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

by Nick Hollin

  ‘Where’s Sam?’ asks Katie, feeling her anger rise again. ‘And where was she when this happened?’

  ‘From what I overheard, she was found lying face down in a pool of her own blood in the playground.’

  ‘Found by whom?’

  ‘Her driver.’

  ‘What was she hit with?’

  ‘Same thing that hit me, I’d imagine,’ says Nathan, with another grimace as he connects some of his pain to the side of his head. ‘Why?’

  Katie looks towards the window, drawing in a long breath and trying to control her growing suspicion. ‘It just seems coincidental that she took you there and then you were attacked.’

  ‘I don’t think it was coincidental at all,’ says a voice behind Katie. She spins round to see Sam standing in the doorway, a hand on the back of her head and blood on her previously immaculate white shirt. She looks a state, but the focus in her stare is as hard as ever. ‘It’s exactly what Nathan was asking for during his little press conference earlier.’

  Katie had watched the video on the journey over, and she can see the truth in the other woman’s words. ‘Why isn’t he dead then?’ she asks. A question that sounds a little harsher than she’d intended. But then comes another question that’s exactly as planned: ‘Why aren’t you dead?’

  Sam pulls her phone from her pocket. ‘Because I was able to make a call.’

  ‘Something you weren’t you able to do with me,’ says Katie. ‘I wondered where you and Nathan were earlier. There was no answer when I tried to ring you.’

  ‘Well, we’re talking now,’ says Sam, calmly. ‘And what do you have to tell me? Did you find out anything during your private meeting?’

  ‘Oh, I found out plenty,’ says Katie, remembering the warning that Ben had given her about this woman. ‘But I’ll keep it to myself for now.’

  ‘As you wish,’ says Sam, moving to sit on a chair on the far side of the room. ‘But I don’t think we’re going to solve this case by keeping secrets.’

  ‘Nor do I,’ says Katie. ‘So perhaps you should start by telling me who C is.’

  Sam Stone’s face had already been pale, but now it’s the colour of the wall behind her. The change is so dramatic and alarming that Richard moves quickly across to her.

  ‘I’m all right,’ she says, shaking off his attentiveness. ‘Just a wave of dizziness.’ She collects herself and looks up at Katie again. ‘Sorry, you were saying?’

  ‘C,’ says Katie, pulling out the mobile phone Sam had given her. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Nobody of interest to you. An old friend. We’re not in contact anymore.’

  ‘Despite your best efforts,’ says Katie, thinking back to the call history, dozens of attempts that hadn’t got through.

  ‘Am I not allowed a private life?’ asks Sam.

  ‘You’re suggesting it was a boyfriend?’ asks Katie, still pushing hard, despite the awkwardness she can sense in the room.

  ‘A failed relationship,’ says Sam. ‘Do you not think me capable of those?’

  ‘The failed bit, most definitely,’ says Katie, before turning away and walking to the window. She knows she’s gone too far, and is on the verge of offering an apology when Sam stands up.

  ‘I’m signing myself out of here,’ she says. ‘But I will be back tomorrow. I’m guessing both of you are more motivated than ever to help bring this monster down, so I hope you’ll be ready to be part of a team.’

  ‘Tomorrow?’ says Katie, looking over at Nathan. ‘I don’t think he’ll—’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ says Nathan. ‘They’ve patched me up pretty well. Besides,’ he twists painfully to look over at Richard, ‘I’ll have my own personal doctor in tow.’

  When Sam has gone, Katie moves over to the bed and carefully sits on the edge of the mattress, reaching out to stroke Nathan’s fringe away from his eyes. She hasn’t touched him that tenderly in so long, he does little to hide his surprise.

  ‘You’re sure you’re going to be okay?’ she asks.

  ‘As long as I’m working,’ he says. ‘That’s what we need to concentrate on. Nothing else.’

  Thirteen

  Nathan’s exit from the hospital does not go unnoticed. A much bigger crowd of journalists than the one he’d addressed outside the mortuary has gathered, and it takes two policemen to escort him through. He’d agreed with Katie to meet her at the police station, and he hopes that she’s managed to get there without all this drama.

  He’s helped into the back of a police car, and he has to lean forward for the whole journey so the wound on his back isn’t pressing against the seat. He’s on enough drugs to dull most of the pain, but he’s refused the amount the doctors prescribed, wanting to keep his mind focused on the job, and the pain helps to keep everything sharp.

  No questions are asked on the way to the station, but the two police officers in the front can’t help but glance at him in the rear-view mirror. He wonders what these officers see him as now – a victim? A suspect? A threat? There have always been doubts from those he’s worked with, those who didn’t understand or accept his ability; not that he’s ever fully understood it himself.

  When he’s finally at the police station, Nathan is pleased to be escorted past the interview suites and up to the offices where he’s played the lead in so many investigations in the past. Katie, Sam and Richard are waiting for him there, as are Superintendent Taylor and DCI Ken Stocks. The walls and whiteboards of the room they’re in are covered with material – photos, timelines, financial records, phone records – most, he assumes, relating to the Mike Peters murder, though some perhaps are tied to his own more recent experience.

  ‘How are you doing?’ asks Katie, moving quickly over to him. They don’t touch or hold eye contact for long, but Nathan’s glad to have her nearby.

  ‘I’m ready to go,’ he says, moving straight across to a wall where various photos of Mike Peters are pinned to a board. Katie has followed him over, but seems reluctant to get too close to the images. Nathan’s surprised at this, then he sees his mistake; she’s not scared for herself, she’s scared for him, purposely blocking him off from another wall of photos and another victim she doesn’t want him to see.

  In all the time he’d spent in court, talking about his brother’s crimes and hearing testimony, Nathan had always managed to turn a blind eye to the visual evidence of his brother’s death. He’d been there at the end, and even watched Christian lift the knife to his own throat, but had collapsed in shock at the exact moment the blade made contact. Here, in vivid colour, is the aftermath. Here is the body that for so many years – before Christian used a plastic surgeon to change his appearance – had been identical to his own. And here he can see it lying lifeless on the floor of an abandoned warehouse.

  ‘Is this relevant?’ he asks, turning to Taylor.

  ‘I’m sorry you’re having to see that,’ says the superintendent, ‘but yes, of course it is. For a long time we’ve believed your brother killed Steven Fish. Now, in Mike Peters’ identical wounds, we have evidence he might not have.’

  ‘Identical according to Dr Parker.’

  ‘Whereas yours are not,’ Ken Stocks interrupts. ‘Possible differences, according to his initial examination.’

  ‘We know Miles’s motivation,’ says Sam. ‘He doesn’t want to accept Nathan’s innocence.’

  ‘I can’t say I was ready to myself,’ Nathan hears Ken Stocks say under his breath.

  ‘So, what do we have?’ asks Nathan, glancing at Katie. When he looks closely he can see how tired she is. He doubts she’ll have slept at all, most likely coming straight here to work her way through the evidence. ‘Have Forensics got anything from the school, or my clothes?’ He looks down at the brand-new outfit delivered to the hospital. It’s not at all the casual look he’d adopted in Wales; rather the formal jacket, shirt and tie and the kind of brogues he’d worn right back at the start of his career. Given the sizes are exactly right, he’s sure Katie has had some input.


  ‘Just you and Sam have been identified at the school so far,’ Katie says, shaking her head and shooting a quick look over at the other woman. ‘But it’s a difficult scene to process. Kids have been through there in recent days – drinking, smoking and smashing windows.’

  ‘What about a weapon?’ he asks, lifting a hand to the back of his head. ‘Any idea what Sam and I were hit with?’

  ‘Something hard and flat,’ says Stocks. ‘Given the traces of dust, possibly a brick.’

  ‘Not found?’

  ‘We’ve found hundreds of bricks – the place is crumbling away.’

  ‘So we don’t really have anything,’ says Nathan, unable to hide his frustration.

  Katie moves in front of him, giving him the same look of encouragement she has many times over the years. ‘We have the statement you gave at the hospital. We have a voice you might recognise again.’

  Nathan falls into the nearest chair, the sudden movement registering in his shoulder and in his broken fingers.

  ‘So, we just sit and wait,’ he says, with a sigh.

  ‘For what?’ asks Taylor.

  Nathan nods at the wall on the far side of the room, where he’s recognised the sheets of photocopied paper, all bearing his tiny handwritten descriptions of murders. ‘There were four pages torn out of my journal,’ he says. ‘That means we’ve got three more to go.’

  Fourteen

  BLOG: Seeing Red

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

  * * *

  So much has happened, I can’t keep up. So, they’re back! You’ll all have seen the videos and heard Nathan’s words, and we know from the shots of Katie visiting the hospital that she’s there, too. Initially, when I saw the headlines that Nathan had been attacked at the same place Steven Fish was killed, I feared the worst, but my sources are telling me he’s doing okay. I know the cynical among you are wondering if he staged this to try and prove his innocence, but come on – there’s no way you’d put yourself through that.

  I’m biased. To be honest, I’ve always liked what I’ve seen of Nathan Radley. First, I like that I’ve seen very little of him. He’s solved a hell of a lot of crimes, and never once stepped into the limelight to take the praise. When he came out and spoke the other day it was because he had no choice. I suspect he did it to help Katie get away from the press. He may also have been trying to encourage Steven Fish and DS Peters’ killer to attack him, and not someone else.

  Secondly, I love the way his mind works. I’ve been to some pretty dark places myself, and there’s an honesty in his words that is so refreshing. So many people won’t go to the darkest corners of their own minds, but Nathan has spent the last ten years hunting shadows in the dark to keep us safe.

  I guess that’s one of the many reasons I work so hard to keep this blog anonymous. The internet is full of sanctimonious, superficial bullshit, people offering opinions because they think it makes them look cool or it’ll gain them a couple more followers. And those that do try to be honest are attacked for it.

  Here’s some honesty for you: I do drugs. I’m not saying that to encourage others, because it’s dangerous – it’s certainly taken me close to the edge a couple of times. I do drugs because it settles the whirring in my head. It makes me calm when I’m not. It makes me happy when I’m not. It also helps me to dream. I’m not saying I can do what Nathan does, but there have been times when I’m really high that I’ve felt like I understand other people, like I’ve got a proper sense of what they’re thinking. Of course, most of the time they’re thinking, Christ, who is this druggie staring at me? But the point is…

  Guys, an email just arrived. I know exactly who it’s from, because nobody else sends me emails. And it’s real. I’ve checked it, verified it, given my face a dunk in cold water and a couple of slaps. There’s absolutely no doubt that I’ve just received another one of the missing pages from Nathan’s journal. What does it mean? Does it mean there’s going to be another murder?

  I’m writing this as I’m thinking it, and I’m thinking as fast as I can. It feels like I’m involved somehow, if you see what I mean, like I’m a little bit responsible. I don’t know what to do with it. Should I go to the police? But then, what more can I tell them? I don’t know who’s sending it. All I have to give them is the page. This page:

  * * *

  I’m looking forward to this one. I look forward to all of them, but this one is going to be special, because it’ll be more intimate than most. I’ve already got the victim lined up. They’re looking a little dazed and confused, but I’ll wait till they’ve figured out who I am and what’s going to happen to them before I deliver the final blow. I’ve chosen the heaviest hammer I could find. I haven’t been to a shop, I’m not that stupid. I found it in my dad’s old toolkit. He won’t miss it.

  The nail is a little rusty, but it’s definitely long enough to do the trick. I just hope I don’t miss. It’s not the end of the world if I do – not my world, at any rate – but it would be nice if I could look competent when the police arrive to inspect the crime scene. I wonder what they’ll think of it. Will they think it’s my job (not if I miss the nail they won’t)? Will they think I’m trying to make some kind of point? Ha, ha! I just hope they find it interesting, something worth investing their time and effort in.

  As for the victim, I’m pretty sure it will be over quickly, and if I manage to smash the nail right down to the skull in a single blow (a big ask, but I’m quietly confident) then there shouldn’t be much blood. Not that they’ll care that much about that, but if their family scrub that, no family for my victim. And no words when they recognise me. Just a realisation that they’re getting what they deserve.

  * * *

  I’ve read that five times now. I can’t stop reading it and can’t stop imagining it. The drugs aren’t helping, not anymore, and there’s nothing I can do before they start to wear off, but I keep picturing the murder and wondering who it might be. Not someone I know, I barely know anyone, but maybe someone Nathan and Katie know. Shit! Poor Nathan, how much suffering does one man have to go through? No, no, it might be all right, he’ll fix, he’ll solve it. We just have to have faith in his abilities.

  Fifteen

  ‘Do you remember this one?’ asks Katie, tapping the computer screen in front of her. On the scan of the page from the journal posted on the blogger’s site, the central area has been highlighted by several strokes of a fluorescent marker.

  ‘I do,’ says Nathan, looking away. ‘My dad was always really precious about that toolkit.’

  ‘Do you remember who the victim was supposed to be?’ asks Sam.

  ‘Nobody specific. I tried not to think of anyone in particular, for fear that would make it more likely to happen. I was just trying to exorcise my thoughts.’

  ‘So do we think that somebody is going to die like this, or that it’s already happened?’ asks Katie. She’s moved over to the office window and is staring down at the street below. There are hundreds of people out there, walking, cycling, driving, running – living.

  ‘Does it make any difference?’ says Nathan, sadly. ‘We have no idea who the victim might be, or who is responsible for the killings.’

  ‘We do know the likely weapon, though.’

  ‘A hammer,’ says Sam. ‘Are you suggesting we should interview anyone who has access to a hammer?’

  ‘Well, it depends how accurately the killer wants to re-enact this,’ says Katie, struggling to keep calm. ‘Do you know where your dad’s hammer is now?’ she asks Nathan, watching as his face slowly comes alive.

  ‘I’m pretty sure Christian took it before he moved to Cornwall.’

  ‘Again, how does this help us?’ asks Sam, with a frustrated sigh. ‘We already know that the killer has a connection to Christian, because they have pages that had been removed from the journal when he was in possession of it.’

  ‘It most likely means they’ve found his home,’ says Nathan, wide-
eyed again. ‘Not Cornwall, his real home. The place he stayed while he was hiding here in London that the police could never find. They’ve found the pages that Christian had torn out.’

  ‘But why would he have torn them out?’ asks Sam. ‘How are they any different to the others?’

  ‘That’s not for me to judge,’ says Nathan. ‘All those thoughts…’ He looks up towards the ceiling. ‘It’s all the same to me. I thought it, I wrote it, I tried my best to forget it. And towards the end I wasn’t even really there.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asks Katie.

  ‘It was the start of the daydreams, the fantasies, whatever you want to call them. I was drifting off into other places – not other people’s minds, but not really my mind, either. And as I did so, I somehow managed to write it down. When it first started happening I was fascinated. I read every word. But once I’d read a few, I didn’t want to read any more.’

  ‘Comes back to the question of whether you could have committed a crime you didn’t know about,’ says Stocks.

  ‘Not if you’re looking to solve this case, it doesn’t,’ Katie cuts in, ignoring the glare from the senior officer. ‘The question is, how did the killer find Christian’s home? It’s unlikely they simply stumbled across it.’ She moves across to a map pinned to the wall. On it are marked all of the locations where Christian was known to be over the course of the Cartoonist killings, painstakingly mapped by Mike Peters and his team using CCTV, often tracking him from the care home where he worked. ‘That would be far too much of a coincidence. They must have known each other.’

  ‘I don’t think Christian would have trusted anyone enough to let them into his life. He couldn’t even do that with me, his own brother.’

  ‘Because you’re not a murderer,’ says Katie. ‘Perhaps he would have trusted someone else if he knew they wanted to kill with the same hunger he did.’