Be My Killer: A completely UNPUTDOWNABLE crime thriller with nail-biting mystery and suspense

by Richard Parker

‘You on your own?’ the woman asked her.

  ‘No. Waiting to hear from my husband.’ She turned over her phone with nicotine fingers.

  ‘I’m sure they’ll find your daughter.’

  The crying woman rose and proffered one of the pieces of paper to the next person. ‘This is my daughter, April. She went to Blue Grove Park today and hasn’t come home.’ Her voice quivered. ‘Have you seen her?’

  They shook their head.

  ‘Please pass it along.’

  It reached Hazel, and she examined the yellow photo of the freckled little girl. Her image was split by lines where the printer head had run out of darker ink.

  ‘Anyone seen her?’

  Everyone shook their heads.

  But Hazel had recently stood in Blue Grove Park and remembered what it was like to be a child there.

  ‘My husband’s scoured every inch.’ She made eye contact with Hazel. ‘You haven’t seen her?’ she asked, desperately.

  For the mother’s sake, Hazel looked down at the picture again. ‘Sorry. How old is she?’

  ‘Seven. Said she was meeting some friends.’

  ‘Afraid I haven’t.’ Hazel offered the photo back to her.

  ‘I don’t know what we’ll do if… ’ Her features froze, mucous dripping from one nostril.

  ‘Mrs Weeks?’ A young, plain-clothes officer had opened the door of the office to their right. ‘This way.’

  From his expression Hazel could tell that he was too young to know how to deal with her. ‘I really hope you find her.’

  Mrs Weeks nodded absently and followed the officer inside.

  ‘Do you want this back?’ Hazel still held the image.

  The door closed, and Hazel looked for somewhere to leave it for her.

  ‘OK, Miss Salter!’

  She entered Bennett’s office, and he remained seated behind his desk. He was apple-shaped, rounder than he’d appeared on TV, a patch of his thinning white hair in a static tuft above his forehead.

  ‘You’re late,’ he stated.

  Hazel was sure she wasn’t but fought the temptation to glance at her watch. Folding and pocketing the picture of April, she closed the door but didn’t sit in the leather chair in front of her. The office smelt of sweat and whatever half-eaten pasta was congealing in the open carton next to his phone.

  ‘Heard you’ve been having a few problems up at Fun Central.’

  ‘Nothing we can’t handle. Any news about Henrik Fossen or Jacob Huber?’

  ‘Not as yet. As you’ll appreciate, I don’t have many men to spare.’

  Hazel hoped the situation wouldn’t be the same for Mrs Weeks. ‘So, why am I here? Second thoughts about an interview?’

  ‘No. We’ve all had enough cameras, Miss Salter.’

  ‘Officer Soles was happy to talk to us.’

  ‘Was he?’ Bennett’s dark eyes gave nothing away.

  ‘Yes. Any reason I shouldn’t be comfortable with him as a contributor?’

  ‘I know what you’re doing, Miss Salter. But I won’t be drawn. I’ll speak with Officer Soles. His input is immaterial.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He’s not qualified to comment.’

  ‘He knew Meredith Hickman.’

  ‘Everybody knows the Hickmans.’

  ‘Seems Officer Soles was more than acquainted with Meredith. And Wade Hickman seems to think he was intimidating her.’

  Bennett snorted. ‘From what I hear, my officers had plenty of reasons to call at their turkey farm. Don’t think that place has been used for its proper purpose since the nineties.’

  ‘What goes on there?’

  ‘You’re buddies with the Hickmans now. Why don’t you ask them? But there’ll be no more interviews with my officers,’ he said, categorically.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Only official releases, and you can get access to those online.’

  ‘I really don’t understand. My documentary could revitalise your investigation.’

  ‘I’ve told you, it isn’t my investigation any more. The FBI won’t even return my calls.’

  ‘Then tell me that. On camera. Vent. Your frustration is a part of this story.’

  ‘Like Fossen’s and Huber’s disappearances?’

  She didn’t like the sardonic look on his face.

  ‘You wouldn’t have my officers running around on a wild goose chase just to give you some drama for your camera?’

  ‘You might have heard – I was assaulted today.’

  His expression didn’t alter. ‘And how come you didn’t clue me in on the fact you grew up in Broomfield?’

  Hazel hadn’t been prepared to answer that.

  ‘Been doing some of my own research.’ Bennett picked up a document from his desk and put on his half glasses to read it. ‘You lived here longer than I have. Anything else you’ve failed to tell me?’

  ‘It’s been twenty years.’

  ‘Still a pretty major piece of background history you omitted to mention. Ashamed of where you’re from?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Look, I don’t care if you have a personal beef with Broomfield or just want to do a hatchet job on small-town America but I called you down here to officially warn you – unless you want to be charged with filing a false police report, I need your reassurance you’re not misusing my limited resources on whatever bullshit you’re cooking up at Fun Central.’

  ‘You really believe I’d do that? Besides, it was Eve Huber who reported her brother missing.’

  ‘All I know is what some of your media colleagues were capable of last time around. They made my department look like a joke and me an asshole.’

  ‘Then use me to set the record straight.’

  ‘That’s all I have to say, Miss Salter. We’ll be keeping a close eye.’

  ‘With your limited resources?’

  ‘You can show yourself out.’

  Despite her protestations, Bennett wouldn’t discuss it further.

  She left the station and drove back to Fun Central. What was he insinuating about the Hickman family turkey farm? Or was that to misdirect her from Soles’s pursuit of Meredith? But as she glided through the dark streets of Broomfield she considered Bennett’s accusation about her past and wondered if she really had concealed it for the sake of preserving an objective commentary for the documentary. Or did she not want to be called out for using her connection when she hadn’t set foot in the town for two decades? She’d have trouble convincing anyone she still felt an association. But the fact was she did; more than she’d foreseen. And Hazel guessed one of the reasons she still held affection for and valued the days with Meredith in Blue Grove Park and Holtwood Forest was because they formed part of the short period when she still had a family of her own.

  66

  Rena left the crew slouched around one of the tables in District Burger, eating leftovers and talking in low tones. They had nothing planned but an early night but she wanted to make herself scarce in case she was collared to do a last-minute booze run for Lucas in his Toyota.

  She slipped through the main entrance and strode across the parking zone to the edge of the forest. Keeler had had over half an hour to make it from town while she’d showered and changed so he was probably already there. She halted at the top of the track and sent a text.

  @ the pond?

  Ready and waiting.

  came the instantaneous reply.

  Come meet me in the lot so we can find another spot.

  Rena kicked at some jagged stones for half a minute before her phone vibrated.

  Am just ready to go skinny-dipping. Really want to miss this?

  It was freezing so this she had to see. She trotted into the trees feeling safer that Keeler was at the end of the short track. She used the torch on her iPhone to illuminate it but when she reached the jetty he wasn’t there. She hastily typed.

  Where R U?

  An incoherent whisper came from the birches to her right.

  Rena followed t
he sound to the side of the jetty, expecting a naked Keeler to suddenly expose himself to her.

  ‘Rena.’

  She took another pace forward but stopped. It didn’t sound like Keeler. ‘That you?’

  No response.

  Rena speedily tapped her screen.

  Come out now or I leave.

  She sent it and a phone buzzed just ahead of her as the message arrived. ‘I heard that. I can see where you are.’ She recalled the ringtone deep in the forest when Hazel had called Jacob’s number.

  Still no reaction.

  ‘Look, we haven’t got long. Get your hairy ass out here or I’m leaving.’ But Rena took a few steps back.

  The beam of a phone torch shone at her from the fringe of the trees and started to move quickly towards her. Rena shielded her eyes against the glare. She could see the silhouette of a figure behind the light but couldn’t tell if it was Keeler.

  Rena decided not to hang around to find out. Maybe it was creepy Henrik, Jacob Huber or a tweaker. She pelted back up the track and could hear footfalls pound hard to catch up with her.

  She reached the top of the ridge and peered down but there was nobody behind her. Was Keeler messing with her? But she was sure it hadn’t been him that had spoken down there. She hit one key and sent it.

  ?

  A buzz then a rustle immediately to her left. Rena turned and saw the figure rushing at her from the cover of the trees. They’d skirted the track and were now beside her. A fist slugged her jaw and she was rolling back down, her phone slipping from her palm as she tried to break her fall. She landed heavily on her chest only a few feet from the jetty.

  Rena’s lungs closed against the impact, and she attempted to draw breath as a hand gripped her ankle firmly and heaved her anticlockwise. Then she was yanked backwards, her chin scraping along the sharp fragments of the track before it bounced on the end of the jetty and across the damp, rotting boards.

  She was still dazed by the blow but twisted and flipped onto her back. Rena screamed when she saw who had hold of her leg. They jumped off the edge of the jetty and into the black pond.

  Rena’s spine lifted from the planks and then icy water closed over her face and rushed into her mouth.

  Knuckles struck her left eye socket before she could jerk her head out.

  67

  Cold currents trembled Rena’s gut and sudden recollection jerked her back to night-time. She was still in the pond, stripped naked, on her knees and facing the edge of the jetty, which was only a couple of feet away. Her head and shoulders were above the surface, and her left eyelid was swollen and heavy.

  Spluttering and spitting out putrid liquid through the coating on her lips, she attempted to push herself upright but her right hand was leaden. Rena awkwardly lifted it and saw, in the weak moonlight, she was holding a machete. The handle of it had been bound to her palm with a bandage that had been wrapped around it several times and knotted at her knuckles.

  Her left hand was free, and she groggily tried to untie the bandage.

  A dragging noise focussed her eyes ahead and, as they tilted up to the person on the jetty, her vocal muscles unlocked to emit a sob.

  It was Keeler, lying on one side with his lifeless fingers extended towards her. Keeler’s moment of death contorted his black features and the whites of his eyes were half-closed. They were being pushed shut by rope wound tight to his forehead. The person who had dragged Rena into the pond was standing behind his corpse.

  She rose, backed away and felt a tug around her neck. Then she registered the rope that extended upwards from Keeler.

  He was rolled into the water and sank out of sight.

  As it snared her, Rena grabbed the noose around her throat but Keeler’s bulk raised her from the pond, her feet churning up foam. Looking up at the quivering rope she could see it was slung over a thick branch about thirty feet above her. The other end was attached to Keeler.

  Now his head and shoulders emerged. Rena’s weight was hoisting him out but Keeler was much heavier and, even though she dropped a few inches, her toes could barely touch the surface.

  Rena couldn’t support herself on the rope. Her wrists were too weak, and the machete fixed to her strongest hand wouldn’t allow her to get a grip. She chopped at the rope above her but couldn’t get enough power behind her upward strikes. The only way to exert any force was to use both hands.

  As she swung towards the jetty again, Rena yelled silently for help but the person there just watched impassively and blinked against the spray she was thrashing up.

  Her pink toenails scraped the slimy boards and, momentarily, she dug them into the rotten wood and held herself in place – relieving the pressure. But her calves quaked and gave way and Rena juddered off it again; the soles of her bare feet skimming the icy water, and the sound of her strangulation amplifying inside her head.

  Rena pedalled at the jetty, slamming the bridge of her foot painfully against the solid wooden edge and kicking Keeler’s face.

  She lashed out at her captor with the machete, but the blade whistled harmlessly out of reach. Her heartbeat pounded in her scalp.

  Directly below her Keeler’s corpse was still visible, his back against the jetty. Rena knew what she was expected to do and that there was no time for second thoughts.

  As she wobbled above him, Rena seized the weapon rigidly in both palms and swiped the machete downwards at the double coils around his head. The metal impacted his skull with a hollow clunk but the rope remained intact.

  Swinging it again, her cry of revulsion was unable to escape her constricted windpipe.

  The steel lodged deep in Keeler’s scalp, and Rena was suddenly motionless as the blade anchored her.

  Rena couldn’t gag but saw she’d severed the first rope and blood was oozing from the deep wound she’d inflicted. But both coils had to be cut. Wriggling and yanking on the machete, she attempted to release the wedged blade.

  It unstuck and she was still directly over Keeler but couldn’t steady herself on his head. As her feet slid off his dank skin, Rena’s eardrums were at bursting point. She only had a few seconds left. Detonating a scream inside her chest, she spurred her arms into frantic action.

  She attacked Keeler, cleaving fragments of bone; her frenzy bouncing Rena in the noose and squeezing her throat until her face turned blue.

  But Rena remained suspended. Her squirming subsided and fingers relaxed their grip on the handle. Darkness crowded her brain, suffocating the panic as her limbs sagged and toes dipped to the pond.

  She’d almost cut through the second coil and had left only a few tendrils of rope holding it to Keeler.

  They snapped.

  Rena didn’t feel the frayed end whip at her face on its way up but regained consciousness as she landed in the freezing water and her body jolted against the bottom.

  68

  Rena sucked pond water into her mouth. The noose had slackened but not enough to allow her to breathe properly. She got her fingers under the rope and scrabbled her nails at chafed skin as she struggled to unfasten it. If she didn’t, Rena knew she would pass out and probably drown.

  She sat up, loosened it, and retched as she wheezed in a few shallow breaths. The jetty emerged from the black fog in her eyes. Nobody there.

  Keeler’s body had listed and was drifting towards her, and she could see the damage his head had sustained. The left side of his cranium was gone and a flap of it had hinged away from the pulverised interior.

  Rena recoiled and was upright but tottering backwards to maintain her balance. She landed amongst a flotilla of plastic bottles.

  Getting unsteadily to her feet, she kept watching the empty jetty. Rena had to climb out the other side and warn everyone at Fun Central about who had attacked her. She glanced fitfully around but couldn’t spot any movement at the edge of the pond.

  Still disoriented, she turned and staggered towards the bank behind her. Ploughing her thighs through the trash that had set in the scum there, Rena
dug her fingers into the cold, soft sludge and painstakingly dragged herself out.

  Her limbs felt weak, and her whole body seemed to beat erratic time with her traumatised circulation. Digging the bloody blade of the machete into the grey muck, she used it to lever herself towards the reeds at the perimeter of the trees and was just stumbling for cover when she was violently hauled backwards by the noose still around her neck.

  She slid rapidly down the slippery bank on her spine. Her head went under the freezing water and the impetus rolled the rest of Rena’s body on top of her. She’d barely stood again when another heave lurched her further into the pond.

  Her attacker was standing in the middle of it, reeling her in with the cut end of the rope.

  Rena burrowed her fingertips under the noose to release it but it was wrenched again and she was on her knees, sliding along the bottom as they lugged her nearer.

  As she slithered forward, her left knuckles grazed a rock. Rena grabbed it and the next tug pulled her hand and sucked it free from the silt. She lifted her right palm clear of the water and hefted the machete.

  She was only five feet away from her attacker, and they froze when they saw the blade. In that moment, Rena lifted the rock and hurled it at them. In her weakened state it only skimmed the surface but, as the figure ducked, she quickly lifted the noose over her head.

  Rena dashed for the bank again, her progress slow as the littered water restrained her. Behind her she heard feet slogging powerfully through it. Finally, a scream ruptured its way out of her larynx. It propelled her up the mud incline and Rena threw herself through the reeds and into the pitch-blackness beyond.

  69

  Holding out the caked machete and her free hand against any obstacles, Rena sprinted into branches that lashed her face and naked skin.

  For minutes her bare feet pounded leaves and mulch and splashed through muddy puddles. Then her palm told her she was about to slam headlong into a thick trunk. She jogged right but Rena’s shoulder buffeted against it and her body twisted away.