The Goodnight Song: An absolutely heart-stopping and gripping thriller

by Nick Hollin

  Three

  ONE WEEK AGO

  Katie laughs so hard a small wave of the wine in her glass sloshes over the edge and drops to the decking. Looking down at the stain, she gasps, as she’s reminded of the last time she saw a pool of red on the floor like that, and her hand moves automatically to her stomach. When she looks up, she sees that Nathan and the doctor have also stopped laughing and are staring with concern.

  ‘Are you all right?’ asks Nathan.

  ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’ asks Katie, more sharply than she’d intended.

  ‘Sorry, it’s just, after…’

  She follows his eyes down to her stomach and pulls her hand away. ‘I’d forgotten about the poisoning,’ she says, although that’s not what she’d been thinking of.

  Nathan looks down at the wrist where a watch would once have been. ‘I guess it must have been a good month ago now.’

  ‘A very good month,’ says Katie, ‘thanks to Richard.’ She raises her glass and takes a large enough swig that there’s little chance of her spilling any more. ‘You saved me.’

  ‘I didn’t do anything,’ says the old doctor, sipping his own wine. ‘It was just something you ate.’

  Katie reaches out and scoops up a wedge of rich cheese. ‘And thanks to you, I’ve been eating far better ever since.’

  ‘We both have,’ says Nathan, through a mouth half-filled with delicious cold meats, delivered by Richard that morning.

  ‘It’s been nice to have the company,’ says Richard. ‘I was getting a little lonely in my yellow house. People forget about us oldies.’

  The smile on Katie’s face slips again as she thinks back to the fleeting conversations she had with her dad in the care home before he died. His Alzheimer’s had robbed him of the ability to understand what she was saying when she visited, and all she had really wanted to let him know was how sorry she was that they didn’t talk more when they’d had the chance; sorry for having been so wrapped up in her police career.

  ‘They’re fools,’ says Katie. ‘To miss out on all that life experience.’

  ‘They’re lucky,’ it’s Richard’s turn to look uncomfortable, ‘not to have lived it.’

  Katie sees the sadness in the old man that only occasionally breaks to the surface of his kind, wrinkled face. ‘Maybe it’s our turn to try and help you. If you’re ready to share?’

  ‘After all, we’ve already shared our story,’ says Nathan. ‘Or rather, the papers have.’

  ‘Actually, I wasn’t joking when I said I didn’t read the papers,’ says Richard. ‘And I barely watch the television. I read fiction, mostly, and of late I also talk to you.’

  ‘So you genuinely don’t know who we are?’ asks Katie.

  ‘I know exactly who you are from our conversations. And okay, yes.’ He sighs. ‘The outside world is almost impossible to avoid, no matter how hard I try, and so once or twice I might have heard mention of people who sound very much like you when the news comes on the radio.’

  ‘And you’re not scared?’ says Nathan. ‘You don’t believe what they’ve said about me, about what I must be capable of, because of my twin brother’s crimes?’

  ‘No,’ says the doctor. ‘Working in London hospitals for so many years I learned not to make judgements about people. I just accepted them as they were and did what I could to help.’

  ‘And is that all we are?’ asks Katie, setting her wine glass down heavily on the table, hearing the snap in her voice return. ‘More patients for you to try and heal?’

  ‘Of course not,’ says Richard, his old face tightening as he looks away. ‘You’re friends. My only friends.’ He swallows hard and starts to knead his hands together. ‘My story is nowhere near as dramatic as yours, but the ending…’ He gestures towards the empty landscape outside the window. ‘You’re not the only people who have run away, you know. I’ve seen a lot of terrible things. I still see them, sometimes, at night.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ says Nathan, nodding.

  ‘PTSD,’ Richard says. ‘That’s what I had. Self-diagnosed and self-healed, in part, by coming here and shutting myself away.’

  Nathan nods again. ‘How long did it take?’

  He looks down at his pale, wrinkled hands. ‘Far too long. Please don’t make the same mistake as me. There’s so much good out there. So many wonderful people to meet. I mean, if you hadn’t been ill, I’d never have met you two.’

  ‘You’re going back?’ asks Katie.

  ‘Oh no,’ says Richard, looking to the window again. ‘This is it for me now. I have all I need right here in Wales.’

  ‘I think we do, too,’ says Nathan, looking across at Katie, who finds she cannot match his smile. ‘I can’t think of anything that could drag us away.’

  Four

  TWO DAYS AGO

  BLOG: Seeing Red

  The anonymous, unfiltered truth about crime and the criminal justice system

  * * *

  OMFG. You will never believe what just dropped into my inbox. I’m not sure I believe it. I know, I know, I’m obsessed with this case, have been writing about it ever since it became news, but you never really expect to be involved. It could be a prank, of course – you’ll have to judge for yourself – but from the brief investigations I’ve just done it seems real enough.

  I’m probably not making any sense. Hardly surprising, given the amount I’ve had to drink. I know it’s morning, but I had no choice. I needed something to calm me down. I just can’t get my head around what’s happened. I believe I’ve just received a scanned copy of one of the missing pages from Nathan’s leaked journal. It’s one of his fantasies, one of the crimes he lived out in his head then put to paper. I keep thinking I should go to the police, but you, my loyal readers, are the only people I trust. And so, I’m trusting you with this:

  * * *

  It’s like art. Although not nearly as boring as the classes at school. And the knife doesn’t feel clumsy, like a paintbrush, it feels like it’s meant to be there, like it’s an extension of me, of my true self. I twist it under the light, enjoying the brilliance of the surface I’ve polished for hours in anticipation. Back then I’d imagined this moment over and over, but this is the real thing, the chance to finally make my mark. Ha, I quite like that. I might share it with my victim when he wakes from the blow to the side of the head I gave him.

  He’ll struggle, but there’s not much point with the ropes around his wrists and ankles, but he’ll figure it out for himself soon enough. And I need him to use up some of his strength before I push his head down in the bath.

  He’d better wake up soon, the water is getting cold. I want it at 37 degrees, the temperature of blood. He’s close. I can tell, because his breathing is quite ragged. I hope I didn’t get carried away too early on. I couldn’t resist peeling some skin off his back in advance, just to see what it felt like. I wonder what it will feel like for him? He’ll tell me anything, of course, even though there’s nothing I want to hear. He’ll think there’s a reason. He’ll think that I’m sane.

  I’m not going to hurt him for too long. That’s not why I’m doing it. It’s really all about the ending. And what an ending! How clearly I can picture that last long, single stroke, along the ankle then up the back of the leg, over the buttocks and back and across the now skinless shoulder to the neck. I’d like it to be smooth, but my hand keeps shaking with all the excitement. I can’t wait for all that blood. There might even be a scream, to match the one I’m already hearing in my head.

  He’s not coming round. I am. The fantasy is leaving me, along with the urge. But there’s still enough to convince me that I cannot stop what is going to happen. It might be months, it might be years, but this will be more than just words.

  * * *

  More than just words. I reckon it’s one of the crimes Nathan fantasised about, and it certainly sounds like it was written back when he was in his late teens, but I can’t help thinking about the similarities between this and the Steven Fish mu
rder. I mentioned Fish in my last post: he was one of the cases that Katie failed to solve when Nathan had run away to Scotland. He was the reason Nathan ran away to Scotland, because, as he revealed at the inquest, he couldn’t cope with the evil of that crime.

  Steven Fish was part-drowned. He had skin peeled from his back. That very piece of skin was discovered at the scene of one of Christian Radley’s murders, which is why everyone thought Nathan’s twin must have committed that crime too. But now… Why didn’t Nathan mention the similarities? Why was this page removed? What was the real reason for his running away to Scotland? Was it the horror at what someone else had done? Or was it guilt at what he had finally done? I really don’t want to be asking these questions, because I like Nathan and I’ve always trusted that he never gave in to his urges, but this blog is all about honesty, about confronting the truth, and now I’m even more anxious to hear what he has to say about this latest leak. Jesus, might this be from Nathan himself? Might he have sent me the page by way of a confession?

  I need another drink.

  Five

  PRESENT DAY

  Nathan is lying on the sofa trying to sleep off his hangover when the doorbell rings. It comes as such a shock that he convinces himself he’s imagined the sound; he doesn’t even know for sure that the cottage they’re living in has a bell. Dr Richard Evans, their only visitor in almost four months, has always marked his arrival with a gentle knock. Nathan sits up on the edge of the sofa and reassures himself that he is still in Wales, that he is safe.

  He doesn’t need to look around him to fill in the details of the room; they are instantly imprinted on his mind, just as with every crime scene he’s ever walked into. It’s a gift that has helped him understand many killers and solve many cases, but sometimes he’d give anything to be able to forget.

  The doorbell rings again and Nathan is up on his feet, twisting his head back towards the patio doors as he heads in the other direction. He spots that Katie is still a long way down the garden, carefully tending to the roses. At the end of the hallway Nathan tries to peer out from behind the curtain in the toilet to see who might be disturbing them. It’s a long walk to reach the end of the dirt track leading down to the cottage, so it’s unlikely anybody would have come here by accident. It’s only when he sees a familiar flash of grey hair that he breathes a sigh of relief, heading for the door and opening it.

  ‘Sorry,’ says Richard, with a pained expression on his face.

  ‘For this hangover?’ says Nathan, with a laugh. ‘I think I bear some of the responsibility for that.’ When he sees the doctor isn’t smiling back, he leans to one side to get a better view of the track behind, to make sure he has come alone. ‘Is everything okay?’

  Richard pauses and looks down at his shoes, the tip of a polished brogue twisting in the dirt. ‘I need to talk to you, please. Both of you.’

  Nathan leads the way back through the living room to the kitchen, opening the patio doors and calling for Katie to come in. Removing her gardening gloves, she spots the old doctor standing next to Nathan and beams broadly, but when the two men offer no smile in return her face changes.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she says, kicking off her muddy boots and dropping the gloves and secateurs on the side.

  ‘Shall we have a seat?’ asks Richard, moving back towards the living room.

  ‘We can talk here,’ says Nathan, nervously.

  ‘It’s about your friend, Mike Peters.’

  Katie opens her mouth to speak, then closes it again. Then she breathes out slowly and lowers her shoulders. ‘It’s okay, doc,’ she says. ‘Tell Mike that if he needs the place for Ben, then of course he can have it back.’

  ‘Who is Ben?’ asks Nathan, trying to piece things together. ‘Is this how you knew where Richard lived?’ After she’d recovered, Katie had dodged his questions about how she knew about the doctor, and he’s all but given up asking.

  ‘It’s not Ben,’ says the doctor. ‘It’s—’

  ‘Retirement?’ says Katie, cutting him off. ‘Of course, it must be time! And he wants to move out here, too? Well, why didn’t he come and tell us himself?’

  Nathan reaches out and places a hand lightly on her arm to settle her, but she pulls away, not wanting to accept the truth written in the sadness on Richard’s face. She picks at the dirt under her fingernails until she finally finds the words. ‘Mike’s dead, isn’t he?’

  ‘I’m truly sorry,’ is all Richard can say.

  Nathan feels Katie’s full weight against his arm, the words knocking her sideways like a physical blow.

  ‘I told him he needed to take more care of himself,’ says Katie. ‘When did it happen?’

  ‘Yesterday, I think.’

  Katie nods, then lifts her head, her eyes searching, her detective’s mind taking back control. ‘How did you find out? Did Ben ring you?’

  ‘I heard a headline on the radio. Just a headline, then I came straight here.’

  ‘Mike’s death made the news?’ says Nathan, his concern suddenly peaking. DS Mike Peters had been one of the few people on the police force to engage with Nathan as if he were a true member of the team, and not some freak that brought them remarkable results; but the relationship he’d had with Katie had been far more like father and daughter. He was her mentor, especially when her real father’s Alzheimer’s had caused him to slip away. He’d offered his cottage to them when he knew they needed to disappear to survive. They owed him a lot. ‘It wasn’t natural causes?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘Oh, Jesus,’ Katie says, reaching for the trainers she had worn on their run that morning. ‘We need to go back.’ Her hands are trembling, struggling to loosen the laces. ‘Do they know who did it?’ she asks, looking up at the doctor.

  ‘I’m not sure.’ He offers a look of concern. ‘But the police want to speak to you.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ asks Katie, with a tilt of her head. ‘You said you only heard a headline.’

  ‘Because we are the headline,’ says Nathan, with a grimace. ‘And they think I’m somehow to blame.’

  ‘I can quickly set them right about that,’ says Richard, looking across at the empty bottles of wine on the side, evidence that they had all been together. ‘I can also drive you back to London, whenever you’re ready.’

  ‘Let’s go,’ says Katie, already on her way to the door.

  Six

  ‘We should never have left London,’ says Katie, shaking her head as they race through the countryside.

  ‘We needed time to recover,’ says Nathan, from the back seat of the car. She can see he’s holding on tight as they’re thrown around bends by Richard’s driving. She prefers to take the impact, her shoulder crashing into the door.

  ‘We were innocent, and we ran away like cowards after we gave our testimony. We should have stayed, and fought for our lives back. We shouldn’t have left the police department. It was the only place both of us knew what we needed to do, and how. It was the only environment where we could both cope with who we were.’

  ‘You think I was coping?’ asks Nathan.

  ‘You were succeeding,’ says Katie. ‘Not just surviving. We had a purpose.’

  ‘So the work is our only purpose?’ asks Nathan, weakly.

  They sit in silence for several minutes, Katie sensing that she is dangerously close to spilling her secret. Perhaps it is finally time.

  ‘I should have been there for Mike,’ she says.

  ‘You can’t blame yourself.’

  ‘I don’t.’ She stares down at her stomach. ‘That’s the second time your weakness has cost me.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ asks Nathan, and she can hear the hurt in his voice.

  ‘It means…’ She draws in a deep breath to confess, but nothing comes. ‘Let’s just focus on the work.’ She loosens her seat belt and reaches forward to fiddle with the radio, trying to find a station that might give her more information about Mike’s death, but the car is o
ld and the radio offers nothing but static. She asks Richard to repeat the headline he heard.

  ‘The police are looking for Nathan Radley and Katie Rhodes in connection with the death of Detective Sergeant Mike Peters, whose body was pulled from the Thames yesterday evening.’

  Katie thumps the door, making her fist throb. She focuses on the pain, thinking of the pain she’s going to inflict on whoever is responsible.

  ‘I don’t understand why we can’t stop at a payphone and ring the station,’ says Nathan. ‘They’ll tell us what we need to know.’

  ‘You know they won’t,’ says Katie. ‘Weren’t you listening? You’re a suspect. You’re the one they’ll want to talk to.’

  ‘Weren’t you listening?’ says Nathan, his voice hardening in a way she hasn’t heard in all the time they’ve been away in Wales. ‘We are both suspects.’

  ‘There’s no way they believe I killed my friend.’

  ‘Whereas the brother of a serial killer…’ A quick glimpse in the side mirror shows her that Nathan has sunk back into his seat, his head in his hands, muffling his final words. ‘I thought you, of all people, believed in me.’

  Katie feels her own frustration building. ‘This has nothing to do with what I believe. This is police work, profiling. This is common bloody sense. Of course you’re a suspect. And of course they want to speak to me too. We’re connected – we disappeared together.’

  ‘And yet now it seems we’re going back apart,’ mutters Nathan.

  ‘Maybe we should,’ says Katie, pressing her knuckles against the pain that’s growing in her stomach and ignoring the sickening sense that she is destroying something precious with her words.