‘You frightened the life out of me,’ she said, her heart pounding as she grounded herself.
He tapped the car window. ‘What? I can’t hear you. Are you OK?’
‘It’s … It’s nothing. It’s just a headache,’ she said, undoing her seatbelt and opening the door.
‘I hope so,’ he said, as he pressed his fob against the door to allow them entry into the back of the station. ‘I can’t take on your workload, I’ve enough of my own.’
As she ate her chow mein, Jennifer’s mind kept wandering back to what she had seen. She couldn’t shake off the feeling that it was a premonition of something to come. The face in her vision felt weathered and gaunt, and there was no mistaking the injuries. But what did it mean? Had she picked up the embodiment of the man known as Raven? And if so, what was the connection to the keyring found in her car? The obvious answer was that it belonged to Felicity Baron, who died as prophesied. The witness statements mentioned her losing her car keys and finding them again, but nothing about the absence of a D&G keyring specifically. It had to be connected.
Question after question spun in her mind. Why would someone go out of their way to kill an innocent young woman? The fact that Jennifer knew each of the victims in some way did not escape her attention. Alan Price, whose parents owned the pub where her father spent most of his time. Christian Bowes, her old school friend whose Fiancee was tragically murdered. Just who was next? She glanced up from her plate to catch Will staring at her, his unwavering protectiveness evident by the concern shadowing his face. He winked, and she smiled in return. She took a chip from her plate, returning her thoughts to the case. There was only one person who could answer her question about the keyring. And that was Christian Bowes.
Chapter Eleven
Bert
Bert sneezed as the tickle of incense wafted through the draughty hall at the psychic fair. He could not bear the smell, and he longed for the mossy scent of the forest. He glared at the empty plastic chair opposite his makeshift table. People preferred the showier mediums to his humble stall. The ironic thing was, he knew more than all of them put together. He siphoned the dregs from his plastic coffee cup, and crumpled it up before throwing it in the bin. Felicity’s death had already lost its impact, and the urge to make another prophecy drove him onwards. The bones of his backside seemed to grate on the hard plastic chair. The itching had returned, making every fold and joint of his skin feel as if it was on fire. Oh for blessed release, he thought, wishing she would hurry up. He flicked his tongue to the cracked corners of his lips, tasting his bitter rough skin. The action was devoid of comfort, and he longed to drag his nails over the torturous itch. But he had to remain focused. Relief would come. He rifled in his pocket for a tissue, not noticing the woman and child approach until they were in front of him.
A child was not part of the plan, he thought, expecting her to be alone. The resemblance between them was striking. They shared the same blue eyes, their skin peppered with freckles. Bert did not need the cards to tell him the boy would have been teased for his flaming red hair – if he were old enough to attend school, that was. Bert had the measure of the young woman in seconds. His eyes trailed over the thin material of her blue dress, dotted with white swallows. It was something she kept for ‘good wear’ along with the matching blue shoes, which gaped at the heels, too big for her feet. Her long auburn hair was hastily tied into a bun, because that was how a good mother dressed. Bert allowed a soft groan to pass his lips. She was definitely the one. But he hadn’t known about the kid. Why the hell did she have to bring him with her? He rose from his chair, gasping as the fresh cracks in his skin sent daggers of pain through his nerve endings. That was when he knew; it was too late to back out now.
‘Excuse me.’ Bert cracked his most inoffensive smile. ‘Would you like a free five-minute reading?’
The woman nodded sharply, unable to believe her luck. Her son never took his eyes off her as he followed, holding her tightly by the hand.
Bert gestured to the empty chair. ‘Are you happy to have the boy present during the reading?’ Bert said, his thoughts racing. She was a thief. Yet the image before him showed a young woman trying to pull her life together.
The woman whispered what sounded like a well-rehearsed line. ‘Don’t mind him. He doesn’t know what’s going on half the time.’
Bert sat across from them, his eyes flicking back to the boy. She was right. His face had a vacant look, as if whatever was in there had upped and left one day. As Bert touched the deck of cards, he began to have second thoughts. Perhaps the death prediction would not come. A nice reading, that’s what she wanted. He could see it in her face. She wanted a tall dark stranger to come and save the day. She would go away happy and the kid would get a couple of smiles from his mother before she realised it was all a dream. But as he shuffled the cards, fresh feelings of dread began to take root. He crossed his legs underneath the chair, scratching his calf muscle with his shoe. The discomfort helped him focus on his purpose, as he watched the images unfold.
‘I see you’ve had a tough time since your son was born,’ he said solemnly. ‘His dad didn’t hang around after the diagnosis.’
Wide-eyed in wonder, the blue dress woman nodded, pulling her chair in closer for a better listen.
‘You’ve had to make many sacrifices. It’s hard being so isolated since you gave up working.’
‘Yes,’ she said in a quiet voice. ‘I didn’t want to give up my job, but the child minder wanted more money than I could earn.’
Bert wanted to say she would be fine, because that’s what she wanted to hear. He wanted to say that she would meet her tall handsome stranger on either the eleventh day or the eleventh month or the eleventh hour. Then Bert saw something that took the words away. He spoke in measured tones. ‘I can see it’s hard but it’s not the kid’s fault.’
‘What do you mean by that?’ she said, a flush creeping up her face. ‘I manage just fine.’
Bert shook his head. ‘Your life is going down the pan. The drugs, the shoplifting, then leaving him alone when you go out. There’s no excuse for it.’
The blue dress woman shrank from him, shame reflected in her eyes. ‘Who are you, the social services? I asked for a reading, not judgment.’
Bert spoke in soothing tones. ‘I just say what comes to me. Give me a second and I’ll predict your future.’
She sat back expectantly. The boy stared with a wilted expression, slightly swaying on his feet. He reminded Bert of one of those inflatables in front of car showrooms after the air has started seeping out. He couldn’t feel anger towards them. They had nothing, and clearly loved each other.
‘You …’ The words rolled to his throat like boulders, but he could not bring himself to utter them. But the fatal prediction flashed in vivid colour, even behind his closed eyes. A dog’s barks echo in an alleyway, and cars skid into puddles from the main road. Quickening footsteps as a leering pock-faced man looms into view. His dirty-gloved hands tug the woman’s dress as he catches up with her on her way back from the shops. She didn’t want to take the shortcut, but she needs to get back because her son is all alone. She clutches her bag to her chest as pock-faced man jostles her for money. Throwing the empty purse to the ground, he tugs the woman by the hips, and his face is met by a stinging slap. Her screams are silenced as the man punches her face and her head hits the broken cement of the footpath. Her last thought is for her son.
Bert's eyes flickered to the child, who returned his haunted gaze. Looking into the kid’s eyes was like looking into his own. Unable to understand why the world couldn’t accept him, he clung to his mother like a raft on choppy seas. But soon he would be cast adrift. A pang of guilt struck deep into his psyche, and he barely recognised the emotion. He was just a kid. Despite what his mother did, Bert couldn’t afford him that pain. He tripped on the words, and began to stutter as he tried desperately to hold them back.