The Sister(45)
A licenced asbestos removal contractor, he'd occasionally engage in honest work, always keeping a pack of disposable boiler suits in the car, just in case a job came up, along with sets of paper over-shoes, gloves and a suitable mask to exclude the deadly fibres.
One morning, preparing to remove asbestos from a police station, he had a brainwave. If the kit were capable of keeping asbestos out, it would keep fibres in. Once dressed, he used heavy-duty tape to seal the joins between sleeves and gloves, trousers and shoes to prevent contaminating himself. It was a discipline he would follow, that also ensured he’d leave no clues behind.
The police had only ever stopped him once, and that was because an indicator light wasn’t working. The lone policeman noticed his muddy tyres.
‘Been off the beaten track have we, sir?’
He took a deep breath and explained that he’d been working on a building site.
The copper decided to check over the rest of the vehicle and asked to look in the boot. Shining his torch over all the boxes, he saw the disposable overalls and paper over-shoes, the duct tape and selection of facemasks. He eyed him suspiciously. ‘What’s all this for?’
‘Can I get my papers?’ he said.
Hand on his truncheon, ready, the policeman nodded.
While rummaging in the boot, he explained that he had to supply his own gear; otherwise, the tax office would take away his self-employed tax status.
The officer picked up an old mask. ‘I didn’t think people used these anymore?’
‘You can’t beat the old ones you know, if it’s just a quick job, I throw that one on and well, it’s job done.’
He handed his business card to the policeman, who examined it carefully. It read in large letters Freelance Asbestos Surveys and Testing Services – 24-hour service. Below that in smaller letters was a contact name and telephone number.
‘Just one fibre, that’s all it takes. Twenty, twenty-five years later, the insides of your lungs thicken, and you get...’
The young officer had heard enough. Suddenly he was keen to get away. He handed the card back quickly, fearing it might be contaminated, unaware that he’d just allowed one of the most prolific criminals the country had known in a long time to continue on his journey.
His rules for survival were simple.
Never stay still. If you do, the past has a way of catching up with you. Always keep moving; always keep changing. If you stay the same, someone will get to know who you are.
Unpredictable and unstable, it made him hard to pin down. Not for him the niceties of polite conversation, he couldn’t do it anyway, could never be himself, the abrasiveness in him sprang from an inferiority complex over his condition, but it kept people away from him, and that was how he liked it.
Chapter 33
Friday 17 April 1992 Brighton
The Sister had packed, ready for her journey. Seventeen years in Brighton almost over. They would come for her before noon, by then she’d be gone. Rosetta was already waiting with their bags at the rear of the shop. Rosetta.. When that girl was conceived, she thought her powers had deserted her forever. For a while, she enjoyed normality. She was almost disappointed when they returned.
It seemed to her a good time to be starting a new life far away, to resurface in a distant corner of the country where she’d keep a low profile. However, first she had an appointment to keep, one last favour to grant her benefactor.
The tiny bell over the doorway tinkled, and a heavily pregnant young girl came in. Sister took one look at her, the girl was in need, tortured inside because of her faith. When she’d asked her if she wanted the truth, she didn’t hesitate, answering straight away. ‘I want the truth.’ Her strong chin lifted defiantly.
Used to knocks, this one.
Her green eyes settled on the dark haired girl before her.
‘Well, Jackie, I'd like you to hold this a moment for me.’
The girl took the stone and clenched it tightly in her right fist. Eyes narrowed with suspicion; she looked directly at the fortune-teller. ‘I don’t recall telling you my name.’
Sister smiled serenely, their eyes met. ‘That’s right … you didn’t. You can call me, Sister.’ She reached over to retrieve the stone, thinking she should have used it more. It would be years before she understood it fully.
Before she’d even touched it, she had an idea of what would happen. Emotions hung in the air, like sheets on a washing line disturbed by a rising wind, rippling wildly and softly flapping. Sister’s head tilted backwards; her body arched away from the seat; her knees jerked up suddenly, hitting the underside of the table.
This was something new, and nothing could have prepared her for it.
Jackie stared at her mortified. Frozen in a contorted position, Sister’s eyes moved rapidly as if she were watching a dream. Her breathing became strangely erratic as she exerted herself. Concerned, unsure if she were in the grip of an asthma attack, Jackie leaned forward, and as she did so, thought she heard whispers carried on her breath. She listened closely, trying to make out what the medium was saying.
‘Why they can never wait those two, they know I’m not as fit as them.’ The words, she recognised them. They were her own. Memories from that day had burned so deeply into her subconscious; she’d never forget it as long as she lived. This woman was reading her memories and projecting them back to her. Somehow, the two of them had joined each other in this particular part of her past.