The Killing Games

by Antony J Woodward

  And most importantly, where the fuck was he?!

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN:

  Chris found the address he’d jotted down on the notes application of his phone. It was a nice home, nicer than he’d expected. He felt foolish that he’d fallen for Alexis’ insinuation that she came from humble origins. This house was not humble, it was a small villa like his Aunt’s. It was decadent, made of light sand-coloured bricks and white fascias. The large front lawn was manicured, tidy and sculpted by obviously professional hands. As he slipped up the path towards the front door he clocked the luxurious curtains hung in the windows, a rich russet red. This certainly wasn’t humble… For a moment he wondered if he’d jotted down the wrong address, but no - this had been the address against Alexis’ name.

  He reached the door and knocked thrice.

  What was he doing here? He certainly hadn’t come for a social call. The fight with Pierre this morning was still nagging at him, he felt angry that Sam had thrown a spanner in the works. That anger had propelled him out into this rainy afternoon and towards her house. She was going to tell her darling boyfriend that he was to pick up his drugs this instant, or he’d flush the whole fucking lot down the toilet. If she didn’t comply then she’d have to give him a number to contact him on and he’d ring him himself.

  There was the sound of footsteps, but the welcome was far from pleasant. Alexis threw herself through the door and pulled it almost closed behind her. He stepped back as she nearly stood upon his toes. It looked like he had disturbed her at the most inconvenient of times.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” she hissed. She was dressed in a quaint blue dress with her long blonde hair freefalling. It was the prettiest he’d ever seen her look, was that because the eye-makeup was toned down?

  “Where is Sam?”

  “I don’t fucking know,” she answered angrily. She glanced back as if she was worried someone would overhear.

  “He’s your boyfriend…” Chris reminded.

  “And I don’t keep tabs on him,” she stressed, “Look. He’s not here, he left. Probably to go buy guns or something…”

  “Buy guns?” Chris couldn’t contain the tone in his voice, it sounded incredulous and she knew it.

  “I don’t know, something about a fight…” she shrugged. “Anyway, where did you go last night?” She edged it like he had betrayed her and left her behind.

  “I’m surprised you noticed, you was very occupied…” Chris dismissed sharply.

  “I turned around and you was gone…” When was that? An hour later, or when she’d scored the drugs from him? This pretty girl in front of him was a far cry from the drug-procuring whore from last night, but Chris wasn’t sure which version was the genuine one. Alexis didn’t seem to have a stable identity, so perhaps it was both?

  “Alexis?” a male voice called from the hallway.

  “Just a minute Daddy,” she hollered back sweetly, before returning her attention to Chris with a murderous expression. She adjusted herself against the door so she blocked Chris from potentially seeing her father. What was she hiding?

  “I need you to get in touch with Sam,” Chris pressed.

  “Do it your fucking self…” she hissed.

  Had them two had a fight before he left? Or had their volatile relationship just suffered another bump in the road.

  “Give me his number and I will…”

  “Fine, I’ll text you it later…” and with that she stepped back inside the house and shut the door. Chris was stunned momentarily. What was she up to? What was she so desperate to hide?

  He turned and departed, glancing back at the house one last time. There was nobody at the windows, but for a moment he’d expected there to be.

  Alexis was proving to be one hell of a mystery, he just wasn’t sure he wanted to know what was under all those layers. He suspected when he sorted the truth from half-truths he might not like Alexis at all. His thoughts snagged on that, did he even like her now? Maybe their relationship was one of tolerance more than genuine friendship…?

  Chris was almost home when his phone buzzed in his pocket, he opened it to find a text from Alexis giving him Sam’s number. He wasted no time, he dialled the number prepared to tell the drug-dealer if he didn’t come collect his package then Chris was going to flush it all away.

  -------------------------------------

  Jean took a deep breath and rubbed his face.

  It was late and he was tired, the evening sun had already set and darkness had encroached upon the land. As he weaved through the station majority of his fellow staff were heading off duty. They were packing up and talking about their plans for the Sunday night. A large crowd were talking about the upcoming game and they tried to invite Jean, but he ignored them. He reached the Commissioners office and he knocked.

  “Come in,”

  He entered and found the Commissioner sat on his desk, his coat slung over one arm and his brief case at the ready.

  “This better be good,” he warned as Jean shut the door behind him.

  “It’s about the Fairy Killer case…” Jean answered in a low voice.

  “What is there to say? It’s all done, all over, we’re releasing a statement tomorrow…” the Commissioner shrugged.

  “Well I found a lead on who might be responsible for the murder…” the trawl through CCTV had been fruitful, even if it had thrown up a very peculiar and delicate situation.

  The Commissioner didn’t seem all that interested in learning who had killed the Fairy Killer, as far as he was concerned it was a blessing. Another psycho scumbag had been taken off the streets, why if the Commissioner had his way he’d give the boy a medal. Bravo to the victim who’d fought back and killed the sonofabitch. Now he could report to the top brass that the affair was over and his little town could go back to being quiet.

  So he wasn’t particularly invested in finding who had killed the serial killer, he wasn’t going to put a lot of police work into it that’s for sure…

  “I went through the CCTV,” Jean now removed a print out and handed it to the older man. “and found this boy leaving with the perp,”

  The picture clearly showed the hooded figure walking out the club with a younger male under his arm. The male had half of his head shaved, but most importantly had a silver nose ring. While the CCTV footage wasn’t of the most amazing quality, the shape and distortion was unmistakeable…

  “Is that…?” The Commissioner trailed off with gritted teeth. Oh no.

  “Yes…” Jean answered sighing.

  This was exactly why Jean had gone to his boss, because he had no idea how to navigate this political minefield the photo posed.

  “I believe its his nose ring we found at the crime scene…” Jean offered flatly, almost apologetically.

  “Shit…” The Commissioner sighed. “Tread carefully, very fucking carefully and you come straight to me before you do anything…”

  “Yes boss…”

  “Does anyone else know about this?”

  “No,”

  “Keep it that way. Don’t tell a fucking soul…”

  “Yes boss…”

  -------------------------------------

  Back at college Chris felt abandoned and it was yet another emotion in the barrage of new sensations. He had developed quite the portfolio of emotions in a short space of time and this was one definitely placed under the shit category. He was sat at the table he usually occupied with Pierre and Alexis, but neither of them two were sat with him. They had quickly, almost desperately, fled to the computer room.

  He didn’t like the heavy feeling loneliness left in his gut. Every now and again he felt the urge to go to Pierre and apologise, but every time he talked himself out of it. Another apology was not going to cut it, not that he was sure what he was apologising for. Was he apologising because he had Sam’s drugs stashed in his wardrobe? Or because he’d let him down…?

  Chris subconsciously checked his phone, but still there was no retu
rn call from Sam. Despite the numerous voicemails he’d left, Chris had heard nothing from him. He had simply vanished off the face of the earth. He sighed to himself, he didn’t feel much like creating today. But wasn’t heartache supposed to be the greatest inspiration of them all?

  He opened his internet browser on his phone, he needed a distraction.

  He was greeted by the news page and a local headline.

  “FAIRY KILLER FOUND DEAD”

  He sat upright at the first photograph, he recognised that metal shack pictured. Something rolled over in his gut. He opened the rest of the article, and his gut sank further.

  The police had been alerted to a dead body in the early hours of yesterday morning. The victim had been strangled to death in what the police had called his “workshop”. There was no pictures of the workshop but Chris knew exactly what it looked like.

  He found a name at the end of the article that made him feel a little faint with shock.

  “The police have identified the killer as Damian Le Bont, son of Max Le Bont owner of Le Bont Plastics…” he read aloud.

  “What’s that?” a voice overheard him.

  “They, eh, they found the Fairy Killer…” Chris answered, he had no idea who he was speaking to. The world had just swallowed up in itself.

  The Fairy Killer was a Le Bont?

  That hooded figure who had abducted Pierre was a fucking Le Bont? He shook his head and stood sharply, he didn’t even know there was a third Le Bont son. Now he had killed one of them! Oh god, he felt the gravity of it hit him. He had killed Sam’s brother, his only brother left. What if Sam found that out? No, he shook the thought from his mind. Sam would never find out, he had covered his tracks too well. There was nothing that linked this Damian Le Bont to Chris, while the crime scene hadn’t been exactly spotless he was pretty sure he had left no evidence behind. Yet still, despite all this, he was worried.

  He left the room in a blur, leaving behind his belongings.

  For the first time in Chris’ life he felt the net around him. This could be it, this could the one that he gets caught with. This one was too close to home…

  He escaped to the bathroom and violently vomited in the nearest toilet.

  He had killed another Le Bont…

  ---------------------------------------------

  Chris sat on his bed staring into space. He had felt numb ever since he had learnt about the true identity of the Fairy Killer, the rest of the day had been nothing but a blur. He’d been too numb, too disorientated to even reflect on his loneliness. His vacant gaze hovered through the window to the grey sky outside. The rain had abated a little, but the threat of thunder loomed in the dark clouds.

  In his hands he held the package of cocaine, not because he planned to use it but because he yearned to dispose of it. He wanted to ring Sam, but he wasn’t sure he could. The revelation was too raw in his mind. Where had the unfazed Chris gone? The one who took everything in his stride…

  He closed his eyes, it was all proving to be a clusterfuck of amazing magnitudes! He rued the day he came to Melun, he should’ve stayed in England and he wouldn’t be involved in any of this! No Samuel Le Bont, no Damian Le Bont, not even Pierre.

  “Chris?!” he heard his Aunt call him from downstairs, “there’s a Detective Dubois here to see you,”

  Chris’ eyes bolted open. He immediately feared the worst, but instinct made him wrestle those emotions down and lock them away. His survival skills kicked in, having laid dormant for too long. He stood, taking a deep breath as he did so. He could do this, he could do this he repeated to himself. He had lied over much worse. He kept telling himself that as he planted the cocaine back in his wardrobe. He smartened his hair, checked his breath and shook himself. This was nothing, nothing to be afraid of. In his pocket his phone began to vibrate, he glanced at it as he exited to the landing. It was Pierre, but he had no time to answer it. He saw his Aunt stood at the bottom of the stairs, she was still holding the door open.

  Then as he reached halfway down the stairs he identified the man shrugging out of his shoes; it was the same old haggard man from that night at Sam’s lair.

  Now he was confused, what was he doing here?

  Was he really a detective? Or was he crooked…? Was he in Sam’s pocket…?

  Suddenly Chris felt a little confidence flush him, if he was crooked then this would be easier. His Aunt gestured the man to the lounge, “Can I get you a drink?”

  “Tea would be lovely,” he answered with a polite bow of his head. He appraised the homely, but slightly kitsch, lounge he was stood in. The gaudy floral curtains and matching three piece suite weren’t to his taste, but they did have a sort of charm.

  He turned as Chris entered the room and was surprised. He recognised the long haired boy, wasn’t he being brought in by Sam’s cronies last time he saw him? The sudden merging of two separate parts of his life took him by surprise, much like it had Chris. Was he one of Sam’s gang?

  “Christopher Bourgh?” he extended a hand.

  So far so friendly Chris thought, or was that a ploy? Was he just softening him up? Either way he took the handshake and shook firmly.

  “Detective Dubois,” he nodded.

  “Do you speak French?” the detective asked in French, Chris nodded.

  “Marvellous,” Jean smiled warmly. He gestured for him and Chris to sit. The detective still smelt like an ashtray, but he wasn’t as rough to the eye in the light of the lounge. He reminded Chris of a grizzly bear, grumpy and imposing.

  “I want to talk to you about Saturday night, at the Le Serpent,” Jean introduced. Chris’ Aunt interrupted the conversation with a tray of tea, she set it down and smiled at the detective. Did she fancy him? Or was she just being polite?

  “I’ll just be in the next room if you need me,” she smiled warmly at the detective, she flashed Chris a reassuring look. She then departed to the kitchen, but she didn’t venture far. She kept within earshot.

  “What about Saturday night?” Chris was the epitome of calm and collected.

  “You went night clubbing with Pierre Brassard and Alexis Bourgh, is that correct?”

  Chris assumed that this conversation was going to link to the Fairy Killer, but he didn’t know how the detective had been led here. What was the connection? What had he worked out? “That is correct,” he agreed.

  His phone vibrated again in his pocket. He didn’t look, he didn’t want to appear rude.

  “Can you tell me what happened Saturday night?”

  The detective was fishing, “Dancing, some alcohol…” he shrugged like he didn’t understand what the detective was fishing for.

  “Did anything happen to you, Alexis or Pierre?”

  So he was trying another angle was he, Chris smiled politely and reached for a cup to pour tea. “Alexis had a rather… sexual liaison with an individual in the club. Is that what this is about?”

  Jean watched Chris’ face and it didn’t so much as flicker, “No, I’m afraid I’m more curious if anything happened to you or Pierre…?”

  “Tea detective?” Chris enquired warmly, Jean nodded. For the third time Chris’ phone vibrated in his pocket. Someone was desperately trying to get hold of him, was it still Pierre? “Sugar detective?”

  “Two,”

  And then it occurred to Chris that it was indeed Pierre who was frantically ringing, and he was ringing because this detective had visited him first.

  “Something did happen,” Chris began. He extended the china cup to the detective, “Pierre had his drink spiked,”

  “Did he? Did you happen to see by who?”

  “No, I didn’t. I didn’t even know he was feeling unwell till I saw him leaving with a guy…”

  “Can you describe this guy?” Jean asked around a sip of his tea. It was hot and he flinched.

  Chris took a sip but he wasn’t bothered by the scalding heat of the tea. Probably an English thing Jean thought, before he realised he’d been distracted by the thought
, “what did this guy look like?”

  “I don’t know. It was a nightclub, I only saw him wearing a hood…”

  “So you saw Pierre leaving with this guy in a hood?” it was a prompt, not a statement.

  “I found them both in the alley down the side of the club,” so far Chris hadn’t deviated from the truth. He reckoned there might be CCTV footage of him chasing after Pierre and the hooded figure, but there wouldn’t be anything else once they got in the alley. “I found them fighting, I broke up the fight and I carried Pierre home. He was very intoxicated…”

  Jean nodded but he didn’t speak. It was an old-school trick to let the interviewee feel uncomfortable in the silence, so they rambled and inadvertently divulged information they were trying to keep. Chris wasn’t that easily played.

  “Is that what this visit is about?” Chris asked sipping his tea. His phone started vibrating yet again. “Whoever spiked his drink?”

  Jean opened his mouth but shut it, he was just about to ask Chris how a silver nose ring that belonged to Pierre ended up in the metal shack where the Fairy Killer was found dead. Only his Commissioner’s warning echoed in his ear. Circumstantial evidence was all he had.

  “Have you spoke to Pierre yourself?” Chris enquired, but he damn well knew Jean had already. Jean almost smiled, this kid had some audacity.

  “He directed me here, he can’t recall the events of the night. A popular side effect of the date-drug he’d been spiked with…”

  “Like I said Detective, I found him out in the alley fighting with the hooded figure. I didn’t get a chance to see the guy, it was dark. I just know he seriously injured Pierre, I don’t know if you noticed but Pierre’s nose ring was torn out in the fight, I was a bit distracted attending to that to take notes on the guy‘s face…” Chris sounded very matter of fact, reasonable even. Jean was impressed.

  “So do you know what happened to the hooded figure? After the fight…”

  “He got in his car and drove off, I did try to chase a little and clock his reg plates but…” Chris even accounted for the potential event that he had been recorded emerging from the alley to give chase to the car. “…the car was too fast,”