Sweet Revenge thriller

Chapter Four

FLOPPY TURNS OUT TO BE A GODSEND. On the days I just want to curl up in a ball and die, Floppy leaps up onto my bed and nuzzles her wet nose into my neck. It is something both endearing and repulsive and I'm soon out of bed washing my neck, feeding her and then myself and before I know it we're out walking the streets, both of us in dire need of a burst of vitamin D and exercise.

Patrick is right but I find I have to focus really hard and not let my head do its own thing. I am safe. They mean me no harm I say to myself as I avert my eyes away from anyone who comes within a one metre radius. But it's hard work.

Life is anything but dull. My brain flits all over the place like why were they murdered and what did my father want from The Fixer. Patrick is leaving messages on my phone asking, then telling, then begging me to start my sessions again. He tells me 'we need to process what has happened.' Well, fuck me, isn't that what I've been doing? During the daytime and at night when my thoughts become grossly exaggerated and morph into Nightmare on Elm Street?

My horror life is such that when I receive a bill from my accountant, I am baffled but pleased that I can concentrate on something mundane for a change. It is a statement for £3,000 and an invoice detailing the tidying up my parents financial affairs. This amount seems reasonable to me, but the statement has a carry-over figure, saying my parent's last statement was £30,000 which was paid a month before their deaths.

What on earth would my parents need services from an accountant that would amount to the price of a new car? Of course Ryan Thompson was more than an accountant; he was a financial adviser as well. But, £30,000?

I make arrangements to meet with Ryan at his earliest convenience and when I arrive at his office his secretary is in the middle of explaining to the new girl how the telephone system works.

'Athena,' Carol's voice is as smiley as her face. Then her expression clouds as she remembers my circumstances. 'How are you my dear?' She turns away from the new girl and walks around the counter and puts a motherly arm around my shoulders. 'Ryan is not free yet. Got time for a coffee?' she asks. 'I was just going to pour myself one.'

For the next twenty minutes I am sharing the coffee room with Carol while she titters on about the romantic dinner her husband surprised her with to celebrate their wedding anniversary and shows me the pics of her new granddaughter. I find it hard to concentrate while my mind is speculating a £30,000 accountancy service. Not for the first time do I note how similar in nature she is to her boss and when she pauses to draw breath I butt in saying, 'Um, I probably need to be getting in to see Ryan.'

Carol screws up her face. 'Actually Ryan's still busy at the moment. He shouldn't be long. Oh, what the hell. You know Ryan as well as us. He had a thirty minute meeting an hour ago.' And I know exactly what she means. Ryan is a lovely guy, but he's one hell of a gossiper and just can't keep on focus. 'And he'll still be yabbing on about his new hobby,' she adds.

'Tennis?

'Well, no, that was last month. He's joined the Dixie Singers,' she says with glee.

I laugh, 'I guess that's the only thing left he hasn't joined.' And then we quiet as Ryan appears in the hallway.

'Athena, lovely to see you out and about,' and he bounds toward me. I get up, 'Thanks for the coffee, Carol,' and I walk toward Ryan, shake his hand and follow him into his office.

'Just telling old Bruce about...' he starts and I swear I switch off and don't hear about the new hobby he and his wife of forty years are enjoying until he says ten minutes later, 'Now what can I do for you?'

'I wondered if you could tell me what other services you could provide me,' I ask and because he scrunches his face in a downward puzzled expression I add, 'well, as I'm taking over my parents financial affairs, I was wondering if I...we should be involved with other business?'

'I'm not sure I know what you mean. I just kept an eye on your father's affairs, just like I'm hoping to do for you. You still want me to work for you, don't you?' he asks.

'Of course. Of course. It's just that I'm a bit confused.' And I produce the statement. 'What on earth was the £30,000 for?'

Ryan studies the old invoice for a long moment. 'Oh, that,' he finally says. 'We've sorted that out on our system. We have a new girl and she somehow fouled up our billing system. We have it sorted,' and Ryan gives an amused gurgle. 'Your father rang immediately and he alerted us to the mistake. Should have been £3,000 not £30,000. Needless to say, we ended up spending a lot more time training the new girl.'

So that was that. Mystery solved. Like, there was no mystery.

The weekend is looming and I have to spend it on my own again. Normally I would have taken a trip out to Cottonsdale. Maybe stay for the weekend. Instead I will spend it alone in my apartment. Completely consumed wondering why my parents were gunned down and although it is only 2 o'clock, I see no reason why I shouldn't pour myself a whiskey. I need to numb my sorrow. However, three glasses later I am so angry with the police. They have got nowhere. No one has a clue who held the gun, aimed it at my mothers head and then my father's.

'No! No!' I shout. The command echoes around my apartment and morphs into the gun shots.

Floppy tears off down the hallway.

I ring Detective Inspector Rutherford. His secretary or whoever puts me through.

After I say my name I shout, 'Don't ignore me. You must know something.'

'I'm very sorry Miss Morisot. We have no leads. I have still got 20 detectives on my team, looking at CCTV, knocking on doors and revisiting the pathological reports on...um...' he doesn't finish his sentence because I'm shouting into his earpiece.

'I cannot believe that a masked man can enter my father's shop in broad daylight, shoot them both in broad daylight, with the sound of several gunshots in broad daylight,' I stop momentarily to suck in another lung full of air before continuing, 'and fucking well leave in broad daylight, in a tiny little village, and no one, NO ONE SAW ANYTHING?'

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