One for Sorrow

by Louise Collins

  “Maybe he parks close by, gets out and walks the dog.”

  “Parking on the grass verge was near impossible.”

  “Maybe he gets a lift.”

  Chad stood up shaking his head. “Something’s not adding up.”

  “None of this case is adding up. Point is, there’s no print that matches the killer’s shoes.”

  “Come on, let’s go back to the car, drive further along, search the next group of trees.”

  “It’s going to be a long day.”

  Martin plodded behind Chad, rather than walking beside him. Chad was almost through the trees when he felt a sharp sting in his neck. He winced, slapped his hand over the sore patch, then glared at Martin.

  “What was that?”

  Martin tried his best not to laugh. “An elastic band. Sorry, couldn’t resist.”

  Chad responded by throwing an empty drink can at Martin.

  “Hey, have you heard anything back about the sergeant’s position?”

  “No, I think it’s all been put on hold ‘til this case is over, one way or another.”

  “Oh really, I know Gareth got some feedback.”

  “Gareth wasn’t going for it.”

  “He definitely was. He told me about it.”

  Chad didn’t speak anymore. He climbed back into the passenger seat and stayed silent while they drove up the road to the next group of trees.

  After a whole shift searching the road, apart from a disturbing number of discarded plastic bags, and bottles, they found nothing. Chad had been silently brooding the whole day, and the second they arrived back at the station, he shoved through the crowd of reporters to get inside.

  “You told me you weren’t interested in the job, you said you were happy as a detective constable, didn’t want the extra stress.”

  Gareth turned to him. “I know what I said, but it’s a challenge. It’s more money, more respect.”

  “So you had an interview for it and didn’t tell me?”

  “It was months ago—”

  “But you’ve had feedback, positive feedback.”

  Gareth scrunched his face tight.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t want things to get awkward. It’s a good opportunity, and Kate and the DI said I should go for it, see what happens.”

  Chad snorted. “So the DI’s backing you, is he?”

  “No, I was only asking his advice.”

  “And Martin, you told Martin?”

  “I told Martin to keep his mouth shut.”

  “I would’ve found out eventually. My whole team’s keeping shit from me, going behind my back. Why?”

  “I didn’t want things to be awkward, that’s all it is—”

  “I don’t know what hurts more, having you apply for it behind my back, or the fact you couldn’t tell me you were interested in the position in the first place.”

  “Chad—”

  “I wouldn’t have cared if you’d told me at the beginning. In fact, if you got it instead of me, I would’ve been happy for you, but all this feels … sneaky.”

  “You were so excited, and sure of yourself. I didn’t want to burst your bubble and tell you I was applying, too. I thought the job was yours for certain. I didn’t think I’d get a first interview, let alone a second one.”

  “You’ve got a second one?”

  Gareth closed his eyes in a long blink.

  “Congrats,” Chad said, backing away.

  “Wait.”

  He shoved the incident room doors open and left them swinging.

  ****

  Chad felt wounded after being lied to and couldn’t face his team. He left two hours before his shift was over, claiming a headache. All he wanted was a hug from Neil, if he was lucky, maybe even a sweet kiss on his lips, too.

  He unlocked the front door, stepped inside and paused at the foot of the staircase. He could hear rushing water, knew Neil was in the rainforest-power-three-shower. Chad was convinced Neil was half aquatic. He spent hours in the shower.

  He went to hand up his coat and knocked Neil’s to the floor by accident. He pulled a panicked expression, eyes on the stairs, praying Neil hadn’t seen. He picked it up, hung it on the hanger, then brushed his hands down the material, making sure there was no dust or dirt on the fabric. Chad felt something hard, frowned, then reached into the coat pocket.

  He pulled out a card for a hotel. Boutique Beds. The font was in gold, and the card felt expensive, professional. Chad was hit by a pang of suspicion but shook the thought from his head. It was their anniversary soon. The hotel might’ve been a surprise for him. As soon as he thought it, Chad shoved the card back in the pocket, then backed away. He’d ruined the surprise.

  He rocked back on his heels, then rushed up the stairs two at a time. Things were awful at work, but at least he had Neil to come home to. Chad opened the bathroom door; the cloud of steam took his breath away.

  “Chad? You’re home early?”

  He nodded, stepping closer. Neil was soaping up his hair, and the rich smell of his shampoo made Chad hum happily.

  “Are you all right?”

  It was so humid in the bathroom that the shower glass had fogged up both sides. Chad drew a heart. Neil tilted his head, then drew one on his side, bigger, symmetrical, the heart engulfing Chad’s smaller, wonky one.

  “I am now.”

  Chapter Five

  “The police are pulling their hair out over the lack of leads,” Martin read, then he smirked. “If only the DI had hair to pull out…”

  “Careful, he might hear you,” Chad said.

  “He’s downstairs.”

  “And he’s got hearing like a bat.”

  “You know sales for the Canster Times have gone up 300%.”

  “How nice it is that someone’s getting rich over someone else’s misfortune.”

  “Misfortune implies it’s random, but that’s not what the Canster is saying…”

  “And what do they say?”

  Martin flapped the paper. “Unpaid taxi fares…”

  “What?”

  “A driver from Cornell’s has said he believes the countdown killer is an employee of Puma.”

  Chad rolled his eyes. “Not this again. You can’t just accuse people with no proof, Puma will sue Cornell’s for that comment.”

  “You should’ve read the article last week blaming the homeless.”

  “What?”

  “It said a ‘police official’ believes the killer might be homeless. He uses the victim’s showers, eats their food, has a night out of the cold.”

  Chad shook his head. “Jesus—”

  “Yeah, I heard that Simon Gear was harassing your friend on the front desk. Demanding he personally goes to the hospital to remove the homeless people before they kill number three.”

  “Why do you even buy that?” Chad asked, gesturing to the paper. “You know it’s stupid, designed to terrorize the public, glorify murder, and feed the killer’s ego. I hear downstairs the phones are ringing nonstop. People needing reassurance, people claiming they’ve seen the countdown killer, and then there’s the ones that claim they are him.”

  Martin checked his watch. “The DI’s been in there rather a long time…”

  They shared a troubled look, and then Chad shook his head.

  “There is no way Austin Noel is our killer. He confesses to every murder, not to mention his DNA’s on file.”

  “Nah, you’re right,” Martin said. “There’s no way he’s done it.”

  The incident doors opened. Kate flanked the DI as they walked in. His face was red, and his eyes were glowering.

  “What happened?” Martin asked.

  Kate pulled her gaze from the DI and turned to Martin. “Austin confessed.”

  “Yeah, he always does.”

  “We told him we know it wasn’t him. The DNA didn’t match, shoes size didn’t match, he wasn’t even in the city around the time of Tristram’s death. He was in Scotland visit
ing his mum. We tell him this, but no, he still says it was him, says how he broke into the victims’ homes, dragged them into their bedrooms and killed them.”

  “That man needs help,” Martin said. “I thought he’s started seeing a therapist.”

  “He is seeing one, but I think it’s a compulsion, an addiction. He saw it all over the news and in the papers and had to confess. He loves the drama of it, the cuffs, the interview … the process. He enjoys it.”

  “He loves the attention.”

  “Well, he got his wish,” the DI said. “I’ve put him in a cell for the night. Wasting police time and pissing off a detective inspector.”

  Chad narrowed his eyes. “Is the second one a real crime … did he curse at you, act in an aggressive manner?”

  “He stole my inspectors’ badge off the table, and by that point, I’d had enough.”

  “One of these days I reckon he might just do it for real.”

  “And he’s been crying wolf so many times we’ll probably dismiss him straight away.”

  Gareth burst into the room, panting. “I think I’ve got him.” A small SD card was pinched between his thumb and forefinger. “Dashcam footage from Henry Smith’s car.”

  “Who?” Martin asked.

  “He doesn’t matter. But Tristram is on this footage. They drive past each other.”

  Gareth gestured for Martin to move aside, then shoved the SD card into the computer. Martin clicked down on the file.

  Tristram’s car passed, empty passenger seat beside him, but definitely the outline of someone in the back. The face was blocked by the seat, and the quality of the footage was poor, but they finally had something. Something that made the killer real, not just a phantom that dirtied the scene then vanished.

  “Why would he sit in the back?” Gareth asked.

  Kate grimaced at him. “He’s wary about being seen, knows not to sit in the front seat.”

  “Clever and cocky, definitely not stupid,” Martin said.

  He played the footage again, and they all squinted, trying to pick out details. Chad could see he was wearing something dark. When the beams from Henry’s car lit up the inside of Tristram car, the material the man was wearing shone slightly, and Chad made out a lapel.

  “He’s wearing a suit jacket,” Chad said.

  Martin leaned closer to the screen. “You sure?”

  “Yeah, sharkskin. It’s a suit material, expensive, shiny. I can see the lapel, too.”

  “You know your suits,” Kate said.

  “Neil does. I just occasionally listen when he talks about them.”

  The DI strode over to the board with the question mark and added another bullet-point.

  “We’re looking for a well-dressed killer,” he said.

  The phone in his office started ringing. They all looked over to it. Chad darted a glance at the DI. He swallowed hard, then walked into his office.

  The second after he picked up the phone, his shoulders slumped.

  They all waited with bated breath for him to tell them what had been said, what had happened, what had been found.

  The DI stepped back into the room, let out a long sigh, then spoke. “We’ve got another body, marked with number 3, but this time it’s a woman.”

  ****

  “Not George the third, but Georgie the third,” Martin remarked.

  Chad gestured to the woman on the bed. “Now is not the time.”

  Martin made a zipped mouth gesture over his face mask. Georgie Porter lay face up on the bed. Her eyes were open. The whites were red; her mascara had run. Her black hair was fanned out on the bed. It didn’t look deliberate, but it looked as if she had struggled, knocking the pillow. The killer had ripped her blouse, and Chad could make out the top of the number three on her chest.

  “What can you tell us, Vito?”

  Vito gestured to the bruising on Georgie’s neck. “Strangled, the marks are much clearer this time.”

  “She struggled,” Chad said.

  Vito stepped forward, then crouched down by Georgie’s hand hanging over the bed.

  “Yes. And she scratched her attacker. I imagine I’ll find a positive match for his DNA under her nails.”

  “Any luck and she would’ve scratched the killer’s face, scratched the word ‘murderer’,” Martin said.

  Vito gave him a long, disapproving look.

  Chad shot Vito a grim smile, then left the room. Georgie’s house was nothing short of magnificent in status. He walked down the huge staircase, wide enough for a bus to drive up, then paused in the doorway to one of the living rooms. Forensic officers were swabbing the scene, but Chad didn’t look at them. He focused on Georgie’s huge TV.

  It was on.

  Chad recognized the actor on the screen. He’d been paused grinning smugly at the camera, a message from the killer.

  “Better luck next time.” Martin said, making Chad jump.

  “What?”

  “It’s the title of that movie.”

  “Our killer’s toying with us.” He glared at the actor, growing angrier by the second.

  “I’m not gonna be able to watch his movies anymore, that’s for sure,” Martin said.

  “Let’s go.”

  Chad hurried out of the door. Halfway down the path, he tore off the body suit, then placed his shoe covers in a bag for analysis. Forensic officers were busy swabbing Georgie’s favored car. The house wasn’t cramped down a poor street, but huge and detached. Acres of grass surrounded it, and there were no neighbors in eyeshot, let alone earshot of the property. Next to the house was a detached garage, and the classic cars inside were worth a fortune.

  “Hey, wait up,” Martin called. “Can I at least look at them?”

  Chad rolled his eyes and slipped into the driver’s seat. Martin had eagerly volunteered to go with him to the scene, if only to marvel at Georgie’s collection of cars.

  Chad started the engine and threatened to pull away, but Martin skipped ‘round the car and climbed inside. “Spoilsport.”

  An officer gestured to them to lower the window, and he trudged over and held out an evidence bag for Chad to look at.

  He tilted his head, then murmured, “Adam & Eve Auction.”

  The ticket had been ripped, entry to the Auction granted.

  The officer nodded. “That’s where she was last night, where she came from before this.”

  “Thanks for showing me,” Chad said.

  The officer trudged back up the driveway and disappeared into the house.

  Martin looked at the ticket. “Looks posh, the kinda place everyone would be smartly dressed.”

  “You think the killer was at the auction?”

  “I think if he was, he’d have fitted in, blended in. Perfect opportunity for him.”

  “Three murders,” Chad growled. “Three. The killer doesn’t try to hide what he’s done. His DNA is all over the place, and he leaves them in the exact position they died. No attempt at a clean-up, and now he’s leaving messages for us.”

  “Georgie Nolan, she’s rich, she’s recognizable, she’s known.”

  “The other two lived in rough areas, but Georgie lived here. Social class doesn’t matter. Gender doesn’t matter. Ethnicity doesn’t matter.” Chad flashed a look back at the house. “What kind of person puts a camera on their garage, but not one on the house?”

  “One that’s got a hoard of expensive supercars. Maybe we’ll get lucky, maybe our killer had good taste and wanted to see them before they got down to business.”

  “A camera, somewhere, must’ve caught him.”

  “You’d think so, but we’ve haven’t had much luck with the other two… Anyway, all this talk of murder, got me hungry.”

  “Seriously?”

  Martin nodded eagerly. “It’s lunch time. Swing by Bean’s burgers.”

  Chad checked the clock on the dashboard, then sighed in defeat. “Fine.”

  He turned off the road to the station and headed into the city. The closer the
y got to the fast food restaurant, the louder Martin’s stomach growled. Chad parked outside, and Martin launched out.

  “Want anything?”

  Chad shook his head, and Martin bounded away. He tapped idly on the window as he watched Martin inside the restaurant. There was a line, and Chad grew bored staring at the back of Martin’s head and look across the road. If he’d have blinked, he would’ve missed it, but Chad zeroed in on a flash of a red Porsche. It roared past, and he leaned forward to read the number plate from the back. It was definitely Neil’s car, and nowhere near his work in the middle of the day. Chad shook his head. He had to have read the number plate wrong, maybe only by one digit or one letter, but he had to have been mistaken.

  The car bounced when Martin got inside, and he nudged Chad’s thigh. “I’ll eat while you drive.”

  Chad slipped his phone from his pocket and hovered his thumb over Neil’s name. He was tempted to text him, ask where he was, ask what he was doing. Instead he typed the name of the hotel he’d found in Neil’s pocket, searched it, and stiffened when he realized Neil had been heading in that direction.

  “Earth to Chad…”

  Fingers snapped in front of his eyes, and he blinked, then glanced down.

  “I said I can eat while you drive.”

  Chad flexed his eyebrows. “Good.”

  Martin went to unwrap his burger, then thought better of it, and folded the paper back down.

  “Chad—”

  He slammed his foot on the pedal, and car horns blared as he cut into the traffic. Martin cursed when his head whipped back into the chair.

  “What’s the hurry?”

  “I wanna get back to the station, that’s all.”

  “Slow down. I don’t wanna end up like Georgie.”

  “What, strangled?”

  “I didn’t mean the specifics, I just meant dead.”

  “Eat your burger.”

  “I won’t be able to eat it with the way you’re driving. I’ll inhale it at this speed.”

  “Don’t exaggerate.” Chad growled.

  Chad came up behind a tractor and smacked his fist to the wheel. He saw a small opening to overtake and put his foot down. The car traveling the other direction was forced to brake, and beeped his horn. The tractor honked him, too, and he jolted forward in surprise.