Nancy
squeezed past a dresser adorned with photos displaying Sheila’s revelries with sun-bleached
‘sisters’. In the kitchen, Disney crockery crammed the sink. A clown-faced
clock draped with last year’s Christmas tinsel proclaimed it was ten-past-eight.
Her mother’s love of Christmas and the tacky bordered upon the fanatical.
Nancy
unlocked the passage door to be greeted with the usual rubbish sacks. She
stuffed her bloodied clothes into a plastic bag and placed it at the bottom of
the bin.
With
practiced efficiency, Nancy separated out the card and glass from plastic. As
always, there was more glass than others – tequila, Southern comfort, sangria
and Diamond whites. A dozen empty brown ale tins informed Nancy that her mother’s
boyfriend, Neil had been round last night. Nancy closed the lid of the bin
along with her fate. Her clutchbag stuffed with her clothes would remain upon
her bed; Nancy would go out and get Sheila’s prescription and then pop into the
off license afterwards. Never had her future looked so cut and dried.
The limo had singled her out. It had been waiting
for her its entire life. Vince is now dead and she has Leon’s blood on her
dress.
The
kitchen on her return pushed against her senses. Mickey Mouse and Minnie beamed
with enforced jollity from the mug tree; clown clock with big red nose tocked
inside her head and the caramel woodchip tormented her with its vomity texture.
A clammy shudder tore through her. All she wanted to do was lie down. Lie down
as quickly as possible.
Nancy
staggered through the living room, ducking as she went. She squeezed her eyes
shut against the pounding in her head. Her urgency permitted no time to plump
up her cushions. She simply settled her cheek against the cotton and let her breaths
resonate against her skull.
The
landline pulsed into life. Nancy froze, her eye winking open. No one but the
formal called the landline. It couldn’t be anything else but what she should
have been expecting all along.
Nancy
slowly sat up trembling. She wiped her eyes on the heels of her hand and picked
up the receiver.
The
earpiece emitted a soft hiss from another space. The absence of a timely
greeting spurred another round of beating in her head.
‘Miss
Hutchens?’ a male voice husked, soft yet formal.
Nancy
clutched the receiver tightly.
‘Miss
Nancy Hutchens?’
Nancy
emitted a tight whisper. ‘Yes.’
‘This
is Constable Warren from the Warwickshire Police.’
Nancy
could not have spoken if she’d wanted to.
Constable
Warren, sensing Nancy’s inner tumult continued. ‘We are making routine
enquiries regarding an incident last night. You were present at the Nexus
Nightclub at this time, is that correct?’
‘H…how
did you get my number?’
Warren
didn’t mince words. ‘We are trying to locate a subject who was seen emerging
from the nightclub last night with Vincent Jonas. We have collated account
holders who have purchased tickets to the event and your details have come up.’
Nancy
took a moment to process this information. ‘I see.’
‘You
may or may not be aware that Mr. Jonas was involved in a near fatal car
accident last night. His assistant Leon Fairchild was killed instantly.’
Near fatal.
‘Miss
Hutchens?’
Nancy’s
voice box took another moment to unlock. ‘I…I had no idea.’
Constable
Warren paused at this affirmation. ‘Please understand, Miss Hutchens that we
have put a restraint upon the press from publishing the pictures of Mr. Jonas
leaving the nightclub until we can establish the identity of the subject
concerned. We need witness statements and the publicity could hinder the
investigation.’
On
the surface this seemed to work in Nancy’s favour but a multitude of possible
outcomes instilled caution within.
‘As
you can imagine,’ Warren continued, ‘sensitive information regarding a public
figure will often leak, and this includes pictures.’
‘W…what
are you trying to say?’
‘Miss
Hutchens, we know someone else was in the car with Mr. Jonas at the time of the
accident.’
Nancy
checked an impulsive rash of words.
‘When
the pictures come out, someone will make a positive ID upon the subject seen
leaving the nightclub with Mr. Jonas. Hindering a police investigation is very
unwise, Miss Hutchens. If the person is you, it would be in your best interests
to say so now.’
Nancy
blinked slowly. There was no use in denying it. Cora and Bex would be included
in witness statements and they would name her instantly. ‘I understand,’ Nancy
conceded. ‘Then…then yes, it was me who was seen leaving the nightclub with
him.’
The
constable waited.
‘But…
he dropped me off soon after we left. It wasn’t me in the car with him at the
time of the accident.’
‘It
wasn’t you?’
Nancy
cloaked her tone in nonchalance. ‘You’ve made a mistake.’
Nancy detected his tongue clock. ‘Miss Hutchens, I think you should still come down and make a statement.’
Nancy detected his tongue clock. ‘Miss Hutchens, I think you should still come down and make a statement.’
