Innocent Monsters by Barbara Doherty Page A

lead, talked to people in a restaurant he knew Kaitlyn had frequented. Someone remembered her being with a guy. Did the letter R mean anything to her? Did Kaitlyn know anyone whose name started with it? She didn’t think so, couldn’t think, refused to think about it. Now she had left Crocker Amazon, all she wanted to do was move on from what had happened and it was going to be a lot easier if she stopped thinking about her sister’s death as a murder. She had cried enough, suffered enough. She couldn’t think of it anymore.
    Brown could snoop around on his own; it was his job and Kaitlyn’s case, for reasons she couldn’t understand, had obviously become very important to him. She had often wondered over the past few weeks if this could possibly be his last assignment before retirement, the last case he just had to crack. Go out with a bang and all that. It didn’t really matter, whichever his reasons, she was starting to believe Lisa had been right; perhaps opening an inquest on Kaitlyn’s death was nothing but a mistake. Brown might never find anything, anyone. But it didn’t have to be her problem. It wouldn’t bring her back.
    Jessica stood back to admire her handiwork and heard a knock on the door. She left the screwdriver by the stove and went to open it.
    Blaise stood three steps away from her smiling, his hands hidden behind his back. The last time she had seen him he had been standing more or less in this same position, clutching her front door keys.
    “Hey! What a lovely surprise! I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
    “I was just passing by and I thought I’d come and see how you’re doing.” He brought his hands forward revealing a couple of beer bottles, big red ribbons tied around both their necks. “Hope I’m not disturbing.”
    Jessica burst out laughing. It was the corniest thing she had ever seen. “Isn’t this sweet! Come on in.”
    She closed the door behind him and headed for the kitchen; her new table was still dissembled inside a cardboard box by the window, her new chairs aligned against the wall waiting for the table to appear in the middle of the room.
    “It’s still empty, I know,” she told him, “I’ve been too busy painting the...”
    “It’s yellow,” he interrupted her.
    They looked at each other.
    “I know. I painted the walls. I did ask you if it would be ok. Remember?”
    “Yes, I do, it’s just… “
    “I’m not an all-white person myself. Colour’s good for you.”
    He looked down at her: she was wearing a pair of turquoise track suit bottoms, a pink t-shirt with yellow and dark green dots of paint on both sleeves and shoulders, fading white letters across her chest read EAT SHIT AND DIE . “Yes,” he said smiling, “so I’ve heard.”
    She felt her cheeks blush and hated him for it, tried to hide her face untying the ponytail on top of her head. He looked at her hair, caressed it almost with his eyes.
    “So where does the green come from?” he asked.
    “I’m sorry?”
    “The green.” He pointed a finger at one of the green dots of dried paint on her shoulder.
    “Oh, this green. It’s my study, well, the sitting room...” She pointed a finger beyond the kitchen entrance. “That room. Want to have a look?”
    He started moving without saying a word and she followed him.
    This was the room she was the most proud of. The wall opposite the windows, on the left hand side of the doorway, was completely covered with bookshelves, floor to ceiling just like she had imagined it, and it worked. A small sofa sat in front of the rows-after-rows of books and an armchair by one of its sides created a new corner. On the right hand side of the doorway stood a bare table —her desk. A big cardboard box sat underneath it. Any wall that had not been hidden by books had been painted in green.
    “I thought it would be relaxing, you know, green is supposed to help you to relax.”
    She explained. “And is it?”
    “I wouldn’t know, I haven’t spent much