by Luca Veste
‘What, a building for BDSM?’
Murphy thought for a second, but wasn’t sure of the answer. ‘That’s what we have to find out,’ he said eventually. ‘I’m starting to think he’s gone missing for a reason now. And that we need to find him soon, because if he’s the one dishing out the pain, revenge will be on someone’s mind.’
You
You look down at your hands. Blood drips to the floor from your fingertips. You are covered in it. His life slides away as you watch, the droplets pooling around your feet.
You have done it. You are a murderer. A killer. This is it now. This will be how you will forever be. There won’t be a chance for repentance. You’ll live with what you have done for the rest of whatever life you have left.
You tortured the man. You have no regrets.
This won’t keep you awake at night. You already have enough to do that. It won’t be his face staring up at you in the moment of his death, that won’t be it. He’ll be there, but it will be from another time. Another place.
Another face.
No one has a soul. You don’t believe in nonsense like that. You know you are just a set of synapses firing, nerves and impulses. That is all. There is no heaven to be barred from. No hell to be damned to for all time. You’re just an evolved animal, now with real power.
The man, lying broken on the ground next to you, deserved to die.
It wasn’t just for what he’d done in the past. It was for the things he was doing now. His actions caused this to pass. He hadn’t learned his lesson. Hadn’t tried to change. He had to be stopped.
That is your truth. Your verdict. You weighed up the good and bad and made the call.
You don’t grieve for him or anyone else. You don’t feel guilt.
They deserved their fate.
You already know the answer.
You just don’t want to face it.
There is only one ending you can envisage for yourself. You don’t see yourself lying on a beach in a foreign country, free and clear from the nightmares. No one will understand. You will be castigated. Burnt at the stake. Judged by the crowd and deemed a monster.
That will be your legacy.
The people you are destroying now are the most deserving. You know that. You know everything they did and didn’t do. You know all their dirty little secrets.
You enjoy seeing them in pain. This is justice. The ultimate penalty for the worst crimes.
You know they thought so little of people beneath them that they would never understand any other way.
This is what they deserve. All of them.
You are just carrying out what needs to be done.
You are right.
You are true.
You are not stopping until it’s over. Until your list is complete.
Nine
It was almost nine p.m. by the time they could leave the building, leaving the preliminary discussions with the immediate neighbours in the hands of the uniforms who had arrived. Murphy had received word that one of the occupants had used Sam Byrne’s name almost instantly, which meant it wouldn’t be long before the drums started and social media would be abuzz.
Sam Byrne’s name was about to be discussed online by a large number of people. It had taken seven hours, but he’d managed to keep it a secret longer than he’d first imagined.
If anything, it would mean he would have a little more help now. Given what they’d found at the flat, the bloodstains and evidence of violence, it was unlikely things were going to turn out OK.
He tried to put it to the back of his mind as he drove home, turning up the car stereo as he put a barrier between work and home life. The music helped, giving him a sense of finality to the day. It helped, too, that the familiar songs were old classics which he’d listened to endlessly.
It didn’t take much time to drive home, but the journey was still longer than he wished. They had recently moved house, which had made the journey more interesting for a week, but now it had become as commonplace as the previous commute had been. He pulled into the driveway of the new place, still unsure of the way it looked from the outside, but he supposed it didn’t matter. He didn’t spend much time staring at the outside of his own house.
Murphy waited for the song to finish before leaving the black Citroen. He locked the car, double checking it before letting himself into the house.
‘Tell me there’s some tea going,’ he shouted, slipping off his shoes in the hallway and then taking off his coat and jacket. ‘Bloody starving.’
‘It’s in the dog, you dirty stop-out,’ came the reply from the living room.
Murphy smirked, moving through to the living room where he found Sarah sitting in front of the TV. She was in her usual spot on the couch, legs tucked underneath her, phone in hand. He spied the screen as he moved across and gave her a kiss. ‘That would make more sense if we actually owned a dog. Still playing those damn games?’
‘Got to fill my time waiting for the man of the house to return, haven’t I? And I’m enjoying the calm before the storm of coursework and essays and all of that stuff. Would you rather I was polishing the silverware, wearing an apron or something?’
‘We have silverware?’
Sarah pushed him away with her foot and sat up a little more on the couch. ‘You just missed Jess. We got a takeaway in, seeing as you cancelled on me.’
‘Sorry about that. Work, you know . . .’
‘Of course I do,’ Sarah replied, finally taking her eyes away from the mobile phone screen. ‘Tea’s in the oven. Ordered your usual for you.’
‘And kept it warm for me. Aren’t you the best wife a man could ask for,’ Murphy said, leaving the room and making his way into the kitchen.
‘Don’t be a smart arse, it doesn’t suit you,’ she shouted at him from the other room. He chuckled softly under his breath, before burning his hand on the uncovered plate in the oven.
‘Remember to use oven gloves.’
‘Yeah, I know, I’m not an idiot,’ Murphy said, waving his fingers in the air before running them under the cold tap. ‘Where’s the tray?’
‘On the side, where it always is.’
Murphy looked around at the fifteen possible sides in the kitchen and was about to ask again when he spotted it.
A few minutes later, he was sitting in his chair watching TV and eating what would have been a nice chicken korma two hours earlier. It barely touched the sides as he shovelled it in, hardly caring that it tasted like reheated rubber.
‘That telly is still not in the right position,’ Murphy said between mouthfuls. ‘Half the screen is blocked by the mantelpiece.’
‘I’ve checked and it’s definitely not half. If I move it any further over it may as well be next door. Just move your chair over a bit.’
Murphy huffed a little, but didn’t say any more. He was the reason they’d had to move in the first place, given what had happened in their previous home. Someone coming in and disturbing the feeling of safety there. It didn’t matter that the intruder was currently in prison, awaiting sentence for multiple murders, it would never have felt right staying there. Murphy was happy to move and make a fresh start.
Still, the damn TV was in the wrong position, so he could moan every now and again.
‘What’s going on at work then?’ Sarah said, placing her phone down on the side table next to her and lifting a cup of tea to her mouth. ‘Haven’t seen anything online about a major incident.’
Murphy shoved another forkful of korma and pilau rice into his mouth, giving himself a few seconds to think of an answer. It wasn’t long enough. ‘It’s nothing.’
‘Now that’s interesting,’ Sarah said, putting her cup down and drawing herself up so she was almost kneeling on the couch. ‘Something top secret, David? Can’t even tell your wife what you’re working on?’
‘Something like that,’ Murphy said, realising there was no naan bread left and that was the reason why he’d almost cleaned the plate. Usually there wo
uld be food left if he’d eaten an entire naan by himself. ‘I doubt it’ll be secret much longer, though.’
‘Oh, this is getting juicier by the second. Someone famous then?’
‘I’m not saying. Let’s just say politics around here is about to get a lot more interesting.’
Sarah shook her head and sat back into the sofa, uncurling her legs from underneath her and finishing off the cup of tea. ‘I doubt even your job could make politics interesting.’
Murphy didn’t reply, instead he concentrated on finishing off his food, placing the empty plate on the arm of the chair.
‘Jess was telling me about a case she’s just lost. Bloke being done for murder. Another domestic. She seemed quite pleased not to have won, to be honest. First time I’ve seen that.’
‘It happens every now and again. Even defence lawyers have a conscience. Sometimes.’
They fell into an easy silence, Murphy feeling his eyes droop as the television – or the half he could see anyway – blared away in the corner.
* * *
There was a moment, then it came. That feeling of familiarity mixed with comfort. It didn’t matter what had happened in the time she had spent away, as soon as she walked in and felt that, it was all OK. Everything was right, the way it was supposed to be, the way she wanted it. Her house, her place.
Darren was on his feet and in the hallway before she’d even closed the door behind her. He was less familiar. It didn’t matter that he’d moved in six months earlier, it still meant there was a smudge in the life she had created in her own home.
Not that she would have it any other way. For now.
‘You’re home late. Is everything OK?’
Rossi stayed silent as she removed her coat and pulled her shoes off her aching feet. She made her way into the living room, leaving Darren leaning on the stair banister behind her. She began moving things closer to where she usually sat on the couch. The coffee table was pulled nearer, joined by a smaller table.
‘Where are my slippers?’
‘I tidied them away, under the stairs,’ Darren said, hovering in the doorway. ‘Tried to keep things neat around here.’
‘Well, don’t do that,’ Rossi said, moving past him into the hallway and opening the door to the cupboard under the stairs. She spied her slippers and dragged them out. ‘I mean, do do that, with the tidying. Just don’t move my stuff about. I leave things in certain places for certain reasons.’
‘OK, OK,’ Darren replied, holding his hands up, still standing in the living-room doorway. ‘If I’d known your slippers had a special place where they lived, I would never have moved them.’
Rossi finally got her right slipper on her foot after three tries, then stood up. ‘I’m sorry, it’s just been a long day. Thank you, but don’t do it again.’ She tried to smile at the end, but it still came out a little harsher than she’d intended.
‘Have you eaten?’ Darren said, walking up the hallway past her and into the kitchen. ‘Only I don’t think there’s much here and I got something earlier on. Need to do a shop . . .’
Rossi’s chin dropped to her chest and she sighed inwardly. ‘It’s OK,’ she said, following him. ‘I’ve got some of me ma’s polpetti in the fridge.’
‘Oh, OK. I didn’t realise. Do you want me to do anything?’
‘No, it’s fine, go and sit down, I’ll be in soon. Won’t take me long.’
The kettle was filled and switched on by the time she heard sound from the television in the front room. She pulled out her phone and propped it up on the kitchen counter and was watching the news on it within a few more seconds. She found an unopened packet of pasta then took the meatballs out from the fridge and emptied them into a pan.
She was half-watching the news, stirring the polpetti on the stove, when Darren appeared at the kitchen door again. Rossi had her back to him, but sensed him standing there watching her.
‘What?’ Rossi said without turning round.
‘Nothing,’ Darren replied, his voice closer to her. ‘I was just making sure you were OK. You seem a little tense.’
Rossi felt his hands on her shoulders and closed her eyes for a moment. ‘Just a long day at work, that’s all. Sorry if I’m being a little short with you.’
‘That’s OK,’ Darren said, leaning down and planting a kiss on the top of her head. ‘I’m used to it now. Hasn’t exactly been an easy day for me either, so I understand.’
‘Busy or difficult?’
She felt his hands leave her shoulders. ‘Just someone not making it who should have. That’s all. I know I’m only an anaesthetist, and we don’t usually have much to do with patients, but sometimes you can’t help it. Only a kid . . .’
‘That’s horrible,’ Rossi said, breaking spaghetti in half and placing it in a pan of boiling water. ‘Poor parents.’
‘It’s made me think about things,’ Darren said, leaning against the worktop. Rossi leaned past him to pick up the salt cellar and added some to the pan.
‘What’s that?’
‘How I don’t want to wait around for my life to start. I want to do things quicker, have things quicker.’
Rossi turned her back to him and stirred the meatballs in sauce. Waited for the hammer to fall.
‘I want to start a family, I want to move into a proper home, with you. I want . . .’
Rossi allowed the words to drift away and instead concentrated on moving the spoon around the pan, occasionally breaking up the dried spaghetti in the other pan to make sure it didn’t stick to the bottom. She was no longer allowing Darren’s words to penetrate her mind, the sound becoming a droning noise in the background.
‘What do you think about that?’
His last question got through. Rossi didn’t answer, instead moving away and taking a plate from the cupboard and busying herself trying to find some Parmigiano for her meal.
She didn’t want to think of an answer. She just wanted to relax, eat and not worry. She didn’t want to answer and ruin everything.
Terrified of what that answer might mean for the future.
Ten
There’s a truth to some of the things shown in crime dramas on TV. There’s also much fiction. Murphy didn’t enjoy watching them, preferring something mindless instead. He enjoyed reading true crime books every now and again, but it wasn’t often.
Crime just wasn’t something he wanted to see dramatised.
What they don’t show you in those programmes is the hours of boredom, the endless monotony of writing reports and filling out forms. The wasted moments, hanging around, doing nothing but wait for others to work and finish their responsibilities before you can get started.
Sitting in his car outside the flat which had been Sam Byrne’s secret hideaway was one of those times. As bleary-eyed students made their way up the hill of Mount Pleasant towards the university, he was stuck in an increasingly uncomfortable car seat.
‘Freshers’ week starts earlier each year,’ Rossi said, mobile phone in her hand. ‘There’s a statement coming from his parents soon. We knew it wasn’t going to be kept quiet for long. Nothing we could do about that.’
Murphy grunted a response, shaking his head and grinding his teeth. ‘Still, a day? I know the boss’ll be understanding, but that prick Butler will be a nightmare to deal with from now on. We couldn’t keep the thing under wraps for twenty-four hours.’
Rossi sighed and ran her free hand through her hair, pushing it back from her face. ‘Do we know who blabbed yet?’
‘It’ll be one of the people who live here. Mixed with a “source” inside the department. That’s how it works these days.’
Rossi sniffed and went back to scrolling through her phone. ‘So far, it’s not really anywhere but online. The Echo have got it, obviously, but not much on Sky News or the BBC. Could be that we’d feed it by commenting.’
Murphy rubbed the bridge of his nose and wondered when things had changed so much. When he suddenly had to consider things like this?
‘I don’t know,’ Murphy said eventually, more to fill the silence than anything else. ‘If he’s just buggered off somewhere, maybe this’ll make him check in and we can get on with actual police work. If not, then maybe we’ll find him sooner because of it. Or we’ll never find him because someone panics, or we find him because someone panics.’
‘That’s a lot of possibilities in one sentence. It was always going to happen. There’s no way someone in the public eye, especially a politician, is going to disappear and no one find out.’
‘Suppose you’re right,’ Murphy said, lifting his radio and speaking into it for a few seconds. ‘Let’s go.’
They both exited the car, Murphy stretching a little as he did so, glad to be out of the confines of the vehicle.
‘Will anyone be up at this time?’ Murphy said, giving a nod to the uniform waiting outside. He waved over to DC Kirkham who was standing on the other side of the road, turning away as he bounded across. ‘You know, students and that. They’re not usually early birds.’
‘Do you believe every stereotype you hear?’ Rossi replied, taking the lead and opening the door which lead into the communal hallway. ‘They’ll be up. It’s whether they’ll be in that’ll be the issue.’
‘Uniforms say no one has left since last night. They knew we were going to be interviewing them this morning. They probably told them why as well, which is why they’re still here and discussing it on bloody Twitter.’
Murphy held the door open for DC Kirkham, who muttered a thanks as he joined them in the hallway.
‘OK, let’s split this up. A floor each?’ Murphy said, looking at the two younger detectives.
‘Sounds good to me,’ DC Kirkham said, a touch of eagerness to his tone.
