He must have been lucky checking on Selmira’s hospital I.D., as it was displayed on television, the very next day. I nearly missed the item, as I was copying the CD of Stephen King’s “The Firestarter” onto my talking book device, not really concentrating on what was on television.
“Tonie! They’re talking about Selmira on the Northern news.”
I quickly turned my attention to the television. “Manchester police would ask anybody who recognises this thirty-five year old Bosnian woman to get in touch with us if they have seen Selmira Ademovic. She moved from Sale in Cheshire in April, this year. It is understood that she moved to Birmingham at that time, but has since disappeared. She is about one hundred and seventy centimetres in height and is of slim build. She may have, recently, changed her appearance. It is understood that she likes canal houseboats, which may help in locating her. If anybody recognises her, please contact the police as soon as possible.”
Before Selmira’s picture disappeared off the screen, I asked Suzanne to describe her appearance. “She does look quite slim with fairly long, black hair. Her eyes are black and she seems to have quite thin features.”
“Doesn’t sound like your typical murderer!
Suzanne shivered and gave a nervous laugh. “Is there such a thing as a typical killer? I have to admit that I can’t imagine her naked in the bath cutting Ivanko into pieces.”
“Perhaps the brutality she experienced as a child in war-torn Bosnia hardened her to such actions.”
“I suppose that’s possible. I don’t think that I would ever like to cross such a woman.”
Chapter Fifteen: Selmira’s Story
When Selmira left her house in Sale, in late April, it was with a deep regret and sadness. Just over four years of living in this comfortable house with Ivanko had left a deep impression on her. She accepted that it was her own fault that the marriage had foundered and, now, she deeply regretted the affair with David Allinson and taking Ivanko’s life, yet, sadly, she could not turn back time. She had been plagued with deep, painful regret at her impulsive action, but it had been the horrific hauntings by her dead husband which had almost driven her mad, eventually forcing her to abandon her career at the hospital and leaving the home she loved. The worst was having to work out her four weeks notice at Wythenshawe Hospital before she could escape from her nightly horrors.
The evening before she was due to leave her house, she cut her long hair to just short of her shoulders and coloured it hazel brown. Looking at her strange image in the mirror and satisfied with the result, she put the trimmings and the container of hair colour into her case, not wishing to leave any evidence that she had changed her appearance. Selmira had read enough Jeffery Deaver books to realise that leaving the slightest clue could lead to her downfall. She imagined Amelia Sachs scanning the crime scene at her house and reporting back to Lincoln Rhyme for his brilliant deductions.
Selmira looked again at her new image in the mirror, feeling quite pleased with the result. The question was, could she actually pass as a British woman? She could still detect her Bosnian roots in her facial features, but, with blue-coloured contact lenses combined with her light-brown hair, it would help a little. There was nothing she could do to reduce the size of her chin, but she hoped that her slight change of appearance would be enough.
Selmira knew that it would be impossible to take much out of the house where she and Ivanko had enjoyed living together. As a consequence, she carried just two medium-sized suitcases into which she had managed to squeeze all her clothes and personal possessions. She even managed to find room for her Sajada, which was only small and decorated in rich, vibrant patterns. She could not imagine going away without this sacred item. It saddened her to realise that everything she had owned from her life over the past fifteen years had been reduced down to just two cases.
It was around seven in the morning when she pulled the door closed behind her for the very last time at number sixteen Eastcroft Road, hoping that it was too early to be noticed by any nosy neighbours. Looking, wistfully, up at the house which had been her home for the past four years, Selmira gave a sigh of regret at having to leave this pleasant, tree-lined residential area.
Selmira was thankful that she only had two cases to carry, as she walked through the familiar roads until reaching Brooklands Metro station. As she walked down the stairs towards the platform, Selmira could see quite a few commuters already waiting. Dropping her cases to the floor, she keyed in her destination at the ticket machine, paying with cash instead of a debit card to avoid leaving a trail. It was a one-way journey to Manchester Piccadilly rail station. Even at this early time, the Metro was quite busy with commuters, although she was lucky enough to find a seat.
Manchester Piccadilly Rail station was also busy when Selmira arrived just before eight o’clock, that morning. As yet, she did not have any idea where she wanted to travel, as long as she was well away from Manchester. Selmira looked at the destinations board, trying to determine the best choice. On the way, she had been considering moving to Sheffield and noticed that Trans-pennine Express service to Sheffield only took fifty minutes. Selmira considered the situation, but wondered if it was, perhaps, still a little too close to Manchester. Turning once again to look through the destinations display, she scanned the various destinations. London was definitely out, as it would cost far too much to live there. The money she would get from the sale of her house would not even cover the cost of a small apartment in the capital city.
She reasoned that Birmingham may be a better less expensive choice. Picking up her cases, she headed for the ticket office. Determined not to leave a trail for the police to follow. Selmira paid with cash for the first-class one-way ticket, before heading towards the waiting area. After a comfortable journey of an hour and a half, she arrived at Birmingham’s New Street station, wondering just what would lie in store for her in Britain’s second largest city.
Selmira picked up a tourist guide map from the information desk at the station and headed for the taxi rank. There was quite a queue waiting for taxis, but, after waiting for about ten minutes, the driver was helping her to put the suitcases in the back of the vehicle. “Where to, miss?”
Selmira had removed her wedding ring and, as far as anybody else was concerned, she was, now, a single woman. “How far is it to the Premier Inn Hotel?”
“There’s lots of Premier Inns in Birmingham, love. Broad Street, Canal Side is probably the nearest and will only take a few minutes from here. Is that where you want to go?”
“Yes, please.” “Canal side? Sounds interesting”, she thought. Selmira smiled at his warm Birmingham accent and leaned back in the seat, wondering just what lay in store for her in this new situation. Selmira was aware that she could not use her real name if she was to avoid being traced and found by the police. She had already decided that “Sarah Armstrong” was to be her new name, which did have the advantage of keeping the same initials.
The next step would be the most difficult. Registering at a hotel usually required an address, but this was not going to be possible. Plucking up courage, Selmira entered the reception area at the Premier Inn.
She waited, nervously, as a business man was already checking in. When the man was handed his room key and headed for the lift, she stepped up to the desk. “Good morning, madam. Can I help you?”
“Yes, please. I’m looking for a single room.”
“For how many nights?”
“At least seven, but it may be much more.” Selmira knew this was unusual as most people staying at premier Inn hotels tended to only stay for one or two nights. Seeing the surprise on the receptionist’s face, she smiled and added, “I may be looking to live in Birmingham, so I could be staying even longer until I find a permanent place for me to live.”