by Luca Veste
He wanted to make things better. For everyone. He wanted to be told that he had done a good thing. That the things he had said and thought were correct. That he wasn’t crazy or deserving of derision. That everything he did for Number Four meant something.
When he looked into the eyes of the innocent party, he saw no love. Only hatred and a desire for violence. The rational part of them overridden with jealousy and hurt. He had done that to them. Brought them to that place. He was doing right. He had to remember that. They deserved to know the truth. To know what they had signed up for when getting into that relationship.
There were voices now, with no distinction between what was real and what was false. His thoughts were taking over, making it difficult for him to tell what he had imagined or what had happened.
He was tired. Not exhausted, but close to it. He wanted to take someone else. Another couple. To show the world that he would continue to do his work. To do the thing he was best at. Not leave a trace of himself behind.
Except his mistake.
The drug which made them go to sleep. To move on and never know they had. Not kicking and screaming behind a gag, as he cut their throat or their air supply. The girl from the previous night, he thought. She’d had too much.
He wanted to see if she would suffer.
There would have to be changes. He would have to kill the innocent in the same way as the guilty.
Normal. He just wanted to be normal. To love someone and be loved back. To consume someone’s life and allow them the same luxury with him. To be entwined with someone and never to let go.
He hated as well. Hated the way love had been distorted and moulded into something it was never meant to be. Hated those who lied and kept secrets, destroying the love from within.
He hated them.
There was someone speaking to him, standing in the doorway of the break room, saying his name, trying to get his attention, but he didn’t want to look over. He was scared what he would do. Whether normality would finally slip away and all that would be left was the side of him he couldn’t control.
He turned his head and smiled. Wondered if the woman standing there knew there was a possibility she could be part of his next project.
Wondered if he could control himself until the time was right to do so.
Chapter Thirty-One
DC Hale felt good about himself. He’d worked his way up, starting as a uniformed copper and putting in for promotions, eventually making it into CID. Now, he was a detective constable, which had proven to be a title he could use to his advantage. When the new command had been established, he’d made sure he was involved.
Now, he was in the middle of a big case. A serial murder. All his friends were jealous, he knew it. Spotting him on TV, as he strode into crime scenes. All of them ringing him for the latest gossip, wanting to know all the juicy details. Stuff he wasn’t supposed to reveal, but that didn’t really stop him.
DC Hale opened the door to the family room, putting on his best sombre face as he walked in. ‘Kim, do you need anything? Tea, coffee, water?’
He waited for her to turn towards him. She looked him up and down, appraising him in a second.
‘No, I’m fine.’
DC Hale slipped into the room proper, feeling a little frisson of excitement as he thought about who Kim was. The sister of an actual murder victim. A very high-profile case and he got to spend time with her.
‘Who is the person they’ve arrested?’ Kim said, nonchalantly as if it didn’t really matter. ‘Is it Carly’s killer?’
DC Hale didn’t hesitate. ‘No, it’s some bloke who sent an email to the guy. Apparently it named your sister and her boyfriend. We’re not sure of all the details yet . . .’
‘So, this guy emails the murderer and what? Asks him to kill my sister?’
DC Hale felt the ground slip away from him a little. He’d already said too much. ‘We’re not sure that’s exactly what happened . . .’
‘Who is he?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t give you that information at the moment, but if you give me some time, I’ll get someone in to talk to you about it.’
‘Is he here?’
This time, DC Hale did hesitate. ‘I . . .’
‘He is, isn’t he?’
* * *
Adam didn’t know what was going to happen next, but he didn’t think it would be anything good. He’d screwed up. He had made one single stupid decision, and his life was never going to be the same again. Not that it had amounted to much anyway, but it was still his.
He couldn’t believe Carly was gone.
He allowed himself to be led out of the interview room, towards the cells at the other end of the station. Passing people in the corridor, all staring and judging him. They all knew what he’d done. He may not have been in that room, but he might as well have been.
He’d killed Carly.
The thought brought on a fresh bout of sobs, as the uniformed officer gripped his arm harder, pulling him along the corridor.
‘What have I done?’
It wasn’t supposed to end this way, he thought. Not like this. Through a film of tears, he saw something ahead. A blonde version of Carly, walking towards him, shouting.
‘There he is. You little prick, I’m going to kill you.’
* * *
Murphy was heading back to the main office when he heard the commotion coming from one of the corridors leading off the stairs. He assumed it was some rowdy prisoner who wasn’t taking kindly to being held.
‘An email?’
The shouted accusation made him stop in his tracks. Murphy shook his head and was about to move on, when he placed the voice he’d heard.
He started running.
In less than a minute, he reached the confrontation. DC Hale was trying to hold back Carly’s sister from a cowering Adam Evans, the volume of noise all coming from one direction.
‘You as good as killed them, you piece of shit,’ Kim said, baring her teeth at Adam. She was almost out of DC Hale’s grip, only a uniformed officer standing between her and Adam.
‘Get him out of here,’ Murphy shouted, sprinting towards the group. ‘Move him now.’
The uniformed officer came to life, grabbing Adam by the shoulders and lifting him to his feet. Kim was almost away from DC Hale, slashing at the air between her and Adam with one hand as Murphy shoved DC Hale to one side and grabbed hold of Kim himself, his arms locked around her waist so she could no longer move.
‘Let me go. Let me get at him. I’ll kill you. You hear me? You killed my sister. I’m going to end you. They can’t keep you here forever.’
‘I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry,’ Adam muttered through tears, as he was led away. He ducked his head, but not quick enough to dodge the glob of saliva as it flew from Kim’s mouth.
‘Keep your fucking sorries. I’m going to find you.’
‘That’s enough,’ Murphy said, still holding on to Kim. He walked her across the corridor and shoved his way through the nearest door. Thankfully, the office inside was empty.
‘What the hell is going on?’ Murphy said, once he’d placed Kim into a chair, standing between her and the door. He turned to DC Hale who had followed them in. ‘Wait here, Kim.’
Murphy gripped Hale’s arm, leading him out of the office and closing the door behind him. He glanced to his left, saw Adam Evans being led round the corner, still crying uncontrollably.
‘Start talking.’
‘I . . . I . . .’
‘Did I say start stuttering? No, I don’t think I did. You’ve got precisely three seconds to tell me what the hell is going on, or I’m going to tell her you’re the one who killed her sister and leave you alone in there with her for a while.’
‘I wasn’t thinking,’ DC Hale said, lifting a shaking hand to his hair and trying to smooth it out. ‘It just came out.’
‘What did?’
‘What Adam Evans was arrested for. About the email and that. I wasn’t think
ing. That’s all. It was a mistake.’
Murphy puffed out a breath and stared at the top of Hale’s head as he lowered it to his chest. ‘You stupid little dickhead. You could have screwed us all up, do you know that? We’re at a very critical stage right now and the last thing we need is for one of our victim’s relatives to be arrested for assault, or worse. Do you understand that?’
‘I was just trying . . .’
‘I don’t care what you were “just trying”,’ Murphy said, banging his fist into the wall beside Hale’s body. ‘All I want to hear is, “Yes, sir, it won’t happen again.” Got it?’
‘Yes, sir,’ DC Hale said, six inches shorter than when the conversation had begun. ‘It won’t happen again.’
‘Good. Now piss off and stay out of my sight for the foreseeable future.’
Murphy turned and entered the office behind him without looking back. Kim was sitting on the chair next to the desk, swivelling it from side to side.
‘You shouldn’t have a go at him, he did me a favour.’
‘That’s not the point, Kim,’ Murphy said, leaning against a filing cabinet opposite her. ‘I know you’re angry. Trust me, I’ve been there. But this type of thing won’t help us find your sister’s killer. I need you to be cool and calm. I don’t care what happens after all this is over, but for now, I need everyone on side. Understand?’
Kim looked at him with dark eyes, peering at him as if she were looking at him for the first time. Her brow knitted together, the lines fading as she processed what he’d said.
‘Yes. I can wait.’
Murphy nodded and stood upright. ‘Good. Now, I should get back. Stay here, I’ll have someone come get you and take you to the family room again.’
Murphy left the office, stood outside for a few seconds and breathed in deep. What had been a long week, was becoming even longer.
Chapter Thirty-Two
There was no feeling of being refreshed; no one had been revitalised by the night’s sleep. It was Saturday afternoon and everybody at the station wanted to be anywhere but there. Murphy almost had to drag himself into the station that morning, kicked out of bed by Sarah after his alarm had gone off more than three times. He had taken one look at himself in the mirror and decided when the case was over, he was going on holiday.
The image of Amy Maguire appeared in his mind and he decided a holiday may not be the best option.
‘Have we got anything on forensics?’ DCI Stephens said to him, sitting out in the incident room now. She’d moved from her quiet office into the area where the ‘magic’ happened. Of which there was none to be found at that moment.
‘Not a thing,’ Murphy replied. ‘Just who we’ve ruled out from family members and friends. There’s nothing else we can find there.’
‘Not even off the photo collages he does?’
Murphy shook his head. ‘He’s careful. Bloody television has made our lives so much more difficult. Given away all our secrets.’
‘We must have something, David?’
Murphy saw DC Harris smirk over DCI Stephens’s shoulder at the use of his first name. ‘We should have a drug report on Carly coming in soon which may hold more information.’
‘We can’t wait around for that. Damn things always take too long. Speak to Dr Houghton and see if he can shed any more light on this thing.’
‘We did speak to an anaesthetics guy in the Royal a few days ago, but he couldn’t really tell us much at all.’
‘Tell the doc I want to know the information. He’ll listen to that. CCTV of the ChloJoe apartment turn up anything?’
Even the DCI had taken to merging their names, Murphy thought. There was no hope for any of them. ‘We went through what we could get for last Friday night, but all we saw was Chloe entering and then leaving the apartment half an hour later. There’s a number of people who arrive and leave before her, but we’re still working on ruling those people out.’
‘Do we know when Joe was taken?’
‘No,’ Murphy replied, giving Rossi a nod as she left the office without saying anything. He glanced at the clock, glad to have got her out of there early enough to make it to her night out. He almost smiled. ‘He had footy training, but we don’t think he made it home.’
‘Our guy was waiting for him. Which means he’d planned this out. Makes sense, given the profile of them both. Just snatching them off the street wouldn’t have worked.’
‘I’ll ring Dr Houghton then,’ Murphy said, wanting to move past the questions focusing on everything they didn’t know. ‘See if he has anything of use to say.’
Murphy waited for DCI Stephens to walk away and speak to one of the other detectives in the office, then picked up his phone. After a few minutes of being on hold, transferred, then transferred to the right place, Houghton’s dulcet tones eventually came over the phone.
‘David.’
‘Yeah, you got a minute?’
A moist breath came over the earpiece. ‘I suppose so. What do you need?’
‘We’re talking about the drug that was given to one part of each couple as an overdose . . .’
‘The opioid? Used in anaesthetics. What about it?’
‘Well, how easy would that be to get, really? And is there any way of finding out what it actually is?’
‘Have you not had the drug report back yet on the latest pair? Buggers always take their time. I bet it’s Propofol. There’s very little else it could be really. Nothing that you could get easily in this country anyway.’
‘The report is due back any second, but DCI Stephens said she needed to know more about it and that you would help.’
‘Not sure how much help I can be. Didn’t you talk to that anaesthetist?’
‘Yes, but he wasn’t much help regarding how it could be traced . . .’
‘Really? I suppose that’s true. Unless something is left behind, like a vial of some sort. Or it’s a new type of drug used.’
Murphy sat forward in his chair, almost knocking into his desk. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, let’s for argument’s sake say it is Propofol. That isn’t something you can just find in a chemist’s, David. As I’m sure you already know, it’s a well-regulated drug, only for use during general anaesthetic procedures in this country – although in the States, they’re using it for executions now – so there are things you should know.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like how it doesn’t just disappear without anyone noticing. We’ve had a few instances in the hospital over the years of some doctors using it recreationally to get “high”, as the kids say. Although that happened more in the past than it does now.’
‘We’ve already gone over this, but the boss wants me to check again. Does every hospital keep a record of any drugs that might go missing?’
‘Of course, but it’s only if large amounts over a long period go missing that something would be done.’
Murphy rolled his eyes, knowing the answer already. ‘Only when they start actually losing money?’
‘Exactly. Look, here’s something they don’t really like to tell people . . . drugs go missing all the time. Just little things, here and there. You can’t keep track of it all. We talk about having very strict protocols over drug care, but sometimes it’s impossible to do. Something like Propofol or the like, if it was only small amounts, it could be chalked up to an administrative error, or perhaps someone dropped some and didn’t want to come clean. It happens. But that’s not the only way to trace it anyway.’
‘Enlighten me, Doc.’
‘I really don’t appreciate that term. Makes me feel old, David.’
‘Would you prefer I call you Stuart?’
There was a pause over the line. Murphy smiled, knowing he’d won a point for once.
Houghton continued. ‘Never mind. Each drug is made up of different properties. If this isn’t just Propofol and something different, you may be able to work out where it came from that way. I assume you’re looking at local hos
pitals?’
‘It makes the most sense,’ Murphy said, making notes on the lined paper on his desk. ‘The victims are local, so if it’s a new drug, for argument’s sake, that can only be found in hospitals, it’s likely to have come from one in this area.’
‘Merseyside is a big area though,’ Houghton said. ‘I’ll do some chasing up of my own. See if I can find out if anything has been flagged up yet.’
Murphy thanked the doctor and then called over DCI Stephens.
‘I don’t care who you have to call, or what favours you need to pull in, but we need that drugs report in now.’
Murphy leaned back in his chair. There was something else, something he wasn’t considering.
He glanced at the clock, wondering if Rossi was already out with Darren’s workmates, having a good time whilst he was stuck in the office. He hoped so, otherwise he would have to have another word with her. She deserved it, he decided. Even if it was something she thought she didn’t really need, like a partner or the dreaded ‘boyfriend’ – a word she so detested. He thought back to the joke he’d made about the possibility the killer could be Darren, and Rossi’s reaction to it. There was something real there, with that relationship, he thought. He was glad of it.
He went through some messages left on his desk, discarding ones which were from days before, or just weren’t that urgent or interesting. Then he looked through his emails, doing the same thing. He pulled up the crime scene photographs, looking through them to make sure there was nothing he had missed. The images offered no clues, the only thing that stood out was how similar each scene looked.
But there was something about the picture collages that held Murphy’s attention; it was as if a life was being put back together, after being destroyed. It was not the work of someone who understood the nature of relationships. It was someone who fetishised them. Made them into something that didn’t actually exist.
‘He’s a loner,’ Murphy said, voicing his thoughts. DC Harris who was sitting at his desk near him lifted his head. ‘Or someone who has been in almost no relationships at all.’
