by Nic Roberts
“Let’s go home,” she replied, doing her best to rouse her partner’s spirits alongside her own.
He nodded gently, leading the way out of the house and toward his car. Olivia trailed along wordlessly, knowing without having to ask that he would drive her home.
It was well into the night before Lawrence pulled into Olivia’s driveway, the moon hanging high in the sky. As they arrived, she couldn’t help but remember her previous evening, Shaw’s tongue clashing against her own inside the shelter of his car. Her eyes drifted across her property, expertly dodging her partner’s weary gaze.
“Do you really think that there’s a second killer?”
The question startled Olivia, forcing her to meet her partner’s gaze.
“Yes,” she confessed, suddenly feeling too vulnerable, too exposed. “Yes, I do.”
“I trust you,” Dean exhaled.
A forlorn smile swept across Olivia’s lips.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I trust you, too.”
DI Lawrence only nodded.
“We’ll catch him tomorrow,” he promised as his engine automatically cut out.
“Tomorrow,” Olivia agreed, moving to open her car door and exit into the brisk evening.
“Liv.” So much was held in her name when he spoke it then, as though he couldn’t decide whether to settle on hope, warning, or warmth.
“Yes, Dean?” Stillness coated the air, humid with the promise of spring.
“Be safe,” he whispered, and it wasn’t that she was expecting anything in particular to come out of his mouth, just that she hadn’t been expecting that to be the turn of phrase he chose. She nodded.
“You too,” she urged before letting the car door close.
Wearily, she trudged toward her front door, the memory of Shaw’s hands on her the previous night following her like a ghost. It took all of her effort to unlock the door and stumble inside. Without even bothering to change out of her work clothes or set an alarm, Olivia flung herself on to her bed, letting exhaustion weigh her limbs down.
Better to be haunted by Shaw than Rhys or Alex, she thought to herself as her mind began to wander off to sleep.
As she drifted out of consciousness, Olivia remembered her tryst between the sheets, Shaw’s breath hot against her ear as she worked herself closer and closer to oblivion. It had been quite some time since she’d invited a man into her bed, and she couldn’t decide if she wanted to welcome him back.
Her last thought before sleep swallowed her whole was of Joel’s face, a sadistic laugh forced from his prone body.
16
Dim twilight surrounded her: the space and time between worlds.
With a start, she realised that the ground beneath her was moving, opening. A hand reached out of the ground, grimy and ashen. And then another. They yanked at the earth, digging up and outward. She wanted to help, she really did. All she could do was watch, though. She was glued to her spot.
Eventually he emerged.
“Alex,” Olivia breathed, disbelief and relief comingling in her body. He was rotting; whole parts of him sloughed off in decomposition. The parts that still remained were muddy. But his eyes remained, so pale they were almost white instead of the green of sea glass, glued open and glassed over.
“You’ve found her. Why can’t you find me?” He asked the question without ever opening his lips, dead eyes watching Olivia. She tried to run, escape from the terror, but that only resulted in the earth opening below her, swallowing her whole. She considered screaming, but either her mouth wouldn’t open or sound wouldn’t come out. It was futile, regardless.
The earth around her closed in tighter, threatening to crush the breath from her lungs. Still, his voice rang through her ears, clear as a bell.
Why can’t you find me, Olivia?
* * *
The incessant ring of her phone woke Olivia from her sleep.
Sweat covered the back of her neck, and the sheets beneath her felt damp with her terror. She didn’t dream of Alex often, but whenever she did, it was terrible. She couldn’t shake the sense of impeding dread.
By the fifth ring, though, all she could think about was how loud her phone was—and how much it pained her head. Maybe she should see a doctor for her concussion, after all.
“Detective Austin,” she answered with a sigh, draping one elbow across her eyes to shield her from the light while she held the phone up to her ear with the other hand. She was getting really fucking tired of receiving doomsday calls in the early morning.
“Olivia. It’s Detective Superintendent Collins.” Her boss didn’t normally have the most chipper of demeanours, but something in his voice indicated that something had gone really, terribly wrong.
“Did something happen?” she demanded, foreboding immobilising her to the bed, freezing her to the spot. Why couldn’t she just have one space where nothing went wrong?
“It’s Turner,” he sighed. “He hanged himself in his cell last night.”
Olivia’s eyes shot open as Collins delivered the news.
“He what?” she asked incredulously, bolting up and immediately regretting it. Her head hurt even worse than the night before, if that was even possible. Black dots swam before her eyes momentarily, and for a second, she worried that she was about to black out. “What do you mean?”
There was a brief pause before he spoke.
“I mean he’s dead, Olivia. Joel’s gone. It’s over.”
She pushed the hair from her face in frustration.
“Who on earth let something like that happen?” Anger rose in her throat, rearing its ugly head once again. It seemed all she could do anymore was attack people, whether through words or fists.
Det. Supt. Collins sighed on the other end of the phone.
“When the guard change happened, he was able to use his clothing to make a rudimentary knot.” He paused to cough. “They tried to revive him as soon as they noticed, but he was already gone, and sadly, it means you won’t be able to interview him today, but maybe…” His voice trailed off.
“...Maybe there’s some justice in the world after all,” Olivia finished, his comment giving her pause. She’d never seen her boss speak so caustically about the loss of a human life.
If there was one thing the detective superintendent believed in, it was that the police were supposed to apprehend suspects but that they couldn’t ultimately decide the fate of those they arrested. For him to issue a statement of justice served as a suicide meant that he had stronger feelings about the case than Olivia had maybe initially realised, and she decided that now was as good a time as any to bring up her theory.
“Sir, if I may,” she began, still glued to her bed. “I don’t believe that Joel was working alone.” She’d do anything to avoid having to throw her legs over the side and climb out, but she knew she needed to do it, nonetheless.
“I’m not sure that I understand where you’re coming from, Inspector,” Collins replied, his voice abnormally tame. He was calculating how to respond to her; she could feel it.
“There’s no hard proof yet,” she offered. “But I have a gut feeling. It doesn’t add up for him to be a solo killer. He didn’t have the initiative to murder so ruthlessly on his own. Death by suicide only makes me believe that all the more. He wanted to make sure we couldn’t interrogate him.” Olivia knew her argument wasn’t fully formed yet, sloppy even. “Please, we can’t close this case yet.”
There was another pause. This time longer than the others.
“Ultimately, how you and Detective Inspector Lawrence decide to proceed further is a decision I can’t make for you,” he responded, his tone even. “But I also will not sacrifice this department’s necessary resources for you both to track down a lead that may not even ring true. We’ve already poured too much into this case.”
Olivia’s heart dropped.
“That being said, continue to close the case. If anything concrete comes up that proves PC Turner wasn’t working alone, I’ll
do everything in my power to support an ongoing investigation. But until then,” Collins let out a deep sigh, “there isn’t much else I can do.”
Was there an implication somewhere in his voice? Olivia’s head felt too muddled to distinguish insinuation from exhaustion.
“Understood, sir,” she said. “Thank you for calling and letting me know the news.” The formal words felt sticky on Olivia’s tongue. She wished nothing more than to spit out a ramble as to why she knew Turner didn’t operate alone.
But what good would that do her?
“I’ll see you at the station, Inspector.” Collins ended the call.
“Shit,” Olivia swore, throwing her phone to the edge of her bed. Maybe she’d been making it all up and Joel had really managed to pull off all of the murders on his own.
At this moment in time though, everything was confusing her; the pain in her head only exacerbated the feeling that her world was completely upside down.
After a moment, she reluctantly crawled to her phone, hitting her speed dial.
“Liv?” Clara answered on the second ring.
“Sorry to bother you so early,” Olivia muttered into it, finally mustering the will to leave her bed and begin searching for presentable clothes. I should shower, she realised, almost as an afterthought.
“You’re never a bother, babe,” Clara returned. She sounded… content.
“You with Diana?” A hum echoed from the line, confirming Olivia’s suspicion. “Good. I’m glad you two have each other.”
With a dark thought, she noted that it reminded her of how alone she truly was. Police Constable Andrew Shaw had been a welcome change in her love life, but it didn’t mean that she had someone she felt connected to, someone to assure her that everything would be okay. Rhys had been that for her, and the thought of finding someone else just made Olivia feel like she was attempting to replace him. She knew she could never do that.
“How’s she doing?” Olivia asked, using the question to escape her own head.
“Definitely exhausted,” Clara answered. “She’s on a ton of painkillers, so she’s not quite with it at the moment. Honestly, I think it’s a blessing that she’ll have some time where she doesn’t have to think about it.”
Olivia nodded in agreement before remembering that she was on the phone, not face to face.
“Agreed,” she quipped before pulling a pair of joggers onto her bare legs. She let silence hang in the air. “And listen, if she ever needs to talk… I’m not a therapist or anything, but I’ve got my fair share of skeletons in the closet.”
“I’ll be sure to pass it along.” Clara’s statement bled into silence, neither woman yet ready to talk.
“What’s going on, Liv?” she asked eventually.
“I don’t know.” Olivia sighed scratching at a stain on her dresser. “I probably shouldn’t tell you, but…Turner’s dead.” Olivia heard the tell-tale gasp of Clara caught off guard. “He hanged himself in his cell. Det. Supt. Collins is ready to close the case after we finish all of the loose ends, IDing his remaining victims, that sort of thing. But…” She trailed off into silence.
“But what?” Rustling from the other end of the line made Olivia think her friend was fidgeting in some way.
“But I’m not entirely sure that Turner was operating on his own,” she admitted. The line went silent again. “I sound ridiculous,” Olivia finished.
“Not ridiculous, just…” Clara let her sentence trail off. “What can I do to help?”
“You can stay with your girlfriend and make sure she gets better,” Olivia protested. “Really, I just need someone to tell me I’m not crazy.”
Clara gave a slight, strained laugh.
“You’re not crazy, Liv. And you’ve got a killer instinct,” she insisted. “Plus, I can still do some solid hacking while staying at Di’s bedside.” Olivia couldn’t help but smile as she heard Clara’s nickname for Hershel. They clearly held such a tenderness for one another.
“If you want to track Joel Turner’s movements from the past week, that would be incredibly helpful.” She sighed as she gave in, slightly disappointed that she wasn’t allowing her friend the break she deserved. “See if there’s something in the timeline that doesn’t quite match up with the murders. I just have this feeling in my gut, Clara, and I can’t shake it.”
Olivia put her phone on speaker in order to put on her t-shirt.
“No, I can definitely do that. I’ll call if there’s anything I find.” Her friend’s voice had quieted to a whisper. “I’ve got to go, Di is stirring. I’ll keep you posted.” And with that, the line went dead.
Still, Olivia felt encouraged that Clara would help her look. Something just wasn’t sitting right with the outcome of the case, and the more she replayed the night that the killer gave her a brutal knock, the more determined she was to not let him away with it.
She met her own green eyes in the mirror, doing her best not to squint at the sight. The gash on her forehead had scarred but still stung, and her eyes were clearly weary with lack of sleep. She’d been through the wringer the past week, and it was clear solely from her physical appearance. Her whole face seemed to sink with a deep-set exhaustion.
“After this case, I’m taking you on a vacation,” she promised her reflection. Hopefully, she could keep that promise.
17
By the time Olivia had remembered to shower and redress herself, Detective Inspector Lawrence had made his way over to her cottage.
“You heard the news?” she asked as she pulled her front door open to welcome him inside.
He nodded, lips pressed tightly together.
“Collins won’t support a full investigation into a possible second killer,” she blurted out. Lawrence nodded at that, too.
“I brought some of the files over here,” he added. “I thought maybe we could do some digging outside of the station, get a change of scenery,” he explained, dropping a large folder onto Olivia’s kitchen table.
“You know, you don’t have to follow me down this rabbit hole if you don’t want,” she offered. “Today’s technically our day off, and with the case put on hold, there’s not much we can do.”
Olivia was secretly grateful for the offered help, but she also didn’t want Dean to feel obliged. She could carry this on her own, if need be.
“If this is a rabbit hole, then call me Alice and give me psychedelics,” Lawrence declared with a rueful smile.
Olivia pressed her eyebrows together in fake concern and tilted her head but let a smile play out against her lips, nonetheless.
“Guess I’ll be the Mad Hatter, then,” she shrugged. “Toast or coffee?”
“I’ll take some coffee, thanks,” her partner replied, shrugging his jacket off before settling into one of the chairs at the table.
“I’ve been thinking about last night,” she started as she reached into the cupboard for some mugs. “And I think Turner actually wanted to get caught. You didn’t see him, but before we entered the premises, he was just... lounging about. He even had a smirk on his face.”
Olivia’s stomach twisted in on itself as she remembered peering into the kitchen and seeing the man so nonchalant.
“If he’d acted on his own, he would have been in a rush to conceal Diana, maybe even kill her,” Lawrence agreed, flipping through files as he bounced ideas back and forth with his partner.
“I wonder if he made any calls while he was driving,” Olivia murmured. She flicked the kettle on and pulled her phone out.
Could you check Turner’s phone logs just before we apprehended him last night? She sent the text to Clara quickly before turning her attention back to Lawrence.
“We still haven’t found DNA evidence from the crime scenes, have we?” he asked.
Olivia shook her head.
“Whoever it was knew to clean his victims well and keep his DNA to himself.”
“I have to admit, so much of this does seem to point to Turner,” Dean huffed out.
&n
bsp; Olivia shook her head yet again, a heavy sigh filling the room.
“That’s not to say I think you’re wrong,” he quickly backtracked. “I trust your gut, Liv. Really. I just think it’s interesting that he fits the profile so perfectly.”
Olivia nodded her agreement.
“It’s almost as if he was yanked from a textbook,” she mused.
They fell into a comfortable silence as the observation settled in the space around them.
“What if the second killer is the real mastermind behind it all?” DI Lawrence wondered out loud.
“I think that could make sense...” Olivia breathed, the anticipation heard rising in her voice.“ PC Turner was formidable, but he was quick to follow orders around the station. A serial killer of this calibre is obsessed with his own image and power. He wouldn’t take orders easily; he would see himself as above that…”
Lawrence nodded enthusiastically.
“We know our first victim, Rosie Whitford, was contacted through a dating service, right?” Something was clicking for him as he spoke; Liv could see it in the way his fingers danced across the files on the table.
“Yeah, she answered a Craigslist ad for a BDSM hook-up,” she affirmed, walking over to the table to plant her hands on it and study her partner. “What are you thinking?”
He ran a hand through his thick curls.
“If we can access Joel’s accounts,” he continued, “maybe we can see if he’d ever been solicited in a similar way.”
In the background, the sound of the bubbling kettle clicked and settled.
“You think all of this was based off a hook-up?” Olivia asked putting the coffee to the back of her mind for a moment. Was Dean onto something?
“No, nothing so sudden,” he answered. “Maybe a courtship of some kind. Something to establish trust. If Joel was willing to end his life for this guy…” he trailed off. “It definitely wasn’t some sort of casual setup.”
Olivia picked up an empty envelope from the kitchen work surface, licked the tip of the biro that had been on its way out for a good two weeks and wrote in large block letters:
