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Authors: Barbara Doherty

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BOOK: Innocent Monsters
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The Galleria.

After leaving her own flat, tired to put up with the drug dealers on her doorstep, Kaitlyn had decided to start looking for a place closer to it, move out of the outskirts, take on more responsibilities at the gallery. “You and me sis, we don’t belong to this area.” She had half joked a few times. “We should be out there, in Nob Hill, looking down on all the losers around here.” She had even started thinking about a website to market her own paintings, all she needed was some more cash to start up the project, maybe double up on the art classes she taught. Next year, it was going to be her year, she’d said.

How could anyone make projects for the future while contemplating suicide? How could Kaitlyn appear so normal and cheerful on the outside when inside her life was falling apart? Did Clamer know? Did he really know her? Had she told him things she had kept from everybody else? Did Kaitlyn write a will? A message? A note? An explanation? Did he know why she’d killed herself?

Outside, a bitterly cold autumn wind howled and whistled, Jessica wrapped the blanket tighter around her shoulders and started crying again, dazed, angry, hurt, then the phone rang again and again she let the answering machine pick up the call.

“Miss Lynch? It’s Charles Brown, from San Francisco’s police department. I would like to speak to you about a couple of things if...”

“Yes?” She picked up the receiver, quickly wiped the tears from her eyes trying to calm herself down.

“Miss Lynch? I wasn’t expecting you to pick up the phone... I’m sorry...”

“It’s ok... I wasn’t gong to speak to anyone but...”

“Right. I understand. Well, Miss Lynch, I was just wondering if you could come to see me at the station tomorrow morning. There’s a few things I would like to go over with you about your sister’s case.”

Jessica sat up. “My sister’s case? I don’t understand... What case?”

“Yes, you see, the law requires us to investigate every suicide. So, as I said, I would like you to come and see me, review a few details in person if possible. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow’s fine.”

“Great. The station is the Ingleside District Station, in Young Lane. The details are on the business card I left with you. Do you still have it?”

She tried to remember if the card was still laying face up on the kitchen table. “I think so.”

“I should be at the station all morning. Just ask for me. If I’m not there, please wait. Thank you. Good evening.”

Jessica lay on the sofa for several minutes after the phone call feeling inexplicably thrilled. Her mind started racing through the last few days again, wondering which details Brown intended to discuss, but she was tired and soon memories became muddled with weird dreamlike sequences, the way it always happened when she slowly fell asleep.

Tired. She was so tired...

UNTIL THE age of twenty-two, a couple of years after she had started therapy, every single one of Jessica’s dreams was acted out in the house she grew up in. If she dreamt about being at a party, the party would be held in her old house; if she dreamt about having a new job, she would be working out of her old bedroom; if she needed to go to the toilet while walking in the street, the public toilet she’d walk into would suddenly become her old family bathroom.

Lorna had suggested that the house represented a jail, her jail, a place she could not simply walk out of, a place she couldn’t leave even though she didn’t live there anymore.

She hadn’t dreamt of the house in about two years now; she could remember every detail but hardly ever thought about it. Yet entering through the front door at that precise moment didn’t feel strange or disturbing. She knew she had to go. Kaitlyn was still in there, she knew she was.

Jessica walked through the hallway, past the kitchen, past the sitting room, calling her name.

“Kaitlyn? I’m here now. Kaitlyn? I’m back.”

She walked up to their bedroom door, suddenly afraid of what she would find on the other side.

“Kaitlyn?”

Inside the room, the beds and the wardrobe had disappeared, the magnolia on the walls, the
Nirvana
posters, everything replaced by the old fashioned bathroom of her current apartment, its goldenrod walls and its dripping tap.

Kaitlyn was in here, sitting in pink bathwater, her back weirdly straight and her arms limp by the side of her naked body. And when she opened her mouth to speak it wasn’t her voice that came out, but a weird distortion, something that might have belonged to a frail old woman.

“Jessica, you believe me don’t you? It wasn’t me. I didn’t do this. I’ll tidy up. Please don’t tell mother.”

27 October 2000

THE ROOM in which Jessica sat after the detective greeted her and asked her if he could offer her a coffee was gloomy, the air stale. The barred windows didn’t look as if they had been opened or washed any time recently.

The wooden table between her and Brown was old, the varnish greasy, scribbled in places.

She had imagined herself sitting in an immaculate white questioning room with large mirrors, like the ones she always saw on the big screen; now she felt more like a character in an episode of a gritty TV cops series.

Brown looked tired and somehow untidy, much older than she remembered him, probably in his late sixties. His shirt wasn’t properly ironed and he wasn’t wearing a tie; his hair, balding at the top and too long at the back could have done with a good brushing. He didn’t look out of place in the shabby room but he seemed kind and caring and she felt at ease.

He opened a yellow folder on the table in front of him and took out a few sheets of printed paper. Jessica was looking at him expectantly, unsure of what they were about to discuss.

“So, as I mentioned there’s something I wanted to discuss with you, Miss Lynch. First of all, do you know if your sister was seeing anyone?”

“A boyfriend? I don’t think she was seeing anyone at the moment, no.”

“A close friend maybe?”

“I suppose it’s possible.”

She thought about it, Kaitlyn’s smile suddenly appearing in the forefront of her mind, clear as day. That smile, those perfectly plush lips, had won many men over. Kaitlyn enjoyed sleeping around, she never made a secret of it but never talked about her many conquests. The only time they had touched on the subject, years ago, Kaitlyn had admitted using sex to feel a closeness she should have reached in other ways, with time. Sharing this fact with a stranger, at this very moment, was as intolerable as telling him her sister was a complete slut.

“She was very private about things like that. She wouldn’t necessarily have told me about it.”

“Oh, I see. You weren’t close then?”

“Yes, we were close.” She heard herself bark.

“Talking about every single person you have sex with does not constitute a close relationship, as far as I know.”

Brown sank in his chair, considering his next words carefully. He had already said the wrong thing.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. Let’s see if I can explain myself a little better.” He looked at his printed sheets again. “The coroner in charge of your sister’s case has decided to open an inquest. This usually happens when the causes of death are not as straightforward as they initially seemed.”

Jessica stopped breathing for a few seconds. What exactly was this unkempt old man trying to tell her?

“You see, Miss Lynch, although the cuts on your sister’s wrists were deep, she didn’t lose as much blood as she should have.”

“She lost enough to die.”

“That’s just it. It appears that the amount of blood she lost was not enough to kill her. The coroner’s report opens the possibility of Kaitlyn’s death being caused by something else.”

Something else?
She definitely couldn’t breathe now. Her head was spinning and she tried to stop it holding it tight with both hands.

“Miss Lynch? Are you ok? Would you like a glass of water?”

Jessica didn’t speak, she merely nodded. What she really wanted was to get out of this stuffy room, breathe, but before she could stand up and walk out of the door Brown was back with water in his hand.

He repositioned himself on his chair, slid the glass across the table. “Have a drink. Take a deep breath.”

He waited, watched her drink, pull hair away from her face. She was a good looking woman, under strain, but still good looking.

“I know this is hard to take in. I imagine you were just coming to terms with your sister’s suicide...”

“How do you know? How does the coroner know it wasn’t the blood loss that killed her? How can you be sure?”

“I really don’t want to upset you any...”

“Just fucking tell me, will you!” She slammed a hand on the sticky table to drive her frustration across. Brown looked unmoved, mildly annoyed by her swearing. “You got me up here to
review some details
, didn’t you? You must tell me.”

The detective contemplated disclosing that her sister’s bloodshot eyes were a definite sign of suffocation, that it was surely how Kaitlyn Lynch had died; he also contemplated telling her that Kailyn had been raped, probably just before being killed, which was the only reason he had asked about a possible boyfriend. But the woman sitting across him and didn’t look like she could take in any more information at the moment. She didn’t need to know.

“Fine, let’s see... When someone has an injury and starts bleeding out, the heart pumps out the blood while it’s still working. The blood loss ultimately stops the heart. If this someone is dead before the injury, the heart stops, so the pumping stops and the blood doesn’t run out with the same speed. Do you see what I am saying?”

Brown waited to catch in her eyes the same inappropriate excitement he had felt a few days earlier, reading the coroner’s report. He waited while Jessica searched his face, tried to understand, and then he saw it, that same elation, her eyes lighting up with realisation.

“You’re telling me someone else was there? Someone else cut her wrists?”

“Correct.”

Jessica gulped down the rest of the water, pulled at her hair again. “Christ. Fuck. Jesus Christ... Who? Who did this?”

“This is what we are trying to find out. It is very important you think about anyone who seemed remotely suspicious in your sister’s life. There was no forced entry, so the intruder was someone she knew, she must have opened the door.”

Jessica started shaking her head, started wishing she had never agreed to come. “This is all my fault... If I never went for that stupid meeting she wouldn’t have been alone in the house. It’s all my fault.”

“Please, Miss Lynch... Jessica, if I may. This is not the right attitude. Believe me, whoever did this would have found the time to do it another day, when you were out. You could not have prevented it any more than Kaitlyn herself could. But you can help us make sure he doesn’t go unpunished. Go back home, look through your sister’s things, any name, phone numbers, photographs of people you don’t recognise, the smallest detail could be vital.”

Jessica nodded, a grim expression on her face. “I understand.”

“I should be the first person you call. Call me directly. Anything at all.”

“Of course.”

She looked as if she could do with a hug, but it would have been inappropriate, so Brown remained seated, looked in the folder for the leaflet he usually gave out when physical contact was not an option.

“Take this, there’s some phone numbers on there you might find useful. It’s our Victim Support centers. You might need someone to talk to.”

Jessica took the leaflet knowing perfectly well that talking to someone was not what she wanted to do. All she wanted was to wake up from this evolving nightmare, she wanted to rewind time, wipe away the last two weeks completely, wipe away this feeling of guilt swelling up in her stomach.

“Would you like a few minutes on your own?”

“No, thank you.”
Not in here.

“In that case...” Brown stood up, offered her his hand to shake. “I will speak to you very soon, I hope. Take care of yourself.”

Jessica shook his hand and smiled weakly as she stood up from her chair. She was nodding but secretly, she wished she would never hear from him again.

5 November 2000

IT WAS ten to eight, Sunday morning. The bedroom was still dark. Lisa slowly opened her eyes and looked at the red digits beaming at her from the alarm clock. She had barely slept five hours and someone was knocking at the front door.

She turned to check on her husband lying undisturbed next to her and tried to move off the bed as quietly as possible, dragging herself along the armchair next to the chest of drawers. Waking up Bobby now would turn this into a very difficult day.

She picked up her flannel dressing gown and walked out of the room, closing the door quietly.

Outside, the knocks were getting more impatient.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m comin’!”

Lisa pulled the door open to find herself face to face with Jessica, tired, unkempt and completely dressed in black, looking as if she hadn’t changed or washed since the day of the funeral. Her hand was still raised, ready for another couple of knocks.

“Jessica? It’s kinda early.”

“Is it? I’m sorry. Can I come in?”

She was shivering, shifting from one foot to the other. Behind her, the November sky was grey, the road deserted.

“Sure.” Jessica stepped in, closed the door and kept shivering staring at the floor, looking cold and fragile. “What is it?”

“I need to talk to you. It’s Kaitlyn.”

Always Kaitlyn, forever Kaitlyn.

Jessica was wiping both hands frantically over her face, as if trying to erase her features, delete any expression on it, her breathing heavy. Lisa had never seen her like this. She looked deranged and it made her nervous.

“Ok. It’s ok, come on. Let’s talk.” Lisa took hold of her arm and guided her to one of the chairs around the kitchen table. She sat across her, studying her, waiting for her to speak.

The table was crowded with dinner remains, glasses, slices of bread, an open bottle of Coke. Bits of spaghetti were staring at her from one of the dirty plates.

Lisa knew the mess bothered her friend, she had made it clear in so many ways during the few days she had spent here, before the funeral. They were very different that way, and in many other ways. Kaitlyn had always been the bridge between the two of them but, without her, they seemed nothing but isolated islands floating in their own private world, in their own habits. Disconnected.

“Sorry about the mess. Bobby came back around three this morning, starving. I don’t know how he does it, eatin’ that late, just before he’s off to bed.”

Bobby, again, Lisa’s eternal excuse for slobbishness. Apparently, when your husband keeps odd working hours, it’s almost impossible to clean the house, to iron, to wash your face before going to bed so that you don’t wake up in the morning with mascara melted under your eyes, impossible to lead a normal life.

Ever since her wedding, Lisa had started spending her days waiting for Bobby, sitting somewhere waiting, doing nothing, wasting her life away waiting for him. Fucking Bobby. How could she have willingly built a life around this idiot? Waiting for him? Waiting for a man who prohibited her from finding a job, who didn’t like her to have a social life, to see anyone he didn’t feel superior to, a man who still believed women were supposed to spend their days cleaning, cooking, ironing, looking pretty and not much else. Laziness. It had to be laziness. Easier to live for someone else than make any decisions about her own life.

“Jessica?”

“Sorry, I was miles away.”

“You don’t look great, sweetie. When was the last time you had some sleep?” Sleep. That was exactly the problem. She kept dreaming about her sister. Every time she closed her eyes she was there, always the same dream, in her childhood home, then in her bathroom... Was it possible Kaitlyn was trying to tell her something?

BOOK: Innocent Monsters
2.16Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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