The Final Piece by David York

Author:David York [York, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-03-08T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THE KILLINGS

The Pianist

“HELLO DEBORAH, LONG time, no see,” the message appeared in the woman’s email folder.

“What does he want,” she thought when she saw who had sent it, “after all this time?”

“Hello Ian,” she tentatively replied, hoping that was enough.

“I know it’s a long shot, but if you’re not too busy, or busy at all, could we meet and have a catch up? You’re the only one of our friends that has bothered to reply to my message. I didn’t know if this email was still active, but it’s the only one I’ve got for you. I’m sorry if this is too forward and I’d understand if you said no. Take care,” the new message read.

Deborah let out a long-protracted sigh, the kind that is uttered by someone who really wants to exaggerate their distaste at someone’s request or opinion. “What harm can it do?” she said to herself after a moment’s thought, “quick coffee and chat, then goodbye.”

“Okay, come to my place,” she would feel safer in her own environment.

The journey taken by Ian to Deborah’s house took nearly two hours; he was surprised that she had moved to Derbyshire. A county of quaint, ancient stone villages, nestled among the hills of the Pennines, interspersed with bustling towns and heaving cities, all full of their own interpretation of life. He approached the road named on the address Deborah had given him, located the house number and turned into the drive to the property.

“That,” Ian said to himself, “is a nice house.” He looked up at the vast six-bedroomed edifice before him and wondered what the electric bill was like. Ian approached the front door, half expecting a doorman to appear before him. He was pleasantly surprised to see his school friend Deborah standing there with a beaming, if slightly forced, smile on her lips. They awkwardly embraced and she mock-kissed his cheek.

“Ian, it’s so lovely to see you after all this time,” Deborah said, sounding more genuine than her smile seemed.

“You too, Debs, you’ve not aged a bit,” Ian replied.

“Oh, you smooth talker, I bet you say that to all the ladies,” she joked.

“No, honestly, I haven’t, never,” he replied.

“Let me get you a drink before we carry on, tea, coffee, fizzy?” she asked.

“A coffee would be great, thanks,” Ian said, as they headed towards the kitchen.

Deborah prepared two cups, added the coffee and sugar, then as she waited for the kettle to boil asked, “So, you say that there’s no lady in your life, whyever not?”

“I’ve never given it – er, romance I mean – much time,” Ian said, “I’ve been far too busy with my work.”

“Oh, I remember, you were always going on about your mission to save people dying from…”

“Organ transplant failure, ever since my dad died,” Ian finished her sentence.

“And?” Deborah asked.

“And I’ve done it,” Ian announced.

“You’ve done it?” she asked, waiting for the punch line.

“I have stopped anyone dying from organ transplant failure,” Ian said, matter-of-factly, with a little pride creeping into his voice.

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