Shooting in the Dark

‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘I’m a dark smudge in the mornings. Start to brighten up and fill in the details after lunch. By early evening people start taking notice.’
    ‘You mean women.’
    ‘Do I?’
    ‘Oh, yes, Mr Turner. I may be blind, but my other senses are intact. You can be kind, and sometimes violent. I’m sure one could say many things about you. But the portrait would not be complete if it didn’t take into account that you are an attractive man with a powerful sensual spirit.’ She smiled and folded her hands, placed them on the expensive material of her skirt. ‘You attract women. You may not make them happy. But you certainly attract them.’
    Sam picked up a pen and watched her some more. He wondered which of her four remaining senses had told her so much. There’d been a slight touch when he introduced himself; she couldn’t have got much from that. And she hadn’t tasted him, not even one tiny bite. Which left hearing and smell. He’d had a shower that morning, what, two hours ago. Surely he wasn’t pushing pheromones out into the atmosphere already. Maybe all of his personality was encapsulated in his voice?
    ‘It’s good to be flattered,’ he told her. ‘I could sit and listen all day. But that’s not why you’re here.’
    ‘No. I was supposed to meet my sister outside, but she hasn’t turned up. She didn’t ring you?’
    Sam consulted his pad, knowing it only contained a thumbnail sketch of a dog. ‘Mrs Reeves? No, Celia would have mentioned if she’d rung.’
    ‘I’ll try her mobile,’ Angeles Falco said, fishing in her bag. Her body tensed. ‘That’s strange. My phone isn’t here. I must have left it at work.’
    ‘You can use this phone,’ Sam said. ‘Or we could start without her?’
    ‘Yes, of course. It’s just not like Isabel to be late.’
    ‘We can re-schedule the appointment for another time,’ Sam said. ‘I’m happy to play this any way you want.’ Angeles Falco bit her bottom lip. ‘It was Isabel’s idea to come here, Mr Turner. Someone’s been watching her, following her, for the last couple of months. We didn’t think much about it at first, but now the same thing is happening to me.’
    It was understandable. She was a beautiful woman. Sam could imagine himself following her around for a couple of months. Maybe even longer. ‘Start at the beginning, Ms Falco. I need to know everything, all the facts, and your suspicions as well.’
    ‘You know we’re sisters. Myself and Isabel. She is two years younger than me. Daddy was Argentinian and Mummy English, but we lived here, close to York, up in the Howardian hills. My father was successful in the soft-drinks industry.’ She hesitated momentarily, a dramatic pause, indicating a moment of import in her story.
    ‘Mummy and Daddy were killed in a road accident five years ago. A pile-up on the M6. Isabel and I inherited the estate. We are major shareholders in the business. We are comfortable. No money problems. Then, a couple of months ago, Isabel noticed she was being watched. It cast a shadow over her life. She’s happy, having a love affair, getting divorced from a man who has made her unhappy for years, and she’s making plans to move in with her new lover.’
    Sam cleared his throat. ‘Does she know who is watching her?’
    ‘No. That’s what we want you to find out.’
    ‘Description? Male or female?’
    Angeles Falco shook her head. ‘We don’t know. Isabel hasn’t actually seen anyone. It’s more like a feeling.’
    Sam put his pencil down. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘And the one that’s following you, is that more like a feeling as well?’ She shifted in her chair, unsettled now. Her head moved from side to side, as if she’d caught sight of something out of the corner of her eye. ‘It must be the same person,’ she said. ‘They didn’t believe us at the police station. Oh, they said they’d follow it up, make sure the man on the beat checked our doors at night. That kind of thing. But I could tell they thought we were neurotic.
    ‘Even my doctor thinks I’m paranoid. I wouldn’t mind, only I’ve known him all my life. I’ve never been ill, not like that. Childhood illnesses, the occasional bout of flu, but nothing mental. I’m not paranoid. Someone is watching me. If Isabel says someone is watching her, then someone is watching her. She wouldn’t make it up. We’re not like that, Mr Turner. I know someone has been watching me for the last month and I’m not