Cold Heart Page 4

  Up in her hotel room Estelle stripped naked again and took the long hot-and-cold shower that she’d been dearly looking forward to all day. Even though it was only to clean her sweaty, sticky body, in the back of her mind, it also felt like she was washing away the sins of the past few days. Deep down inside, she knew that the really bad shit only haunted her if she let it—and she was an expert at keeping it all under wraps. All those people she’d hunted, hurt, and killed like they were nothing more than insects… She could never truly rid herself of their final moments. Their cries. Their pleas. Their agonizing sufferings. And that was only the ones she’d managed to look in the eye before ending their light.

  Thank Christ she’d been well trained to manipulate her memories, thoughts, and feelings, to suppress them away, deep down inside. To squeeze them into a dark abyss like they were someone else’s memories or something terrible that she’d seen some shitty movie once.

  Estelle stepped out of the shower. She felt good. She felt refreshed. Almost like new. She dressed into a plain, one-piece black swimming costume before making her way out onto the apartment balcony, twenty stories up from the ground.

  The views of the coastline and sea were magnificent. Absolutely stunning and breathtaking. But Estelle didn’t seem too interested in any of it though as she gazed down at the huge Olympic-sized swimming pool, way down below on the hotel’s open terrace. It was filled with dozens and dozens of screaming children and sunbathing parents and it only took her a few moments to find the whereabouts of what she was looking for.

  Estelle made her way out of the hotel and towards the huge outdoor pool. She made her way through the crowds of excited families, screaming kids, swimming kids, diving kids, and then the angry parents who just wanted some peace and bloody quiet from it all.

  Emerging from the crowd she made her way towards a handsome bearded man in his late thirties who was wearing just a pair of plain blue swimming shorts. He was lying asleep on a long sunbed while an open laptop sat unbalanced upon his chest, no longer in the shade of the protective sun-umbrella above him.

  Estelle crouched down and leaned in affectionately close towards the bearded man. She gently kissed him on the lips and waited for his reaction. The man stirred and opened his eyes. He looked a little shocked at first. Then relaxed when he recognized the woman crouching over him with an almost half curious smile.

  “How is the novel coming along?” Estelle softly enquired.

  “How do you think?”

  Estelle glanced at the blank page on her husband’s laptop.

  “You're back early? How were your meetings in Cairo?” her husband asked. Even though he knew Estelle could never truly talk about her work, he always went through the rigmarole of enquiring that made him sound like he cared. And he did. But they’d been together so long and established their rules, well Estelle’s rules, so early on in their relationship—eight years earlier—that they both knew what it really was.

  As far as John knew, his wife worked for the government as some kind of top-secret extension hand to the foreign secretary. He knew it was all bullshit. But he loved Estelle and he had no intention of ever destroying what they had. He always felt that he was punching well above his weight with her and so he never questioned why she didn’t even come home some nights. Or why she left the country for weeks and months at a time. Or why she came back with more new scars than souvenirs. They had an understanding. That was what made it work. And he knew that if he ever broke that understanding then his wife would simply walk away from him and their life together and he would never see her again.

  So, of course they always ignored the elephant in the room and their relationship had thrived all the more for it. They both had introverted personalities. John wanted to be a writer and was doing reasonably well with his few published books. So, when Estelle was away for long periods of time, he would lock himself up and read and write for weeks on end. When she was home, he would spend his time with her, mostly hiking, hill walking, climbing, or on spontaneous short holidays together. It was a relationship that suited them both.

  “Everything went according to plan.” Estelle replied. “Now I can finally enjoy the rest of our holiday.”

  “Did you hear about the plane crash? They think it was a Russian plane from the airport here in Cairo. Can you believe that?” John replied, a little excited himself but never did it cross his mind for a second that Estelle had anything to do with such a horrific act. No matter how shrouded in mystery her working life maybe.

  “I heard something on the way in. Just terrible news.”

  “Christ, I hope it wasn't anything sinister. We have to fly home ourselves at the end of the week.”

  Estelle gently nodded. She would say no more on the subject and cut the conversation dead in its tracks before it even got started. To her relief though she didn’t need to. A young little girl no older than six years of age excitedly climbed out of the swimming pool behind her and ran, soaking wet, right up to Estelle with more love, warmth, and enthusiasm than even a faithful dog could muster.

  “Mummy, mummy!” the young girl cried.

  Estelle smiled for the first time since she’d last been in the presence of her one and only child. She swiftly whisked her daughter Clara up into the air before wrestling her down onto an empty sunbed right beside her husband. For almost a full minute they both giggled and laughed and played as Estelle tickled her daughter until she couldn’t take it anymore. Estelle had morphed into a completely different person. For a few grateful moments she even forgot all about the horrendous things she’d done and seen in her life. Even the niggling, unspeakable worst of it.

  “So, who wants to practice their diving skills?” Estelle said, still smiling from cheek to cheek.

  “Me, me, me!” Clara cried with all the infectious joy in the world.

  Chapter 3

  Estelle, John, and Clara boarded the flight back to London Heathrow. They were seated in economy class even though they could easily afford business, but it was Estelle’s decision first and foremost and that was how she liked things to be. In a rational state of mind, she didn’t enjoy bringing more attention to herself than she needed to.

  The plane took off exactly on time and without a hitch. John and Clara looked cozy together as they cuddled up in their middle and window seats to watch a cartoon movie with their headphones on.

  Estelle decided to spend the majority of the flight on her laptop. She tapped into the aircrafts extortionately priced Wi-Fi system so she could read and catch up on some old and recent news articles on the BBC website that she might have missed for the past few weeks. In particular, the Scottish and Glasgow news. Where she enjoyed keeping up to date with her old city of birth’s haunting ground. Even though she hadn’t been back to its old, gritty streets since she was a very young teenager.

  Most of the international news was dominated by the recent Russian plane crash. Salvage ships were still picking up the scattered pieces of the aircraft along with bits of baggage and dead bodies from the Mediterranean Sea. There was already plenty of speculation about a bomb, a brutal and heartless terrorist attack. But by whom and for what reason, nobody had a clue just yet. The black box still hadn’t been found. But over the next few weeks the Russian authorities would eventually find out the true cause of the catastrophe and start pointing their fingers at who they thought was to blame.

  Estelle still couldn’t find anything regarding Alex and his family’s death though, which she found pretty odd. Even a few days after the tragedy. Surely someone must have seen the fire from the old abandoned building? And the family should be at least reported missing by their friends and neighbors? But unless the Egyptian authorities were keeping it to themselves, nothing had been discovered as of yet.

  Estelle browsed through her internet book marks and selected the BBC News Scotland website. It had been well over a month since she’d last checked the comings and goings of her old city. So, she had a lot to catch up with.

&nb
sp; Some of the most recent articles were about an increase in immigrant gang attacks in the city and not attacks on immigrants themselves either, which was what Estelle had been expecting to read about. Strangely it was the other way around. Gangs of immigrant men that had been welcomed to Glasgow were strangely attacking the good working-class citizens of the city in late night attacks. Now there was talk from some right-wing politicians to clamp down on immigration and put more restrictions on who was coming into the country. Something that the large left-wing majority Scottish public had always been dead set against. But now desperate times were calling for desperate measures.

  Estelle skimmed the article and quickly went onto the next. She really wasn’t that interested in Scottish politics when all was said and done. After a few more moments of browsing, Estelle suddenly froze up in her seat. A chill swiftly ran through her body and her hardened heart sunk to the pit of her firm stomach. It was something that she hadn’t really ever prepared herself for if she were entirely honest. And Estelle wasn’t the type of person who could be easily shocked.

  Before she even clicked on the link, she knew in her gut what she was about to read and all her recent thoughts regarding her work in Egypt evaporated from her mind like steam escaping from a scalding hot bath on a chilly winter’s day. Call it a sixth sense foresight, but she just couldn’t shake the eerie sinking feeling that had rapidly engulfed her.

  There was something vaguely familiar about the news story unfolding before her eyes as she continued to devour the headline. Estelle hesitated before clicking the article link which was simply headlined Young woman’s body found washed up on the city center banks of the river Clyde.

  Estelle began to read.

  A young woman was found washed up on the banks of the river Clyde near the Scottish Exhibition and Conference Centre last Tuesday. Large traces of drugs were found in the woman’s system. The Glasgow police are saying accidental drowning to be the cause after perhaps a late-night, drug-induced swim gone wrong. Although, the authorities are not ruling out suicide at this moment in time. The young woman has been identified as 27-year-old Gayle Munroe from the Gorbals area of Glasgow.

  Estelle stopped breathing. She read the last line again, followed by the woman’s name over and over until her heart began throbbing in her mouth.

  Gayle Munroe. Gayle Munroe. Gayle fucking Munroe.

  There was no picture with the article but Estelle knew immediately who it was. Who else could it be with a name and age like that? In the same city of her birth, for Christ’s sake.

  It had to be her little sister.

  It just had to be. An estranged younger sister at that, but her flesh and blood all the same, and a sister who she hadn’t even spoken to or seen in person for 16 years.

  Estelle was suddenly pulled back to reality with a fierce, sharp bolt. Her daughter Clara was calling out to her over and over again, but she clearly hadn’t heard a word of it until that very moment. Even then she couldn’t peel her eyes away from the news story on her laptop screen.

  “Mummy... Mummy... Mummy? You have to watch this, please. You just have to!”

  Estelle was so focused on the article that she continued to numb up. Not until her husband nudged her hard in the arm did she finally blink, breathe, and refocus her thoughts all at the same time.

  “Hey. You okay?” asked John. He was used to his wife being so absorbed in something seemingly trivial that she could ignore him for hours, but never Clara. Never the true love of her life.

  Estelle broke out from her trance. She turned slowly to face John.

  “Sorry. Yeah… Just lost in thought. Fuck. Sorry.”

  “Your daughter would like to show you something.” John smiled warmly back at her.

  With her thoughts still raging with the images of her recently deceased sister, Estelle finally turned to her daughter, smiled warmly, and gave Clara her undying attention. What else could she do in that moment?

  ***

  Estelle, John, and Clara exited the main terminal building at Heathrow Airport. They made their way out onto the nearby taxi rank and loaded their bags into a waiting taxi. They looked like any other normal, tired working-and-middle-class family returning from their holidays abroad.

  Creeping out of the busy traffic, a black Audi with tinted windows pulled up beside them while keeping the engine running. Right on time as always, Estelle thought to herself. And always keeping tabs on her whereabouts.

  Neither Estelle nor John seemed that surprised to see the vehicle. There was only the driver inside who didn’t even climb out of the car to greet them. He just kept his hands firmly on the steering wheel while keeping the engine running and looking dead ahead with his thick dark sunglasses.

  “Looks like my ride is here,” said Estelle with a gentle roll of her eyes. John softly smiled and nodded back. Estelle then kissed him lightly on the cheek before picking up Clara and kissing her upon the forehead.

  “No rest for the wicked?” John retorted.

  Estelle gave John a knowing look. Like he didn’t know the half of it, and he really didn’t. All the theories and speculations which he’d suppressed to the distant regions of his mind about his wife’s top-secret line of work, most possibly working for the government or some top-secret military agency. But he couldn’t be entirely sure nor did he even care anymore. He only cared about her and their daughter now. And he had no wish for his prying’s and curiosity to get in the way of that.

  Estelle put Clara down.

  “Mummy. Where are you going?”

  Estelle crouched down and kissed Clara again.

  “Mummy has to go work, baby. See you tonight.”

  Estelle climbed into the back of the Audi without gazing at her daughter again. She didn’t even acknowledge the driver in the front of the car. Instead she just sat there in the back of the vehicle in complete silence as it drove further away from the airport and her only remaining family. Soon she found herself thinking about her recent Egyptian exploits and of what her bosses might have to say about it. Had it been a success? Had all the loose ends been tied up? She would find out soon enough. And then what the hell did they have in store for her next? Where would they be shipping her off to now? And who would she be asked to hunt, kill, murder, or blow to smithereens?

  Her train of thoughts returned to her sister. She’d been thinking about her long and hard for the past few hours while up in the sky, rationalizing her decision of never having made contact with her again after Estelle was sent away to juvie and then recruited right out of the blue by her current secret employers. It was for the best. That’s what she was told and had even convinced herself. And she’d always believed it had been a good decision in the end.

  After the death of their mother and step father which Estelle had solely been blamed and arrested for, her kid sister Gayle had gone to a good foster home. Her employers had made sure of that. It was the one, main condition of her recruitment on her part. She was firmly assured that her sister would be brought up well, with a good, decent family. A better family and life than the junkie fuckups who had previously been raising her.

  Still, something niggled away at Estelle. Something from their past together before she’d left. Her sister hated water. Had been scared to death of it as a child. Terrified in fact and couldn’t even swim when they’d separated all those years ago and point blank refused to even learn. It had all stemmed from a single incident in her early childhood when she was put into a bath tub at the age of five and left to her own accord by her stupid, selfish mother.

  Why would she end her life that way, even if it was suicide, like the article had suggested? That would be the last way to go out on her sister’s list. She’d rather set herself on fire.

  It was a big stretch too even she had gone into the cold, dirty river water for a late-night drunken swim and drowned. Who the fuck does that? Especially in Glasgow. It didn’t make any sense to Estelle at all. It was a far cry from a late-night skinny dip on the beaches of Ibiz
a.

  A distant memory came flooding back to haunt her—something she had almost entirely forgotten: an old caravan beach holiday down in the seaside town of Ayr on the southwest coast of Scotland with her younger sister, junkie mother, and abusive, alcoholic stepfather.

  Estelle remembered they had rented a caravan close to Ayr’s average-looking beach. She thought it might have been around eighteen years ago, but her memory couldn’t really give her the precise date at that moment in time. She guessed that she’d been around fourteen or fifteen years of age herself and her sister nine or ten. It was perhaps a good six months or so before the shit really hit the fan and her days of pretending to play happy families were well and truly blitzed forever.

  Estelle thought about her selfish junkie mother just lying out cold, stretched out on her beach towel on the warm cozy sand, an empty needle still sticking out of her arm from her most recent hit of heroin.

  Then there was her stepfather, Alan; she remembered his name. He was an insecure bully and evil bastard of a man who only ever got angry and abusive with women or anyone who he deemed to be smaller and weaker than himself. In fact, she’d never even seen him raise his voice to another man before, the fucking coward. Only women.

  He was sitting on a broken deckchair, baggy shorts and open shirt, gazing out into the sea wearing his sun hat and sunglasses while swigging a bottle of vodka. For most normal decent dads and stepfathers of the world, it would be a bottle of beer, but she remembered how Alan liked to go all out with his booze at the best of times. A bottle of vodka for the day, every day and not just a rainy one.

  She thought about Gayle, looking so happy and radiant, playing and making her sand castles in the luscious warm sand. She always remembered Gayle as being the normal, happy one in their fucked-up family. The happy child with an unbreakable spirit that even her dickhead stepfather couldn’t break.

  Estelle had been swimming that day, she was starting to remember more clearly now. She had gone for a long, hard swim way out to one of the nearby rocky islands in the deeper waters of the Irish sea. The furthest away island where all the seals used to bathe then flee into the water when they saw her coming.