The reporters went into a frenzy. The cameras flashed left, right and center. Nick nodded to the crowd and made his way to his car. He saw the look on Aronsen’s face, a man beaten at his own game. And he knew his face would be plastered over every news outlet in the country in the next few hours. Maybe Lynch would be pissed off, but sometimes it was worth it. It wasn’t like he’d used the term serial killer. Nor had he given any real details of the crimes.
His ringing phone interrupted his thoughts and he picked up as he climbed into the car, a few of the reporters still firing questions towards him.
‘Dad?’
‘Where are you?’
‘I told you,’ Nick said. ‘I was working. But I’m on my way now. Are you at the restaurant?’
‘No. We’re at your place.’ Nick could hear his mother in the background. Was she crying?
‘Dad, what’s going on?’ Nick asked, a sick feeling growing in his stomach.
‘You’d better come home.’
‘Is Karen there?’
‘No, she left. She said we should talk to you. Nick, is something going on? Are you…?’
Nick closed his eyes and clenched his fist. The fucking bitch had told them.
Outside the car window, cameras flashed and Nick turned away, hiding his face. ‘I’m on my way.’ Nick hung up, throwing his phone on the passenger seat. ‘Fuck!’
9
Karen
Karen sat at the bar, drowning the guilt that nagged at her. But why should she feel guilty? Nick’s parents weren’t her responsibility and if he wanted her to keep their divorce hidden, then he shouldn’t ask her to entertain them. But Nick assumed she’d do what he wanted because in the past she always had.
If any of her friends had told her that their soon-to-be ex-husband asked them to not only play happy families for his parents’ sake but also to invent a wonderful gift he’d got her, Karen’s advice would be to tell him where to go. No way should they stand for that! And yet she did. Or at least she had done until an hour earlier. But no more. It was time Nick grew a pair and told his parents the truth. She hoped that by now his mother would be calling him, asking what was going on.
Karen drained her glass and nodded to the barman for another. She noticed a guy sidle up to her but chose to ignore him. She’d already been hit on once and had knocked the guy back. That wasn’t why she was there. She didn’t need company on her birthday. She was a grown up. She was more than happy to drink alone.
The barman slid a glass towards her and she cradled it in her hands, pretending not to notice the man beside her. She focused on the TV above the bar. That writer, Peter Aronsen, was being interviewed, most likely about the murders Nick was investigating. Aronsen had been on the news a lot in the last few weeks and she’d had several people come into the bookstore asking for his back catalogue, so much so that they’d had to order in several more copies. She’d never read his books, or at least not a whole one. She’d tried once but couldn’t bring herself to finish it. It wasn’t the gruesome details that bothered her, but the terrible writing. But a sale was a sale so she continued to stock his work and, as unpalatable as it was, at times like these she needed all the sales she could get.
Karen’s stomach tightened as she saw her husband sidle in front of the cameras. She saw the barman look up before turning up the volume.
‘Maybe there’s been another one,’ someone said from further down the bar. But Karen knew that an appearance by her husband didn’t mean something newsworthy had happened, just that he was getting attention-withdrawal symptoms. Maybe no one had been listening to him in the office, or maybe he’d seen Aronsen getting attention and couldn’t bear it.
Karen turned away from the screen as her husband droned on, the sound of his voice irritating her. He sounded as casual as ever and she wondered if his parents had yet to call him. Surely he wouldn’t look this smug if he thought he was in trouble with his mother.
As Karen turned away, she gazed around the bar. The man who’d hit on her was now leaning against a pool table talking to another woman. He caught her eye and gave her a self-satisfied smile, as if she’d missed out on something good. She stared back until he looked away. There had to be twenty men in the bar, many of them alone or with other guys. She wondered how easy it would be to hook-up with one of them. Very, probably. Not that she thought she was anything special, but really, you didn’t need to be.
But did she really want to sleep with one of these losers? Even if she thought Nick would care, could she really bring herself to do it? She kept telling herself she was due some happiness, but would that do it? Unlikely. She’d probably just feel worse in the morning, as low as Nick. And she’d probably get an STD too. On the other hand, maybe it would be fun. And it wasn’t like it would hurt her case. If Nick’s years of infidelity while they were actually still together didn’t matter, then why should a separated woman having a one-night stand?
She turned back to her drink, running her finger along the glass. She risked a look at the TV but it had been switched over to some football game. She wondered if she should just go home. This was pretty sad after all. But then she remembered Nick’s parents. As fun as it would be to see Nick’s face when he realized the jig was up, she didn’t want to be there when his mother had her inevitable meltdown. Maybe Karen should go someplace else. She hadn’t really eaten. Maybe she could go to some fancy restaurant and prove she didn’t need company. It was a Monday night. It wouldn’t look that pathetic, would it?
She picked up her bag and swung it onto the bar, accidentally knocking over the bottle of beer that belonged to the man sitting beside her.
‘Shit, I’m sorry,’ she said, trying to wipe up the mess with a napkin.
‘That’s all right. It was almost empty,’ he said, smiling.
‘Let me buy you another.’
‘You don’t need to do that. Honestly.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Really. It’d make me feel better.’
‘All right. As long as you join me.’
Karen paused. Was that a pickup line? No. He’d only spoken because she’d spilt his drink. And he looked normal. Didn’t have the sleazy aura of the guy by the pool table.
‘Okay,’ she said and ordered two more drinks. The man picked up the bottle, raising it to her, and said, ‘Cheers.’
Karen raised her glass and took a sip. She suddenly felt ridiculous. She didn’t know how to do this anymore. She’d been married for fourteen years. And she wasn’t even sure if this was what she thought it was. Maybe he was just being polite, asking her to join him so she didn’t feel as foolish for being clumsy. Or maybe it was. He was looking at her as if he was waiting for her to say something, but for the life of her she didn’t know what. Why was small talk so hard?
‘I’m Mark,’ he said and held out his hand. Karen shook it, wondering if shaking hands was something men did to women they were trying to pickup, or if he just saw her as a lonely almost-middle-aged woman and was being charitable.
‘And you are…?’ Mark asked, and Karen realized she’d missed her cue again.
‘Karen,’ she said and felt her cheeks burn. Hopefully the lighting in the bar would disguise it.
‘Nice to meet you, Karen,’ he said and took a long swig of his beer. Maybe he was nervous too. Maybe this was what she thought it was.
It took another couple of drinks before the conversation started to flow rather than stalling awkwardly every few minutes. Maybe this Mark was actually a nice guy, or maybe it was the alcohol. Karen felt herself swaying slightly on her stool and remembered she hadn’t eaten. She threw a handful of nuts into her mouth and before she knew it, she was ordering another round.
‘I hope you don’t have to go to work tomorrow,’ Mark said.
‘I do. But I’m the boss so it’s okay. Besides, it’s my birthday.’
‘Your birthday? Then we need to celebrate properly. Barkeep!’
Karen laughed as the barman rolled his eyes and made his way over. She
let Mark order some ridiculous cocktails that, under normal circumstances, she would never touch. But this wasn’t normal.
She watched as the barman pushed two glasses of pink sickly looking drinks towards them. She leaned into it, trying to get the straw into her mouth. And then two shots appeared in front of her too.
Mark picked up one of the shots, nodding for her to do the same. They knocked them back, laughing.
‘So why is a woman like you spending her birthday alone?’
‘I’m not alone. I’m with you,’ Karen said.
‘That’s true. But you came out alone. Didn’t you?’ He looked around as if a horde of her friends might be there somewhere in the background.
‘I did,’ she said. ‘I was…’ She stopped. She couldn’t possibly tell him the truth. ‘I’m getting divorced. I’m asserting my independence.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, but she shook her head.
‘Don’t be. He’s an asshole.’ She glanced towards the TV, almost asking Mark if he’d watched the news. But if she told him who her soon-to-be ex was, then he’d no doubt ask about the case, about the celebrity detective, and once more it would become all about Nick.
‘Anyway, I don’t want to talk about him,’ she said and slurped some more of the pink cocktail.
‘All right. We won’t talk about the asshole.’ Mark took a gulp of his own drink, visibly wincing at the taste. ‘What are you the boss of?’
‘What?’
‘You said you were the boss at work.’
‘Oh. Right. I own a bookstore.’
‘And do you like it?’
Karen shrugged. ‘I like books.’ Another drink, slurping the dregs through the straw. ‘I wanted to be a writer.’
She saw Mark’s eyes light up. ‘What do you write?’
‘Nothing. Not anymore.’
‘Why not?’
She shrugged again. ‘I got married.’
‘And? Your asshole husband stopped you writing?’
‘No,’ she said, feeling that familiar sense of disappointment. Nick hadn’t stopped her. She’d stopped because she feared failing. And once she stopped, Nick suggested she should find something else to do. It wasn’t really his fault, but sometimes she blamed him. Or used their marriage as an excuse.
‘I don’t want to talk about that. It’s boring. Tell me about you. Tell me something exciting,’ she said, and Mark started talking, but she wasn’t taking it in. Her brain was dulled with too many drinks. She should’ve gone home, gotten something to eat, gone to bed. But somehow that would be worse. Maybe this was living. Maybe this was what she needed.
It was closing time when she finally decided to leave. They could tell the barman was getting twitchy so they began the process of ending the night, neither quite sure of where it was heading. She got the impression Mark wanted to come home with her, or take her to his place. And she was tempted. If nothing else, it would prove to Nick that he wasn’t the only one who could fuck other people.
Mark stood and held up her coat. It took two attempts to get her arms through the sleeves. She wobbled on her heels and looked at this man who’d kept her entertained all night. Who’d celebrated her birthday with her.
‘Shall we?’ he said, holding his arm out to the door.
‘I’ll just go to the bathroom,’ she said and wandered off, noticing the look of impatience on the barman’s face. But they weren’t the only stragglers. There were still a handful of others finishing drinks, a couple who’d nodded off in the back. Karen made her way to the bathroom as the barman went to deal with the rest of them.
As she washed her hands she wondered, was she really going to do this? Mark seemed nice. He seemed to get her. She could do worse. Maybe a single solitary night of fun would be good for her.
Karen opened the bathroom door and stopped. She was already starting to feel the effects of coming down. A headache starting to form. Did she really want to do this? She was hardly feeling sexy. More like she was going to vomit. She noticed a fire door to her left. She pushed it open, the cold night air hitting her like a slap to the face.
She let the door close behind her and started walking, the sounds of distant sirens echoing through the night. A cab pulled up beside her, a couple of women spilling out onto the street. Karen stopped and put her hand on the open door.
‘You getting in?’ the driver asked.
Karen looked back at the bar. Pictured Mark waiting for her. She wondered how long he’d wait, if she should go back and tell him to his face that she didn’t want this.
‘In or out?’ the driver said, and Karen made a decision.
10
Michael
Michael watched as the barman tried to move the drunks who’d fallen asleep on the vinyl benches at the back of the bar. He couldn’t imagine losing control that way, although he had drunk more than usual himself. He’d gone out with the express purpose of finding a replacement for Maria. He knew it was unlikely he’d find an actual match, someone who could fit the painting he had lined up for her. Not that that mattered. He hadn’t done any of the artwork yet. It would be fine if he had to come up with a more suitable piece. As long as he had a good prospect for the project, the final product was irrelevant at this stage.
However, finding anyone was proving tricky. Some people brushed him off immediately. That was to be expected. But others, more than you would think, were entirely up for sex without strings. But Michael didn’t want that. He wanted strings. He wanted to reel them in with those strings. He needed someone looking for more, for friendship. Someone lonely who would open their heart and their door. And, of course, there were other requirements.
Going home with someone without getting to know them was a waste of time. He needed to find out who they were. He needed to know their talents, their dreams, their failures. Clubs and bars weren’t generally the best place to find out those things and Michael avoided them on busy nights. But Monday nights often offered up a little more. Lonely conversations. People drinking to forget how they were wasting their lives. It was hit and miss. Only a couple of his projects had been found this way. Most had been sought out after a little research and a little chasing. But Michael was at a loose end and thought it worth a try.
He’d been about to leave when he’d seen her at the bar. There was something about her, an air of sadness. He sat down beside her but said nothing, having already watched one guy get knocked back. She wasn’t there for a date and that made her more interesting.
It took a while before anything happened. He watched her watching the news and almost started a conversation about that. He’d have loved to get some constructive feedback. But then she’d turned away, as if it didn’t interest her. It became obvious she wasn’t interested in anything much in the place and so he’d slowly edged his bottle closer to her until finally she’d knocked it over. Predictably, she apologized and offered to buy a replacement. And suddenly Michael had his way in.
And he was glad he did. She was perfect. Getting divorced. A writer who had given up. Maybe she’d been right to stop, perhaps she had no talent. That would require further investigation. But she had all the hallmarks of a perfect project. She even had faint scars on her wrists, as Maria had. Maybe he wouldn’t have to change his plans at all.
Somewhere around the sixth drink, he’d snapped a photo of her on his phone. Just in case. She didn’t seem to notice.
And then it was closing time. He could see from the way she looked at him that she was wondering if he’d invite her back to his place. She stared at him as if she were weighing it up. But Michael didn’t want to sleep with her. He wanted to escort her home, like a gentleman, and find out where she lived.
Michael glanced towards the bathroom. She was taking a long time. It was possible she’d passed out on the floor. She had drunk an awful lot. He wondered if he should take a look or maybe alert the barman. But he didn’t want to linger any more than necessary. Now the place was emptying out, he would stand out in the man’s mind.
And if he asked him to check on the woman, he would be even more memorable.
Michael had a system. He never killed anyone just after meeting them, nor did he take his projects out on a kill night. That way there were no barmen or waiters who recalled the victim’s date the night they died. It was impossible to avoid CCTV in the city and Michael knew he would have to be seen out with them at some point. But as long as he was careful and stuck to his system, things worked out fine. No one had noticed him yet.
He looked around as the barman stood the annoying drunk up and tried to herd him towards the door. Maybe it was time to wait outside. The barman would soon forget his face, one more customer among hundreds.
Michael glanced at the bathroom. He’d wait a few minutes outside the door and if it looked like she had passed out, he would move across the street, out of view, and wait for someone to find her, to make sure she got home, and follow from there.
But as he walked outside, he noticed a cab pulled up on the corner. Two women stumbled out, and waiting to get in was Karen. She glanced back at the bar, not seeing him. He almost called out but it was too late. She climbed in and like Cinderella, she was gone.
Michael looked up and down the street for another cab but the street was empty.
‘Goddamn it!’ He kicked a bag of garbage, scattering the contents onto the road.
While he’d been waiting, he went over his legend, the name and other details he’d created for Karen, trying to memorize them despite his inebriation. But what did it matter now? He’d never see her again.
11
Nick
Nick paced across the living room, anger coursing through him. He’d arrived home to find his parents sitting on the sofa with expressions that suggested someone had died. They’d asked him a million questions about Karen, why she’d gone out alone, what she meant when she said they should talk to Nick, and most importantly, why they were sleeping in separate rooms.
The Art of Murder Page 5
