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We both laugh. As I hang up my coat, Mark waves the newspaper at me. “Jesus, did you read this story? I honestly don’t know what the world’s coming to.”
“What story?”
He passes me theMetroand all the colour drains from my face. “Ex-beauty queen found murdered,” screams the headline. Beneath is a photograph of a stunning young woman, a woman I instantly recognise as the redhead I met at Nick’s office on my first visit.
“What’s wrong?” Mark frowns. “You’ve gone as white as a sheet.”
“Oh, my God, I think I know her.”
“What! Are you sure?”
I nod and get a sickish feeling in my throat, like I’ve swallowed something heavy. Thunderstruck, I scan the first couple of paragraphs:“A formerMiss Great Britainand part-time actress, who had bit parts on Doctor Who and Holby City,hasbeen found murdered in her London home.Police say a bloodless corpse found in Knightsbridge, West London, is that of missing actress Jessica Kemp-Barton, who has not been seen by her family since last Tuesday. Detectives believe she was murdered after attending the premiere of a new play in nearby Kensington.
Detective Superintendent John Hudson, who is leading the investigation, said: “It is important that we piece together Jessica's movements from Tuesday until the discovery in Knightsbridge yesterday. We also urge anyone with significant information about this case to contact us as soon as possible. In particular, we would like to hear from anyone who may have seen any suspicious activity around her home address or has reason to believe someone would wish her harm.”
The discovery came after officers expressed concern for Jessica's welfare and searches were organised by her brothers Thomas and Peter Kemp-Barton. Post-mortem examinations have so far failed to determine a cause of death, although detectives are puzzled by the loss of almost 1.2 gallons (4.7 litres) of blood from her body. A spokesman for the Metropolitan police said: “Early post-mortem results suggest that the victim’s blood was somehow drained, despite there being no obvious marks or incisions on the body. In addition, the lack of blood in the room where the victim was found would suggest that the murder may have taken place elsewhere. Further tests will be carried out shortly, and we hope to establish a definite cause of death soon.” Police are releasing images of Jessica in the Knightsbridge area in the run-up to her death in the hope that witnesses will come forward. She is survived by her partner, set designer Benedict Lewis, and her four-year-old daughter Molly.”
I drop the newspaper on the desk. There’s no doubt about it: Jessica Kemp-Barton is definitely the woman I saw at Nick’s office. I never forget a face, plus I distinctly remember Tara referring to her as “Jess.”
Dear Lord.That poor woman. I can’t begin to imagine what her final hours must have been like, the pain her family must be going through. And, oh, my goodness, she had a four-year-old daughter who will now grow up without a mother. What a terrible, terrible thing to happen. I just hope and pray the police find her killer soon.
“How do you know her?” Mark probes. “Was she a good friend of yours?”
I shake my head. “No. She was just someone I crossed paths with. Gosh, this is so awful. How the hell can someone do that to another human being? It’s despicable.”
“Tell me about it. And did you read the part about the body being drained of blood? I mean, how sick is that? I bet it was one of those Gothic, Satan-worshipping weirdoes. They’re all into that crazy blood-sacrifice stuff. Either that, or there’s a vampire on the loose.”
I freeze at the word ‘vampire.’ The idea is totally preposterous, but for some reason, the thought sends a dark chill through me.
“Vampires don’t exist,” I say firmly. “It’s humans that are sick in the head. I just hope the police find out who murdered Jessica before they do it again.”
Mark raises his eyebrows. “What makes you think it’s a serial killer? It could have been a crime of passion. Perhaps an ex-boyfriend or something.”
“That’s true. Oh, I don’t know. It’s just so terrible, isn’t it?”
He opens his mouth to reply but is cut dead by the phone ringing. Hastily, I race to the wall and answer it.
“Hello, reception desk, Carly speaking. Uh-huh. Yes, he’s here.” I stop the phone against my chest. “Mark, it’s Tim. He says the women’s toilet is broken again, and he wants you to reset the password.”
Mark rolls his eyes theatrically. “Off we go to the third floor again. Honestly, this is really starting to do my head in. I’m a security guard, not a janitor, for Christ’s sake.”
Placing the receiver back in the cradle, I press the buzzer and watch him disappear into the elevator. As soon as he’s gone, I pick up the newspaper again and scrutinise the story in more detail. My heart races. Poor Nick. I wonder if he knows what’s happened yet. I have no idea how well he knew Jessica or how long he’d been treating her, but I’m certain this will hit him hard. Shewasone of his patients, after all.
I spend the rest of the morning in a fever of agitation, trying to unravel everything. Jessica’s death has brought me back to Earth with a bump, and the magic from last night seems to have soured a little. I feel unaccountably nervous and on edge, my mind racing at the possible implications. Will the police want to involve Nick with their enquiries? As her hypnotherapist and possible confidante, he might hold important information that could help the detectives with their case.
Glancing down at my beloved pendant, I twirl the chain between my fingers and sigh miserably. Why can’t my life ever go smoothly? Why does my fairy tale always get shattered by something dark?
By lunchtime, I’m bursting to escape the building and speak to Nick. In a numb haze, I cross the street to Coffee Republic to get some privacy. The sky is swollen and streaked with storm clouds; thankfully, the rain has stopped but the air still retains an icy chill. Shivering, I stand outside the coffee shop with my phone clamped to my ear, waiting impatiently for the call to connect.
I punch the air when he answers.
“Darling, are you all right?” I ask breathlessly. “I read about what happened. I’m so terribly sorry.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your patient, JessicaKemp-Barton. The story about her murder was in today’sMetro. What happened to her is truly awful …” My voice trails off and the line goes silent. “Nick, are you still there?”
“Yes,” he replies coolly. “I’m still here.”
