Henrik grimaced. ‘There’s nowhere in town?’
‘Yes but, logistically, it’s better that you’re here. Look, I want to be honest about the resources we have at our disposal, and by that, I mean we’re running on a very tight budget. The crew won’t be paid until we sell the project. Nor will I, or any of the other participants. I’m just paying their expenses like you.’
Henrik said nothing but inhaled slowly.
‘I need you to make this work, Henrik. We’re going to ensure you’re as comfortable as possible, and I’m hoping being part of this project will compensate you way beyond any financial rewards.’
Henrik closed his eyes and nodded reluctantly.
Hazel felt a small surge of relief but immediately sensed this was to be the first of many similar conversations. ‘Good. I’m really grateful for you flying here to be with us, and I genuinely believe you’re going to benefit from this experience.’
‘I’m not entirely convinced of that… Hazel.’ His use of her name sounded strange. Like he was bolting it on to mimic natural conversation.
‘Let Rena show you to your room so you can settle in. You can join us for dinner or we can give you your privacy. I can’t promise this won’t be difficult. Tomorrow will be particularly hard. But you can trust me because I’m looking for the same answers as you.’
‘So what happens tomorrow?’
‘Have a think about what I’ve said and then let me know if you’re going to stay.’
‘Well, I’m here now.’ Henrik looked like he was chewing something unpleasant. ‘What do I have to do tomorrow?’
8
Hazel was sitting on her red swivel chair in the upstairs production office surrounded by her shivering team. As wind blasted the black windowpane her eyes roved the graffiti on the peeling walls. The Glenlivet bottle was nearly drained. She’d only drunk a couple of fingers to warm her but, having missed the pizza slices, the alcohol had taken advantage of her empty stomach.
She was eager to get Henrik Fossen in front of the camera the following morning. He was the individual who tied the deaths together. The victims’ friends and family were starting to fly in tomorrow afternoon. His responses to them would make for some interesting viewing, but clearing them as suspects was her priority before she could begin to focus on the lone tourist theory and why Broomfield and Meredith became targets.
She took out her iPhone and opened the crew’s ‘Turkey Shoot’ WhatsApp group. They were on it, sniggering over suggestions of how they’d provoke the killer. Hazel wasn’t amused but knew it was only because they were nervous and distracting themselves from their surroundings.
You don’t have any balls.
‘Very creative, Sweeting.’ Hazel didn’t have a handle on the new assistant soundman yet, although his default seemed to be muted sarcasm. He was probably the oldest of the crew. Bar Rena, everyone was early thirties. Sweeting looked to be early forties.
He was hunched low in his parka in a telescopic chair. ‘I imagine he could be pretty creative with balls.’ His fingers rearranged the strands of hair over his baldness.
Hazel examined Rena’s contribution to the discussion.
Choke on it, loser.
‘Good to see the associate producer setting an example.’
Rena looked briefly contrite but had already drunk way too much. Hazel was going to have to keep an eye on her. She was clearly more naïve than she made out. Her pink hair was messily tucked into her black woolly hat, and she was stroking Keeler’s beard. The two of them were seated on the empty equipment boxes and had got very cosy. Keeler was a hairy beast and completely dwarfed her. He was killing time before he had another production gig and had offered to be a runner for Rena while he waited for the call. Now Hazel could see why.
Come get some, fuckface!
‘Nice, Keeler.’
‘I notice you haven’t chipped in yet, Haze.’ Cox drained his paper cup.
‘I’m good.’
‘Come on,’ he insisted, ‘if we’re all condemning ourselves to death for this gig you certainly can.’
Hazel didn’t want to rain on the camaraderie but felt distinctly uncomfortable. It had probably seemed like a harmless joke when the victims had done the same. She visualised Meredith heedlessly typing in her message. ‘OK, if I could I’d put Joel Patterson’s name forward… ’
‘Who’s Joel Patterson?’ Cox asked.
‘CEO at Riker. They’re the eleventh distributor to turn me down.’ Hazel typed:
Spineless bitch.
Hazel noticed Lucas hadn’t participated either. He was sitting on the desk, and she could tell he was thinking about a cigarette, even though he’d just put one out. But something had been different since she’d arrived. She wondered if she should ask Weiss what.
The blonde-haired soundman was seated next to Lucas, slowly rubbing his hands to keep warm. He and Lucas always worked closely together.
Cox got to his feet. ‘What about mine?’
She scrolled back and located Cox’s.
Blow me!
‘Succinct.’
He tucked his long auburn hair behind his ears and picked up his bag and orange motorcycle helmet.
‘You heading off now?’ Lucas said incredulously.
Cox nodded. ‘I’ve only been drinking coffee, and twenty cups is my limit. And now I’ve given up my deluxe penthouse to Henrik Fossen… ’
Hazel pocketed her phone. ‘We can find you somewhere else to sleep for tonight.’
‘I’d rather travel while the roads are empty. Look, any problems, call me.’
Much as she enjoyed Cox’s presence, Hazel couldn’t afford to pay her location manager to stick around. He’d negotiated their occupation of Fun Central and had been there to give them keys and a tour the previous day but now he was going to spend a few days driving to his next paying gig. He had two ex-wives to support.
‘You know where to drop the keys when you’re done.’ Cox leaned down and kissed Hazel on the cheek.
Hazel nodded. ‘I owe you big time.’
‘You already did.’
He was about to slip on his helmet but paused when they heard a clatter in the corridor. ‘Henrik?’
The crew turned to the door but he didn’t enter.
Cox walked over and opened it. Hazel followed him. There was nobody outside. Hazel’s head darted to the source of the sound. A draught rolled an old beer can to the wall.
Cox zipped up his leather jacket. ‘Yep. One night in this freezing shithole was more than enough for me.’
9
Keeler’s cold hands slid up from Rena’s waist and lightly gripped her breasts from behind. For such a stocky guy he had a gentle touch, and she felt a little disappointed by that.
‘Jesus, this is a toxic little oasis you’ve brought me to.’ His beer breath was warm on the side of her face as she led him down the path from Fun Central through the birches and to the pond. Plastic bottles and other detritus were motionless on its surface, and the inky water barely reflected the smudged moon. The toe of his boot hit a thick root, and he staggered and released her. ‘Shit.’
A few crows lazily complained from the branches above them.
He was drunker than she thought, drunker than she was. Did she want to get a reputation as the crew slut? As the associate producer, Rena knew she should be behaving more professionally. But, having broken it off with her boyfriend just before New Year’s Eve, she knew exactly what would happen when Keeler topped up her paper cup for the third time. She should be asleep in her bunk. Now she’d be exhausted for the first interview day of the shoot.
But she was twenty-three and had been faithful to one guy for two and a half years. Working the internship for Hazel Salter hadn’t exactly put her in the middle of a media social scene so she was determined to capitalise on any attention she got.
Plus Keeler wasn’t going to be around for the whole week so things wouldn’t have to be awkward for too long. And that gave her scope if the
re was anyone else she was interested in. Sweeting was the only other guy who had tried to hit on her but he was married and had bad teeth and that told Rena all she needed to know about how he looked after the rest of himself.
She’d assessed the dynamic of the remaining crew. Lucas was the cutest in a moody, unavailable way but, even though she’d gleaned he was living with his partner, she could tell there was something between him and Hazel. There was a familiarity but also a diplomatic distance that spoke volumes. They’d worked tightly on the Syrian shoot so she guessed they might have been an item at some point. Blonde-haired Weiss was very reserved, maybe even gay. Henrik Fossen creeped her out. Even though his father was loaded, she knew nothing good was going to come from hooking up with him. Fortunately, he’d stayed up in his room the entire evening.
Rena took Keeler’s icy palm, led him to the mini jetty and sat down, cross-legged.
‘Hope you’re not thinking about a swim.’ Keeler dropped heavily beside her and pulled out a pack of menthol cigarettes.
Rena shivered. The water smelt of soil and paint. ‘No, I don’t need to grow an extra head.’
‘Nothing wrong with extra head.’ Keeler grinned, put two cigarettes in his mouth, lit both and passed one to Rena.
She’d lost count of how many she’d accepted from him that night, even though she was meant to have given up. She inhaled heavily and blew the smoke out through a tight hole in her lips. They were lights and she could barely taste the tobacco. ‘Pity, I’ve got a great bod for skinny-dipping.’
‘Well, let’s not rule anything out. We could just skip the dipping part.’
‘Sure about that?’ Rena put her hand out and touched his wiry beard. She’d already found plenty of excuses to stroke it that evening but now she didn’t need any.
Keeler smiled as her fingers explored it and pecked the tips of her fingers when they brushed his lips. He exhaled smoke.
She nodded at the black water. ‘You first then.’
His bushy eyebrows bounced against the brim of his beanie.
‘I’ll show you my skinny if you show me your dipping part.’
Keeler laughed. ‘It must be three below.’
‘You’ve got all your hair to keep you warm. Bet you’re covered from head to toe.’
He smirked, and they both leaned in to kiss.
His bristles tickled her mouth. Her ex had never wanted to grow a beard so this was a new one on her. She felt his arms lightly encircle her, tasted the beer and tobacco on his lips. But they were hot and she sucked on the bottom one. Bit into it a little.
He attempted to undo her wax coat.
‘It’s Velcro.’
‘Relax. I can work with Velcro.’
The noise of it ripping seemed deafening around the pond, and they both giggled as he removed it.
Rena lay back, and Keeler grunted as he positioned himself over her. She could see nervousness briefly register in his features but then his lips were back on hers. She closed her eyes as his prickly face ground at her chin. She was going to have a rash in the morning.
Briefly, she fell asleep. It was the booze and the long trip to the location the day before. But the chill of his hands moving up inside her blouse roused her again. She reached down and felt how awake he was. ‘Have you got a condom?’
‘There might be one lying around here somewhere.’
‘Don’t joke. Have you got one?’
He shook his head and waited for her approval.
She sighed. ‘OK.’
Keeler pulled away so she could drop her jeans and panties and was ready for her when she lay back again. He nudged the head around her labia, and she realised he was doing it on purpose. He teased her a bit more, and when he slid inside Rena wrapped her legs around his back and pulled him in tighter.
Now he wasn’t being so gentle.
Rena sighed in his ear to encourage him, and he pumped his buttocks harder. He wasn’t as big as she’d thought, and she tried not to giggle as he gyrated his hips. It was obviously his Saturday night special, and she didn’t want to dampen his spirit.
Maybe she’d just made the job of being taken seriously as the AP a lot more difficult. It was very likely the rest of the crew would soon know about this so she told herself to enjoy it. Keeler licked her neck and, she had to admit, his gyrations were starting to touch her just where she needed it.
As they both found a rhythm and began to lose control neither of them noticed somebody step out of the trees three feet away to watch more closely.
10
Hazel woke, fingered her hair behind her ears, located her iPhone and flipped the cover: 5:53 a.m. Her cot creaked as she swung her legs off it and looked over to Lucas who was still sleeping. The room stank of his boozy breath but it was a familiar and bizarrely comforting aroma.
She winced as the bare soles of her feet touched the freezing concrete floor and quickly tugged on her thick woollen socks. Hazel watched his shuttered eyelids as she removed her padded nightshirt and quickly pulled on a bra, two sweatshirts and a pair of jeans.
Her coyness was seriously misplaced. They’d slept together during the nights of the Syrian shoot but neither had contacted each other since the awards. She knew he was living with someone else now – Carrie. But that was OK with Hazel. They’d started to get too close and that was always when she backed away.
After she’d told the crew about sleeping two to an office they’d organised themselves and automatically assumed she would be sharing with Lucas. He’d come in a few hours after her, and she’d listened to him shivering as he got undressed and sat on the edge of his cot. She’d had her back to him and hadn’t moved. A few minutes later she’d heard the springs of his mattress squeaking and his instantaneous snoring.
The air hissed through the crack in his lips. The barrier was back up between them. Not just because of their incomplete history. This was the familiar one between crew and producer. It was always there because she stood to enjoy a bigger slice of any success their collaboration earned. You could find it on any indie shoot. Amongst the comradeship there was always a vague mistrust that their contribution would never be properly rewarded.
Hazel slipped on her boots, crept out of the room and into the corridor. She checked Henrik’s door at the far end, which was slightly ajar. Before he’d retired, he’d informed her his meds had turned him into an insomniac. Maybe there were other reasons he couldn’t sleep.
Despite Veracity Media hanging in the balance, Meredith Hickman’s death had compelled her to initiate the project but she knew its whole success hinged on Henrik’s participation. His involvement was the hook to hang it on because the central emotion of the piece would come from the remorse he felt about creating the @BeMyKiller account. But she had yet to see any evidence of that. Even though Henrik Fossen had no alibi during the time the killings had taken place, the spotlight of the official investigation had shifted quickly away from him. He hadn’t left Saratoga and outwardly, at least, appeared to be just a rich kid with too much spare time to devote to online mischief. Hazel wasn’t about to subscribe to any FBI presumptions, however; from their FaceTime conversations, she too suspected Henrik was entirely innocent.
She stole past the production office and briefly inspected the wreckage. The guys had been playing Midnight Train, Keeler’s six dice game, when she’d come to bed. She’d told them she wanted an early start but none of them had responded. But as they were supplying their skill sets unpaid Hazel knew exactly to what degree she could wrangle them and had left them huddled around the heater steadily emptying the cool box.
Keeler had been all over Rena, and her associate producer hadn’t appeared averse to the attention. Rena was learning on the job and seemed inordinately proud of her schedule, which she imperiously enforced, and the trolley she’d brought along to ferry coffee and equipment around on. Hazel hoped she was going to be capable and not curled up in Keeler’s sleeping bag until noon.
It was the catch-22 of her shoots. Al
cohol was a cheap perk to provide but it always impacted the productivity, hence her assembling everyone an hour earlier than necessary. Coffee and painkillers had to be administered and then she’d begin her performance about how much time they were losing. They’d enjoy her getting agitated for a while but then Hazel would have them all corralled by the time she really wanted to start.
She padded down the stairs from the admin level and pushed the stiff door at the bottom. The concourse was even more glacial than upstairs. The draught on her face felt like the raw wind was blowing directly in from outside.
Unlike their previous shoot, it was a controllable location and she had the golden keys to the kingdom. She’d secured the sliding doors the night before but the crew didn’t trust her security measures and hid their equipment.
Lucas had showed her the independent spy cams he’d brought along and offered to dot them around the complex. Hazel hadn’t thought it necessary. They hadn’t seen anyone else on the lot. Surely it was too damn cold.
Before she’d arrived the previous day, she’d taken a lone drive out to her old neighbourhood. The family house was gone, replaced by a private dental clinic. It was the place she remembered being happy. As carefree as it was possible to be. Then her father had lost his battle against fibrosarcoma. She’d left the town with her mother soon after. His ashes had gone with them, and her mother had gradually disintegrated. She’d been cremated in 2012. Hazel’s memory was her only connection to her childhood here.
Blue Grove Park hadn’t changed. Even though the new swings were fenced off on a square of bark chips they were in exactly the same position with the condemned tyre factory looming over them. A couple of kids had been playing under the grimy clouds, and Hazel felt like she’d been slotted right back into her past. She’d instinctively turned to the left corner of the adventure area, almost expecting to see Meredith awkwardly lingering, watching the others and waiting to be invited in.
Be My Killer: A completely UNPUTDOWNABLE crime thriller with nail-biting mystery and suspense Page 3
