on the floor and study him closely. Does he look like a criminal or is it the shadows cast from his hooded eyes? I cannot make up my mind and it doesn't matter anyway. I need to find him whether or not he is the murderer. He's the only link I have. But, even while I'm trying to focus on Reuben my mind flits back to Damien. He is who I should be fixating on at the minute....I need to sort out the present and if by the grace of God I am not thrown in jail for eternity, I will then concentrate on the past.

I ponder whether now is a good time to visit the Heslop's. They will be grief stricken, they had a soft spot for Damien. I could shed some light on his murder, share what policewoman Polly has told me. Hopefully knowing a bit more may help them and it may loosen their tongues and tell me what they wouldn't tell me, last time I visited. Or maybe they can tell me something about Damien's murder. OMG they may have even seen my car that night...they may think I did it. And if they asked me outright, what would I say? I spend hours yinging and yanging as to whether I should visit them. In the end it's a ying!

It is expected that my trip to Cottonsdale would be thwart with ghastly memories and by the time I pull up to the Heslop's I am in much need of some light conversation to take me into another realm...somewhere else well away from reality although I know it will only be for a short while.

Florence beams when she opens the door and I allow the flood of freshly baked peanut biscuits to enter my soul. 'Come, sit. You look exhausted. So lovely to have you here, visiting us, isn't it Bert?' she asks her husband as he pours three cups of tea out of the light green teapot with pink carnations painted on its lid.

We talk about the usual...the squirrels getting into Bert's garden, the chill in the air that is several degrees colder than this time last year. The mess everyone's making of Brexit. The plight of the immigrants. I've always enjoyed the Heslop's opinions on current affairs even though they are frequently different to my own. I wish this was just a chatty little visit. But it isn't.

'You have to explain exactly what you meant the other day when I was here.' My question is to Florence and the flush that rises from her neck to her cheeks is crimson.

'I cannot tell you anything more than what we told you the other day. Can I Bert?' she turns from me to Bert.

'No. That's all you need to know,' he says.

I am so exasperated I am unable to keep the ire from my voice. 'Well, something has happened. I may be arrested for Damien Crowder's murder.'

They gawp at me, mouths open and Florence clutches her chest. 'No. No my dear. That's not possible.' Then she turns to Bert and asks, 'Is it?' He shakes his head.

I hadn't realised I had stood up when I told them I could be arrested and now I see my stance, hands on hips, glaring at them. I slump my shoulders and slink back into my chair, murmuring, 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you. But, I really think you need to explain to me a bit more about your role in my life.'

'One moment,' Bert says and he gets up off his chair and walks into the hallway. I go to say something to Florence but she puts her fingers to her lips shushing me. We listen and then we hear Bert. 'Yes, I know. But, she's in a pretty bad state. Both Florence and I think she should know at least,' he stops talking and appears to be listening to whoever he called. Then he says, 'OK.' Bert finishes his call and comes back to join Florence and me at the table. It is an agonising three minutes as Bert chomps his way through a peanut biscuit. No one says anything until he has finished.

He leans across the table and stares into my eyes. 'Athena, tell us what you remember the other day when Florence spoke about our role in your life.'

I am quite practiced now at going back to the different times of my life. I think I can attribute this skill to the girl in the dark room.

So, back I go. Florence is sitting in the same chair she is today. Leaning across the table with one wrinkled hand on my hand. 'What we are about to tell you must not go any further. You understand?' I had nodded. 'And we are only telling you this, because you appear to be getting well and truly out of your depth. We made a promise,' she added.

'Well, not only that. It's a binding contract,' Bert had qualified. It was at that point I felt I was talking to a couple of loopy-las. Serious loopy-las, if one took in the stoic expressions on their faces.

'We know you have found out a few things about your parents past. You know they were Russian,' she said.

'How do you know I found that out?' I ask.

'That doesn't matter. Just listen,' Bert says.

'What is your first memory of us?' Florence asks.

I remember saying, 'Was it before I started School or after? I think I had just started School.'

'Well, that's interesting. We were actually living next to your parents several years before then. But, no matter,' she says thoughtfully.

'How long before?' I ask.

'Right from when you were a baby,' she smiles with that look all grandma's give their grandkids. 'We've been in your life to protect you.'

I remember now hoping I didn't have the 'for fucks sake, are you mental?' expression. Body Guards? More like Old People's Rest-Home milk monitors.'

'From what? From who?' I had asked.

'We cannot tell you, Athena. You have to trust us. I know we're old, but we do what we can. And if we cannot do what's needed, we have someone to contact and they will do it for us,' Florence had answered. 'But trust us, to know anything more will put your life at risk even more than it appears you have put it already.' I let out the tiniest bit of sighs which does not mirror how I feel, like—You. Don't. Know. The. Half. Of. It!

'At least tell me if my sister is still alive. Or, what happened to her.' They didn't answer, they just stared at me without acknowledging they do or don't know anything about a sister.

I swish my head-space back to the present and relay my memory of our previous visit. When I finish, I cannot shift the disbelief from my face, but I ask, 'If what you said the other day is true, then who is paying you? Is it that person you just talked to on the phone?' Bert nods.

'They have a name?'

'Yes, but you wont get to know it,' Florence says and she crosses her arms over her chest to let me know it's the end of discussion.

'Right. As I said, I have reason to believe my DNA may be at Damien's crime scene. But I don't know if I... if it was me who killed him.'

Florence takes a tiny little breath and then says, 'Oh dear, Athena. Can't you remember what happened on Sunday night?' My eyes are downcast in shame and I shake my head. 'Then let me tell you what we know. We saw your car parked outside your house and I went and tapped on your window. You came in here while you waited for Damien to come and pick you up. When he didn't come you went to his shop. Then, after a while you rushed back to us. In quite a state. We knew something terrible had happened. There were splashes of blood on your frock.'

'A lot of blood, actually,' Bert qualifies.

'It took us a few minutes to calm you down,' Florence continues, 'and when you did you told us you found Damien in his shop, lying in a pool of blood. Surely you remember... something?'

During their revelation I shake my head slowly—it's as if the events they are describing happened to someone else. 'No. I don't remember anything that night. Like, nothing.'

'Well, Bert and I had to do some very quick thinking. We knew you wouldn't have been responsible, but we also knew your DNA would be all over the place. Bert rang our contact and before midnight they arrived and cleaned the place up. I trotted off in the morning on the pretext of cleaning his office and I raised the alarm.'

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