by Amy Cross
“I am so, so sorry,” she replied, stepping over to him. “He didn’t talk to me about it, he didn’t give me any indication that he was going to do something like this.” She paused, before putting her arms around him and giving him a hug.
“It’s okay.”
“So at least you set Alex straight, right? You showed him that you didn’t kill Mel Armitage or Hayley Maitland?”
“And how would I show him that?” Ben asked, taking another deep, calming drag on the cigarette as his sister stepped back from the hug.
“By telling him where you were when they were murdered.”
He paused. “It’s complicated.”
“Complicated? It’s not complicated, Ben, it’s how you prove you couldn’t have killed them.”
“Alex doesn’t know exactly when they were killed,” he continued. “There’s, like, a window of several hours for each of them. It’s kind of hard to be helpful and prove where you were for several hours at a time, even if you felt that way inclined. Which I can’t say I do.”
“You can’t…” She paused, before sighing. “You did answer his questions properly, didn’t you? Please, Ben, tell me you didn’t spend the whole night being sarcastic and elusive?”
He shrugged.
“You didn’t,” she continued, “you can’t have done. You’re not that goddamn stupid.”
“Can’t fight who I am.”
“He’s a cop!” she hissed. “I get it, you like acting that way with Jack, you like winding him up, but you can’t do the same thing when the police haul you in for questioning. That’s the time to be straightforward and honest, it’s the time to get real!”
He smiled. “Get real. Yeah, I should do that some time.”
“You’re not helping yourself, Ben. It’s one thing for Jack to think you did something, Jack’s just one man, but if Alex thinks the same thing, you could be in serious trouble!” She sighed. “Come on, let’s get you home. You must be exhausted.”
“Nah, I’m gonna stick around here for a little while.”
“Ben -”
“Go on, you get on with whatever you’ve got to do today. I appreciate you rushing down, truly I do, but there’s something I need to deal with and it’s kinda urgent, so I’m gonna trundle around for a bit before I come home.”
She stared at him, clearly at a loss for words.
“You’re making this harder for yourself,” she told him finally, taking a step back. “Whatever you’re trying to prove, it’s not worth it. You’re as guilty as Jack when it comes to letting this garbage keep on ruining your life. You have the power to drop it and let it fade away.”
“I know,” he muttered, taking another drag on his cigarette as he watched Beth heading back to her car. Once she was gone, he slid down until he was crouching with his back against the wall, and he continued to enjoy the cigarette. He watched as the town square began to wake up, as storefronts opened and people emerged to run their daily errands. There was something strangely peaceful and calming about the sight, and he couldn’t help feeling a little envious of all those men, women and children who went about their lives with no idea of the darkness that existed just beneath the surface. Then again, he had a sneaking suspicion that most of them did know, even if they didn’t want to admit as much. Reaching down, he tapped twice on the ground with his knuckles.
Finally, he saw a familiar car pull up nearby, and a moment later he smiled as he saw Jane arriving for work. As soon as they made eye contact, she stopped with a worried look in her eyes.
“Hey, sister-in-law,” he said, hauling himself to his feet, “I think we need to have a chat.”
“Ben -”
“About the Border,” he said firmly, interrupting her as he took another drag on his cigarette. “We need to talk about the Border. Now.”
***
“So basically the police have got nothing,” Daniel muttered, as he finished reading Jack’s latest editorial for the following day’s paper. “Apart from two dead bodies, I mean. It’s kinda sad when the media’s better at solving crimes than the cops.”
“It’s not sad,” Jack replied, leaning back in his chair, “it’s completely natural, especially in the modern age. We’re more motivated than they are.”
Daniel turned to him with a frown.
“The police are just trying to keep the town safe,” Jack continued, “whereas guys like you and me, we’re catering to the public’s need for information. We’re keener so we work harder, our readership expects regular updates.” Glancing at his laptop, he brought up an old window. “Website hits are twenty times what they’d usually be around now. We could make as much online ad revenue in a month as we usually make in a year, and that’s money that’ll go right back into the newspaper to help it survive.”
“So you’re just chasing clicks?”
“I’m doing my job,” Jack said firmly. “I’m getting to the truth, which is what a journalist should always be doing. I can’t help it if I’m good at that.”
“Either that or the cops around here are dumb-asses,” Daniel pointed out, before pausing. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, I know Jane’s not a dumb-ass.”
“She’s doing her best,” Jack replied, “but my money’s always on a journalist to get to the bottom of things before a cop.”
“And you really think the identity of the killer is gonna be revealed in the next couple of days?” Daniel asked. “I mean, at the end of this editorial you make some pretty bold claims, it’s almost like you’re promising some big revelation in one of our upcoming issues.”
Jack nodded. “I’m certain of it.”
“So who is it? Do you know?”
“I…” He paused. “I have a very strong suspicion. Not really a suspicion, actually, more like… knowledge that still requires a little more proof.”
“From looking at your wife’s phone and emails, stuff like that?”
“No, and -” He glanced at the door. “Keep your voice down, okay? Stuff like that isn’t for general consumption. It’s technically illegal.”
“Sure, boss, but…” Looking down at the copy again for a moment, Daniel finally sighed. “Well, at least you can relax about your brother now.”
Jack frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I know you kinda suspected maybe he was the killer, but obviously you don’t anymore.”
“Why don’t I?”
“Because you seem so relaxed,” Daniel continued. “I mean, if you think you know who the killer is, obviously you don’t think it’s Ben, or you wouldn’t be acting so…” He tried to think of the right word. “I don’t know, victorious. You’re obviously very relieved.”
“It’s a complicated situation,” Jack muttered, turning to his laptop and logging in to the paper’s CMS. “Anyway, enough talking for today, you need to get back to work on those other stories. And don’t forget I need you to go knock on the Maitlands’ door, see if they’ll say a few words about Hayley. We need to use her as the human face of this tragedy, she’s more appealing to the public than Mel.”
“More appealing?”
“More photogenic. Hayley was a local girl, Mel just moved here. Big difference. Just get over to their house and tell them they’ll feel better if they give you a few quotes.”
“Don’t you think it’s a bit soon?”
“I do, which is why I’m sending you rather than going myself. Sorry, kid, them’s the breaks around here.” Spotting movement over by the door, he glanced over and saw Alex Gordon entering the office. “Hey Dan,” Jack continued, “why don’t you go to the store and see if we’re all sold out down there?”
“Can’t you just call them and -”
“Go take a look,” Jack continued, watching as Alex made his way over. “Take your time.”
Sensing that he was being shuffled out of the way, Daniel paused for a moment before sighing and heading to the door, leaving Alex to stop at the window for a moment, looking out at the town square. Finally, he tu
rned and looked back toward the door, to make sure that Daniel was gone.
“So how did it go?” Jack asked.
Alex paused, before turning to him. “There’s no easy way to tell you this,” he said finally. “Jack, your brother Ben is definitely the killer.”
II
“Jesus Christ,” Beth muttered, staring at her phone and wincing as she saw an image of several decapitated heads, victims of some South American drug cartel with a name she couldn’t pronounce. She scrolled to the next picture and saw a close-up of one of the heads, and after a moment she realized the victim’s genitals had been cut off and shoved into his mouth.
She looked away from the screen, horrified, but after a moment she looked back.
“Disgusting,” she whispered, although she quickly swiped to the next image. Her eyes widened with shock as she saw a man whose tongue had been pulled out through a hole in his neck.
“Here’s your salad,” said the waitress suddenly, setting a plate of food in front of her. She glanced at the phone in Beth’s hands and frowned, before Beth quickly turned it away.
“Thanks.”
“Are you -”
“Thanks,” Beth said again, more firmly this time. “Thank you.”
“Okay,” the waitress replied, clearly shocked as she headed back to the counter.
Rolling her eyes, Beth took another look at her phone. She figured she’d seen enough images for the morning, and she was about to close the browser when she remembered the message boards in the online marketplace. Navigating to the page, she set her phone on the table and began to eat while scrolling down the boards, looking at all the hideous and bizarre services and products being offered. Guns, knives, drugs, poison, there was more than she’d ever imagined, and soon she wasn’t even paying attention to the salad she’d begun spooning into her mouth.
And then she saw it again.
That same advert, the one that – if she was honest with herself, which she wasn’t – she’d been daydreaming about ever since she’d first spotted it a few days earlier.
“Metal Pill Terminations,” she whispered, reading from the screen. “Want that problem person gone from your life? It’s easier than you think.” She paused, feeling a little breathless with nerves. “Metal pill. That must mean bullet.”
She scrolled down a little further.
“Struggling with life?” she continued to read. “Wondering how everyone else seems to get by just fine, while you’re always struggling? Maybe they know something you don’t. Maybe they only talk about having morals, while secretly doing whatever they need to do in order to make their lives run smoothly.”
She turned and looked out the window, watching as people made their way in and out of stores on the other side of the parking lot. Now that she actually thought about it, she did feel as if everyone else was in on some secret that had been denied to her, and as she looked back down at the phone, she was starting to think that maybe she was really onto something.
“You don’t have to suffer in silence,” she read. “At Metal Pill Terminations, we can help you to get rid of that troublesome person. Permanently.”
She looked across the cafe and spotted Mrs. Cook eating alone at a corner booth. It had been several years since Mrs. Cook’s husband Stan had passed away in his sleep, and she remembered how distraught the old woman had seemed at the funeral. Now, however, she was starting to wonder whether the whole thing had been an act. For the first time, she realized that perhaps Mrs. Cook had used a service like Metal Pill Terminations to have Stan bumped off, and the whole weeping widow thing had been a lie. Looking around the cafe at the rest of her fellow diners, she felt more and more certain that other people were using discreet services all the time.
At the bottom of the screen on her phone, she saw a link to send a secure, anonymous message to the person behind the Metal Pill Terminations advert. She hesitated for a moment, before clicking through and finding herself on a page that stated in big, bold letters that there was no way she could possibly be identified.
With a knot of fear in her belly, but also a hint of anticipation, she began to type.
***
“Man,” Tom Lanegan said as he and Bob headed along the corridor, “I can’t even describe them, they were that stunning. I’ve never seen titties so good in all my life. Dreamed about ‘em, thought about ‘em, seen ‘em online, but this time I was holding ‘em in my hands. It was just the most perfect moment.”
“Huh,” Bob replied, not really knowing what to say as his boss regaled him with stories about his previous night’s adventure. Sometimes, he felt that Tom was like some kind of mythical creature, a too-good-to-be-true relic of a world where men were free to enjoy the simpler pleasures in life, unencumbered by the crushing humorlessness of the modern world. Every day, Tom had some new tale about his latest conquest, and it seemed to Bob that his boss was on one big never-ending, life-long relay race from breast to breast and hot woman to hot woman.
“Mind you,” Tom continued, stopping at the door and looking through to the office, where Candy was typing at her computer, “I bet you’ve got access to some pretty sweet candy of your own, huh?” He nudged Bob’s arm. “Candy, huh? Get it?”
“I do?”
“I know about you and her,” Tom said, nudging him again. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell anyone. I think it’s great, I mean, why shouldn’t you get some extra fun on the side? Things must have been hard at home since you and Beth became parents. I guess you’ve got a bad case of DBS.”
“DBS?”
“Dead Bedroom Syndrome.”
“Oh.”
“And CLD.”
“CLD?”
“Closed Legs Disorder. Hers, not yours.”
Bob frowned.
“ILA,” Tom added quickly.
“ILA?”
“I Love Acronyms.” He smiled. “Are you okay, Bob? You look a little dizzy.”
“I’m fine,” Bob replied, feeling distinctly uneasy, “I just, uh… So… How exactly did you know about… well, about me and Candy?” He scratched the back of his neck. “What gave it away?”
“Everything.”
“Everything?”
Tom nodded. “Everything.”
Bob paused, before looking down at his suit and tie. “What… part of everything in particular?”
“What’s up?” Tom laughed. “You didn’t actually think you were being discreet, did you?”
“Well… Yeah, kind of.”
“Really?”
Bob nodded.
“Huh.” Tom smiled. “That’s kinda funny. Self-deception’s a hell of a thing.”
“So is it that obvious?” Bob asked. “I mean, is it like I’ve got a big sign hanging round my neck?”
“It’s all in your body language,” Tom told him. “You know, when I was a teenager I tried learning Spanish as a way to pick up women. I think I read somewhere that chicks like bilingual guys, and I figured I could hook up with some of those hot Latino babes. And then one day it dawned on me that the best language to learn is…”
He waited for Bob to finish his sentence.
“What?” Bob asked. “What should I be learning?”
“Body language.”
“Oh.”
“It helps with other things too, even non-sexual matters.”
“It does?”
“It does.” Tom paused. “So if you want to know how I knew you and Candy were bumping uglies, the truth is, I could tell from your body language every time you were within ten feet of her. And her body language, too.” He patted Bob’s shoulder. “Also, I saw you in the car park one time with your hand up her shirt.”
Bob sighed.
“Of course your big mistake,” Tom continued, “is not having your body language under control. Because when you can read body language, you can also speak it with your own body. Personally, I don’t think anyone should even consider attempting adultery until they’ve got their body language in check.” He to
ok a step back and held his hands out, as if he was waiting for an awkward hug, while slightly thrusting his pelvis forward. “What am I saying right now, Bob? What am I telling you with my body?”
“I have no idea.”
“Analyze me.”
Bob stared at him for a moment, but he had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to be seeing. “You’re… pleased to see me?”
“I’m dominating you.”
“You are?”
“Don’t you feel it?”
“I…” Bob paused. “I guess maybe. A little.”
“That’s because most body language messages are subconscious,” Tom told him, “but I’m standing my ground here, I’ve got my legs slightly farther apart than would be considered normal in this situation and I’m inviting you to attack me.”
“You are?”
“Obviously you’re not going to do that, though.”
“Obviously.”
“And why not?”
“Because you’re my boss?”
“Because you know you’d lose.”
“I…” Bob paused. “I suppose I would.”
“See?” Tom clicked his fingers. “Dominated. That’s you, my friend.”
Bob nodded, but by this point in the conversation he was a broken, confused man who just wanted to get back to the comforting silence of his desk.
Tom paused for a moment, eying him with a hint of amusement, as if he was running through a few options. “Would you describe yourself as a reliable man, Bob?” he asked eventually.
“I like to think I’m pretty good, yeah.”
“I think so too,” Tom continued, before lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s just… What would you say if I told you that there’s a club, not far from here, where discreet people can have a good time? A club where men can be men, and where women, to their credit, can be women.”
“What kind of club?”
