Killing Kate

by Alex Lake

  ‘Ten years, more or less.’

  ‘Would you say it was you or Mr Flanagan behind the break-up?’

  ‘It was more me.’

  The detective nodded. ‘Did he take it well?’

  ‘No,’ Kate said. ‘He didn’t.’ She looked at DI Wynne. Why was she asking this? What could her break-up with Phil have to do with the investigation? And then it came to her: the detective thought it was Phil following her in the car and hiding under the tree. She thought it was a jealous ex-boyfriend, and nothing whatsoever to do with the killings.

  ‘You think it might have been Phil in the car?’ she said. ‘Or hiding under the tree?’

  ‘Do you?’ DI Wynne said.

  ‘No,’ Kate said. ‘I mean, I doubt it. Do you suspect Phil?’

  DI Wynne ignored the question.

  ‘Were you aware that Mr Flanagan had started a new relationship?’ she said.

  ‘No,’ Kate said. ‘I had no idea.’ She shook her head. ‘I knew he’d … you know, met some women out. He phoned me once from one of their houses at about two a.m., but I had no idea he had a girlfriend.’

  DI Wynne nodded slowly. ‘Does the name Michelle Clarke mean anything to you, Miss Armstrong?’

  ‘Of course. She was one of the victims. The one that was found this morning.’

  ‘She was also in a relationship with Phil Flanagan,’ DI Wynne said. ‘Michelle Clarke was his new girlfriend.’

  22

  Kate stared at the detective. After a few seconds she became aware that her mouth was open and that she was shaking her head. She wasn’t sure what was more of a shock: that Phil had a new girlfriend or that his new girlfriend had been murdered.

  Scratch that: it was much more of a shock that she had been murdered.

  And that she looked like Kate; or at least, like Kate used to look.

  Which, even to someone who knew nothing about murder investigations, meant one thing was obvious.

  Phil was a suspect, which was why DI Wynne had been so keen to see her.

  ‘I don’t know what to say,’ Kate said, then added. ‘Do I need a lawyer?’

  ‘Do you?’ DI Wynne said. ‘Feel free to consult one if you wish. You’re not under arrest, or even under suspicion.’ She folded her arms. ‘But if you would be happier making this more formal, we can go to the station?’

  ‘No,’ Kate replied. ‘I’m just … I’m shocked. We can do it here. I mean, you don’t think Phil had anything to do with this, do you? He wouldn’t – he’s not that kind of a person. I know him, and he isn’t – he couldn’t do this.’

  ‘I don’t think anything,’ DI Wynne said. ‘I’m merely exploring all avenues. But at the minimum, Mr Flanagan is going to need to answer some questions. Miss Clarke was with him last night, according to her friends. She was planning to stay the night, but that evidently didn’t happen. We need to find out what happened to her, and Mr Flanagan is the person we most need to speak to about that.’ She paused. ‘Has Mr Flanagan seen you since you changed your appearance?’

  Kate shook her head. ‘Why?’

  ‘Michelle Clarke looks like the other victims. And she looks like you used to look. Although Mr Flanagan may think she still looks like you.’

  ‘No. It’s not Phil. It can’t be. Why would he do it?’

  The detective shrugged. ‘Resentment at your break-up? To scare you? If someone is killing people who look like you, then you might be so terrified you’d get back together with him.’

  ‘He wouldn’t do that!’ Kate said. ‘He wouldn’t murder people to get back with me. No way. No one would.’

  ‘People do all kinds of things for all kinds of reasons, Miss Armstrong,’ DI Wynne said. ‘But this is all speculation. There is another reason I needed to see you.’

  ‘Which is …?’

  DI Wynne fixed her with a steady gaze. Her eyes were dark and unreadable, the result, no doubt, of years of dealing with murderers and rapists and child abusers and whoever else she encountered in her job. It couldn’t have been easy to spend your life assuming the worst of people, and then finding out that your assumptions were correct. It was bound to skew your view of humanity somewhat.

  ‘Which is that I don’t know where Mr Flanagan is. I was hoping you might be able to tell me.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We’ve been unable to locate him. As you no doubt know, he has been staying with a friend, Mr Andrew Field. Mr Field is away this weekend, but we managed to talk to him and he said that he was unaware Mr Flanagan had plans. However, when we went to Mr Field’s residence, there was no one there.’

  ‘I don’t know where he is,’ Kate said. ‘I haven’t spoken to him.’ She took her phone from her bag. ‘I can call him, if you like.’

  ‘That would be very helpful.’

  She selected Phil’s number and called it. It rang once, then went to voicemail.

  Hi, Phil’s recorded voice said, you’ve reached the voicemail of Phil Flanagan. I can’t get to the phone right now, but leave me a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.

  Kate swallowed. Her mouth was dry. ‘Phil, it’s me. I need to talk to you. Call me back as soon as you can.’

  She looked at DI Wynne. ‘Voicemail,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you for trying.’ The detective picked up her notebook. ‘Have you noticed anything odd recently? About Mr Flanagan’s behaviour?’

  ‘It’s all been odd,’ Kate said. ‘We recently broke up. It’s hardly a normal time.’

  ‘Anything specific? Anything worrying?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Kate replied. ‘I don’t know what normal is in this kind of situation.’

  DI Wynne finished her coffee. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘Thank you for your time, Miss Armstrong.’ She handed Kate a card. ‘And please don’t hesitate to call me if anything comes to mind.’

  Kate watched her go. By the time she was on the pavement, Gemma and May were standing at the table.

  ‘So?’ May said. ‘What did she want?

  ‘It’s Phil,’ Kate said. ‘They think it’s Phil.’

  Gemma pulled out a seat and sat down.

  ‘Are you serious? They think it’s Phil?’

  ‘He’s disappeared,’ Kate said. ‘They can’t find him. And he was with the girl last night.’

  ‘Which girl?’ May said.

  ‘The one who was killed – Michelle Clarke.’ Kate massaged her temples with her thumb and forefingers. ‘Michelle Clarke was Phil’s girlfriend. And he was with her last night.’

  ‘She was his girlfriend?’ Gemma said. ‘I thought he was pining after you, wasting away from unrequited love. That didn’t last long.’

  ‘I’m not sure that’s the point,’ May said.

  ‘I know,’ Gemma replied. ‘But still. It’s a bit rich.’

  Kate looked at her friends. ‘She looked like me. Like I used to. And Phil hasn’t seen me, so he wouldn’t know I’d changed.’ She paused. She felt like everything had shifted beneath her, like everything she knew had changed. If this was Phil, then her world was not what she had thought it was.

  ‘What if it is him?’ she said. ‘What if Phil’s killing these women?’

  ‘It can’t be,’ May said. ‘It can’t. We’ve known him for ever. Almost as long as we’ve known each other. And he isn’t capable of doing this. You both know that.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Gemma said. ‘But people change. Look at Beth. What about what happened with her? None of us saw that coming.’

  PART ONE: INTERLUDE

  Five Years Earlier

  1

  ‘Beth,’ May said. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Taking a photo,’ Beth replied. She stood in front of her three friends, holding a tray with four glasses of Coke on it.

  ‘Why do you have four Cokes?’ Kate said. She gestured at the four wineglasses and half-empty bottle of wine on the table. ‘We already have drinks. And why are you taking photos of them?’

  ‘Give me a second,’ Beth repli
ed. ‘There’s something I need to do.’

  Kate, May and Gemma watched as their friend moved their wineglasses to an adjacent table, along with the half-empty bottle, then replaced them with glasses of Coke. She smoothed her jacket over her bum as she did so; it was a gesture that she often made, born of self-consciousness at what she considered to be too-wide hips.

  She sat behind the table, then took out her phone and lined up a photograph of the four soft drinks.

  ‘There,’ she said. ‘Done. You can take your drinks back now. So, how were your weeks?’

  Gemma raised an eyebrow. ‘Er, before we discuss how shitty our jobs are and how much we fancy the hot guy in the finance office, could I ask a question?’

  ‘Sure,’ Beth said.

  ‘What the fuck just happened?’

  ‘I needed to take a photo,’ Beth said. ‘That’s all.’

  ‘Of some drinks we’re not drinking?’ May said. ‘What for?’

  Beth shifted uncomfortably on her seat. ‘For, erm, for’ – she tapped her foot on the floor – ‘for something. Never mind, OK?’

  ‘Never mind “never mind”,’ Kate said. ‘What’s going on?’

  So Beth told them.

  ‘The weirdest thing happened tonight,’ Kate said, when she was back at the house she and Phil had not long moved into. ‘Beth took a photo of four glasses of Coke on our table.’

  ‘Why? Is she some kind of drink photographer now?’

  ‘No. And she got super uncomfortable when we asked why, but in the end she told us. It’s kind of disturbing.’

  Phil turned and looked at her. Beth was the only other girl he had ever dated, just the once, when they were thirteen. He claimed they’d kissed; Beth always said that it was more of a brief touching of lips. ‘Oh?’

  ‘She said that she has a new boyfriend and he doesn’t like her drinking. He likes her to prove she isn’t by taking photos of her drinks and sending them to him throughout the night. She did it a few more times before we left.’

  ‘That’s pretty fucked up,’ Phil said. ‘She wants to get out of that relationship ASAP.’

  ‘Apparently it’s a guy from work.’

  ‘Who?’ Phil and Beth worked in the same place in town; he was a trainee in project management, she was in marketing. ‘Maybe I know him.’

  ‘He’s a bit older. Moved here in the last couple of months. He’s called Colin Davidson.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Phil said. ‘I know of him. Seen him around. He’s some kind of Internet marketing guru. Seems a normal enough chap.’ He picked up the remote control. ‘Match of the Day’s on,’ he said, then added, as an aside. ‘She needs to be careful.’

  2

  ‘OK,’ Kate said. ‘I’ll try them on. Wait here.’

  Until recently, her favourite clothes shop in the Trafford Centre had allowed two people into the changing rooms at the same time. That had changed; apparently it made it easier to steal things if potential clothes-lifters had an accomplice, so Beth had to wait outside before she could pass comment on the skinny jeans that Kate was almost certain she would be buying.

  Kate pulled off her old jeans – she was already thinking of them as her old jeans – and put on the new ones. She knew immediately that they were for her. There was a feeling of rightness when something fit well, and she had it now. She buttoned them up, looked in the mirror, then turned to see the view from the back.

  Perfect. She loved them. Beth would love them. Phil would love them.

  She pulled back the curtain and stepped out, smiling and ready to see confirmation of her choice in her friend’s eyes.

  Beth was not there.

  Kate looked around. She couldn’t see her anywhere.

  She had the same unsettling feeling that she’d had the night that Beth had taken photos of her fake drinks. She’d had it when Beth failed to show up for the regular Friday-night post-work drinks with May and Gemma, first for one week, then two, then three – which was the reason Kate had called her and arranged to meet at the Trafford Centre in the first place.

  And now she was gone.

  She looked around again, taking a few steps away from the changing rooms to see if Beth was looking at some clothes, or talking to a friend she’d bumped into.

  Nothing.

  She couldn’t go too far, not wearing the jeans; she didn’t want to be arrested for shoplifting, but she had to find Beth. Something was wrong, and she had to find her friend.

  She headed back for the booth.

  ‘They look lovely.’ A girl with spiky hair and a nose stud was folding the clothes others had tried on and discarded. ‘They really suit you.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Kate said.

  ‘Are you taking them?’

  Taking, Kate noted. Not buying.

  ‘Not today,’ she said. ‘Something came up.’

  ‘You sure? They look amazing.’

  ‘’Fraid so,’ Kate said, and went into the booth. She changed into her old – current – jeans and left, handing the unbought ones to the spiky-haired girl. She pulled her phone from her bag and called Beth.

  It rang once, and then went to voicemail.

  ‘Hey, it’s me. Just wondering where you are. Call me back.’

  She hung up and walked briskly through the store, retracing their steps. Where the fuck was Beth? And why had she left without saying goodbye?

  She called Beth again. This time, she answered.

  ‘Hey,’ Kate said. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I had to go,’ Beth said, her voice businesslike and matter-of-fact.

  ‘You don’t have a car. I drove.’

  ‘I’m getting a lift.’

  ‘From who?’

  She hesitated. ‘Colin. I bumped into him.’

  ‘Colin? What was he doing here?’

  ‘Shopping. He needed something. It was – it was a coincidence. And he – he said he’d give me a lift.’

  ‘We were going to have dinner. And a drink.’

  ‘I know,’ Beth said. For a second, Kate thought she was about to say something, but she sniffed. ‘Plans changed. Sorry, Kate. I have to go.’

  3

  They always – nearly always – had sex on Sunday mornings, and they always – always always – took their time about it. On a weeknight, the worries of work and the pressure of early mornings and the need for a decent sleep meant it was more hurried, more frantic, but on a Sunday they could lose themselves in each other. All they had to do afterwards was drink tea, read the papers and maybe have sex again.

  They lay in their new bed in their new house. Rented, but their first place together; it felt like a treasure chest of possibilities.

  Phil had his head on her chest, his hand on her stomach. He had started doing that after sex recently. Kate loved it.

  ‘I’m worried about Beth,’ she said, after a while. ‘I don’t like the vibes I get from that guy she’s seeing.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like, I think he’s controlling her. Not letting her drink, making her take photos on a night out, “accidentally”’ – she made air quotes – ‘bumping into her when she’s shopping and taking her home without even letting her say goodbye to me.’

  ‘Maybe they’re madly in love. You know how it is. You meet someone and then you retreat into your own world for a while. Perhaps he genuinely was in the Traffic Centre’ – Phil called it that, in an attempt to be dismissive that Kate hated – ‘for some reason, and they saw each other and couldn’t wait to get it on.’

  ‘She would have said goodbye,’ Kate replied. ‘Do you know anything about the guy? Heard anything at work?’

  ‘Apparently he’s super smart. I’ve been in a few meetings with him and he seems pretty nice. Well put together. But he operates above my pay grade.’

  ‘OK.’ Kate swung her legs out of bed. ‘If you hear anything, let me know.’

  She sat by the window, a mug of tea steaming in her hand, and called Beth. Straight to voicemail.

  Hi, this is Beth. Le
ave a message and I’ll get back to you.

  ‘Hi, Beth,’ Kate said. ‘I was thinking of going to the gym this afternoon. Let me know if you’re interested.’

  At lunchtime she received a text.

  Got yr msg. I’m busy this afternoon. Maybe next week?

  It was weird; Beth never used text speak. Never wrote txt for text or U for you. Either way, her phone was on, so Kate dialled her number. She wanted to hear her friend’s voice, see if there was something wrong. Ask her outright what was happening. She’d know if Beth was lying to her.

  It went straight to voicemail. Again.

  This time, Kate didn’t leave a message.

  She sent an email from work on Monday morning.

  Beth. You good? You left so suddenly on Saturday. Just checking in. Everything OK with Colin? K. xxx

  Beth replied immediately:

  Everything’s fine. Better than fine. Colin’s awesome. Sorry if I haven’t been available. He and I are spending a lot of time together.

  Glad to hear it. How about all meeting up? Me, you, Gemma, May, Phil, Gus, Matt and Colin? Would be good to get to know him. How about this Saturday?

  I’ll ask him. I’ll let you know.

  She didn’t hear from Beth until Friday afternoon, when an email popped up:

  Hey, this Saturday’s not going to work. Colin has to go and see his parents.

  Kate’s neck prickled. She typed out a response:

  No problems. Hope everything’s OK. How about Sunday lunch in the pub? We can be flexible. I’d love to meet him.

  Beth replied half an hour later:

  Colin’s not very social. And he’s uncomfortable hanging out with people from work, especially more junior people. Maybe another time.

  Kate didn’t reply.

  Which, looking back, was a mistake.

  4

  How do you force someone to talk to you?

  Not talk as in an exchange of pleasantries – How are you? Fine, you? – but talk as in telling the truth, sharing information, discussing what’s happening behind the pleasantries. How do you force someone to do that?