The Killer You Know Page 4

“From this year?” I said.

  Jen nodded. “Yeah, article’s dated June the twenty-ninth.” She received her phone back and read the article again. “I can’t believe people filmed that.”

  My belly squirmed with a waking disquiet, but Rupesh made a sceptical little humming sound. He was scowling.

  “Oh come on, it’s a bit odd,” Jen said, giving him a playful push. “You don’t think that’s odd?”

  “Does it say anything else?” Steve said. “Anything about a tent rope?”

  “Nothing else,” Jen said.

  “How many people die at festivals every year?” Rupesh said. “How many music-obsessed kids suffer with suicidal thoughts? How many Joy Division fans does it take to top themselves with a light bulb?”

  “Holy shit,” Jen said. She was looking down at her phone again, her grin bigger. But there was something else present on her face now, wariness settling like frost.

  “What?” Rupesh said.

  “Nothing for suicide and Loch Ness, but look at this,” Jen said, and handed the phone to Rupesh. “Look.”

  Rupesh studied the screen, muttering, “It would have to be so specific.”

  We waited. Then his mouth fell open.

  “January, this year,” Jen said.

  “What is it?” I said, slightly anxious now.

  He didn’t speak, but he gently shook his head while handing me the phone.

  The headline read: BODY RECOVERED FROM LOCH NESS. I started to read.

  My Travel Inn was a short walk from The George, on the other side of the main road. The bar shut at midnight, giving us just over an hour. We occupied a table by a sad-looking pine tree that had already lost half its needles. A television mounted behind the bar was set to a music channel playing Christmas hits. Despite protestations, Rupesh got in the first round.

  I chose my seat first having led the way, and Steve ended up next to me. We’d been hurried from The George not long after Jen’s discovery and hadn’t had time to properly discuss what we’d found. For a long time no one said anything. Jen spoke first.

  “So come on, then. What do we all think about Will?” Under the bar lights the age lines around her eyes became apparent the way my own did in the mirror after putting in contacts.

  “Listen,” Rupesh said, “we’ve all had a bit to drink, and I’ve had a great time seeing you all tonight, so don’t get me wrong, but it’s a coincidence, isn’t it?”

  “You’re not convinced?” Steve said.

  “It’s just a body in Loch Ness,” he said. “The article didn’t say it was suicide. It’s an odd coincidence, yeah, but that’s about it.”

  The article hadn’t even identified the victim, and Jen’s cursory search could only find similar articles with similar information.

  “Not being funny, Rupesh,” Jen said, “but it’s a little bit more than odd. It’s really weird.”

  “Maybe.” Rupesh leaned back. “Correlation isn’t causation, and it would be weirder in a universe this vast if coincidences didn’t happen.”

  “Coincidences like this?” Jen said.

  An odd tension occupied the hush that descended on the table, perhaps nothing more than the realisation that the night was over if Rupesh wasn’t playing along. That’s what this was surely, play? And Rupesh was being a bit of a killjoy. Coincidence was the likeliest explanation, surely? Will just hadn’t fancied coming, that was all.

  “Come on,” Jen said to Rupesh. “It would totally make sense of everything if he was a serial killer.”

  I laughed, even though there was some truth in what Jen was saying. Yeah, I could see Rupesh’s point, humans were pattern-seeking creatures and all that. Pissed pattern seekers right now. But that didn’t change the feeling that came with putting these facts together with what Will had been like, which maybe wasn’t so much any particular detail or set of events, rather it was a colour: a nasty, pale green, like he’d been flagged up by my mind as sour or rotten over the course of all our encounters. Rupesh was a dark purple, standoffish and moody. Steve was a warm red, exciting and comforting like fire. Will had always been green, a sickly, keep-a-safe-distance green.

  “I always got on with him fine,” Rupesh said.

  “He was so creepy sometimes,” Jen said. “He didn’t talk to your face. He talked to your tits.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “But then, teenage boys.”

  “Hey,” Rupesh said. “I never stared at your boobs, thank you.”

  “So you agree,” Jen said to him. “Will was definitely a serial killer.”

  “Steve, come on,” Rupesh said. “Help me out here.”

  “He was strange in other ways, too, if I’m honest,” Steve said.

  “Rubbish,” Rupesh said, banging the table a little too hard and apologising when Steve’s drink of water leapt from his glass onto the table.

  “No, but hang on,” Steve said. “We were all probably a bit strange back then, I was going to say. A bit intense stuck out here in the countryside. God, coming here I was worried what you all thought of me, given what I used to be like.”

  “Remember that game you made us play?” Rupesh said.

  Steve looked taken aback, though he nodded.

  “The Dedication?” I said. “He didn’t make us play it.”

  “That was all of our idea, I thought,” Jen said. “And don’t you worry, you were fine.” She reached over and touched Steve’s leg. Before I had time to react to that, Jen faced me. “Maybe it’s a girl thing, I don’t know, but Will was different. I wish I could explain it better, when I’m not on my gabillionth glass of wine.”

  “Maybe we should sober up then, think about this again in the morning,” Rupesh said.

  “It’s not just a girl thing,” Steve said. “But maybe Rupesh is right and we need to all sober up.”

  Rupesh shook his head and downed the rest of his whisky. He blinked twice. “It’s a blooming coincidence, end of story.”

  His boozy certainty was annoying me now. I didn’t mind a sceptic—I’d loved the great sceptics at uni, you could say they’d inspired my career—but Rupesh was forcibly shutting us all down, a different thing entirely, and I wanted to retaliate. “Playing devil’s advocate for a moment, Rup, what if we could remember some more details about the third murder, and then we found those online? I suppose I’m just asking, when would you be happy that it wasn’t a coincidence?”

  Rupesh shook his head firmly and shrugged. “I just wouldn’t. It’s… Why don’t you check? Someone come up with something about the third murder?”

  We had briefly tried to remember the details before leaving The George but drawn a collective blank on anything specific.

  “Like I said, I have a vague sense it was supposed to be local?” I said.

  “Anyone else remember that?” Steve sounded doubtful.

  “Maybe,” Jen said, face overhanging her phone again. “I’ve got some old diaries from back then, you know. I might’ve written something about it.”

  “They in London?” I said.

  “I think so,” she said, not looking up, “but there’s a chance they might be in Mum and Dad’s attic. Nothing’s coming up about any recent local suicides that I can find. But Blythe suicide isn’t much to go on.”

  “Well, drugs will be involved,” Rupesh said. “I asked him about how he was going to pull it off and he told us he’d kidnap them, drug them and then make it look like they’d taken a lot of different pills to make sure they got the job done. Look that up. Blythe suicide drugs.”

  It didn’t take her very long to shake her head. “Nothing’s coming up.”

  “There you go, then,” Rupesh said.

  “Unless he hasn’t done the third murder yet,” Steve said.

  “Don’t encourage this,” Rupesh said.

  “Theory time,” Jen said with a theatrical flap of her hand. “He told us all this stuff, right? Why would he do that?”

  “Because he was trying to make us laugh?” Steve said.

  “Or
because he’s playing some twisted game with us,” Jen said. “He gets my email about a reunion end of last year, right? So he thinks: next year. One in January, one in June, and then the last one would be the end of the year, around the time he knows we’re all going to be wondering why he didn’t show up.”

  “I don’t know,” Steve said before Rupesh could storm in, which from his stiff posture looked imminent. “But, you saying that… actually, I think I remember something about him doing something on New Year’s Eve.” A grin. A shrug.

  “Oh, he did,” Jen said. She began typing something into her phone. “That rings such a bell. Wait. God, what if Will wants us to stop him? This is really freaking me out. Okay, well, there’s too much other irrelevant stuff when I put in ‘drugs’ and ‘Loch Ness.’ Still, this is too weird. We should try and find out what happened to him, why he didn’t come tonight. Tomorrow maybe? I’m not going to sleep tonight now.”

  “Rupesh’s right,” Steve said. “Even if it kind of fits with what we remember about him, it’s just a coincidence.”

  “What you remember,” Rupesh said. He slugged his drink.

  “You still haven’t told me what your criteria for changing your mind is, Rupesh,” I said. He glared at me. It cracked me up, which no doubt annoyed him more. “It probably is nothing. I just want to know we’re not just dismissing it because it might be a bit inconvenient and embarrassing to have to go and tell the police this stuff.”

  “Well, you can’t tell the police this,” Rupesh said. “They’d laugh you out of town. And if he started planning this in December when you wrote to us, it really doesn’t give him very long, does it? And let’s face it, Will wasn’t the most organised.”

  “Loch Ness was the end of January, that’s a month,” Jen said.

  “Look, this is getting boring now,” Rupesh said, “so I’ll tell you what you’d need. First, you’d need to find out if Will is around. Because, you know, if you can find him then he hasn’t really gone off radar, and that’s that. Second, find out what he’s been up to all these years, whether he’s been in bloody Broadmoor or just minding his own business. Get an idea of how bonkers the idea of him being a serial killer really is, using his life as context. And third, you’d need to connect those two suicides in the real world, outside our varying drunken recollections of something that happened well over fifteen years ago when we were equally drunk.”

  Rupesh’s forehead was glistening and his top two shirt buttons were undone. He was definitely drunk, if not a little beyond that.

  “There’s no variance in our accounts, though,” I said.

  “Exactly,” Jen said. “No one has disagreed with anyone else about what he said.”

  Rupesh had no response to that, or at least he wasn’t quick enough to put it into words.

  “Did anyone follow him when he was on social media?” I said. “Does anyone know anything about what he does for work or anything? Where he lives?”

  “He was in a mountain range somewhere at some point?” Steve said.

  “Trust me,” Jen said, “finding our exact Will Oswald on Google…”

  “His mum still lives locally,” I said, repeating what Mum had told me.

  “Same house?” Steve said. “The one up on the main road?”

  “No.” Rupesh’s eyes were half-eclipsed by his lids. He really was in trouble. “They moved to Meriden. And what, you want to perform a citizen’s arrest?”

  “Do you know where?” I said.

  “Not off the top of my head. I could find out, but not without breaking the law.”

  At once I understood. “They’re patients of yours?”

  “Rupesh,” Jen said, “what if something really serious was at stake.”

  “You think this is serious? It’s not worth my job.”

  “Well fine,” Jen said. “I’m sure we can find out for ourselves.”

  “Are you allowed to say if Will’s your patient?” I said.

  “Would you have access to any information if he was?” Steve said. “Like mental health records?”

  “No and no and no and no,” Rupesh said, hitting the table once again and surprising himself in the process. He was looking straight at Steve, as if this was his fault somehow. “Sorry, guys, but I think I’m done for the night.”

  After a moment Steve glanced down at his phone on the table and said, “It is getting late. Father Christmas will just fly past all our houses. It’s been amazing seeing you all again.” His eyes flicked my way.

  “Well, I don’t think I could go back to London without knowing for sure about Will,” Jen said.

  Rupesh let out a loud sigh which drew our attention. “You know the truly sad thing about nostalgia,” he said, “is that by indulging in it we’re openly admitting to dissatisfaction with the present.”

  “Merry Christmas, everyone,” Steve said. We all laughed except Rupesh.

  “Funny,” Rupesh said. “Anyway, that’s what my ex-wife said when I told her I was seeing you all. And I thought I’d share it.”

  No one spoke.

  “Well, I just wanted to see you all again,” Steve said.

  Rupesh looked like he might cry at that. Instead, he got to his feet, said cheerio, then walked out of the bar, holding up a farewell hand without looking back.

  When he was gone, Jen said, “Okay, that was an odd ending.” She laughed nervously.

  “Shit,” Steve said. “Was that my fault?”

  “It’s not your fault,” I said. “I think that ex-wife was very recent. He’ll be an emotional fucking powder keg.”

  “His dad was recent, too,” Jen said.

  “Hold on.” Steve’s tone was dark. “He’s not going to drive home like that, is he?” When no one replied, he got up. “I’ll go and see if he’s left yet,” he said and ran out of the bar. He came back a minute later shaking his head. “His Merc’s gone from The George.”

  “What if he crashes?” Jen said. “And the police will be everywhere at the moment.”

  “I can get my taxi to go back past Rupesh’s, make sure he’s okay,” Steve said. “It’s sort of on the way. I’m sure he’ll be fine. I can text you.”

  “Thanks, Steve,” Jen said. “Listen, are we all around here in the Midlands a while?”

  “I was planning on a few days tops,” Steve said, “but only if we ended up planning to do something else together.” Again, his eyes flicked towards me, then away.

  “I have a lot of family stuff on,” Jen said, “so I’m back until the New Year. I’d love an excuse to get away. We need to see if Will’s at his parents, right?” Steve and I swapped a look. “Just in case.”

  “I can stay a few days,” I said.

  We wouldn’t need to start recording scheduled podcast episodes again until the New Year, so there wasn’t a pressing need to go back. While the other two went to phone for taxis I worked out how long I could realistically afford to stay at the Travel Inn. Podcasting was a career now but it wasn’t a lucrative one. One more day, perhaps? I might have to bite the bullet and ask to stay with Mum and Dad. At least I’d already shown my face there.

  Steve came back first and sat down opposite me to finish his drink. He smiled. There was, of course, another option.

  “Where are you staying tonight?”

  “The Premier Inn at Marlstone, Adie.”

  Adie. How long had it been since I’d been called Adie? That was always my favourite.

  Come back to my room.

  A little self-tease, of course, but how would he react? I could say come back for coffee and maybe it would be hilarious.

  No, tonight was not the night if that was going to happen.

  “Am I mad, or was Rupesh a bit hostile towards me?” Steve said. “Honestly, did I say something?”

  “You? No, he was cross with everyone tonight. Don’t be such a narcissist.” He gave me a weak smile.

  Jen returned and retrieved her coat from the chair. “They’ll be here in five minutes apparently.” Lowering h
er voice, she said, “I don’t know about you two, but I’m terrified Will’s going to come and murder me in my bed.”

  Steve put his hands on her shoulders and stared into her eyes. I didn’t like it. “You’ll be fine. We’ll all wake up tomorrow and want to thank Rupesh for being so reasonable.”

  “Ha, fat chance,” Jen said. “I am worried about him.”

  The two of them hugged, then Jen turned to me and we hugged. Last of all Steve put his arms around me and I felt his cheek press against my head. When he moved away I wanted to pull him back.

  “I’ll let you know if I find those diaries,” Jen said. “And if you two remember anything else, you must let me know.”

  “Yes, Detective,” Steve said, and put his index and third finger together at his temple in salute.

  “Do you still write your diaries?” I asked.

  “No, God. I’d need a warehouse to store that many.”

  “Would be a lot of literature,” I said. “I still can’t get my head around how we’re all in our thirties now.”

  Nodding, Jen said, “Time is frightening when you notice it.”

  Adeline, 1997

  There is a knock on Adeline’s door Friday lunchtime, a week after the death of Steve’s dog. Will is standing on her doorstep in a rainbow-coloured tie-dyed T-shirt that is too big for him. Even slouched over he’s the same height as her.

  He says, “Steve has this thing he wants to ask you about. I said I’d stop in on my way over to let you know. You should come.”

  He aims the comment at her chest, and today Adeline isn’t wearing a T-shirt with a logo.

  Steve’s first question to her is: “What’s your handwriting like?”

  She is just on the inside of the door to Steve’s lounge, at the rear of his old farmhouse. The place needs fresh paint and a hoover, or perhaps just demolition. Will walks in from behind her and throws himself down on the three-person sofa next to Jen, freeing generations of dust particles in the process. They’re all watching Scooby Doo being chased by a purple ape on the TV.

  “More importantly, is it less shit than any of these?” Steve says and holds out a piece of paper to her. He seems more normal now, which she’s glad about.