Dark Secrets by Diane M. Dickson

Author:Diane M. Dickson [Dickson, Diane M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: THE BOOK FOLKS crime mystery and suspense thriller publisher
Published: 2020-08-29T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 28

The hot water sluices down through my hair, flushing over my shoulders and pooling around my feet where the old plumbing just can’t cope with the flow. It’s wonderful. My bathroom glints and shines, clean tiles, pretty bottles and tubes, and my glass holding a toothbrush and razor all sparkling under the spotlights in the ceiling. I rest my head against the shower screen and watch through the waterfall as the scene before me ripples and blurs. I am trapped by the warmth and the water. At first the deluge ran muddy pink, and bile filled my throat again as I watched the remnants of Amy’s blood flow away.

Now the pool is clean, but I still feel the ghost of the sticky mess on my face, in my hair and between my fingers. I’ve been bloodied before, of course I have, but this is different. This is blood that I’ve drawn; I tried to stop the flow even as I was kneeling in it, burying my hands in it and when I scrambled away it spread over my arms and soaked into my clothes.

We’ve got showers at the police station but I waited until I could tear off my pants and top and underwear and fling them into the waste bin. I wanted to be alone to have no time constraints and no need to speak to anyone afterwards. I needed this, this chance to sink into the warmth and lose myself in the perfume and the purity.

I’ve made my statement, short and factual and I signed the paper, but I’m not kidding myself, tomorrow it’ll all start up again. I know I’ll be interviewed, questioned and consulted. An appointment will probably already have been made with the psychologist and the doctor. No doubt I’ll be called before the assistant chief constable. I know there’ll be a mixture of concern about my welfare and worry about how the investigation will progress. We must be shown to be totally in the right, the fact that she had been a killer is not enough to prove my innocence – not really relevant, in an odd way. The weeks and months of planning will need to be explained, the undercover operation will have to be justified and the final dreadful outcome is going to be pulled apart. Decisions will be made about all of it.

Countless hours, well, in truth counted hours – counted recorded and logged. Weeks in the planning. Watching her day by day until her regular routines were established. The unmissable trip to the post office and the stop-off at Costa each Tuesday without fail. The undercover work proper, a farce at times, trying to be in the right place at the right time. The queue in the paper shop, the same table at the same time as near as possible in the coffee shop. The shawl, the cursed shawl left for her to grab and steal and then return. She danced to our tune, no mistake, and we thought we were so very clever.

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