Blood Loss by Kerena Swan (good beach reads .txt) 📕

I hold up my fingers and count them off to emphasise my point. ‘One – by not speaking up at the time of the swap, and two – by not replying to these letters.’ I wave them in her face and she recoils in horror.

‘I didn’t want to lose you, Sarah. You’re all I have in this world. If I’d let that woman into your life, you’d have rejected me. I couldn’t compete with what she could offer you. I love you, Sarah. I raised you as my own daughter. You are my daughter.’

‘Not anymore.’ I reach forward to wrap my hands around her throat then pull back. ‘Ugh! I can’t even bear to touch you.’

I rush to the front door, grab my bag and keys, and slam it behind me.

For an hour I drive up and down the dark A5 dual carriageway, trying to calm myself down and working out what to do next. My real mother must have been looking for me when I was in Manchester living under the name Trina Hodges. No wonder she couldn’t find me. And what about my real father? He has a weak heart. Is he well now? Is he still alive? What if I never get to meet him?

Eventually I return home and let myself silently in through the front door. I creep past Rosemary who is predictably comatose on the sofa and go to the kitchen to fetch what I need.

I stand over her and stare at her. She made me the person I am today – a needy, pathetic woman with no self-esteem who can’t tolerate rejection of any kind. It’s her fault for allowing John Butcher to treat me the way he did. Her fault that I took Robert’s life and now I’m looking over my shoulder every day in case the police catch up with me. If I’d been returned to my real mother, I wouldn’t have met Robert and I wouldn’t have been goaded into killing him. It’s time to even the score.

‘Goodbye,’ I whisper.

I tip the jug and pour a good measure of strongly salted water into her open mouth and watch her swallow then splutter. The vomit is almost instantaneous and she gags and chokes in her drunken coma. A trickle of it slides down her cheeks then she inhales sharply and a lump catches in her throat. She’s too hammered to sit up or roll over to save herself. I knew she’d drink herself to oblivion. It’s her only coping mechanism. I watch as she tries to breathe, her lips turning blue and her closed eyes bulging, then I return to the kitchen to rinse out the jug before drying it carefully and putting it back in the cupboard.

I wait until the gagging sounds stop then make my way to the front door. I creep out of the house and back to my car, which I’ve parked down the road, then drive away towards Mark’s house in Monkston, Milton Keynes. When I arrive, I call Derek.

‘Hi, sorry to bother you, Derek, but you probably heard Mum and me arguing earlier.’

‘I did hear the door slam, yes.’

‘I’m at a friend’s house in Northampton and will stay here tonight but I’m worried about Mum. She seems to be drinking more and more but tonight she felt a bit sick. She’s even taken to sipping salt water to make herself sick so that she’ll feel better. I’ve been worrying about her all the way to Northampton. Would you mind checking she’s all right?’

Chapter 47

March | DI Paton

The meeting room at the forensics lab in Manchester was considerably larger than the one in Perth. The lights were bright and the air warm. Paton removed his jacket and hung it on the back of his chair then looked expectantly at the young woman next to him who had introduced herself as Olivia Simons. He was glad Greater Manchester Police had agreed to handle the forensic submissions from the skip. It would have been a real faff to get all the evidence back to Perth for testing.

‘Ready?’ She pressed a button on her laptop and pictures appeared on the large screen on the wall.

This was better than a film premiere with Scarlett Johansson as the lead. Paton settled back in his chair with a shuffle of anticipation.

‘We found several items of interest in the skip,’ Olivia said. She glanced at Paton and smiled.

He beamed back at her then leaned forward to stare at the photograph of an open suitcase of clothing.

Olivia flicked through pictures of various garments. ‘We’ve taken samples of hair, fibres and bodily fluids from the clothing and will be checking these for a match to the DNA at the scene and on the victim, Robert Nash. This could take a few days to process, though.’

Paton had guessed as much but he couldn’t help a niggle of irritation creeping in. He wished DNA results could be done quicker.

Olivia tapped her keyboard and an old-fashioned television appeared on the large screen. It was hard to believe how big and cumbersome they used to be.

‘We found several prints on the television.’

Paton thought they might. It was the perfect flat surface and people would have had to grip the object hard to move it.

‘These have been compared to your crime scene and one set is a match to the partial print on the knife and further prints found at the cabin.’

‘Yes!’ Paton couldn’t resist giving a small punch in the air.

Olivia grinned. ‘I thought you’d be pleased.’ She changed the photograph to kitchen utensils, toiletries and pictures. ‘We’ve catalogued these for you and you’re welcome to see the originals. Wrapped obviously. We thought you might be able to build a profile of the person you’re looking for.’

Paton’s mind was whirling and he was barely listening. So, Trina was the one in the cabin. Trina killed Robert Nash. But was she really called Trina and where had she run