PRAISE FOR DAVID JACKSON

‘Recalls Harlan Coben – though for my money Jackson is the better writer’

GUARDIAN

‘Hitchcockian suspense’

FINANCIAL TIMES

‘David Jackson is officially the King of One More Chapter’

JOANNA CANNON

‘A seriously creepy thriller’

MARK BILLINGHAM

‘A fast-paced and darkly disturbing thriller’

CLARE MACKINTOSH

‘A brilliantly chilling story with tension on every page’

T. M. LOGAN

‘Twisted, clever and funny. Highly recommended’

MARK EDWARDS

‘A contender for thriller of the year’

FIONA CUMMINS

‘Disturbing, blackly funny and completely compulsive’

ALEX NORTH

‘Clever, addictive and brazenly terrifying’

CHRIS WHITAKER

‘A brilliantly creepy, edge-of-your-seat, tense thriller’

WILL CARVER

‘An intense and compelling read’

LISA HALL

LOVE KILLS

DAVID JACKSON

Copyright © David Jackson 2024

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

For Lisa

1

Love is All Around – Wet Wet Wet

It begins, as these things often do, with a chance conversation in a bar.

Franklin B Goodman is looking for love. As soon as he walks through the door, he begins searching for it in the clientele. He sees a young couple, notices how they keep touching each other’s hands and raising knowing eyebrows. There is enough love there already. At the table next to them, an older pair contain their love in the quiet and dignified discussion of matters important only to them. Further along, a gaggle of four girls keeps breaking out in uproarious laughter. For them, love is in their indestructible friendship. And for a gang of five lads near the bar, football is the focus of their passion at the moment.

Love is everywhere, just the way Franklin B Goodman likes it.

But not quite everywhere. The anomaly is striking, as it always is. It jars his universe. It’s the single black cloud in an unbroken expanse of blue sky.

The man sits alone at the bar, cradling a pint of beer. His eyes are already heavy with alcohol. When he scratches his nose, the movement is slow and lacking certainty. He appears to be in his early thirties – at least ten years younger than Franklin. His grey suit is as sober as he is drunk. He looks at nothing except the patterns in the froth of his ale.

He’s the one, Franklin decides. There’s an aching there, a desperate sorrow. He needs help.

Franklin navigates to a spot just a couple of feet away from the man. Not so close as to provoke any discomfort but near enough to strike up a conversation. He signals the bartender and orders a pint of bitter. He doesn’t like beer, or any alcohol-based drinks for that matter, but it looks as though that’s what the loner has in front of him. Franklin is aware that people make instant judgements according to choice of tipple. If he ordered wine or a spirit, he would be instantly labelled as hailing from a different tribe. The pint will act as his membership card. He is even willing to discuss football or boxing, if that’s what it takes. He reads the sports pages for that reason alone.

‘Cheers,’ he says to the man, then takes a long draught of the amber fluid. The foul taste makes him want to regurgitate it immediately, but he puts on a show of smacking his lips in apparent satisfaction.

He points to a stool next to him. ‘Anyone sitting here?’ he asks. It’s a question that begs one of two responses: a straight one, or a sarcastic one such as ‘Yeah, the ghost of my mother-in-law.’ Either way, it will tell him a lot about the man’s attitude and how much work will be required here.

The man plays it down the line. ‘No. Go for it.’

Franklin hitches himself up onto the stool. The man pays him no attention. He just stares straight ahead, both hands encircling his glass protectively.

‘This is a nice place,’ Franklin says. ‘Good atmosphere.’ He raises his glass. ‘Not a bad pint, either.’

‘It’s all right,’ says the man.

He’s not making this easy, Franklin thinks. But then sometimes love requires a lot of effort. Love deserves that effort.

His bet is on a woman. Love comes in many forms: for a god, for riches, for fame, for power. But in this case, he would stake everything on it being a woman. Personally, he wouldn’t know what that feels like, but he can recognise the signs. He’s done the research.

‘Having a good night?’ he asks. Of course, he knows the answer is negative. The question is whether the man will admit as much.

‘I’ve had better.’

A crack. The first chink. Something that can be prised open.

‘Yeah? What happened? Your horse fall at the final fence?’

‘Something like that,’ the man says, sealing the fissure again.

‘I’m just escaping the missus,’ Franklin tells him. ‘She’s in a foul mood tonight.’

Which will have three effects. First, it will reassure the man that Franklin is as hetero as they come, and that this isn’t an attempt to chat him up. Second, it moves things onto the topic of female partners – a subject that this man is bursting to talk about, even though he hasn’t realised it yet. Third, it says, I know your pain, brother. I will get where you’re coming from. So, share.

‘What’d you do?’ the man slurs. ‘Forget her birthday?’

‘If only. I could understand something like that. I mean, that would definitely be a pretty unforgivable mistake. But no. You want to know what it was?’

‘What?’

‘The dishwasher. I forgot to switch on the dishwasher. A simple error, right? Anyone could do it. I mean, it’s not as if I forgot everything. I cleared the plates and rinsed them, I loaded them into the dishwasher, I put in the little tablet thing. I just forgot to set the program. That’s not the worst thing in the world, is it? Anyone could do that. But she didn’t see it that way. She wanted a particular cup – because any old cup wouldn’t do, would it, oh no – and it wasn’t clean, and she freaked out. Over a cup. A fucking cup!’

He lets his mock fury build until it shines so brightly it cannot fail to penetrate this drunkard’s thick fog. The expletive at the end almost chokes him – he detests swearing – but he has found it to be a price worth paying to gain acceptance in male company.

‘Jesus!’ says the man. ‘Women!’

‘Tell me about it. You know what I mean, don’t you? I mean, you’ve been there, right?’

‘Oh, yeah. I’ve been there. Don’t know any man who hasn’t been there.’

He clams up again. Raises his glass and takes a good long swallow. Franklin notices he’s wearing a ring on his wedding finger. It’s not the conventional gold band but a silver ring with a gemstone.

‘The thing is,’ Franklin says, ‘it gets worse over time. When we got married, we hardly ever argued. Now, though, I’d say we argue at least once a day. And almost always over trivial things. Today it was the dishwasher. Yesterday it was about whose turn it was to fill the car with petrol. And that’s another thing. I’m not allowed to forget stuff, but her own memory is conveniently flexible when it suits her. I fill the car up all the time. I mean, all the time. She, on the other hand, just happened to fill it last week. In her mind, that means it must be my turn again. Would you call that reasonable?’

The man shakes his head but stays silent.

‘Sometimes I think I should do a trade-in for a newer model.’

‘Your car?’ the man asks.

‘No. My wife. I wouldn’t, though. The weird thing is that, despite all the arguments, I’m still crazy about her. I’d never get rid of her. Well, not unless she cheated on me or something.’

Franklin notices how the man’s face instantly sours, and that his response is to take another massive swig of alcohol in an attempt to rearrange it again.

‘Don’t be so sure she wouldn’t,’ the man says.

Ah, thinks Franklin. We’ve found the nerve. We’ve drilled through the enamel and found that sensitive little nerve.

‘What do you mean?’ he asks, all innocent.

‘They cheat. Women. They’re no different from men in that regard.’

‘Yeah, I know. Not my wife, though. Not Camilla.’ He doesn’t know why he chose that name for his imaginary spouse. Perhaps something he’d seen in the news.

The man issues a scornful laugh. He seems not to care that it might be taken as an insult. ‘How would you know?’

‘I’d know,’ says Franklin. ‘Believe me, I’d know.’

‘That’s what I thought. About my girlfriend.’

Girlfriend. So not married, then?

‘She cheated on you?’ Franklin injects a calculated amount of incredulity into his question, as though to challenge the temerity of the woman.

The man opens his mouth, then seems to think again now that the accusation has been stated in such bald terms.

‘Well, I can’t prove it, but I’m pretty fucking sure. It’s the only thing that would explain her behaviour.’

‘Her behaviour?’

‘Yeah. With this other guy.’ He says ‘other guy’ in a way that makes it the worst insult ever uttered.

‘Ah,’ says Franklin. The third-party scenario. It crops up time and time again. He could write a book on it. ‘You know him?’

‘Not really. She works with him. Too closely for my liking.’

‘But you think it’s more than that? More than just work, I mean?’

‘I do.’

‘Have you talked to her about it?’

The man gestures to the space around him. ‘Why do you think I’m here by myself? To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t even going to bring it up with her. Like I said, I didn’t have any proof or anything. But she kept mentioning him. Kept talking about him like he was the only person in her life. Wouldn’t you find it a little insulting if your wife kept talking about some other guy? Course you would. So I asked her.’

‘You came right out and asked her? Did she deny it?’

‘Naturally. What else was she going to do? Only, the way she denied it was… excessive, do you know what I mean? What’s the phrase, the Shakespeare thing?’

‘Methinks the lady doth protest too much?’

The man snaps his fingers in the air, then points at Franklin. ‘Abso-fucking-lutely. That’s exactly what methinks. The way she was yelling, you’d think I was the one who’d been sleeping around. That’s a guilty conscience if ever I saw one.’

Franklin bobs his head with a lack of conviction. ‘Maybe. On the other hand, maybe she just reacted badly to what you were saying about her.’

The man leans his head back to peer beneath his drooping eyelids. ‘Whose fucking side are you on, pal?’

Franklin shows his palms. ‘Yours. I’m just saying that it can be easy to jump to conclusions sometimes. I’ve done it myself: thinking the worst when actually there’s nothing to be worried about.’

The man continues to study him with an unfocused gaze, then returns his attention to his almost-empty glass. ‘Ah, what the hell am I talking to you for, anyway? You don’t even know if your wife’s shagging someone else right now.’

This time the insult wears less of a disguise, but Franklin knows not to react badly.

‘Actually, I do. I know I can trust her. And if I didn’t trust her, I’d know how to get the proof before I confronted her.’

The man faces him again. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘I’m talking about relationships. This is kind of my area of expertise.’

‘Oh, Christ. You’re not one of them, are you?’

‘One of which?’

‘Marriage guidance counsellors, or whatever you call yourselves these days. Poking around in people’s affairs and telling them what they need to do to keep their spouses happy in bed, and all that shit.’

Franklin dredges up a smile. ‘No, that’s not what I meant. I don’t really like all that touchy-feely stuff.’

‘Me neither. So, what are you then?’

‘I’m a private investigator.’

The man stares at him for at least five seconds before releasing a guffaw of laughter.

‘Not the reaction I was expecting,’ Franklin says, although in fact he was completely prepared for such a display of disbelief. People who go around saying they are private detectives are usually living in a fantasy world.

‘That’s a good one,’ the man says, still chuckling. ‘A private detective. Ha! Love it!’

‘No, seriously. I am.’

‘What, you’re telling me you’re a private dick?’

‘Well, I prefer not to be called a dick, but yeah.’

‘A PI? Like that one from the old TV series with the big moustache?’

‘You mean Magnum?’

‘Actually, I was thinking of Miss Marple.’ The man laughs uproariously at his own joke, slapping his palm on the bar counter. It’s probably the most entertained he’s been all day.

Franklin reaches into his inside pocket and pulls out his wallet. He thumbs through the many business cards it contains – one for each of his many fake identities. He has in fact taken on the mantle of a relationship counsellor before now. He has also been an airline pilot, a cancer specialist, an international banker, a psychotherapist, a fitness coach, a plastic surgeon, and – for the benefit of one woman who had lost all faith in men – a gay dog groomer, that being a gay groomer of dogs rather than a groomer of gay dogs (and, to be accurate, the word ‘gay’ never actually appeared on the business card).

Franklin locates the card he’s looking for and passes it across. The man takes it and does his best to aim his eyes at the writing.

‘Franklin B Goodman. That’s quite a name. What does the B stand for?’

‘It’s like the S in Harry S Truman.’

The man squints at Franklin. ‘Huh?’

‘It doesn’t stand for anything. It’s just a letter.’

‘People do that?’

‘Sometimes.’

The man studies the card again. ‘Franklin B Goodman. Private Investigator. Our Eyes are everywhere. How many are in your firm?’

‘Actually, I work alone. Wouldn’t sound the same if I put My Eye is everywhere.’

The man goes to hand the card back, but Franklin says, ‘You can keep it if you think you’ll be needing my services.’

‘And why would I need your all-seeing eye?’

‘You just said, didn’t you? About your girlfriend?’

‘What? Wait… what? You’re not actually suggesting…’

Franklin shrugs, like it’s no big deal. ‘It’s what I do. You’re worried about your girlfriend, right? Well, I could check it out for you. Let you know one way or another. It shouldn’t take long. Discretion guaranteed.’

The man seems to be mulling over the idea, but then he tosses the card onto the counter. ‘Nah. It’s crazy. Forget it. I don’t do that kind of thing.’

Franklin takes the card and drops it into the side pocket of his jacket. ‘No problem. It’s not for everyone. Listen, can I get you a beer?’

‘A beer?’

‘Yeah. Beats drinking alone.’

The man looks at his empty glass. ‘Okay. Thanks. I’ll have another pint of the IPA. But first I need a slash.’

He clambers down from his stool, and without its support almost goes crashing to the ground. Regaining his balance, he zig-zags his way to the toilets.

As soon as his companion has gone, Franklin quickly scans the beers on offer behind the bar. Everything on draught is designed to cause inebriation, and he doesn’t want to risk provoking the distrust of his drinking colleague by having a bottle of zero-alcohol beer placed in front of him.

He signals to the bartender, who scoots across. Franklin hands over his barely touched drink. ‘Do me a favour and throw that away, will you? Give me a pint of bitter shandy – more lemonade than beer. Can I also have a pint of IPA and a single vodka, please?’

The bartender works efficiently, but Franklin only just has time to toss the vodka into the IPA before the drunkard enters the room again. As the man completes the tricky manoeuvre of getting himself back onto his barstool, Franklin slides the adulterated drink in front of him, then raises his own.

‘Cheers,’ he says.

‘Up your bottom,’ says the man.

Franklin gulps down some of the gassy liquid. The sweetness makes it tolerable, which is useful because he’s realised he may be here for some time. His bait hasn’t been taken yet, but he feels he’s so near. He needs to dangle it again without being too obvious about it. This might be a time for a change of topic, to act as an interlude.

‘I bet you get some interesting cases,’ says the man.

Or maybe we’ll stick with this, Franklin thinks.

‘Actually, most of it is pretty mundane, although I have had one or two strange ones. A few months ago, there was a woman who had this really overweight cat. She hired me to find out if one of her neighbours was feeding it when it went outside.’

‘And were they?’

‘Yup. Giving it all kinds of treats.’

‘What did she do when you told her?’

‘That’s the funny bit. She went to her neighbours’ house to have it out with them, only she left her front door open, and the cat got out and was hit by a car.’

The drunk nearly spits out his much-loved beer. ‘That is fucking hilarious!’

‘Yeah, it’s one of the more memorable cases.’

When he’s finished laughing, the man becomes more contemplative.

‘What you were saying earlier – about checking up on someone?’

‘Yeah?’

‘How would you go about that? I mean, what would you do, exactly?’

Here we go, Franklin thinks. He’s biting.

‘Surveillance, mainly. I’d follow the target. Take photographs. Other stuff, if the client wants it and is willing to pay for it.’

‘What kind of other stuff?’

‘Well, there are things we can do that some people might regard as a little… shady, if you get what I mean.’

The man nods knowingly but then says, ‘Actually, I’m not sure I do.’

Franklin looks around himself, as if to check that nobody else is listening. ‘I’m talking about phone hacking, internet hacking, that kind of thing. Patient records, bank records, emails…’

‘You can do all that?’

‘And a lot more. We live in a digital age, my friend. Data is permanent.’

In fact, Franklin has no idea how to do any of these things. What he does know is that the man in front of him believes every word.

The man takes another swig of his beer and vodka cocktail. Franklin sips at his shandy and awaits the next move.

‘I wouldn’t want to get involved in anything illegal,’ the man says.

‘Of course not. My number one priority is my client. I make sure they stay protected. Sometimes that involves keeping them in the dark about my methods. The only thing the client needs to know is the answer to their question.’

‘Their question?’

‘Yeah. Is their husband or wife cheating on them? Is an employee committing fraud? Is a care-worker assaulting the elderly? Is a benefit claimant fitter than he says he is? I’m paid to find out the truth, that’s all. What the client does with that truth is up to them.’

‘Is what you do expensive?’

‘My standard rates are reasonable. Some of the special little services I mentioned earlier cost a bit extra.’

The man drinks some more. A smile creases his lips. ‘I’d really like to know what she gets up to.’

‘Your girlfriend?’

‘Yeah. Only…’

‘Go on.’

‘Nah. Forget it. You wouldn’t take on this case even if I wanted to hire you.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Because she’s different.’

‘Different how? I’ve investigated hundreds of people. She can’t be anything I haven’t come across before.’

‘That’s what you think.’

‘Then go ahead, tell me about her.’

‘I could do that, but I guarantee you won’t be interested. I could summarise her in just four little words, and that’s all it will take to put you off.’

Franklin is intrigued now. Massively so. He hopes this isn’t just the drunk’s idea of a stupid game.

‘Four words? Okay, try me. Tell you what, I’ll buy another round of drinks if I refuse to take on the case because of it. If I’m still willing to take the case, you buy the drinks.’

Franklin feels confident he’s on to a winner. Doesn’t matter what gets said now, this is going to happen. He puts out his hand.

The drunk shakes it to seal the deal. ‘All right,’ he says. ‘Here’s my girlfriend in four words.’

He pauses for dramatic effect, like he’s about to announce the winner of a competition.

And then he says, ‘Detective Constable Megan Webley.’

2

All You Need Is Love – The Beatles

Two o’clock in the morning. Franklin B Goodman strolls through the streets of Liverpool’s city centre, feeling the love and musing on his good fortune.

A police officer! Well, well, well. That makes things doubly interesting. He has never worked his magic on a police officer before. The closest he came was with a man who claimed to work in ‘high-level security’; it turned out that he just monitored the shoplifting cameras at Tesco.

If he’s to be honest, Franklin must confess that he was a little concerned at first. So much so that he almost allowed the drunkard to win his little bet. A cautionary voice whispered to him to play safe, to seek less dicey candidates.

But then he thought, why should he? Why is this Megan Webley any less deserving of love, simply because of her occupation? For him to turn his back on her because of that would be cowardly. She needs him, as does Parker.

He found the name out later. He thought initially that the man was supplying his surname, but no, that’s his first name, blame the parents.

The information flowed more freely as Parker became increasingly inebriated. Despite winning the wager, Franklin insisted on buying most of the drinks. That way he could control their respective alcohol intake. By the end of the session, he had managed to winkle out from Parker where he and Megan live and work. He maintained a demeanour that was both professional and objective, but at the same time he avoided any explicit reference to his being hired as a private investigator. That was a given, at least in his own mind. Whatever hazy recollections Parker might have about the evening, he will soon learn how concrete the arrangement is.

Franklin continues his night-time meander. The air is much cooler now, but groups of girls stagger past dressed in mere scraps of material. Drunken males shout and leer and laugh. One young man falls and bangs his head on the pavement. His comrades cheer, then haul him to his feet and drag him away. Despite the blood pouring from his head, he seems as joyful as the others.

Franklin feels no fear or intimidation, even though he is unfamiliar with this city. Raucous though its revellers are, they mean him no harm. When they shout to him, he smiles and waves back and they give him the thumbs-up. When they stop him and invite his opinion on Liverpool’s chances in the game at Anfield this coming Saturday, they seem in full agreement with his predicted score and continue on their merry way.

It’s love, of course, Franklin thinks. That’s why they are all so happy. Doesn’t matter that they’ve been drinking. He has seen time and time again how alcohol can intensify love and free it from the shackles of inhibition. It’s not for him, though. The small amount he allowed into his system when befriending Parker was enough to make his reasoning less sharp, his mind overcast and filled with thoughts that usually creep out only in his darkest moments. He is glad that his walk has cleared his head again, solidifying his purpose. That purpose being the helping hand he will extend to Parker and his girlfriend.

Well, ‘girlfriend’ in the loosest sense of the word.

It became clear during their discussions that Parker wasn’t entirely accurate in his portrayal of the relationship with Megan. Turns out they were once engaged, and in the spirit of equality Megan insisted they both have rings, but she later threw her own ring back at Parker when he questioned her feelings towards a previous boyfriend. What makes the situation even more complex is that said ex-boyfriend is also a copper – the sergeant in her unit, to be precise.

He’s an interesting one, is DS Nathan Cody. According to Parker, who in turn heard this from Megan, Cody has, to put it politely, ‘issues’. To Franklin, that just makes this case even more attractive. He could have fun with this. All in the name of spreading the love, of course.

As though to confirm his thoughts, a scantily clad hen party bundles out of one of the many nightspots in Concert Square. As they clatter down the steps in their heels, they sing All You Need is Love at the tops of their voices. Franklin smiles and watches them go. He almost wants to run after them and attempt to share their joy, but he knows that would be a mistake. He accepted long ago that his role in life is to help others experience the love denied to him.

An hour later, on a narrow, poorly lit side street, he thinks about calling it a night. It has been a successful few hours, but now he is tiring, and there is much to do tomorrow.

As he reaches a junction, he hears raised voices. But there is no friendship in these voices, no amusement, no elation. These are voices filled with hate and anger and threat. They run contrary to all that Franklin wants in this world.

He halts at a concrete pillar and peers around it. On a small forecourt in front of a garage on the adjoining street, a young couple are arguing fiercely.

‘You kissed him!’ the man yells in her face. ‘You fucking sucked his face off!’

‘No, I never,’ the woman protests. ‘Where did you get that from?’

‘You were seen, girl.’

‘I wasn’t, ’cause it never happened. Seen where, anyway?’

‘In the club. Vicky saw you.’

‘Vicky? Oh, fuck off. Vicky’s a shit stirrer. She’s saying that because she hates me.’

‘Or because it’s true.’

‘It’s not true. Stop being such a wanker, Sean.’

‘Don’t call me a wanker, you fucking bitch.’

Franklin watches and listens. As the argument escalates, his heart sinks. Usually, he manages to maintain a sense of optimism, because most things can be fixed. All they need is the right touch. But sometimes a tipping point is reached. Relationships become so damaged they are irreparable. Franklin senses that this one is well down that slippery slope.

The love has gone here, he thinks. Its absence is leaving an ugly, gaping hole.

He is not surprised when the violence begins. Something had to fill the hole, and love is often replaced by its opposite.

She hits out first. A simple slap. A real man would accept the message of it and walk away, realising that continuance would be fruitless and damaging. But Franklin reads the atmosphere and knows that a starting pistol has been fired.

He sees the return slap from Sean, and then the way in which the girl launches herself at him with fingernails brandished, and then he sees the punches, the retaliatory blows that are as forceful as they are disproportionate, raining down on the woman even after she falls at his feet, continuing until she is barely conscious and moaning through her shattered jaw and teeth.

‘You asked for that!’ Sean screams at her in a pathetic attempt to justify his actions. ‘You fucking asked for it!’

He makes no attempt to tend to her. He does not even apologise. He simply turns his back on her and marches stiffly away, fury still knotting his muscles.

As Sean heads his way, Franklin secretes himself behind the pillar. His heart rate is normal, his breathing calm. The outbreak of violence has not caused any measurable rush of adrenaline within him, and he is not afraid for his own safety. His only emotion is a profound sense of loss, and even that is quickly washed away by a crystal-clear understanding of what must happen next.

He waits for the man to come past him, and then he says in a measured tone, ‘You shouldn’t have done that, Sean.’

Sean whips around, clearly startled. He narrows his eyes at the figure in the shadows.

‘Who are you?’ He takes a step closer, his fists bunching. ‘Who the fuck are you?’

Franklin doesn’t move. He keeps his gaze fixed on Sean. ‘I saw what you just did to that girl. You went too far, Sean.’

Another step forwards. ‘What the fuck’s it got to do with you, dickhead?’

‘Everything. It’s got everything to do with me. We all share this planet. We need to be nice to each other. We need to love each other.’

Sean shakes his head. ‘You’re mental, you are. Go on, piss off!’

He starts to turn away but stops when Franklin says, ‘I can’t do that, Sean. You need to be shown where you went wrong. You need to learn by your mistakes.’

Sean squares up to him again. ‘Oh, yeah? You going to do that, are you? You going to teach me a—’

Franklin feels he has wasted enough time on this loveless degenerate. He whips his right arm round from behind his back and swings it in a wide arc at Sean’s head. In his hand is a beer bottle he picked up a minute ago from the ground next to the concrete pillar. There is a loud cracking noise as the bottle collides with Sean’s skull, and Franklin isn’t sure which of the two has broken, so he uses the bottle as a club for a second time, and now it smashes, and Sean drops to the pavement amid a cascade of glass fragments. But Franklin hasn’t finished, and what he does is to jab the open jagged end of the bottle into Sean’s face and the hands that are trying to protect that face, and he ignores the screams, but just keeps on jabbing until Sean’s prior good looks have been macerated into a sea of red, raw flesh, and for good measure Franklin aims a few kicks at Sean and then jumps on his chest a couple of times, splintering his ribcage.

Franklin looks down at the wheezing figure, pink froth bubbling out of his shredded lips, and then he uses his sleeve to wipe his fingerprints from the bottle before dropping it on the head of the man, causing him to eject another moan.

Franklin turns and crosses over to the garage. The girl has moved from the ground and is now sitting on a low wall, cradling her shattered face in her hands as though to hold it together.

‘Hey,’ he says to her. ‘You okay?’

In her drunken, battered state she seems not to notice his question. She sobs and sniffs, blood trickling through her fingers and down the back of her hand.

‘Let me take a look at that,’ he says.

When she still doesn’t acknowledge his presence, he touches her gently on the top of her head.

‘Come on, let me see.’

She lifts her head, lowers her hands. Mascara-laden tears have dribbled down her cheeks and mingled with the crimson around her mouth. Her jaw juts to one side at an unnatural angle. One of her front teeth is hanging from its socket by a flimsy glistening thread.

‘He did quite a job on you, didn’t he? You’re going to need a trip to the hospital.’

‘No,’ she says, her jaw all over the place as she speaks, ‘I don’t need to go to—’

His punch is sudden and powerful. It hits the girl on the bridge of her nose, crunching the cartilage and spreading the now unsupported bulge of flesh across her cheeks. She falls backwards off the wall and her head cracks against the concrete. She lies twitching on the forecourt, her eyes rolled back into her skull.

‘Yes,’ Franklin says. ‘You definitely need a hospital.’

She had to take her share of the blame, Franklin thinks. She wasn’t as innocent as she made out. Her denial about kissing someone else didn’t entirely ring true. You can’t treat love like that. You can’t act as though it doesn’t matter – not unless you’re prepared to face the consequences.

Franklin yawns loudly. All this exertion has made him even more tired. He resumes his stroll homeward. As he walks, he whistles the tune that the hen party girls were singing earlier.

All You Need is Love.

3

Where Is the Love? – Black Eyed Peas

DC Megan Webley often thinks about how she ended up like this.

She was brought up in the suburb of Walton, the daughter of a plumber, with no real life plan but possessed of a strong sense of right and wrong. She drifted through school and tried a string of poorly paid and soul-destroying jobs before a friend suggested that her innate hunger to combat injustice would be best served by a role in the police force. In a last-ditch attempt to find something she might actually stick at, she joined up.

She has no regrets – not about her career choice, anyway; her taste in men is a different matter altogether – but occasionally it all seems a bit surreal.

Like now, for example.

The house is a secluded and detached property in the village of Caldy. From Liverpool, if you cross the Mersey through either of its tunnels and keep on going, you eventually hit Caldy on the western edge of the Wirral peninsula, overlooking the River Dee. It’s an exclusive area. Massive houses with massive gardens. Lots of sandstone walls. Rafael Benítez made it his home when he was managing the Liverpool team. Webley suspects there aren’t many police officers who could afford to live around here. It’s certainly nothing like the part of Walton in which she grew up.

She’d love a bedroom like this. Spacious, with a formidable oak door. A bed big enough to take a whole family. Built-in wardrobes with mirrored doors. An en-suite bathroom with lots of marble and a bidet. A deep-pile carpet that probably feels like walking on sponges.

Probably.

Because that’s one of the surreal things here. Webley didn’t get to the middle of this room by walking across the carpet. Nor did she hover with the aid of anti-gravity pants. She got here via the metal stepping plates leading from the doorway. And she didn’t come here simply to admire the furnishings and the decor. She came to view the person on the bed.

The dead person.

In most jobs, you don’t get to do this. You don’t drive to work, walk through the door and expect to find a corpse. In most jobs, that would be an unusual turn of events. Noteworthy, even.

For Webley, though, corpses are her bread and butter, so to speak. It’s in the job description for members of the Major Incident Team. Unfortunately, it doesn’t always make death any easier to deal with.

The woman on the bed is beautiful. Was beautiful. There are enough photographs of her smiling face on the walls to attest to that. Webley would go as far to say that her looks were stunning.

Not now, though.

Hideous would be a more apt description now.

The dead woman’s name is Alexa Selby. She is wearing a short silk nightie. It has ridden up over her hips, exposing her nakedness beneath. Her legs are long and smooth, her toenails meticulously pedicured and painted. On the pillow next to her is a brass lamp. A corner of the lamp is coated with her blood, presumably from the wound to her head. The flex of the lamp is wound tightly around her neck – so tightly that it has sunk deep into her flesh, taking with it part of a gold necklace that carries a pendant formed from the intertwined letters A and O. Above that, Alexa’s face is swollen and purple. Her eyes and tongue bulge from her skull like over-ripe fruits. It is as though a gargoyle’s head has been clumsily transplanted onto the body of a princess.

Webley sighs, and is thankful for the forensic face mask that hides her expression from her colleagues. Sometimes the sadness and waste of murder manages to penetrate her professional veneer.

She realises that today is the first day of April, and she would like to imagine that this is some kind of elaborate Fools’ Day hoax – that Alexa Selby will suddenly leap from the bed and proclaim her success in hoodwinking them all.

But that’s not going to happen. Alexa’s time for pranks is over. And besides, it’s against the law to commit April Fools’ Day stunts after twelve noon.

Webley takes a look at the people around her, at the various experts simply getting on with the job at hand, and she wonders why she can’t be more like them today. All she wants to do is slide Alexa’s nightie back down over her hip, to afford her a little dignity. She resists the impulse, because it has been drummed into her not to interfere with a crime scene. The dead are not entitled to dignity.

Just outside the room, DS Nathan Cody is deep in conversation with his boss, DCI Stella Blunt. They are also dressed in white protective crime scene suits. Webley has thought a lot about Cody lately and wishes she could keep him out of her mind. It was always going to feel a bit weird working alongside her ex-boyfriend, but if that’s all there was to it, she knew she could push through it and come out unscathed.

But life decided she couldn’t be allowed to get off as lightly as all that.

She knows she has only herself to blame. Her first mistake was in being too good a listener. She let Cody open up to her about his horrific experiences, and about how it had affected him mentally. She found herself offering sympathy and guidance. She found herself caring for him again.

Fatal.

I should have walked away, she thinks. I should have pointed him towards counselling services and left him to it. But I didn’t, and now it’s too late. And so much has happened since then. Our lives have become so mingled, I don’t know how we will ever be able to free ourselves. If it hadn’t been for Cody, I might still be engaged to Parker.

But let’s not go there. Let’s not turn this into a period of self-pity. The woman lying in front of me has it a lot worse than I do. What’s done is done.

Except that it isn’t. Something has been going on in Cody’s life recently. He’s been acting in a way that’s weird even for him. She has tried asking him about it, but so far he hasn’t acquiesced. In a way, she’s glad about that. She’s not sure she wants to know what shady dealings he might be involved in. But at the same time, it stings a little that he no longer feels able to confide in her.

Oh, what the hell. Screw Cody, and screw his eccentric behaviour. Keep your mind on the job, Megan. There’s a murder to be solved here.

She retraces her steps out of the room and joins her colleagues gathered on the landing, which is bigger than her own living room.

‘Solved it?’ Blunt asks. Shrouded in her protective gear she appears even larger and more formidable than usual, but Webley knows there’s a gentle, caring side to her. Knows, too, that she has her own personal issues.

She looks at her boss in puzzlement.

‘You seemed deep in thought,’ Blunt explains. ‘Like you were weighing up all the clues, Columbo style.’

‘Oh. No. I was just thinking about how there’s no difference between us, really. A rich person is just a poor person with money. We all end up in the ground, or going up in smoke.’

Blunt raises her eyebrows. ‘Right. Well, I don’t think this is quite the right time for a philosophical debate, Megan, but now that you’ve got that off your chest, perhaps we can get to business.’ She turns to Cody. ‘Mrs Hernandez fit to talk?’

Cody nods. ‘I think so. She’s calmed down a bit now.’

‘Okay. The two of you, get what you can from her. I’ll see you back at the station.’

Blunt’s air of brisk efficiency is the shot in the arm that Webley needs. She heads downstairs, Cody trailing after her. Halfway down, she turns to him. ‘Who’s Mrs Hernandez?’

‘The cleaner. She found the body.’

Webley snorts. ‘Wish I could afford a cleaner. I can hardly afford cleaning products.’

‘That explains a lot.’

‘Cheeky sod. When’s the last time you had your hand down your U-bend?’

‘That’s a very personal question, isn’t it?’

‘Shut up, Cody.’

They find Mrs Hernandez in the conservatory, being consoled by a uniformed officer. A glass of water and a box of tissues sit on the coffee table in front of her. She is small and slight, her black hair pulled into a tight bun. She blinks constantly, as though she has a nervous tic.

Cody nods the uniformed officer away, then occupies the vacated seat.

‘Hello again, Mrs Hernandez. How are you feeling now?’

‘Better, a little.’ She has a strong Spanish accent.

‘This is my colleague,’ Cody says. ‘Detective Constable Webley.’

Webley gives her a broad smile. ‘This is a terrible situation. You must be devastated.’

Mrs Hernandez’s face betrays her lack of comprehension.

‘Upset,’ Webley says. ‘You must be upset.’

‘Yes. I am very sad. I like Mrs Selby very much.’

‘Do you come here every day?’

‘No. Not every day. Tuesdays and Fridays. Today is Friday.’

Webley taps her wristwatch. ‘What time did you get here?’

‘At about eleven o’clock. Normally, I come at nine o’clock, but today I have to take my son to the doctor. He has bad cough.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that. So, you arrived at eleven. What did you do then?’

‘I clean. I start downstairs, in the kitchen. Then I do other rooms. Later, I go upstairs.’

‘Did you go straight into the bedroom?’

‘No. I clean bathroom first.’

Cody interjects a question. ‘Did you notice anything unusual about the house? Anything different?’

‘No,’ she says, but then something occurs to her. ‘Yes. I see Mrs Selby’s car outside. Usually, it is not there. When I come into the house, I call out for her. I say, “Hello, it is me,” but she does not answer. So, I think she is not here.’

‘All right,’ Webley says. ‘So, you finished the bathroom, and then you went into the master bedroom, yes?’

Mrs Hernandez nods fearfully. ‘Yes.’

‘And that’s when you found Mrs Selby?’

Mrs Hernandez brings a hand to her mouth to stifle a sob. With her free hand, she makes the sign of the cross.

‘You knew she was dead, is that right?’

‘Yes. I know that. I know she is dead. She is all…’ Mrs Hernandez waves an open hand in front of her face, and Webley knows instantly what she still sees.

‘It’s all right. You’re doing really well. What did you do after you found her?’

‘I run downstairs and find phone in my bag. I call police.’

‘Good. You did the right thing. Did you tell anyone else?’

‘I try. I call Mr Selby, but he does not answer phone.’

‘Tell us about Mr Selby,’ says Cody. ‘Where should he be now?’

‘At work. He has shop.’

‘A shop? What kind of shop?’

‘He sells, uhm…’ Mrs Fernandez fingers the cross on the chain around her neck, and then points to her wedding ring.

‘Jewellery?’

‘Yes, jewellery. He makes them and he sells them in his shop.’

‘And where is the shop?’

‘Heswall.’

‘And what about Mrs Selby? Does she have a job?’

‘Yes. Small one. She does exercises.’ Mrs Hernandez moves her arms out to the sides and back again to illustrate her point.

‘Exercises? You mean a fitness class?’

‘Yes. Also in Heswall. The leisure centre. She was very healthy lady. But now…’ Tears well in her eyes, and Webley snatches a tissue from the box and passes it to her.

‘Did Mrs Selby have many visitors to the house?’

‘Visitors? No. Mr Selby, he does not like this. He is very, mm…’ She searches for the word, but it seems to escape her. She joins her arms in a circle in front of her chest for a brief moment, then breaks the circle to display an open palm to Cody, as if warding him off.

‘Protective?’

‘Si! Protective. He like people to see him with Mrs Selby but not to be close with her.’

Webley is starting to build a picture of Alexa Selby as a trophy wife – the jeweller’s shiniest trinket, constantly clipped to him and on display, to be admired but not touched. Such relationships infuriate Webley, whether they be the fault of a domineering and abusive husband or a submissive, gold-digging wife.

‘Did you ever hear them argue?’

‘Yes. He does not like her job. He say he does not want men staring at her in the class. But Mrs Selby, she say she needs to get out of the house and see other people. She tell me this.’

‘Did she seem unhappy when she told you these things?’

‘Yes. I think she was very sad person. Very beautiful but very sad.’

The remark stays with Webley. She and Cody continue to put their questions, but at the end of it all, Webley is still in philosophical mood.

Alexa had money, thinks Webley. She had money, she had beauty, she had a gorgeous house, she had a handsome husband. But what is all that without happiness? What is all that without love?

Without those things, what is the point of life?

4

Can’t Buy Me Love – The Beatles

They pull into a council car park behind Heswall Library, a drive of just over ten minutes from the Selby house. The marked police car eases in next to them. They have come in force because there is a distinct possibility that Oliver Selby is the one responsible for his wife’s murder, and that, if guilty of said crime, he might not be willing to surrender without a fight.

‘Good library, this,’ Cody says as he turns off the engine. ‘Nice bookshop up the road, too. Linghams, it’s called.’

Webley stares at him. ‘How are you such a bookworm? I don’t know any copper who’s as bookish as you.’

Cody smiles. ‘Their loss. Books take you anywhere you want to go, in space and time.’

‘What are you, Doctor Who, now?’

‘Seriously. You should try it.’

‘Hey! I read. I just don’t have bookshelves everywhere like you do. I prefer to keep my walls free for the occasional photograph or painting or mirror. How many books have you got in that flat of yours, anyway?’

‘Dunno. Never counted them.’

‘That’s because it would take you all year. Fire hazard, if you ask me.’

They climb out of the car, while two burly uniformed officers get out of their own vehicle. They walk down to the jeweller’s on Telegraph Road. Webley’s eye is caught by all the shiny things in the window.

‘Now this is more my kind of shop,’ she says. ‘You can keep your musty old books.’

‘What are you going to learn from a diamond necklace?’ Cody sneers.

‘I will learn everything I need to know about the man who buys it for me,’ she says.

Cody stares at her. ‘You are joking, aren’t you?’

‘Of course I am. Unless you’re about to buy it for me, in which case I’m not.’

Cody peers at it through the window. ‘How much?’ he says, his voice unnaturally high. ‘Dream on, Megs.’

She smiles. She likes it when he calls her Megs. Parker is the only other person who ever calls her that. Neither of them is likely to buy her a diamond necklace, though.

‘Right,’ says Cody. ‘Let’s do this.’

They open the shop door and pile in. At the reception desk, a woman who seems only a short hop beyond her teens blinks at the incoming mob. She appears intrigued rather than alarmed – exhilarated, almost, by the prospect of becoming entangled in a police raid. Through a glass pane behind the woman, Webley can see two men at workbenches in the adjoining room, busy fashioning or polishing items of jewellery. They remind her of the green-clad elves she saw in a picture book when she was a child.

See, Cody, she thinks. I do read.

‘Sorry to bother you,’ says Cody, flashing his ID. ‘We’re with the Major Incident Team at Merseyside Police.’

‘Ooh,’ says the woman. ‘That sounds exciting.’ She rises from her chair and comes around the desk. Webley decides that it’s more of a slink than a walk. Totally unnecessary.

The woman puts out a hand. ‘I’m Leah. How can I help you?’

Cody seems taken aback by the welcome, but he shakes the proffered hand. ‘Er, I’m Detective Sergeant Cody, and this is DC Webley.’

Webley notices that even the explicit introduction doesn’t cause the receptionist’s eyes to leave Cody’s.

‘Pleased to meet you, Sergeant Cody. I’ve never met a real detective before.’

‘No? Well, we’re looking for—’

‘I tell a lie. There was that time my mum had her purse stolen in the market. I was only about seven or eight. She dragged me down to the police station to make a complaint, and she insisted on talking to a detective before we left.’

‘That’s very interesting. Now if we could—’

‘Nice man, he was. He asked me what I wanted for Christmas, and I told him—’

Webley decides to step in. ‘We’re looking for Oliver Selby. Is he here?’

Leah turns towards Webley as though she’s finally realised she’s in the room.

‘Oliver? No, he hasn’t been in today. Or yesterday, for that matter. Which is a nuisance because I’ve been trying to get hold of him. Mrs Reynolds ordered a ring that was supposed to be—’

‘Mind if we search the place?’

‘No. Go ahead.’

Webley nods to the two uniforms, who immediately disappear into the back room. She hears muted conversation, doors being opened and closed, the thudding of boots on the staircase.

Webley notices that Leah’s gaze is still glued to Cody. It annoys her that she’s bothered by it.

‘Has he done something wrong?’ Leah asks. ‘Oliver, I mean.’

‘We don’t know yet,’ Cody says. ‘But we need to speak to him urgently. When’s the last time you saw him?’

‘Day before yesterday.’

‘Here, at work?’

‘Yes. You know, you seem awfully young to be a detective.’

Webley wants to roll her eyes. She has heard statements like this so many times. Never gets said to her, though, even though she’s slightly younger than Cody.

Cody clears his throat. ‘How did he seem?’

‘Who?’

‘Mr Selby.’

‘Oh, the usual. You know.’

‘Actually,’ Webley says, ‘we don’t know. What does the usual mean?’

‘Well, I suppose the best way to describe him is business-like. He’s very into his work. I suppose that’s why he’s so successful.’

‘What makes you think he’s successful?’

The question seems to flummox Leah. She waves her arms to indicate the shop. ‘Well, look at this place. I often wonder how much all the stuff in here would add up to. Then there’s his car – that fancy Jaguar of his. Oh, and his house…’

‘Have you been to his house?’

‘Not inside, no. But I’ve driven past it. Makes where I live look like a shed.’

There’s another rumble of thunder as the two uniforms come back downstairs and into the shop. One of them shakes his head at Cody.

‘Thanks, lads,’ Cody says. ‘You might as well head off.’

The officers exit the shop. Through the glass partition, Webley sees the two jewellers resuming their work.

‘Those two policemen are big blokes, aren’t they?’ Leah says. ‘I wouldn’t argue with them. Do you ever have to get aggressive with people, Mr Cody?’

‘I try to avoid it.’

‘Yes, but I’ll bet you can look after yourself when you need to.’

‘Well…’

‘Does this shop do good business, then?’ Webley asks.

Leah tears her eyes away from Cody. Doe eyes, Webley thinks. Or cow eyes. Yes, definitely more like a cow.

‘Not bad. Jewellery never goes out of fashion, does it? Birthdays, engagements, weddings, christenings – there’s always something. And if we can’t get hold of an item directly, Oliver can make pretty much anything you want. He’s very talented. He made a gorgeous pair of matching necklaces for him and his wife.’

Webley thinks about the necklace she saw on Alexa. The intertwined A and O – Alexa and Oliver.

‘What does he do when he’s here?’ Cody asks. He gestures to the partition. ‘Does he spend all his time in the workshop?’

Leah is all smiles again. ‘Not all his time. Often, he’ll come out to talk to a customer. He complains sometimes that he can’t get enough done in the workshop, so he’ll do it at home. I think he works very long hours.’

‘He works from home?’

‘Yes. Either making stuff or running his online business.’

‘His online business?’

‘Yes. He imports and exports gems. To be honest, I think that’s where he makes most of his money.’ She gives Cody a cheeky grin. ‘It’s always good to have a bit on the side, don’t you think?’

‘Have you met his wife?’ Webley asks.

Leah straightens up. Still looking at Cody, she says, ‘Oh, you’re married?’

‘Not him,’ Webley says. ‘Mr Selby.’

‘You mean Alexa? Yes, I’ve met her lots of times. She’s gorgeous. Have you seen her? She could be a model.’

Not any longer, Webley thinks.

‘When’s the last time you saw her?’

‘Oh, I don’t think she’s been in here for at least a couple of weeks. Why, has she gone missing as well?’

‘How did she seem when you saw her?’

‘I’m not sure what you mean.’

‘Well, was she acting like she always does? Was there anything strange about her behaviour?’

Leah shakes her head slowly. ‘No, I can’t say there was. She’s always very bubbly and lively.’ She lowers her voice. ‘I think sometimes she’s a bit too friendly for Oliver’s liking.’

‘In what way?’

‘Well, the other week, she was all over a customer, telling him how fantastic his taste in jewellery was, and how it looked so amazing on him. It seemed like a great PR job to me, but Oliver didn’t see it that way. He called her into the back office and told her to stay there while he dealt with the customer. She wasn’t very happy about it.’

‘This friendliness,’ says Cody, ‘is that all it was? I mean, did you ever get the impression that she was flirting with other men?’

Leah giggles in a way that seems exaggerated to Webley. ‘Oh, no. I wouldn’t put it like that. She’s just very warm and open. A people person – do you know what I mean? A bit like yourself, Detective.’

Ha, Webley thinks. Cody? A people person? Do me a favour.

‘So you never thought there might be any tension in their marriage?’

‘Not that I’ve seen. Like I say, Oliver doesn’t seem to like it when she gets a bit too friendly with blokes. Then again, he doesn’t exactly practise what he preaches. I mean, it never stopped him employing good-looking female staff.’

With that, Leah slides her bottom onto the edge of the desk and then crosses her legs, causing her skirt to ride up. Webley finally gives into temptation and allows her eyes to roll back into her head.

She says, ‘Has Oliver ever complained to you about Alexa?’

‘Oh no. Oliver never talks about his personal life. He’s always very professional when he’s on the premises.’

‘What about when he’s not on the premises? Where would he go if he’s not at home?’

‘Gosh, I don’t know. He might go to a bar or a restaurant of an evening, but I’ve never known him to be away from the shop for this long during the day.’

Cody gestures towards the men in the workshop. ‘Would either of them know where we might find Mr Selby?’

Leah pulls a face and lowers her voice again. ‘Doubt it. He doesn’t tell them anything. He just wants them to do their job and go home again. I don’t think they like him very much.’

‘All right. We’ll have a chat with them before we go. Thank you, Leah.’ Cody hands her one of his cards. ‘If you hear from Mr Selby, could you give me a ring on this number?’

Leah studies the card, then glances briefly at Webley. It’s a glance that tells Webley she would prefer this next bit to be private.

‘This is your direct number?’

‘Yes. My mobile is on there too.’

‘Lovely. I’ll make sure I don’t lose this. Never know when I might need a policeman to help me out.’

Something she spies on the card – perhaps a reminder that Cody had told her he was from the Major Incident Team – suddenly causes her to adopt a much more business-like tone.

‘I’m sorry,’ she says, ‘but is this something really serious?’

‘Yes, it is,’ Webley says firmly, glad that the receptionist seems finally to have grown up. ‘Alexa Selby was found dead this morning.’

Shock widens Leah’s eyes and her mouth. ‘Dead? Alexa? Oh, no… And you think that Oliver—’

‘We don’t think anything yet. We just need to find him.’

5

Tainted Love – Soft Cell

The leisure centre is a two-storey concrete-and-glass affair. Huge windows overlook the swimming pool, which is currently dotted with women in bright skull caps weaving up and down the lanes. Further expansive windows up on the first floor afford a view of a tai chi class, its participants flowing gently through their form in perfect synchrony. Well, all except one woman, whose moves remind Cody of the dance performed by Hugh Grant in Love Actually.

As the building’s automatic doors swish open and Cody and Webley enter, they pass two men walking jauntily in the opposite direction, each an ideal advertisement for healthy living.

‘You ever thought of joining a gym?’ Webley asks.

Cody flashes her an indignant look. ‘What makes you think I’m not already a member of one?’

‘Are you?’

‘Well, no. But then I’ve obviously already honed my body to peak physical perfection.’

‘Obviously.’

Webley looks around at the various posters displayed on the walls of the lobby, inviting her to embark on a journey to a fitter, happier life.

She says, ‘I quite fancy taking up karate or kung fu. Or maybe kick-boxing.’

‘Is this to fight off all the fellas coming after you?’

‘Chance’d be a fine thing.’

They reach the counter. On the other side of a glass partition, a middle-aged woman with hair crying out for conditioner raises her head and peers at them over the top of her spectacles.

‘Good afternoon. Can I help you?’

Cody opens up his wallet and presses it against the partition. ‘Police. Is there a manager or someone we can talk to?’

The woman waggles a finger at an open door. ‘I think Liam is in the office. Come through the turnstile and follow the corridor around to the second door. Not the first door, because that’s this one behind me. The second door.’

‘I think I’ve got that,’ Cody says. ‘Thank you.’

They take the prescribed route. When they knock and push open the door to the office – the second door – they find a young man seated behind a desk. He is wearing a white T-shirt, strained to breaking point by his muscles and emphasising his tan. Webley is willing to bet that he’s into surfing, skiing and staring into mirrors.

‘Merseyside Police,’ Cody says, once again holding out proof of his claim. ‘Are you Liam?’

‘Er, yeah. That’s me. Come in.’

As he says this, he stands up and closes the door connecting his office to the reception area. Then he removes his gym bag from one of the chairs so that the detectives can sit down. Webley can’t help noticing that he’s wearing minuscule shorts, and that they’re so tight they should squeak when he walks.

‘Take a seat, guys,’ he says, presumably not referring to his own derriere.

‘Thanks. I’m Detective Sergeant Nathan Cody and this is DC Megan Webley.’

‘Nice to meet you. Is everything okay?’

‘Nothing to worry about. We’re hoping you can help us out with some information.’

‘No probs. Detective Sergeant, eh? Wow. I thought you’d have to be a lot older to get to that position.’

Here we go, Webley thinks. And yet again, their interviewee seems to have eyes only for Cody. She wonders why he has become everyone’s poster boy while she has become so invisible.

‘I’m older than I look,’ Cody says. ‘Runs in my family.’

Liam nods enthusiastically. ‘Believe it or not, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately about joining the police. Don’t get me wrong, this job is ace – I like the people, and I get to use all the equipment for free – but it’s not exactly what you’d call exciting, if you know what I mean. Whereas your job…’

Cody smiles. ‘I suppose it has its moments. But there’s a lot of tedious stuff too.’

‘Oh, for sure. Every job has that, right? But you guys are out there, catching criminals, solving cases. That’s pretty damn cool.’

He stares at Cody in admiration. Webley wants to put her fingers down her throat.

‘So anyway,’ she says, ‘the reason we’re here…’

‘Oh. Yeah. Go ahead.’

‘We’d like to ask you about a woman who runs one of your exercise classes. Alexa Selby.’

‘Alexa, yeah. She does Bodcon.’

‘Bodcon?’

‘Body conditioning. It’s kind of an overall fitness and toning programme. Very popular.’

‘Okay. And when did she last do that?’

‘That would’ve been yesterday. I bumped into her on the stairs as she was going in.’ He pauses. ‘Is she all right?’

Webley leaves it to her sergeant to answer.

‘Actually, no,’ says Cody. ‘I’m afraid she’s been killed.’

Liam looks at each of the detectives in disbelief. ‘Killed? Oh, shit. How? An accident?’

‘No. We can’t go into detail right now, but it wasn’t an accident. She was found dead at home earlier today. At the moment we’re just trying to gather as much information as we can about her. How well did you know her?’

‘Not very well at all.’ He breaks off again, clearly finding it difficult to process the information he has been given. ‘Sorry, guys, but if it’s not an accident… are we talking about murder here?’

‘It looks that way.’

‘Shit. I… I don’t— I mean I didn’t really know her. We just said hello, maybe had a brief chat about the weather or whatever. Sometimes we had to discuss admin issues. That was about it. Still terrible news, though.’

‘Any of the other staff here friendly with Alexa?’

‘Not that I know of. I think she just turned up, gave her class and went again.’

‘Did she ever talk to you about her family or friends?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Ever mention her husband?’

Liam shakes his head. ‘I never really got to know anything about her personal life. I mean, she wore a wedding ring, but I never met the guy. I don’t even know his name.’

Webley finds it interesting that he noticed the presence of a wedding ring. She wonders if it’s always one of the first things men look for on an attractive woman.

‘It’s Oliver. Oliver Selby. That doesn’t ring a bell?’

‘Sorry.’

‘Okay. We’d like to speak to people who attended her exercise classes. Can you give us lists of names and contact details?’

‘Sure. I can print that off for you now.’ He turns to his computer and begins mouse-clicking. ‘Do you want current ones and past ones?’

‘Please.’

‘No probs.’

While he continues to gather the data, Webley puts another question. ‘Is it all women in those classes?’

‘Mostly, but you’d be surprised. We do get a few guys turning up too. And most of them are serious about getting into shape.’

Webley frowns. ‘Most of them? But not all?’

Liam stops what he’s doing. ‘Well, I don’t want to give you the wrong impression about what we do here. But there was this one guy. To be honest, I think he only signed up to drool over the women in Lycra. Alexa, especially.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Alexa was the one who reported him. She said he wasn’t really putting the effort in, and that he was constantly eyeing up her and the other women. And then he would start coming up to her at the end of the classes and making suggestive remarks.’

‘What kind of remarks?’

Liam appears a little uncomfortable. ‘You know. Personal stuff. About her body and how she looked. About how fit and flexible she was. What she would look good wearing. That kind of thing.’

‘What happened after Alexa reported him?’

‘We kicked him out. We take stuff like that very seriously. We revoked his membership and barred him from the centre. Never saw him again after that.’

‘When was this?’

‘Oh, about two weeks ago.’ He holds up a finger while he turns to his computer again. ‘Just a sec…’

He busies himself at the keyboard again. Seconds later, a printer on top of one of the filing cabinets whirrs into life. Liam offers Webley another view of his figure-hugging shorts while he fetches the printouts. Returning to his desk, he staples the sheets together and then runs a yellow highlighter through one of the lines of text before handing the document across.

‘That’s him,’ Liam says. ‘Skinny little guy. Way out of Alexa’s league.’

6

Skinny Love – Bon Iver

The man’s name is Toby Hooper. Although the priority for the detectives lies in tracking down Oliver Selby, they cannot ignore the possibility that Toby or someone else could have been responsible for Alexa’s murder. They go to his home that evening – a grim-looking flat above a clothes shop in Irby.

‘You should grow a beard,’ Webley says as they approach the flat’s separate door on the side of the building.

Cody turns to her. ‘Why should I grow a beard?’

‘To make you look a little older than twelve. Everyone comments on it.’

‘Can’t help it. It’s in my genes.’

‘Well, it makes me feel ancient, even though I’m younger than you.’

Cody studies the intercom box on the wall. There is no name showing. He thumbs the buzzer.

‘I had a false beard once,’ he says.

Webley laughs. ‘What? Why?’

‘It was when I was working undercover. I was pretending to be a drugs dealer who was known for his extremely bushy beard. I didn’t have time to grow a real one, so I had this fake one stuck on. Problem was, it was a really hot summer, and it melted the glue. I didn’t realise until one of the fellas I was dealing to asked me what was wrong with my beard. I told him it was a bad case of eczema.’

‘Did he believe you?’

‘Funnily enough, he was too stoned to question it.’

Cody presses the buzzer again. He is greeted over the intercom by a tentative ‘Hello?’

‘Toby Hooper?’

‘Yes.’

‘Merseyside Police. Mind if we have a word?’

‘Did you say police?’

‘That’s right.’

‘I’m not expecting the police.’

Cody wants to answer that he wasn’t expecting to be expected, but he chooses not to.

‘It’s just a routine call.’

There’s a long pause. ‘Okay. Go ahead.’

Cody waits for the door to be unlocked. When it isn’t, he realises he is being invited to continue the conversation over the intercom.

‘Er, this would be a lot easier face to face.’

Another pause. ‘Well… I don’t know who you are.’

Cody sighs loudly, then looks helplessly at Webley. She leans in.

‘Toby, it’s the police. Please open the door.’

‘Your voice just changed.’

‘There are two of us here, Toby. My name is Detective Constable Megan Webley, and my colleague is Detective Sergeant Nathan Cody. We just want a friendly chat. Is that okay with you?’

A few more seconds pass. ‘Okay.’

‘You’ll buzz us in?’

‘I’ll come down. I’ll need to see identification.’

The discussion ends. Cody and Webley exchange glances, then they wait.

When Toby eventually comes to the door, Cody sees that he is even skinnier than he had imagined. Toby’s T-shirt, emblazoned with a food-stained Batman logo, could hardly look less full if it were on a wire hanger. Milk-white arms hang from the centres of his wide sleeves like bell-ropes. His hair is dark and lank, flopping low over one eye in a Hitleresque style. The lenses of his thick-framed glasses are clouded with a film of grease and dust that surely must give him a world view that is either permanently romanticised or else filled with gloom and despair.

Cody puts on his most disarming smile, but it seems to make Toby even more wary.

‘I need to see—’

Before he can finish, the two detectives hold up their open ID wallets in unison. Toby bends forward and squints at the warrant cards, but Cody isn’t convinced he’d be able to read even the top line of an eye chart through those besmirched spectacles.

‘Do we pass the test?’ Cody asks.

‘Maybe. I still don’t know why you’re here.’

‘We just want to ask you a few questions. Nothing too difficult. We’re not putting together a team for University Challenge.’

Cody’s attempt to relieve the tension seems to have the opposite effect.

‘If this is about the accident, I already apologised for that. I offered to pay for the damage.’

‘Accident?’ Webley asks.

‘Yeah. When I hit that car. I know it was stationary, but I lost control. I couldn’t steer properly, and I didn’t have no brakes.’

‘Your car has no brakes?’

Toby blinks at her. ‘I don’t have a car. I can’t drive.’

Webley shakes her head. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t—’

‘My shopping trolley. It was heavy and I couldn’t control it on the slope. They shouldn’t have slopes like that at supermarkets. It’s dangerous.’

‘We’re not here about that, Toby. Come on, let’s talk about it inside.’

Toby shuffles from one leg to the other as though he’s desperate for a pee, but eventually he reaches a decision.

‘Uh, okay.’

He leads the way up a narrow creaking staircase, its carpet threadbare and darkened with dirt. Long cracks down the adjoining wall suggest subsidence. As he trudges up the steps, Toby frequently turns his head to check on the progress of the detectives. When he gets to the top, he pushes open a plain white slab of a door.

The open-plan area within consists of a small living space and a kitchenette. The place reeks of damp and stale food, but its most noticeable feature is the comics and magazines. There are stacks of them on every horizontal surface. There are patches of mould visible in the corners of the room, but most of the wall space is hidden behind posters of superheroes. Cody notices a replica of Thor’s hammer on one wall and Captain America’s shield on another, while on a windowsill is a green lantern belonging to, well, the Green Lantern. Next to an open graphic novel on the tiny dining table is a half-eaten meal of beans on toast and a glass of milk.

‘I just got home from work,’ Toby says apologetically.

‘Where do you work?’ Cody asks.

‘Coleman’s. You know it? The DIY place? It’s mostly just stacking shelves, but it covers my bills.’

Cody thinks that whatever Toby is paying in rent for this dump, it’s too much.

Toby dashes over to a couple of dining chairs, shifting his literature from them before dragging them over to the detectives.

‘Sorry. Place is a bit crazy. I don’t get many visitors.’

‘You obviously like comics,’ Cody says.

‘I collect them. Some people collect coins or stamps or watches or whatever. I collect comics. Any money I have left at the end of the month goes on comics. I got some rare ones in my bedroom cupboard. I don’t normally tell people that, but I guess it’s okay to tell you guys. You like comics?’

‘Used to. I prefer books now.’

‘Oh, I like them too, but comics are much better. Some of the artwork is incredible. Like masterpieces, you know? Who’s your favourite superhero?’

Finding himself drawn in, Cody begins to summon memories of the comics he read as a kid. He is interrupted by Webley.

‘Toby, we need to ask you about something, okay?’

‘Uh, sure. I haven’t done nothing wrong, have I?’

‘That depends. We want to ask you about a woman you know.’

‘I don’t know many women. Actually, I don’t know many people.’

‘I think you know this one. Her name’s Alexa Selby.’

Toby’s face drops, his voice becomes sullen. ‘Oh. Her.’

‘Why do you say it like that?’

‘She got me into trouble. Is that what this is about?’

‘Tell us about how she got you into trouble.’

‘You don’t know?’

‘We want to hear your side of the story.’

‘She… she works at the leisure centre in Heswall. I used to go to her exercise class. She got me thrown out. I can’t ever go back there again.’

‘Why did she have you thrown out?’

‘She told them I was saying inappropriate things about her. But I wasn’t.’

‘What was it you said?’

‘I just told her she looked nice.’

‘Nice? That was it? You wouldn’t get thrown out for that, Toby. There must have been more to it.’

‘A little. But nothing terrible. I told her she looks a lot like Kara Zor-El.’

‘Who?’

Toby turns to point at one of the posters on his walls. ‘Her! Supergirl. I told Alexa that she looks a lot like her, and that she would look great in that costume with the short skirt and everything because she has such a fit body, you know, and—’

‘Okay, Toby, I get the picture. So, she reported you for saying those things and then your membership was cancelled, is that right?’

‘Yeah.’

‘And what made you start going to those classes in the first place? Was it because of her?’

‘Kind of. I’ve never been very fit. At school I was hopeless at sports.’

Cody doesn’t find this difficult to believe. He has to stop himself feeling too sorry for this man who, until proven otherwise, could still be their murderer.

Toby reaches for one of his superhero comic books and shows the cover to the detectives.

‘I wanted to look more like these guys. Have you seen those muscles? People don’t bully you or tease you when you look like that.’ He puts the comic down again, staring wistfully at it. ‘I mean, I know I could never look exactly like that. But I wanted to be fitter, you know? So, I started looking around for classes, and I found Alexa’s body conditioning class on the internet. She had videos online, and I could see that both men and women were doing it. And besides, she looked a lot like Supergirl…’

‘So, you signed up. But not just because of how she looked, or how other women in the class were dressed?’

Toby stares at Webley. ‘No. Of course not. What sort of guy do you think I am?’

‘We don’t know anything about you, Toby. A staff member at the leisure centre told us that Alexa said you were staring at her and other women in the class.’

‘What? No. I mean, I had to look at Alexa because she was the instructor, right? And sometimes I would check out the other people in the class to see if I was doing the moves properly. But I wasn’t being a perv or nothing. Maybe… maybe Alexa got the wrong idea about me because of the way I spoke to her. I’m not very good at talking to women, especially pretty ones. Like you, for instance.’

Webley blinks. ‘Me?’

‘Yeah. I think you’re beautiful, but maybe I’m not supposed to say that, with you being in the police and everything, but that’s what I think, and sometimes I just come right out and say what’s in my head. Is that bad?’

Cody sees that Webley is looking somewhat flustered and decides to help her out.

‘When was it you joined the class?’ he asks.

Toby doesn’t have to think for long. ‘Three months ago. It was a New Year’s resolution. I make resolutions every year, but usually I don’t keep them. Like, last year, I promised myself I was going to learn how to cook properly.’ He gestures towards the remnants of his beans on toast. ‘You can see how that turned out.’

‘And did you have a lot of conversations with Alexa?’

‘Hardly any at first. I was too nervous. But then I told myself I should be braver. She’s a normal human being just like everyone else. Even if she does look like a superhero. So, I started hanging around a bit longer at the end of classes so that I could thank her and maybe chat to her.’

‘What did you want to chat about?’

The question seems to throw him. ‘I don’t know. Anything. She seemed so… nice. I wanted to get to know her better.’

‘Were you attracted to her?’

He glances again at his Supergirl poster. ‘I think… I think she’s beautiful, if that’s what you mean.’

‘Did you ever ask her out?’

Toby looks horrified. ‘Out? You mean on a date? No, I could never do that. She’s way out of my league.’

Exactly what Liam had said.

‘Ever see her outside of class?’

‘Only in the car park of the leisure centre.’

Cody wonders whether this was coincidental or he was stalking her.

‘What car was she driving?’

‘Uh, a Mercedes A-Class. Cupcake.’

‘What?’

‘The last three letters on her car registration are CUP, so I nicknamed it Cupcake. She laughed when I told her that.’

Cody thinks that Toby absorbed a lot of detail for someone who just happened to glimpse his instructor outside.

‘Ever find out her address?’

‘No.’

‘What about her phone number?’

‘No. Why? What’s this about? You’re asking an awful lot of questions about this. I didn’t do nothing wrong.’

‘When’s the last time you saw Alexa?’

‘The day she reported me. At the leisure centre.’

‘Not since?’

‘No. Is she saying I have?’

‘Toby, did you know she was married?’

‘Uh, well, she wore a wedding ring, so yeah.’

‘Ever meet her husband?’

‘Nope.’ He turns to Webley. ‘I still don’t understand why you’re asking me all these questions.’

Webley stares him in the eye. ‘Toby, Alexa Selby is dead.’

‘W-what?’

‘She’s dead. She was found at home this morning.’

Toby looks at Cody again for confirmation. ‘She died? Oh, no. I… I liked her a lot. What… what did she die of?’

‘She was killed by someone,’ Webley answers.

‘What? Someone killed her? Oh… oh, wait. You don’t think it was me, do you?’

‘Can you tell us where you were last night?’

‘Last night? Here, at home. I was watching the TV.’

‘Alone?’

‘Yes, alone. I swear it wasn’t me. I don’t even know where she lives.’

‘What about this morning?’

‘I was still here. And then I went to work. At Coleman’s. You can ask them. You don’t think I killed her, do you?’

‘For the moment, we’re just trying to find out what everyone who knew her was doing at the time of her death.’

‘Well, I was nowhere near her. I promise you. Whoever killed her, it wasn’t me.’

* * *

When the two police officers have left, Toby paces the room. He’s not used to strangers in his flat. He’s especially not used to having detectives here, quizzing him and staring at him and trying to catch him out. They’re sneaky, is what they are. And that female detective, she was too attractive. He wanted to tell her everything, even though it seemed to him she didn’t trust him an inch. But he didn’t blab, because he’s no snitch. And if they ever question him again, he’ll just repeat what he said to them today.

Everything’s fine.

He pulls his phone from his jeans pocket, finds a name in his contacts. When he makes the call, the ring tone seems to go on for ever.

‘Hey, Toby,’ a voice says finally.

‘Hi. I hope you don’t mind me ringing you out of the blue like this…’

‘No, it’s okay. What’s up?’

‘I got some news.’

‘Okay.’

‘Big news.’

‘Okay.’

‘You want to know what it’s about?’

‘I assume that’s why you called.’

‘Yeah. Well, it’s about Alexa.’

‘Uh-huh. What about her?’

‘You’re not going to believe this.’

‘Try me.’

‘She’s dead.’

‘What? Did you just say she’s dead?’

‘Yeah. And not like in a road accident or nothing. She was murdered.’

There’s a long silence. Toby wonders if the call has been disconnected.

‘Hello?’ he says.

‘Yeah, I’m here. Are you sure about this, Toby? How do you know?’

‘Because I’ve just had the police here. They’re trying to find the killer.’

‘So why are they asking you?’

‘I think it’s because of what happened when she got me thrown out of the centre.’

‘You mean they suspect you?’

‘No! What? No. I don’t think so. But, well… I thought I should give you a heads-up.’

‘Why?’

‘Why? Isn’t it obvious? Because of, you know, the thing between you and Alexa.’

‘Toby, you didn’t say anything to the police about that, did you?’

‘No, of course—’

‘Because that was supposed to be confidential. Just between you and me.’

‘I know, I know. I didn’t say nothing to them about you, I swear. I didn’t even mention your name.’

‘I hope so. Because you’ve already got me into enough trouble over this. You know that, don’t you?’

‘I know, and I’m sorry. How many times do you want me to apologise? But here’s the thing. The cops want to talk to everyone who knew Alexa. I think they’re working their way through a list or something. That means they’ll come to you eventually.’

‘Let them come. I’ve got nothing to hide.’

‘Yeah, I know that. All’s I’m saying is that you need to be careful.’

There’s another pause. And then: ‘All right, Toby. I appreciate the call. Let me know if you hear anything else, okay?’

‘Of course. We’re still friends, right?’

‘Yeah, still friends. See you around.’

The call is ended abruptly. Toby stares at his phone, unconvinced that the man he has just called really has nothing to hide.

7

Love is a Stranger – Eurythmics

Webley is thinking about Alexa Selby again when she gets home that night.

She finds herself making comparisons. As she closes the door on her tired old rust-bucket of a car, with all its squeaks and rattles and a constant smell of something that has gone rotten in the boot, she thinks about Alexa’s brand-new Mercedes. As she walks along the street, she tries to imagine what it must be like to park up on one’s own sweeping paved driveway. When she gets to the front door of her tiny house, she tries to picture it as a grand detached property surrounded by huge striped lawns and flower beds, with a conservatory and a pool and decking and outside furniture, and not a place for which the only outside space is a concreted back yard with barely enough room to contain the wheely bins.

As she steps inside and gathers up the mail and drops it onto a table without looking at it, she wonders where she went wrong. Why does she never have any money? Why doesn’t she have a handsome rich husband or boyfriend or, in fact, any kind of love interest? Why doesn’t she visit fancy restaurants or go skiing or stay in posh hotels on exotic islands?

She puts the kettle on and sighs.

And then she puts things into perspective.

She is alive. Alexa Selby is dead. No amount of money is going to change that.

Webley is reminded of something her dad once said to her, and which she passed on to DCI Blunt earlier today.

A rich person is just a poor person with money.

* * *

Franklin B Goodman wonders how Megan Webley would react if she knew she had just been watched.

He is sitting in his car on Megan’s street, staring at Megan’s house. He arrived here hours ago, unsure as to when she might come home. She works a long day, Megan does. But he imagines that if your job involves dealing with major incidents such as murder, it probably can’t be nine-to-five. If, say, someone has been brutally slain in the middle of the night, then saying you’ll get around to investigating it when you’ve caught up on your shut-eye would probably be frowned upon.

But arrive home she did, eventually. He watched her every move as she got out of her car, locked it up, and walked to her house. Not only watched but recorded. He looks down now at the camera in his lap, its telephoto lens still attached. He clicks through the images showing on the camera screen. Shot after shot of Megan. He thinks she looks very weary in those pictures – dealing with death every day must be exhausting – but he also thinks she appears a little dejected. She must feel lonely in that house, all by herself.

Franklin accepts he is not the best judge of beauty in women, but it seems to him that Megan ticks all the right boxes. He understands why Parker is missing her so much. It saddens him that they are not together. At least, he thinks it saddens him. He’s never entirely convinced that the emptiness he identifies is the same as that experienced by others. He never cries, for example.

It doesn’t bother him that he doesn’t cry. On the contrary, he thinks that weeping is for the weak. What matters is action. If something bothers you, there’s no point wallowing in self-pity. You need to do something to fix the problem.

And clearly, Webley’s situation needs fixing.

* * *

Cody’s thoughts have turned to clowns.

An unusual topic to muse upon for most people but a fixation for Cody. He has good reasons, though, not least of which being that it was clowns who tortured him and killed his undercover police partner by cutting off his face.

To be fair, they weren’t clowns per se. They were men wearing evil clown masks to hide their identities. Cody would hate to tar all clowns with the same brush. He still wants people to enjoy taking their adorable kiddies to circuses. He just doesn’t want to go with them.

Cody is approaching his building now. He lives in a top floor apartment that sits above a dental practice on Rodney Street. It’s a beautiful Georgian building on a road steeped in history and sometimes referred to as the ‘Harley Street of the north.’ He should feel safe here, should be able to get in and put his feet up and relax.

But it’s not that simple.

You see, the clowns haven’t finished playing with him yet. In particular, their leader – the one that Cody nicknamed Waldo for no real reason other than it seemed fitting at the time – appears to have made it his mission to continue persecuting Cody.

Cody gets to his front door. Glossy and black, with a highly polished brass knocker and letterbox. He tilts his face up to the iron balconies outside the windows, then down to the steps leading to the basement.

The clowns have been in this building. They have been in his apartment. They have been in the dental surgeries. They have even attacked Cody in the basement.

They might be in there now, listening out for his footsteps, waiting to descend on him.

The last time they met, Waldo promised Cody that he had become tired of playing with him and would leave him alone for a while. So far, he has kept his word. But of course, Cody knows that he can’t lower his guard. Waldo will return one day.

He has thought about changing address, but he knows that Waldo is clever and resourceful enough to find him. He has proved that much already.

Besides, there’s a part of Cody that wants to get this over with. Maybe he’ll die in the process, but maybe he’ll defeat the clowns. Either way, he believes it will bring an end to his mental suffering – the hallucinations, the insomnia, the loss of self-control.

Few people know how much the trauma has affected his mind. Other than Webley, he has told nobody on the force. He intends to keep it that way.

Gritting his teeth, he inserts his key into the lock and opens the door.

* * *

Parker was right about Cody, Franklin thinks. He’s a handsome guy, looking much younger than his years.

Franklin made it to Rodney Street only minutes before Cody turned up. Just in time to start clicking away on his camera. Cody was the first guy in a suit to park up and head towards the address Parker had supplied.

Even from this distance, Franklin detects hidden depths to Cody. There’s a lot going on behind those boyish features, as though he has aged decades more internally. It was curious how he stood on his own doorstep for so long, as if debating whether he really wanted to go in.

Franklin hopes to get a lot more information about Cody in the coming days. He has a feeling that there is a dynamic at play here that could make things very interesting.

He studies his photographs. The angles and distance are right, as is the lighting.

This will be fun.

* * *

Struggling to keep her eyelids open, Webley decides it’s time for bed. It’s going to be another full-on day tomorrow. A murder to solve and all that.

She turns off the television, then locks her doors and turns out the lights. As she heads towards the staircase, she notices the small pile of mail she left on the hall table. Expecting to be underwhelmed, she picks it up and sifts through it.

Junk… junk… junk… a bill…

Oh, but what’s this?

A white envelope. It has ‘Megan xxx’ printed on the front of it.

She tears it open, finds a card with a picture of a teddy bear saying, ‘Missing you!’

She unfolds the card. The message inside has not been handwritten; instead, it has been printed onto white paper and glued in. It says, ‘Don’t worry. We’ll be together soon.’ No name is given.

Webley stares at the card for a while, then shakes her head.

‘Fucking hell, Parker,’ she says before tossing the card back onto the table and trudging up the stairs.

* * *

Franklin sits at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, his laptop open in front of him. He has become pretty adept at using computers. They can do all kinds of clever things these days.

The window he is concentrating on now contains one of the photographs he took of Cody earlier. A few clicks of his mouse and – tada! – he has isolated Cody’s image from the background. He drags the image across to another window, this one containing a photograph of Megan, and drops it into position. He gives it a couple of nudges, down slightly, then to the right. Excellent. Not perfect just yet – it’ll need some refining touches – but already fairly convincing.

Franklin sits back and dips another digestive biscuit into his coffee before biting into it in a perfectly timed manoeuvre. They can be tricky animals, biscuits, he thinks. Soak them for too long and they can separate and drop in, ruining everything. You have to take into account not only the temperature of the drink but also the type of biscuit. Rich Tea biscuits, for example, seem to quiver and disintegrate at the merest approach of fluid, whereas Ginger Nuts do a much better job of maintaining their structural integrity. All in all, Franklin thinks, the art of dunking involves considerable expertise.

He thinks that the same goes for people. Repairing their relationships requires skill and precision. Blundering in without careful preparation simply causes them to fall further apart. Franklin likes the fact that he, a perfect stranger, can offer solutions they would never have dreamed of.

He wonders if Webley has opened her card yet. And if so, what wild thoughts it has sent spinning through her detective brain.

Of course, this is only the beginning.

She’ll soon be wondering what’s hit her.

8

You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away – The Beatles

Grace Meade likes being at the back of the room.

For the most part, she prefers to be forgotten about. She can hide away at the back here and get on with her work, and nobody will bother her.

There are occasions, though, when she summons up the courage to step into the limelight. But only when she is confident she can make an impact. Something that will draw out ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ from her audience. Or at least a ‘Good work, Grace.’

Grace is the intelligence analyst for the Major Incident Team. A civilian role, but she doesn’t care about that. Her contributions can be just as important as those of any of the detectives in this room. Sometimes more so.

The other nice thing about sitting way back here is that she can observe. She likes to take in the buzz of activity, the comings and goings, the interplay. She knows who the stars are in this room, and also those who shine much less brightly.

Mostly, she watches Detective Sergeant Nathan Cody. She is not ashamed to admit that he is her hero. Would have posters of him on her wall if she could. It’s not just his looks, his boyish charm. It’s more that he’s… interesting. Fascinating, even.

Grace peers around the edge of her monitor. Cody is engrossed at his desk, carefully tapping something into his own computer, oblivious to the eyes on him from behind.

But then he stops typing and looks up as another figure sidles up to him. Megan Webley.

Grace’s lips tighten as she feels a stab of irritation. She narrows her eyes and studies the body language of the pair. She knows these two have history, and it’s quite clear that remnants of it have survived. She can only hope that Cody doesn’t make the foolish mistake of jumping back into that fire. Webley isn’t right for him.

She consoles herself with the truth that she has a connection with Cody that nobody else has – not even Webley.

The clowns.

What was done to Cody and his partner by four men in clown masks is fairly common knowledge. It’s hardly ever mentioned now.

But what none of the other people in this room knows is that the clowns still very much figure in Cody’s life. They are still terrorising him.

And how is Grace privy to this astounding piece of information?

Because she has met one of the clowns.

It was the most petrifying moment of her life, and it occurred because Cody had recruited her to help him. Her! Not Webley. Not any of the other hotshot detectives here. Grace Meade was the only person Cody thought capable of saving him from his evil tormentors.

Cody said a lot of things to her afterwards. Gave her the full story of the clowns’ campaign against him. Told Grace how indebted he was to her but also how sorry he was for dragging her into his troubles. And he pleaded with her to keep his secret. Only the two of them could ever know.

How could she refuse? It was an invitation to forge a bond stronger than those made by lovers.

DC Webley, you know nothing about that man you’re fawning over right now.

Grace smiles smugly.

Because there’s more to this. Something not even Cody himself knows.

She is continuing to assist Cody.

Like the Liam Neeson character in the film Taken, Grace has a set of skills that put her in a unique position to find the enemy. She spends a good portion of her time every night scouring the internet. Cody told her that Waldo, the head honcho of the clown assailants, recruited his gang via the internet. He found social misfits and groomed them, offering them experiences beyond their wildest dreams. Experiences that eventually culminated in torture and murder.

What that tells Grace is that there will be clues out there as to their identities. She just needs to find them. She has access to information on the internet that most people cannot reach, and she is constantly developing and honing software tools to help her search the vast amount of data.

One day, she will know exactly who Waldo is and where he can be found, and that will be her gift to Cody.

So stick that in your pipe and smoke it, DC Webley.

A flurry of activity from the front of the room pulls Grace’s attention back to her work. DCI Stella Blunt’s arrival marks the start of the morning briefing. She stands square on to her team, her formidable figure and grim expression commanding instant silent respect. Top priority on the agenda, of course, is finding the murderer of Alexa Selby.

Grace watches and listens to the discussion, alert to any opportunity to offer her services.

‘Forensics?’ Blunt asks.

Dev Chandra, the crime scene manager, answers. ‘Not much to report, I’m afraid. Plenty of evidence of Oliver Selby having been at the crime scene, but then it was his bedroom. There’s nothing specifically pointing to anyone else’s presence there at the time of the murder.’

‘All right, then Oliver Selby remains our prime suspect. So can someone please tell me where he is?’

The detectives look at each other in defeat.

‘He’s hiding himself well,’ Cody says. ‘There’s no activity on his mobile phone, and his car reg isn’t pinging the ANPR cameras. We’re visiting his regular haunts, including his gym, his golf club and his local pub. We’re talking to his family, friends, business contacts, customers – basically anyone who knows him. So far, we haven’t found anyone who admits to knowing where he is or even that they’ve heard from him since the murder.’

‘What about Alexa Selby? I assume she’s still a key focus of this investigation.’

Grace finds herself nodding. Know the victim, she thinks. Even in death, the victim can help you find their killer.

‘Of course,’ Cody says. ‘Her phone wasn’t found in the house, and it’s also inactive. But as with her husband, we’re trying to speak to anyone who knew her or came into contact with her. At the moment, we don’t even know why Oliver might have wanted to kill her.’

‘No idea of motive or where the prime suspect can be found is not really what I was hoping to hear this morning, Nathan.’

Grace smiles at this. Blunt is the only person in this room who calls Cody by his first name. And the disapproving look she sends his way does a terrible job of masking her gratefulness for his existence.

Blunt says, ‘What about this guy Alexa fell out with at the leisure centre?’

‘Toby Hooper. Yeah, we spoke to him yesterday. A real oddball with a fixation on Alexa, but he seemed genuinely shocked when we told him she’d been killed. Personally, I don’t think he had anything to do with her death.’

‘Hmm.’ Blunt casts her withering gaze over her audience. ‘Where are we with CCTV?’

Grace’s ears prick up as one of the detectives answers.

‘We’ve made a start. Trouble is, there’s a lot of it to go through. We’re collecting it from the area around the house, the jewellery shop, from traffic cameras, from in and around the leisure centre… It’s going to take time.’

And now Grace decides her invitation is there. She raises a tentative hand. When Blunt appears not to notice, Grace adds a gentle cough.

‘Grace?’ Blunt prompts.

Grace stands up. She’s not sure why she feels the need to do this every time. Something about making herself visible before she disappears into the shadows again.

‘I, er, I think I might be able to help with that. I’ve been developing some software…’

She falters, not sure how to continue. She often gets the impression that people switch off their hearing and their eyes glaze over when she talks about her area of expertise.

Fortunately, Blunt doesn’t need more. ‘Thank you, Grace. Anything you can do to speed things up would be appreciated.’ She turns back to the detective. ‘Get copies of the CCTV footage to Grace, please.’

As Blunt moves on to the next item, Grace lowers herself into her chair. She has tried not to make too big a thing of her offer, in case she doesn’t find anything.

But she’ll make sure that everyone will know about it if she does.

Especially Cody.

9

Another Love – Tom Odell

Franklin B Goodman whistles a catchy tune as he rings the doorbell. It must have been on the radio this morning for it to be dominating his thoughts like this, but for the life of him he can’t remember what it is.

He hears footsteps approaching from inside the house. The door opens. Parker stares at him and blinks.

‘Hello, Parker. How are you this morning?’

Something seems to click in Parker’s mind. A flood of partial memories that are unwelcome in the cold and sober light of day.

‘Oh. Hi. It’s…’

‘Franklin. Franklin B Goodman, at your service.’

‘Right. This is… unexpected.’

‘I took a chance on you being in. Hope you don’t mind.’

‘Well… How, er, how did you get my address?’

‘You gave it to me. In the bar. Don’t you remember?’

‘I… I don’t remember very much from that night.’

‘Not to worry. My memory’s good enough for both of us.’ He tugs his jacket lapels together. ‘Bit chilly out here. Shall we talk inside?’

Parker is in no hurry to throw his door wide open. ‘I, er… Look, I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but I’m not sure that would be a good idea.’

‘You don’t? Why not? We can’t really talk about it here, can we?’

‘Talk about what?’

Franklin lowers his voice. ‘The investigation, of course.’

‘Investigation?’

‘Yes. Into your girlfriend. Megan.’

Parker stares at him as though he has just learned that a dream actually happened. ‘To be honest, I can’t quite recall exactly what was said the other night – I mean, I was pretty much out of it – but I think I’d prefer it if we both just forgot all about it.’

‘Really? But I thought we had an arrangement. You said you wanted to make use of my services.’

‘Well, okay. But I’ve had a think about it since then, and I’ve changed my mind.’

Franklin does his best to appear crestfallen. ‘Oh. You see, the thing is, I’ve already made a start. I’ve been working really hard on your behalf, just as I do for all my clients.’

Parker nods a few times. ‘Look, if this is about money, just tell me what I owe you and we’ll call it a day.’

‘Actually, it’s not really about the money. Once I take on a job, I like to see it through to the end. I like to be professional, you see.’

‘And I’m sure you do a very thorough job. Honestly, this is no criticism of what you do. It’s just that I don’t think I want to go through with it now. I hope you understand.’

Franklin blows out a stream of air. ‘That’s a pity. But the customer is always right, right?’ He taps the folder he’s holding under his arm. ‘What would you like me to do with the evidence I’ve gathered so far?’

Parker looks at the folder, then back at Franklin. ‘Evidence? What evidence?’

‘Well, the evidence that your girlfriend is cheating on you. That’s what you asked me to look into, wasn’t it?’

‘I… yeah. I mean… You’ve got evidence of that?’

‘Of course. Like I said, I don’t like to waste time when I’m hired to—’

‘Maybe… maybe you’d better come in.’

‘Are you sure? A minute ago—’

‘No, it’s okay. Come in.’

Franklin follows Parker into his kitchen, where he is invited to sit at the breakfast bar. He makes a show of placing the folder on the granite counter in front of him so that it will always be in plain view.

‘Would you like a tea or a coffee or something?’ Parker asks.

‘That would be very kind. Tea, please. Not too strong, though. And only a splash of milk, no sugar.’

While Parker puts the kettle on, Franklin scans the kitchen. It’s a bit too monochrome for his taste. White cabinets and floor tiles. Black worktops and barstools. Very clean and tidy, though.

‘This is a lovely place. Do you live here alone?’

‘I do, yes. Property is always a good investment.’

Something sinks inside Franklin. A house is something to be loved, he thinks. It’s a home, not a way of making money.

‘You must make a decent wage. Didn’t you say you were a hotel manager?’

Parker looks surprised again. Perhaps even a little concerned about the amount of personal information he must have imparted.

‘That’s right. At the Lansing, down at the docks.’

‘Is that a nice hotel?’

‘Not bad. It’s four star.’

‘Four star? Fancy. Will you be working there this weekend?’

He puts the question casually. Idle chit-chat. But it could become important. Franklin likes to know his parameters.

‘Nope. I’ve got the whole weekend off.’

Parker brings two mugs of tea across, one much weaker than the other.

‘Thank you,’ Franklin says. ‘That looks the perfect shade. Would it be cheeky of me to ask if you have any biscuits? I don’t take sugar, but I do love a biscuit with my tea.’

‘Biscuits? Er, yes, of course.’

Parker opens a cupboard near the sink and takes out a packet of biscuits. Franklin is disappointed to see that they’re a cheap supermarket own-brand variety. He is even more disappointed when Parker places only two on a plate before bringing it across.

Parker takes his place opposite Franklin, his eyes on the manila folder.

‘So…’ Parker says, ‘you mentioned something about evidence?’

‘Oh. Yes. I’m only at the beginning stages of the investigation, you understand, but it’s looking promising. You mind if I dunk?’

‘Sorry?’

‘The biscuits. I like to dunk. Some people find the practice distasteful.’

‘No. That’s fine. Go ahead.’

Franklin indulges, and it’s as he feared. These biscuits have next to no fortitude. One quick dip and they give up the will to survive.

‘And this evidence,’ Parker reminds him. ‘It’s…?’

‘Of a photographic nature, yes. I’ve done some printouts. Would you like to see them?’

‘Please.’

Franklin opens up the folder, takes out the photographs, lines them up in front of Parker. He’s pleased with his handiwork and the story these pictures tell. Cody at Webley’s side, entering her house at night. In one of the faked images, he managed to make it look as though Cody was placing his hand on Webley’s waist.

Parker studies them in silence for a long time while Franklin continues to dunk.

Parker clears his throat. ‘How… how did you get these?’

‘I was in my car. I staked out Megan’s house. That man – I assume he’s the detective you were telling me about?’

‘Cody. Yes.’ Another pause. ‘What time was this?’

‘Just after nine o’clock.’

‘Okay. So they could have just got together for a coffee or to talk about work.’

‘Hmm. The lights went off at about eleven.’

Parker blinks at him. ‘The lights?’

‘In the house. I saw Megan close the bedroom curtains and then the lights went out.’

‘And Cody…’

‘Was still in there, yes.’

‘What… what time did he leave?’

‘I didn’t see him leave. I hung around till three o’clock in the morning, but he hadn’t come out by then.’

‘I see. That’s late.’

‘Yes.’

‘They were together at least six hours.’

‘Yes.’

Parker seems to have forgotten about his own tea. He can’t keep his eyes off the photographs.

He says, ‘Do you think…’

‘What?’

‘I mean, if you were to carry on with your investigation, do you think…’

‘That I could gather more evidence? Absolutely. This is just the beginning. Well, that’s assuming you want to retain my services, of course.’

Parker nods. ‘Yes. Yes, I think I would.’

Franklin smiles. This is going perfectly.

He says, ‘Then that’s grand. I don’t suppose you have any more biscuits, do you?’

10

This Maniac’s in Love with You – Alice Cooper

Cody’s at his desk, typing up yet another report. It’s at times like this he wonders whether he should invest some time and effort in learning to touch-type. His spelling is excellent, his grammar spot-on. He can put together sentences of which his English schoolteacher would have wholeheartedly approved. He just can’t type for shit.

His desk phone rings just as he types the word phone. Spooky, that.

He answers the call. ‘DS Cody.’

‘Hello? Yeah. Hi. It’s Liam here. From Heswall Leisure Centre?’

‘I remember. Hi, Liam. What can I do for you?’

‘So, I was just wondering. Did you speak to the guy I told you about? Toby Hooper?’

‘We did, yes. Thank you for bringing him to our attention.’

‘No probs. Was my information useful?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Good. That’s good. I don’t suppose… I mean, I guess you’re not allowed to say much about whether he had anything to do with it? With Alexa’s death, I mean.’

Cody wonders where this is going. ‘No, I can’t say anything about that.’

‘Right. That’s what I thought. But anyway, just in case it wasn’t him, there was something else that occurred to me. I don’t know, but maybe you’ll find it helpful.’

‘What’s that, Liam?’

‘It was when I spoke to Toby about his behaviour, and I told him it wasn’t acceptable. He got kinda defensive, which I guess isn’t surprising. But then he said something I didn’t think much about at the time. To be honest, I thought he was just bullshitting to get himself out of a hole.’

‘What did he say?’

‘He said – this won’t be word for word, you understand – but he said there were others who’d done a lot more than he had with Alexa.’

Something catches Cody’s eye. A female uniformed officer has just walked into the incident room, carrying a large bouquet of flowers.

‘Did you ask him what he meant by that?’

‘Yeah. He said that she’d slept with at least one other guy that he knew of.’

The uniform goes over to Webley, who looks up in surprise.

‘Did he give a name?’

‘No. Like I say, I thought he was clutching at straws, maybe trying to put Alexa in a bad light. You know, like a character assassination thing? But now… well, I don’t know. I thought you guys should have all the facts.’

Webley is questioning the uniform, who smiles and shrugs and walks away, leaving the flowers on Webley’s desk.

‘You’re absolutely right, Liam, and thanks again for your assistance. Leave it with us.’

‘Yeah, okay. And if I think of anything else, I’ll let you know. I, er, I might still put in that application for the police one day.’

‘You definitely should. Goodbye, Liam.’

He hangs up, then heads across to Webley’s desk. She is studying a card that came with the flowers.

‘What’s the occasion?’ Cody asks.

Webley doesn’t seem particularly pleased with her gift. ‘No occasion. I think Parker’s trying to make it up with me. He’s being a bit weird about it, though. Seen this card?’

Cody takes it from her and reads it out loud. ‘“Like the song says, this maniac’s in love with you. I’m not going to stop until you’re mine again.”’ He hands it back. ‘Alice Cooper.’

‘What?’

‘This Maniac’s in Love with You. It’s by Alice Cooper.’

‘Yeah, it wasn’t the song I was referring to, Cody. Don’t you think the message is a bit, well, freaky?’

‘What can I say? You pick freaky boyfriends.’

‘I went out with you.’

‘Precisely my point. Wanna come out with me now?’

‘Please don’t tell me you’re talking about a date.’

‘Not unless you get turned on by the thought of another encounter with our friend Toby. If you like, I could ask him to wear a superhero costume.’

‘Which one? The Flasher?’

Cody laughs. ‘He’s called The Flash, not The Flasher.’

‘Hey, I’ve seen how tight those costumes are.’

* * *

Except for the absence of a plate of beans on toast, Toby Hooper’s flat is no more presentable than it was last time. Its tenant looks as though he’s about to hyperventilate with anxiety.

‘Wasn’t sure we’d catch you in today, Toby,’ Cody says.

‘I-It’s my day off,’ Toby answers. ‘Back in tomorrow, though. Sunday can be our busiest day. People like to do DIY on Sundays. Not me, though. I’m rubbish at DIY. See Thor’s hammer on the wall over there? Took me a whole day to get that up there.’

Cody smiles inwardly as he stares at Toby’s puny arms and pictures him manipulating that hammer, his veins bulging and his face cherry red as he strains to lift it.

He says nothing, and Webley joins him in saying nothing. They simply sit down and allow their uncomfortable host to babble on. It’s a tried and trusted technique. Nervous interviewees often feel they have to fill a void.

Toby is no exception. ‘Have you… I mean, do you know who did it yet? Who killed Alexa?’

Cody shakes his head. ‘Not yet. We’re working on it, though. That’s why we’re here again.’

Toby is on the very edge of his chair, his knees pressed tightly together. He looks at Webley, then back at Cody. He hasn’t been asked a question, but the silence gets to him once more.

‘I already told you everything I know.’

Webley says, ‘Maybe you forgot one or two things, Toby.’

‘I… I don’t think so.’

‘Are you certain? Think back to when you had your membership of the leisure centre revoked.’

‘Okay. W-What about it?’

‘You told the staff there that Alexa had been sleeping around.’

‘Did I?’

‘Yes. Specifically, you said she’d slept with at least one other guy that you knew of.’

‘I… I don’t remember saying that.’

‘No? Because the staff member you spoke to remembers it very clearly.’

Toby’s hands are all over the place, touching his face, his neck, rubbing along his thighs.

‘Well… if I did say it – and I really don’t remember doing that – then I must have just made it up.’

Cody jumps in again. ‘Why would you make it up, Toby?’

‘Isn’t it obvious?’

‘Explain it to us.’

‘Well, she was saying bad things about me, and so… and so I said bad things about her, too.’

‘So, then, tit for tat. Kind of like taking revenge.’

‘Yeah, sort of.’

‘Did it feel good taking revenge on Alexa?’

A long silence while Toby follows the direction of this question.

‘I wouldn’t say it felt good, exactly.’

‘Okay, so maybe it wasn’t enough. Maybe you wanted your revenge to be a little stronger. Or even a lot stronger.’

Toby looks like a trapped animal now. ‘Now, wait a minute. I didn’t do nothing to Alexa. I would never harm her. You’re twisting my words.’

Webley says, ‘How many of the men in the exercise class do you know well, Toby?’

‘What? What’s that got to do with—’

‘I mean well enough for them to open up to you about who they sleep with?’

‘Nobody. I told you, I made it up.’

‘Uh-huh.’ Webley holds up her clipboard. ‘I’ve got a list here of all the people who attended Alexa’s classes. There aren’t that many men on it. Wouldn’t take us very long to visit them and ask them about you.’

‘About m-me? Why would you ask them about me?’

‘Well, you’ve already said you wanted to take revenge on Alexa. Perhaps one of these people could tell us a bit more about—’

‘Wait! No. You’re putting words in my mouth. I never said I wanted revenge. I didn’t want to hurt her at all.’

‘But you were making up nasty things about her. Isn’t that hurtful?’

‘No. I didn’t make them up. They were…’

He halts, obviously realising he has contradicted himself.

‘True?’ Webley says. ‘Is that what you were about to say, Toby? How do you know they were true?’

‘He… he told me. He confided in me. Nobody else knew.’

‘Who? Who confided in you?’

Toby searches the faces of the detectives again before deciding the gig is up. His shoulders slump.

‘Sam,’ he mutters.

‘Sam?’

‘Yeah. I don’t know his surname.’

Webley consults her list. ‘Sam Ridley? He’s the only Sam in your class.’

‘Then it must be.’

‘You’re good friends with him?’

‘Yeah. Well, sort of. We sometimes go for coffee in the leisure centre after the class. He seems to like me. He tells me stuff.’

‘Yeah? What kind of stuff?’

Toby scratches at his neck again. ‘You know…’

‘No, Toby, I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?’

‘Personal stuff. Like, about girls and so on. He gives me advice. Tells me what they like and what they don’t like. He’s very experienced in that way.’

‘Uh-huh. And precisely how intimate does this get?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Does he talk about sex?’

Toby flinches slightly, as though Webley’s use of the word comes as a shock to him.

‘Yeah. Sometimes.’

‘Does he tell you about his sexual conquests? About what he gets up to in the bedroom?’

Toby’s cheeks are burning now. He simply nods.

‘And at some point he told you about how he’d slept with Alexa?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Did he say where it happened, or how many times?’

‘No, but I think it must have been more than once. He said…’

‘What?’

Toby’s eyes shift to Cody, then back to Webley. ‘He said she likes it a bit… kinky, you know?’

‘I think you can spare us the details. Did you believe him when he told you this?’

Toby shrugs. ‘I don’t know. I wanted to.’

‘You wanted to believe him? Why?’

‘He’s my friend. You gotta trust your friends, right?’

‘When did you last see Sam?’

‘About three weeks ago. He stopped going to the exercise class after that.’

‘You don’t meet up outside the leisure centre?’

‘No. I don’t even know where he lives. I only ever talked to him in the café at the centre.’ He lowers his gaze to the floor. ‘I miss him,’ he says, and then something else occurs to him. ‘If you talk to him, please don’t tell him I gave you his name, okay? He wouldn’t appreciate it.’

‘You think he’d get nasty?’ Cody says. ‘Is he the violent type?’

‘I’m not saying that. It’s just… he’s my friend, okay?’

It occurs to Cody that this man’s friends can probably be counted on one finger, and even that might be an exaggeration.

‘All right, Toby,’ he says. ‘We won’t mention you.’

11

How Deep is Your Love? – The Bee Gees

The address given on the exercise class list for Sam Ridley is in Greasby. As they enter the village, Cody says, ‘Did you know that this place used to be called Greavesberie? It’s one of the oldest known settlements in Britain, dating from about 8,500 BC.’

‘Yeah,’ Webley says, ‘I just read that on the road sign too.’

Cody smiles. ‘Honestly, I already knew that.’

‘Sure.’

‘Okay, well, did you know that just up the road in Meols they think there might be a Viking ship buried there? It’s under a pub car park.’

‘How come you’re so full of facts about this neck of the woods?’

‘Used to spend a lot of time round here, didn’t I?’

Webley nods knowingly. ‘Ah, Devon.’

What she’s referring to is not the county, which is a long way south of Greasby, but a person. Devon was Cody’s fiancée, but she broke off the engagement. She had an excellent reason, seeing as how Cody once tried to kill her. In his defence, though, he thought she was a clown. Not clown as in idiot – he’d try to strangle a lot more people if that were the case – but clown as in one of the murderous merrymakers who slice body parts off their victims.

‘Still see her?’ Webley asks.

‘Not for a long time.’

‘So, no sign of a reconciliation then?’

‘Nope.’

Cody realises he’s not being particularly forthcoming, but he finds it a bewildering subject. He is still in love with Devon, but he’s not sure the time is right yet for trying to patch things up. He’s not even sure what she’s doing with her life now.

He says, ‘What about you? How are things with old Nosy?’

Webley gives him the evil eye. ‘His name isn’t Nosy Parker. And it’s not Parker Penn or Parker Carr, or any of the other idiotic names you keep dreaming up.’

‘Whatever. It looks like he’s keen on giving you another whirl.’

‘Giving me another whirl? You’re such a romantic, Cody. How did I ever let you out of my grasp?’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘I have no interest in getting back together with Parker. He fucked things up royally. And he should know better than to think he can fix things with a few lousy flowers, let alone the creepy messages.’

‘Do you still love him?’

He feels Webley’s gaze on him for a long while.

‘That’s a deep question,’ she says.

‘Love is a deep subject.’

He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth. This is neither the time nor the place to be getting into conversations about love. In fact, it should never be the right time or place when he’s with Webley.

He’s relieved when she says, ‘Wasn’t Richard the Third also found under a car park? Honestly, I don’t know what those town planners were thinking.’

* * *

Sam Ridley lives in the ground floor flat of a three-storey house. When he comes to the door, the first thing Cody notices about him are his eyes, which are a startling ice-blue, like those of an Arctic wolf. Cody is willing to bet they’re coloured contacts. He is also willing to wager that, even though the man is better-looking than his friend Toby, it’s not enough of a step up to entice Alexa to touch him with a bargepole.

‘Yes?’ Sam says. Actually, it’s more of a demand, as in, Why the hell are you bothering me? Already Cody doesn’t like him.

‘Sam Ridley? Merseyside Police. I’m DS Cody and this is DC Webley. Mind if we come in for a quick chat?’

‘Why? What’s this about?’

Cody maintains his cool. ‘We just have a few questions. We’re investigating a case and your name cropped up.’

‘My name? In what context?’

‘That’s what we’d like to discuss. Are we okay to come inside, or would you prefer to come to the police station?’ It’s a threat that he and other cops keep in reserve for awkward customers, especially those who have never set foot in a police station and who picture it as a place where the truth is extracted with the aid of rubber hoses and water-boarding.

While Sam chews on his options, a neighbour who is ambling past the house slows down to earwig. It seems to act as a trigger for Sam to cooperate.

‘You can come in,’ he says begrudgingly.

He leads them into a flat that is a pleasant contrast with Toby’s pit. Neat, clean, modern. Devoid of mould and comic books. Cody doesn’t expect to be regaled with tea and buttered scones, but he doesn’t even receive the offer of a chair.

He says, ‘We’d like to talk to you about Alexa Selby.’

‘Who?’

It seems to Cody that Sam’s voice is much louder than it needs to be. He wonders whether he always has his volume turned to maximum or he’s got something to be nervous about.

‘Alexa Selby. The woman who ran the body conditioning class you attended at the leisure centre?’

‘Oh. Yes, I remember her name now. What’s happened to her?’

‘What makes you think something’s happened to her?’

Sam gesticulates wildly at the detectives. ‘This! You’re police. You’re in my house. You’re asking about this woman. It’s only a natural assumption, right?’

Cody nods. ‘Yes, you’re right. Something has happened to her. She’s dead.’

‘Dead? Wow. That’s a bit of a shock.’

Cody has seen more convincing reactions in school plays. ‘Yeah, but you already knew about it, didn’t you, Sam?’

‘What? What are you saying? Why would I know about it?’

‘For one thing, it’s all over the news now. But from the way you’re acting, I’m guessing that somebody told you about it a while ago. Who was it, Sam?’

Sam opens his mouth as if to protest, then seems to think better of it.

‘A friend of mine. We were in the same class with Alexa. He told me.’

‘What’s his name?’

‘Toby Hooper.’

‘Is he a good friend?’

‘Not really. I see him in class and sometimes we chat in the café afterwards. But I haven’t seen him for a few weeks.’

‘So when did he tell you about Alexa?’

‘Yesterday. He phoned me up.’

‘So you know him well enough for him to have your phone number?’

Sam says nothing.

‘Why did he call you?’

‘Like I said. To tell me about Alexa.’

‘Yes, but why? If you two haven’t been in contact for weeks, what was the sudden urgency?’

Sam shrugs. ‘Toby’s strange. I like him, but he’s strange. I think he’s socially awkward too, and that makes him lonely. I talk to him because not many others do. When he heard about Alexa, he would’ve been itching to tell someone, and to be honest, my number is probably the only one in his phone contacts.’

‘Okay, fair enough. So why did you pretend just now that you didn’t know about Alexa’s death?’

‘Because I knew the victim and you’re looking to point the finger at someone, and if you knew that I was already discussing her—’

‘You think that’s how we work? We’re not here to—’

‘Last week you stopped me on the road. You said I was speeding. I wasn’t speeding. Now I’m going to have more points on my licence.’

So that’s it, Cody thinks. A chip on his shoulder. There’s a lot of hate for the police among people who break the law and can’t find it within themselves to admit blame or accept the consequences.

‘Sam,’ Webley says, ‘we’re not here to talk about a traffic offence. We’re here to discuss murder. You need to understand how serious this is.’

‘I get it. I understand.’

‘Good. So then tell us when you last saw Alexa.’

Webley’s intervention seems to calm Sam down a little. ‘About three weeks ago, in the class.’

‘You haven’t been for the last couple of weeks?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘I’ve been too busy. With work.’

‘What work do you do?’

‘I’m a web designer. I work here, from home.’

‘Have you seen Alexa since you stopped going to her fitness class?’

Sam jerks his head back in surprise. ‘No. Why would I see my fitness instructor?’

‘We heard you took quite a fancy to her.’

‘A fancy? What do you mean?’

‘You were attracted to her.’

Sam raises his voice again. ‘Who gave you that idea? Toby? Don’t listen to him. Guy’s on a different planet.’

Cody exchanges glances with Webley, confirming their pact not to drop Toby in it.

‘Toby didn’t tell us anything about you,’ she says. ‘We’re interviewing everyone who attended Alexa’s class. But like my sergeant says, the way you’re acting with us is making us very suspicious.’

‘I’m nervous. When police turn up at my house, it makes me nervous. Anyone else would be the same.’

‘Not if they’ve got nothing to hide. So how about it, Sam? Did you have a thing for Alexa?’

‘If you’re asking whether I thought she was attractive, then yeah. I think even the other women on the class probably had a crush on her.’

‘But did it go any further than that?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Did you ever ask her out on a date?’

Sam snorts a laugh. ‘No. That’s ridiculous. She wouldn’t look twice at someone like me.’

‘So you never went to bed with her?’

‘What? Of course not.’

‘And if we go back and ask your friend Toby about you, he’ll say the same thing, right?’

Sam chews his lip. ‘Maybe… maybe I said something to Toby.’

‘Okay. Like what?’

‘Look, there’s something you need to understand about Toby. He doesn’t have a girlfriend. He’s never had a girlfriend. Like I said, he’s socially awkward. For some reason, he latched onto me, and… and he likes it when I talk about girls.’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘Yeah. I’ve become this kind of guru for him, you know? He’s keen to learn about that stuff from me. How to act with women.’

‘I see,’ says Webley. ‘So, you act as a tutor to him. You give him the benefit of your expertise.’

Cody hears the underlying note of sarcasm in Webley’s voice.

‘Well,’ Sam says, ‘I wouldn’t call myself an expert exactly—’

‘No.’

‘—but I’ve been around the block a few times. And the things I told him…’

‘Go on.’

‘Well, they weren’t always a hundred percent true, you know?’

‘No?’

‘No. Some of it was, but sometimes I just made it up. Toby seemed to like the stuff I made up.’

‘Like sleeping with Alexa, for example?’

‘Yeah. I just came out with it one day. We were in the café, talking about women, and he was saying how much he liked Alexa. Toby is into comics – you know, the ones about superheroes? – and he thinks that Alexa looks like Supergirl. And so I said I had a secret about her, and that he had to promise never to tell anyone else.’

‘And that’s when you said you’d been to bed with her?’

‘Yeah. I don’t know what came over me.’

‘Did Toby believe you?’

‘Absolutely. I think it fuelled his fantasies. He wanted details, so I made up stories for him.’

‘That’s it? All make-believe?’

‘Yes. Not real. I swear to you.’

Cody says, ‘Sam, can you tell us where you were during the period Thursday evening to Friday morning?’

‘I was here. I worked. I slept. I was never with Alexa.’

‘Can anyone confirm that?’

‘I was alone. Maybe my neighbour upstairs heard me.’

‘Do you know anyone who might have wanted to harm Alexa?’

‘No. I know nothing about her. I only know she looked like a model.’

* * *

In the car heading out of Greasby, Cody thinks that probably nothing has fundamentally changed in human nature here since 8,500 BC. Even way back then, men would have been fighting over women they considered desirable and slaughtering them when they failed to meet their demands.

Webley’s thoughts seem to be on a similar track. ‘Don’t you think it’s sad?’ she asks.

‘What is?’

‘Every time we ask a bloke about Alexa, the only thing they want to talk about is her looks. They don’t talk about her mind, her personality – nothing like that. It’s all about what’s on the surface.’

‘I can understand it. It’s the only reason I went out with you.’

Webley slaps him on the bicep, then lapses into silence. It lasts only a few seconds.

‘Do you still think I’m attractive?’

Shit, Cody thinks. She’s put a spade in my hand again. I really need to stop digging.

‘I’ve matured now,’ he answers. ‘I’ve learned to look at what lies beneath.’

She slaps him again. ‘Why do you have to make it sound dirty? Jesus, Cody, you’re such a sleazebag.’

12

We Found Love – Rihanna, featuring Calvin Harris

Webley is at her desk, staring at the flowers. They’re lovely flowers, all right, but what the hell, Parker?

She studies the card again. That message from a ‘maniac’. And not even handwritten.

Abruptly, she reaches across, grabs the flowers, drops them into her waste basket. Then she gets on her phone and searches for Parker in her contacts. She texts him a message:

Megan: Stop sending me stuff!!

That feels better. She puts the phone down, stares at her computer screen.

Her phone pings. A reply from Parker:

Parker: What stuff??

She types quickly:

Megan: Don’t act daft. The card and the flowers.

Parker: I haven’t sent you anything.

Megan: Yeah, right. Just pack it in.

And then she turns off her notifications and tries to concentrate on finding a killer.

* * *

At the back of the room, Grace watches Webley dump the flowers and wonders what that drama’s all about. Guesses it’s something to do with Webley’s ex.

Grace would love to receive flowers at work. Or anywhere, for that matter. Especially if they were from Cody.

Speaking of which…

He’s alone right now. Not on the phone either. This would be an ideal time.

Grace picks up her laptop and walks over to Cody’s desk. She stands behind him. So close she can count the hairs on the nape of his neck. There’s hair on his ears, too: not the old-man kind that sprouts with wiry abandon but a delicate sheen of peach-like fuzziness. The flesh of his earlobes look as soft as a baby’s. She wants to reach out and stroke them.

Suddenly realising she can’t just keep standing here admiring him, she emits a discreet cough.

Cody jumps out of his skin.

‘Grace! Hi. You okay?’

Grace nods, smiles. ‘Could we, er… could I have a moment?’

‘Sure. What’s up?’

She gestures towards the door. ‘Perhaps… somewhere a bit more private?’

‘Of course.’

Cody gets up and follows her. They go out into the corridor. Cody raps on the door of an interview room and then opens it for her. Always the gentleman.

‘This do?’ he asks.

‘This is fine. Thank you.’

They enter, and Grace watches as he closes the door. Just the two of us in here, she thinks. No windows. Cameras off. We could get up to all kinds of things and nobody else would know.

‘Is everything okay, Grace? I mean, you’ve been through a lot…’

Hush, lovely man, she thinks. Stop worrying about me.

‘I’m fine, really. And I haven’t told anyone about what happened. I promised you, didn’t I?’

‘You did, Grace, and I’m really grateful. But it was all my fault. If it ever gets too much, you can come and talk to me. You know that, don’t you?’

So sweet. Grace could cry at the sweetness.

‘Thank you. You’re very kind.’

There’s a silence while Grace stares into Cody’s eyes.

‘So…’ Cody says.

‘Yes.’ She holds up the laptop. ‘I, er, I think I’ve found something on the Selby case. I wanted to run it past you first.’

‘Okay. Great.’

They sit down at the table. Side by side. She feels the brush of his thigh against hers, and a shiver dances up her body. She opens up the laptop and forces herself to focus on the business at hand.

‘I’ve been going through the CCTV footage. Most of it doesn’t tell us anything from what I can see, but then I looked at the images from the cameras in and around the Heswall leisure centre. I started by concentrating on the periods just before and after the classes given by Alexa.’

‘That seems sensible.’

From anyone else, those words could be patronising. From Cody, they’re the best compliment.

‘Yes. And I found this…’

She performs a few mouse-clicks. A window pops open, showing the view of a camera in the lobby of the leisure centre. A few seconds into the video, a man comes into frame. He’s wearing a green hoody and black joggers. He heads straight towards the camera, which is angled over the door to the building.

‘That’s Toby Hooper,’ Cody says.

‘Yes. Now we’ll cut to an external camera. It’s a bit distant, I’m afraid, but I think you’ll find it interesting.’

She opens another window on the laptop. The view now is from a high vantage point covering the building entrance. Toby can be seen emerging from the leisure centre and then strolling along the driveway separating the building from its car park. It’s raining heavily, but Toby doesn’t seem to mind.

Seconds later, another figure comes into view from the bottom right of the picture. Cody shuffles forward for a better look. The man – at least, Cody thinks it’s a man – is wearing a navy-blue rain jacket with the hood up, and his back is to the camera. He is making a beeline for Toby, and at some pace.

‘Who’s that?’ Cody asks.

Grace doesn’t answer. She’s enjoying leaving Cody in suspense, not to mention the fact that he is now leaning right into her.

Toby suddenly halts and turns towards the man, who now rushes at Toby, grabs him and slams him into a wall. There’s some animated conversation, and then the man slaps Toby hard across the face before pointing a finger at him and then continuing the argument. Toby can be seen shaking his head as he speaks.

Eventually the man lets go of Toby but not before giving him another whack across his head. He leaves, but his face is still not visible. Toby stares after him, rubbing his cheek, then heads off in the opposite direction.

Cody sits back in his chair. ‘When did this happen?’

‘Three weeks ago,’ says Grace.

‘Is there another camera view of the guy who attacked Toby?’

‘Afraid not. There are good views of the whole of the car park, but the man didn’t come from that direction.’

Cody stares at her. ‘Why do I get the feeling you’ve got more to tell me?’

Oh, Cody, she thinks. You know me so well.

‘Because I have. I’ve been developing some software to help me search the videos. The way it works is that I feed in relevant descriptors and it checks each frame for their presence. Obviously, it’s much faster and more reliable than anything a human could do.’

‘Obviously. What kind of “relevant descriptors” are we talking about?’

‘Take a look at this…’ she says.

She runs another video clip. It shows the side of the building on the main road, with traffic flying past.

‘What am I looking at?’ Cody asks.

‘I’ll show you again.’ She plays the brief CCTV snippet once more. ‘See it?’

‘Nope.’

‘I’m not surprised. I don’t think any detective going through this footage would find it. Some of the things I asked the software to look out for were certain car number plates. It highlighted this one.’

She presses a few keys on the laptop. The video begins to run again, then suddenly freezes as the computer draws a box around the registration plate of a car on the road.

Grace says, ‘Notice that this car has its left indicator on. It’s about to turn down the side road, heading towards the area that man disappeared to after he attacked Toby. Notice the timestamp, too. This was picked up about ten minutes before the end of Alexa’s lesson. My guess is that the man drove there and then lay in wait for Toby to show his face.’

Cody turns to her, his excitement clear. ‘Grace, whose car is that? I can’t even read the number plate.’

She smiles. ‘Luckily, the computer can.’ She hits another key. The computer zooms in on the number plate, then converts the jumble of blurred pixels into a recognisable sequence of letters and digits.

‘That looks familiar,’ Cody says.

‘Yes. The car belongs to Oliver Selby.’

Grace pauses for dramatic effect, allowing Cody to absorb its impact.

Cody says, ‘I asked Toby directly. He told us he never met Alexa’s husband.’

‘Well, I suppose it’s possible that the attacker never revealed who he was, but that seems unlikely.’

‘I agree. Toby definitely lied to us. The question is why. And also, why did Selby go after him? Slapping him about for saying a few inappropriate things about his wife seems a bit of an overreaction, no matter how possessive he was.’

Time for surprise number two, Grace thinks.

‘I think I can help you with that, too,’ she says.

Cody’s grin sends another electric pulse through her.

‘I took a look at Toby’s online activity,’ she continues. ‘Very childish stuff mostly. Superheroes and trash TV. But there was some other stuff he posted on social media and later took down.’

‘He deleted it? But you found it anyway.’

‘I have my ways. But I should warn you: it’s a bit… racy.’

Cody raises his eyebrows. ‘I’m sure I’ll cope.’

I’m sure you will, she thinks. Not sure I will, though.

She opens up another application. It slowly flips through a sequence of photographs of a woman in various states of undress. Never entirely naked but wearing sexy lingerie and posing suggestively.

That woman is Alexa Selby.

While Cody studies the images, Grace wonders what’s going through his mind. Wonders if he’s getting all hot under the collar right next to her.

‘Jeez!’ Cody says. ‘How the hell did he get hold of these?’

‘They’re fake. Alexa’s head grafted onto someone else’s body, and with the background blurred out so you can’t tell where she is. He’s done a good job, probably with the aid of some AI image generator, but if you look closely enough it’s possible to tell they’ve been manufactured.’

‘And these were on Toby’s socials? No wonder Oliver got so pissed off. Still doesn’t explain why Toby lied to us, though.’  He looks at the computer for a few more seconds, then back at Grace. ‘Grace, you’re a star. This needs a bigger audience. You mind repeating your little presentation for the boss and a few others?’

She shrugs. ‘Not at all.’ She knows she could have done that from the start, could have gone straight to DCI Blunt with this vital information. But where would be the fun in that?

‘Great,’ Cody says, standing up. ‘And I meant what I said. If you ever need to offload, I’m always here for you.’

Always here for me, she thinks.

He’ll never know how much those words mean.

13

Without Love – The Doobie Brothers

Cody is back in the same seat in the same interview room, next to a woman with a laptop again. Different woman this time, though.

Opposite him and Webley, Toby Hooper is nervously scanning the room.

‘Why do we have to talk here?’ Toby asks. ‘Why couldn’t we talk in my flat again, like we did before?’

Cody points his pen at the black box of an audio recorder on the table. ‘We want to be sure this is all recorded. Things are a lot more serious now, Toby.’

Toby blinks. ‘W-why are they more serious? Am I under arrest?’

‘No. We’ve already told you that you’re not under arrest, but there are some things we need to clear up.’

Toby looks around the room again. ‘I don’t like it here. It’s got no windows. Should I have a lawyer?’

‘We’ve also told you that you’re entitled to have a lawyer present. You declined the offer. Have you changed your mind?’

‘Yes,’ he says. And then: ‘No. Let’s just do this, okay? I want to go home. I’ve got nothing to hide.’

‘That’s good to hear, Toby, but we’re not entirely sure it’s true.’

Toby narrows his eyes. ‘What do you mean?’

‘The first time we spoke to you, we asked you if you’d ever met Oliver Selby, Alexa’s husband. You said no.’

‘Well… that’s true. I haven’t.’

‘Uh-huh. I want you to take a look at something…’

He looks to Webley, who swivels her laptop around so that Toby can see the screen.

‘For the benefit of the recording,’ she says, ‘we’re showing Mr Hooper CCTV footage taken at Heswall Leisure Centre.’

She clicks a key to run the video. ‘Who’s that in the clip?’

Toby pushes his glasses up on his nose. ‘It’s… it’s me.’

‘Right. It’s you.’ She starts up the second video. ‘And now this is you outside the leisure centre. Agreed?’

‘I… I suppose.’

‘Okay. Now keep watching.’

Together they watch the attack unfold. Webley pauses the video before the unidentified male leaves the screen.

‘Who’s the other man, Toby?’

Toby begins his fidgeting again, touching his face and rubbing his thighs. ‘I… I don’t know. He’s just a guy.’

‘You expect us to believe that?’

‘Why not? Muggers don’t usually show ID, do they?’ He lets out a snort of laughter but curtails it when he sees the reaction.

‘Don’t play games. He wasn’t a mugger. We’ve already identified the man as Oliver Selby.’

‘I… I didn’t know that. I mean, at the time. I didn’t know it was him.’

‘I think you’re lying to us again, Toby.’

Cody decides it’s time to get heavy-handed. ‘I don’t think you realise just how serious this situation is. This is a murder inquiry. We’re giving you a choice here. Either you can help us find Alexa’s killer, or you can do everything in your power to make it more difficult for us. Now, when we find Oliver Selby, we’re going to ask him exactly what went on between the two of you. In the meantime, we’re going to bring in a lip-reading expert to examine this video and tell us what words you’re speaking. But understand this, Toby: if you insist on making us jump through hoops, you can be absolutely certain that we are going to throw the book at you. Now, what’s it going to be? Help us or obstruct us?’

Toby squirms a bit longer. ‘All right. He told me was Alexa’s husband, okay?’

‘Okay, so why didn’t you tell us this before? Why did you deny meeting him?’

‘Because… because I thought that if you spoke to him, he might say bad things about me, the way Alexa did. I didn’t want to get into trouble with the police.’

‘What kind of bad things? Why was he so angry with you?’

‘You know that already. Because of the stuff I said to Alexa. She must have told him about it.’

Cody lets out a long sigh of exasperation. ‘Oh, Toby, Toby. You really need to stop treating us like idiots. The fight on that video happened before your membership got cancelled. If Oliver was ordering you to stop talking to his wife, I think you would have done so immediately. She wouldn’t have needed to complain to the staff. I think this was about something else.’

‘No. It really wasn’t. I hadn’t done nothing else.’

‘No? Perhaps you’d like to explain these to us, then.’

He nods to Webley, who calls up the seductive images of Alexa on her computer.

‘For the recording,’ Webley says, ‘we’re showing image gallery SR1.’

They let the sequence run in front of Toby’s astonished eyes.

‘Where… where did you get those?’

‘From your various social media accounts.’

‘That’s illegal. You can’t do that.’ He turns to Cody. ‘Can she do that?’

‘If there’s one thing I know about the internet, Toby, it’s that once you put something out there, it’s there for ever, even after you think you’ve deleted it.’

Toby looks to be on the verge of tears. ‘I… they were just a bit of fun. I didn’t mean any harm.’

Webley says, ‘Oliver Selby didn’t see it that way, though, did he? In fact, I think he was pretty upset about it. That’s what the fight was really about, wasn’t it?’

‘I…’

‘WASN’T IT?’

Even Cody almost jumps at the sound of Webley’s raised voice.

‘YES!’ Toby shouts back. ‘Yes. Okay. I did post a few things about her. I didn’t expect… I mean, you saw how he was. I thought he was going to kill me. He was so angry. I had to tell him the truth to get him to calm down.’

‘The truth?’ Cody says. ‘What do you mean by the truth?’

‘That… that it wasn’t me. I didn’t create those pictures. Someone else did. I was just posting stuff that someone else had given me.’

‘Who, Toby? Who gave you the images?’

Toby wrestles with his conscience. And then he says, ‘The friend I told you about. Sam.’

* * *

The way Toby tells it, he didn’t really think it through when he posted the photographs of Alexa on his social media accounts. He didn’t name her in the posts; instead, he put comments alongside the images such as ‘Isn’t she the most beautiful woman in the world?’ and ‘Supergirl in the flesh.’ He certainly never imagined that someone would recognise Alexa and inform Oliver – a possessive, jealous man who, unaware that the images were fake, wasn’t going to stand idly by while someone was photographing his wife in her underwear.

Scared out of his wits during the attack by the furious Oliver, Toby gave up Sam’s name. In the immediate aftermath, he contacted Sam, who stopped going to the exercise class lest he suffer a similar fate or worse.

Now, his part in all this having been uncovered, Sam seems to have gone into even deeper hiding. By the time Webley reaches her house that Saturday night, the police have tried phoning him numerous times. They have even sent a couple of uniforms over to his flat, but they couldn’t even get him to respond to his intercom.

Webley doesn’t think it’s such a great loss. Yes, they’ll have to speak to him again at some point to close off that avenue of the investigation, but she’s not convinced that the whole Toby/Sam thing is the best use of police time. Far more important to chase up the Oliver Selby angle.

And then she thinks, But what do I know? Maybe that’s why I’m just a detective constable. Maybe a brainbox like Inspector Morse or DCI Vera Whatsherface would tell me that the unlikely suspects are precisely the ones I should be going after because it always works on the telly.

Worthwhile or not, Webley has no doubt that someone higher up will assign her the job of trying to contact Sam tomorrow.

She sighs as she reaches her front door.

And then she sees it.

Another bouquet of flowers, lying there in the gloom of her porch.

She reaches down and picks them up, angling them towards the streetlamp. Something’s not right. They look…

Dead.

‘Jesus, Parker. What the fuck?’

She finds her keys, opens her front door. Inside, she puts on some lights.

Yes, they’re definitely dead. All brown and crispy.

There’s a small white envelope taped to the stems. She rips it away and tears it open. The tiny card inside contains another typed message:

Without love…

…we wither and die.

Furious, she marches into the kitchen and throws the whole lot into her bin. Then she whips out her phone and calls Parker.

He answers almost immediately. ‘Hey!’ he says, all bright and breezy.

‘Parker, what the fuck are you playing at?’

‘Hello to you, too. I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Don’t lie to me. In case it’s escaped your attention, we’re not a couple anymore. I don’t want your cards or your flowers, alive or dead. Dead flowers, Parker? Seriously? That’s supposed to win me over?’

‘I didn’t send you any flowers. I think you’re getting me confused with your new boyfriend.’

‘What? I don’t have a new boyfriend. And I’m not looking for one either. Right now I’m perfectly happy being single.’

‘That’s not what I hear. I hear you and Cody are an item again.’

‘Oh, fuck off, Parker. How many times have I told you that it’s all in your head? I have zero interest in going out with Cody. Now stop making up wild fantasies and stay the hell out of my life.’

She ends the call and slams the phone down on the worktop.

14

Do You Love Me? – Chaim Topol and Norma Crane (Fiddler on the Roof)

Franklin B Goodman slouches in a padded armchair as he watches Fiddler on the Roof on Netflix. He finds this film fascinating rather than entertaining. So much to unpack, to analyse. Not all that Russian pogrom stuff – those shenanigans don’t interest him. It’s the various love stories he finds worthy of study. Tevye’s adoration of his daughters, and the conflict of that with the girls’ attraction to other men who enter their lives.

Right now, Tevye and his wife Golde are singing to each other. He keeps asking her if she loves him, but instead of answering directly, she keeps telling him how much she’s done for him in terms of nursing him and giving him children and looking after the house and cooking all the meals. But Tevye needs to hear the words. He needs her to say that she loves him.

Franklin has never heard anyone tell him they love him.

He gave up on girls long ago. He doesn’t think he’s unattractive, though. He is tall and has a muscular, strong figure. He exercises regularly and eats healthily. He is clean-shaven and his dark hair is always kept short and tidy. Yes, he has an ever-expanding bald spot, but isn’t that a sign of masculinity?

Whatever, he doesn’t think it’s his looks that are the problem. It’s the emotional side that causes him difficulty. In conversations he laughs in all the wrong places, mainly because he’s not sure when things are supposed to be funny. And even when he tries to be open and truthful – because that’s what he read in a book is a good inter-personal strategy – he gets the impression that his comments are often received as inappropriate or even downright rude.

So, no. No woman has ever told him she loves him.

And that includes his mother.

Never hugged him or kissed him, either. Not that he can recall. Maybe in the time before his memories began she permitted him some displays of affection. But he doubts it.

And maybe it wouldn’t have mattered if, like Golde, his mother had replaced explicit statements with a life of self-sacrifice that could be interpreted as the same thing.

But he didn’t get much of that, either.

He still remembers the countless hours he was left alone in the house, too young to look after himself. The many meals he was denied. The time he was beaten for lining his grumbling stomach with the contents of the cat’s bowl. The winter night he was forced to spend in the frosty garden for daring to switch a heater on in his room. And not to forget the occasion when he had to lick up the vomit he had carelessly heaved onto the living room carpet.

Ah, yes, those were the days. A house filled with love and laughter.

Franklin’s reminiscences are interrupted by the ringing of his phone. He pauses the film before he answers.

‘Hello, Parker,’ he says. He suspects he knows what this is about.

‘I had a call from Megan this evening,’ Parker says, his voice stern.

‘Really?’ Franklin says. ‘Then that’s good. She’s showing an interest in you again.’

‘Actually no, it’s not good. She’s really pissed off.’

‘Oh? Why’s that?’

‘Someone’s been sending her cards and flowers, and she thinks it’s me.’

‘Well, I think we both know who they’ll be from, don’t we?’

‘She says they’re not from Cody, either.’

‘Yes, but she’s bound to say that, isn’t she?’

‘She says the last lot of flowers she got were dead ones. Why would Cody send her dead flowers?’

Franklin pretends to mull it over. In reality, he’s thinking about how difficult it was to lay his hands on dead flowers. It’s not something you can ask for in the average florist’s. In the end he had to resort to stealing a bunch that had been tied to a memorial bench in the park.

He says, ‘That’s a good question, but from what you’ve told me about Cody, he can be a little… erratic. Why don’t you leave it with me? I’ll do a little more poking around tomorrow and see what I can come up with.’

There’s a pause, and again Franklin thinks he knows what Parker is about to say.

‘Yeah, well, that’s the other thing. I’m not sure I want to carry on with this poking around, as you call it. It feels a bit…’

‘Intrusive?’

‘Sordid.’

The word jabs at Franklin. He likes to think that there’s a higher purpose to his actions. Dragging them through the mud like that is disrespectful.

‘Hmm,’ he says. ‘Okay.’ He knows it’s not the answer Parker expects.

‘Okay?’

‘Of course. I’m entirely at your service. It’s your money, after all.’

‘Yes,’ Parker says, the relief evident in his voice. ‘I think it’s what I want.’

‘All right. Tell you what. Why don’t we meet up one last time? I’ll show you all the new evidence I’ve got, give you copies of anything you want, you can pay me, and then I can just leave you to it?’

He waits for the bait to be taken.

‘New evidence?’

And there it is.

‘Yes. I haven’t been sitting around all day, you know. You get your money’s worth with me.’

‘What kind of evidence?’

‘Some nice shots of Cody and Webley together. A bit too close together, in my opinion, but I’ll let you be the judge of that. I’m away all day tomorrow, but how about if I come over on Monday morning?’

‘I’m in work on Monday.’

Which Franklin knows. He also knows that Parker doesn’t want to wait that long.

Parker says, ‘Is there any way we can do this sooner?’

‘Well…’ He pauses just long enough to seem reluctant. ‘I could come over now, if it’s not too late for you. Shouldn’t take that long to sort things out.’

‘It’s not too late. I’ll see you soon, okay?’

‘Sure. Put the kettle on.’

Franklin ends the call. Stares at the frozen frame of Fiddler on the Roof. He’ll finish it off later. Then maybe watch Kramer versus Kramer again. He’s never been able to figure out why a supposedly loving mother would just pack her bags and leave her husband and kid like that.

15

Bye Bye Love – The Everly Brothers

‘Sorry to drag you out so late,’ Parker says as he shows Franklin into his colourless kitchen again. ‘I just thought it would be better to sort this out now.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Franklin says, affixing a fake smile. ‘If my clients are happy, then I’m happy. And who knows? Maybe you’ll need my services again in the future.’

‘Yes. Thank you. You’re very understanding.’

Franklin waves the compliment away and then places his laptop between them on the breakfast bar.

‘So,’ he says, ‘as we agreed, I’ll show you the other evidence I’ve gathered, give you copies of anything you want, and then we can conclude our business arrangement.’

‘Yes, good.’

‘There’s just one small problem.’

‘There is?’

‘Yes. Don’t worry, it’s nothing major. For reasons known only to itself, my trusty old computer here has decided that now is a good time to install the latest version of its operating system. It’s still got about…’ He opens the lid then immediately closes it again before Parker can pop his head around to see it. ‘…about fifteen minutes to go. Are you happy to wait?’

‘Er, yes, sure.’

‘Fine. So, should we have that cup of tea?’

‘Yes, right.’

Franklin watches as Parker prepares the tea. He can sense a nervousness in the man. Their conversation becomes trivial. A comment on the weather. Another on football. A joking remark about yet another political scandal.

Finally, Parker brings across the two mugs of tea. One that looks dark enough to stain teeth, the other only slightly off-white.

‘Lovely,’ Franklin says. ‘You remembered how weak I like it.’ He waits for Parker to stir two heaped teaspoons of sugar into his mug, and then he says, ‘But you forgot something else about me.’

There is worry in Parker’s eyes. ‘Did I? What’s that?’

‘I love a biscuit with my tea. Is there any chance…?’ He exhibits his best disarming smile – one he has practised many times in the mirror.

‘Of course,’ Parker says. He gets up, goes to his cupboards, finds the biscuits. As he did last time, he fetches down a plate and carefully places just two of the biscuits onto it. Then he seems to think better of it and adds a third.

Franklin thanks him when he brings them over. He dunks and takes a bite. Watches while Parker stirs his tea again, taps the spoon on the rim of the mug, then takes a drink.

‘So,’ Franklin says. ‘Why the change of heart?’

‘Like I said, I spoke to Megan.’

‘And?’

‘She denied she was going out with Cody.’

‘Well, she would, wouldn’t she?’

‘Actually, I’m not so sure. Far as she’s concerned, there’s nothing between us now. She’d have no reason to deny the fact that she had renewed the relationship with Cody.’

‘Maybe she doesn’t want to upset you.’

Parker shakes his head. ‘I don’t think my welfare is high on Megan’s list of priorities right now.’

‘So what are you saying? That you don’t think Cody and Megan have got back together?’

He wonders whether Parker will go with his gut. Whether he will have the balls to say that he thinks this whole thing feels to him like a scam.

‘I… I don’t know what to think.’

‘You saw the photos. Cody stayed at her house overnight.’

‘Well… we don’t know it was the whole night, do we? Like I said last time, maybe they talked about work, and he slept on her sofa.’

‘Hmm.’

‘And they’re still close friends. Even if they’re not a couple, they’re allowed to talk and support each other. Maybe one of them needed that.’

Franklin nods slowly. ‘I hate to say this, Parker, but you’re the one who had all the suspicions about them in the first place.’

‘I know, I know.’ He takes a long draft of tea, as if it were alcohol to provide him with Dutch courage. ‘But then there’s the flowers. Why would Cody send her dead flowers?’

Franklin doesn’t remind him that they already discussed this on the phone. Clearly, Parker wasn’t satisfied with the answer. Doubts have crept in and taken up residence. It often goes this way. Pity, really.

But he goes through the motions anyway.

‘You told me he’s got issues, right? Maybe it’s something to do with that. But doesn’t that make it all the more urgent that we find out what’s going on? He could be a danger to her.’

‘I don’t know. And maybe… maybe I shouldn’t know what’s going on.’

‘What do you mean?’

Parker looks resigned. ‘Maybe I should just accept that Megan’s love life is no longer any of my business.’

‘That’s not what you said on Thursday night.’

‘I was drunk then. I wasn’t myself.’

‘Sometimes it takes a little alcohol to make us realise how we really feel about someone. But hey, it’s your money.’ He briefly raises the lid of the laptop again. ‘This thing’s nearly done. You still want to see the rest of the photos I took, don’t you?’

Parker stares back at him for a long time. ‘You know what? I don’t think I do. If it’s all the same with you, I’d like to pay you what I owe you and call it a day.’

Franklin taps his fingers on the laptop. He knew it would come to this. It was clear in Parker’s voice on the phone earlier. Some people just aren’t willing to put in the effort required to fix things. They don’t have enough commitment.

He says, ‘Can I ask you a personal question?’

‘I might not answer but go ahead.’

‘Are you still in love with Megan?’

‘Yes.’ The answer is immediate, which only proves to Franklin that he’s doing the right thing.

‘So, don’t you want to know what’s going on in her life? I mean, what if you’re right? What if she and Cody are really just good friends? And what if the reason for that is she’s keeping him at arm’s length because, deep down, she’s hoping that you and her will get back together again one day?’

Parker drinks his tea. He seems very thirsty tonight. Perhaps it’s anxiety.

‘I don’t think she’s hoping that. She made it pretty clear that it’s over between us. And I can understand that. I accused her of some terrible things.’

‘Yes, but maybe she’s hoping you’ll change. That you’ll come to your senses and show her you’ll do anything she wants to get her back.’

‘I don’t think that’s likely. But how would I know what’s going on in her head?’

‘Well, that’s where I come in, isn’t it? I’m sure I can find all these things out for you.’

Parker stares down at the laptop between them. He blinks, then rubs his eyes. When he looks up at Franklin again, they seem slightly unfocused.

‘Can I ask you something now?’ Parker says.

‘Sure.’

‘Did you send Megan the flowers?’

Bravo, Franklin thinks. Putting your cards on the table.

‘Me? Why would I do that?’

‘I don’t know. You tell me.’

‘No. It wasn’t me. I’m an investigator, that’s all. I investigate and I report back.’

Parker’s eyelids flutter. He digs his knuckles into his eye sockets again, then shakes his head as if to clear it.

‘Hmm. Yeah, well, I still think I want to stop using you now. This is all getting a bit… weird.’

Franklin shows him another smile, but this one is ice-cold. ‘I’m afraid that’s a bad idea, Parker. I don’t think we’ll do that.’

Parker struggles to find his words. ‘It’s… it’s not… an option. It stops… now.’ He reaches to his back pocket. ‘How much… do I…’

‘Keep your money, Parker. This isn’t about money. Never has been. It’s about love. You still love Megan, and that’s everything to you and therefore to me. Love is the most important thing in the world. We have to protect it. You’d agree with that, wouldn’t you?’

Unable to extract his wallet from his pocket, Parker gets down from his barstool. He stumbles, grabs the worktop to save himself.

‘I don’t feel…’ He tries to focus on Franklin. ‘What have you…’

Franklin raises a hand, gives a little wave.

‘Bye bye,’ he says.

And then Parker goes. Collapses to the floor as though his bones have turned to mush.

Franklin tilts his head to get a better look at the motionless figure on the tiles.

‘Don’t worry,’ he says. ‘We’ll have you back with Megan in no time.’

16

I Feel Love – Donna Summer

In Parker’s dream he’s drowning.

He’s beneath the waves of a cold ocean, and he cannot breathe. Somehow the water is forcing itself into his mouth and is trying to push ever onwards, down his windpipe and into his lungs, filling and expanding them until they burst. Around him is the roar of the waves, but it is not a white noise. It has a curious rhythm to it. A beat.

And then it is as if the ocean’s beautiful sirens begin calling to him, beckoning him to a watery grave. He tells himself to resist, but the voices are so melodic and spellbinding. He feels a compulsion to go to them, to hear more of their mesmeric sounds, but for some reason he is unable to swim. His legs and arms refuse to obey his commands. He is just drifting with the currents, his lack of oxygen becoming ever more severe. The song grows louder, its beat more insistent. He tries to open his mouth. He needs to breathe but also to scream.

And then he wakes up.

At least he thinks he’s awake. He can see only blackness, and he can still hear one of the sirens, and the ocean continues to cram into his mouth.

No, not the ocean. Something soft. Material. It has been packed in tight, soaking up his saliva and tickling the back of his throat. It makes him want to throw up, but he can’t open his mouth to spit out the material, his lips won’t part, and he knows that if he does puke he will probably drown in his own vomit.

He tries to focus on something else. The song.

It’s called I Feel Love, and the siren’s name is Donna Summer.

Why is his head filled with that pulsing music?

He tries bringing his hands to his ears, but his arms won’t move. Something is holding them back; they’re stretched above his head in a surrender pose. He tugs harder, with no success, and then he strains, his muscles taut, but all he can feel is something biting into his wrists.

He turns his attention to his legs, attempting to draw them up towards his chest, but again he feels the resistance.

Parker realises he is tied up. His arms and legs are bound. He has been gagged, and music is being played to him over headphones.

He twists his head from side to side. No, not headphones. Smaller. Earbuds. And he can’t seem to shake them loose.

He stares into the blackness, worried that his sense of sight has somehow been turned off too. He lifts his head and scans as much of his surroundings as he can. To his right is a large rectangle of dark grey. He realises it’s a curtained-off window.

The support beneath him is soft, cushioning his body.

I’m on a bed, he thinks. This is a bedroom. My own? I don’t think so. Mine’s not this dark.

He searches his memory. The last thing he recalls is getting down from a stool in the kitchen, just before the world was switched off.

And before that?

He was talking to Franklin. Trying to end whatever that weird setup was between them. Franklin had the laptop and they were drinking tea and then Parker began to feel a little woozy, and then…

The tea!

Was there something in the tea?

Surely not. How could Franklin—

I turned my back, he thinks. I went to fetch the biscuits. In those few seconds he could easily have—

No. That’s crazy. That’s nuts. Why would he spike my tea?

I mean, it happens. You hear about such things. But it’s mainly done to girls in bars and nightclubs, right? Date rape drugs, and so on. Surely Franklin doesn’t intend to—

Oh, shit! Is that what this is? A sex thing? Is this guy planning to rape me?

Or what if it’s worse? What if he’s a violent psychopath? What if he’s another Jeffery Dahmer, and he’s planning to cut me up and store my head in his fridge? I mean, Jesus, what the fuck is going on here? What the hell have I got myself into?

Panic overwhelms him then. He tries yelling, but it feels as though it can’t push past whatever is in his mouth, so he yanks on his bindings again and again, and then he begins to buck on the bed, arching his back as much as he can – which isn’t easy when your limbs are splayed – and then slamming it down into the mattress. He twists and he turns and he pulls and he bounces for all he’s worth, hoping that some part of the bed will eventually give way and that he will be able to escape.

He stops when light blinds him.

He screws his eyes up tight, and then blinks furiously while they adjust.

This is definitely not his bedroom.

But it’s not a basement or some kind of weird sex den, either. No chains hanging from the ceiling or semi-naked men wearing leather thongs and carrying whips. It’s just a regular bedroom, with wardrobes and bedside cabinets and a dressing table and a mirror and floral wallpaper.

Oh, and Franklin B Goodman.

Who is now standing next to the bed, looking inquisitively down at Parker as though he’s surprised he’s making such a fuss.

Parker tries yelling at him, but again all he manages to produce are muffled sounds. He turns his head to examine his arms and legs. As he suspected, they are tied to the rails at the top and foot of the bed. A white cable stretches from his earbuds to a laptop sitting on the cabinet to his left.

Driven by fury, he goes into a frenzy of motion again as he fights against his restraints. Staring with wild eyes at Franklin, the veins bulging in his temples, he screams an obscenity-laden list of all the things that he’s planning to do to his captor when he breaks free. Even though he knows they are stifled in his own mouth, the act itself makes him feel he still has some semblance of control.

Franklin says something back to him, but he can’t hear it over the music.

And then Franklin slowly reaches out a hand towards Parker’s face. Parker does his best to twist away from his touch, but there is no escape. He wonders what the man is going to do to him.

What Franklin does is to pull and rip.

His head still muddled by whatever was used to drug him, Parker thinks at first that a strip of flesh has been peeled from his face. But then he sees the length of duct tape in Franklin’s hand. When Franklin repeats the act on the other side of his face, he is less afraid.

Franklin removes the earbuds that were being held in place by the tape. He says, ‘Sorry, I forgot you couldn’t hear me. I was telling you that you should stop before you get hurt. And by that, I don’t mean that you’ll hurt yourself. I mean that I will have to hurt you.’

The warning is delivered in such a matter-of-fact way that, at first, Parker doesn’t absorb it. But then he looks into Franklin’s steely eyes and realises it’s not an idle threat. It is guaranteed to involve extreme pain.

Parker settles his body, tries to calm his breathing. He tells himself there is no point expending all his energy fruitlessly. There may come a point when he needs as much of it as he can summon to fight this man.

‘That’s better,’ Franklin says. ‘I don’t like noise. Which explains this…’ He taps Parker’s mouth, and Parker realises that there is tape there too, preventing him from expelling whatever is in there. ‘But you still managed to make quite a racket. The light fitting downstairs was actually rattling. I can’t have that. I was trying to concentrate on a film. Kramer versus Kramer. Have you seen it? It’s one of my favourites. Before you so rudely interrupted, I’d just got to the scene where Dustin Hoffman loses his temper when he’s trying to make French toast for his son. I don’t think you should ever show that much negative emotion in front of your child, do you? Not that it stopped my parents. I don’t think they should ever have had kids. You might think it strange of me to say that, because obviously it would rule out my own existence, but there you have it: that’s what I think.’

Parker wonders what the hell is going on here. It seems so surreal. Franklin’s got a man tied up on his bed and he’s rambling on about old films?

He tries a question, but it emerges only as noise.

‘You’re right,’ Franklin says. ‘I should let you speak.’

He rips the tape away from Parker’s mouth and then reaches in and pulls out a long length of cloth, as though he’s a magician performing a trick. Parker coughs. The inside of his mouth feels desiccated and scaly, his tongue a shrivelled lump of useless flesh.

‘Here,’ Franklin says, ‘have some water.’ He reaches for a glass on the bedside cabinet, presumably placed there in readiness for this moment, and angles it towards Parker’s parched lips. Parker raises his head, sips the water and swirls it around his mouth before swallowing. It occurs to him too late that the water may be drugged.

‘How’s the music, by the way?’ Franklin asks. ‘Do you like my selection?’

Parker doesn’t want to discuss music or films or Franklin’s dysfunctional parents. There are more pressing things on his mind.

‘Where are we? Why have you brought me here?’

Franklin appears genuinely puzzled by the question.

‘Why? Because you asked me to.’

‘What are you talking about? I didn’t ask you to drug me and tie me to a bed.’

‘No, but you asked for my help. You said you wanted to get back with Megan.’

It seems such a warped response. A bit like slapping someone who says they’re starving.

‘How can this possibly help to achieve that?’

‘Have faith. Drastic situations call for drastic measures.’

Parker doesn’t like the use of that word ‘drastic’. He would prefer something like ‘sensible’ or ‘reasonable’.

‘This… this is a joke, right? A prank.’

‘No joke. I take your situation very seriously.’

‘But… but you can’t just kidnap people. You can’t just keep them prisoner.’

‘Actually, I think you’ll find I can. Nobody else knows you’re here. We’ve got all the time in the world. We’ll get to know each other quite well.’

Parker doesn’t want to become bosom buddies with this man. He doesn’t want anything more to do with him. Wishes he’d never spoken to him in that bar. Regrets even going into that bar.

‘Just… untie me, okay? Let me leave. I’ll pay you everything I owe you. I’ll double it. Triple it. Please. Untie me and let’s sort this out.’

‘It’s not about the money.’

‘If it’s not about the money, then what is it about? What will it take to let me go?’

‘I’ve already told you. What it will take is for you and Megan to get together again.’

It feels to Parker as though they are in two different universes. To Franklin, what he is doing seems to possess some kind of logic. To Parker, it’s an impossible situation. Being held captive in a bedroom and resuming a relationship with Megan are totally incompatible. He doesn’t understand how Franklin cannot see it from that viewpoint.

‘And how will tying me to a bed accomplish that?’

‘Because it means you will have to stay here. And that means we can work together. You and I. We can act as a team. Combine forces. Megan will be powerless to resist.’

It still makes no sense to Parker.

‘I… I don’t understand.’

‘You will.’

And with that, Franklin reaches behind his back and pulls something from his waistband. Parker lifts his head to get a better look.

And then he wishes he hadn’t.

Franklin is now holding up a large pair of kitchen scissors.

Parker tries to hide his terror. Tries telling himself there is a perfectly good reason for this.

He says, ‘What are they for? The ropes. You’re going to cut the ropes, right?’

‘Not exactly.’

Franklin looks Parker up and down. Finally reaching a decision, he brings the scissors to one of Parker’s ankles. Then he begins to cut along the leg of his cotton trousers.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ says Parker, hearing the panic in his own voice.

‘Undressing you. This is the easiest way.’

‘W-Why do you need to undress me?’

Franklin doesn’t answer. Instead, he focuses on his task. It occurs to Parker that Franklin could have removed his clothes while he was unconscious. The only reason for doing it now must be to instil fear.

‘Please stop. You don’t have to do this.’

‘Oh, but I do.’

‘Why?’ he asks again. ‘Why do you have to take my clothes?’

‘Isn’t it obvious? Megan needs to realise what she’s missing.’

‘I don’t understand. Please… please stop.’

But Franklin keeps snipping away. He cuts through the trousers and the shirt, pulling the pieces away and dropping them onto the floor. When only the boxer shorts remain, he pauses for a second.

‘I’d stop wriggling now if I were you,’ he advises.

It takes only seconds to slice through the flimsy material of the shorts and remove them.

‘Oh,’ Franklin says. ‘I can see now why Megan went looking elsewhere. Never mind. We’ll just have to work with what we’ve got.’

Tears of humiliation sting Parker’s eyes. ‘Are you going to take photos of me, is that it? You’re going to send them to Megan?’

‘Wishful thinking. I’ve got a much better idea.’

‘What? What are you going to do?’

Franklin looks down at the floor for a while before he answers. ‘When I was a kid,’ he says, ‘– I think I must have been about nine or ten – my mother came into my bedroom one day. She was holding a pair of scissors just like these, and she ordered me to take all my clothes off – to get completely naked, like you are now. I stood there, ashamed and embarrassed, but I knew better than to defy her. She looked me in the eye and asked me if I knew about sex, about what men and women did to make babies. I said yes, and she said that I was never to do that to a girl. I asked her why, and she said because it was dirty and disgusting, and she wishes she had never done it to create me. She was basically saying that she never wanted me to be born. And then, just to make sure I got the message, she took hold of my penis. Gripped it tight and stretched it out so far, I thought it would snap. And then she opened up the scissors and held my penis between the blades.’ As he says this, Franklin raises his own scissors in the air, the razor-sharp jaws yawning open. ‘She told me that if I ever even thought about using my thing on a girl, she would cut it right off.’

Franklin closes his scissors with a sudden snap, causing Parker to jump on the bed. When Franklin looks down at Parker again, his eyes seem full of madness.

‘And you know what?’ he says. ‘To this day, I have never let her down. I think she would be proud of me, don’t you?’

He’s insane, Parker thinks. Completely bat-shit crazy.

‘So, are you going to take photos now?’ he asks. He doesn’t want to be photographed, but it’s far better than the alternatives coming to mind following Franklin’s dark little anecdote.

Franklin holds up the scissors again. Snips at the air a couple of times.

‘I haven’t finished with these yet,’ he says.

17

A Sunday Kind of Love – Etta James

Sunday morning. Pretty much like any other day to Webley now. And although she loves her job, she does occasionally long for the way Sundays used to be. She misses the long lie-ins, the leisurely breakfasts involving bacon and eggs, the general unhurriedness and calm of the day. Perhaps a trip to the cinema or a drink with friends.

Many of her Sundays are about death now.

Take last Sunday, for example. On that day, Webley spent the morning interviewing a woman called Jean, whose husband had been found lifeless in their garden on Smithdown Road. The cause of death was blunt force trauma to the head. Jean claimed she was out enjoying a leisurely stroll in Sefton Park while her husband was having his skull caved in, although the police failed to find anyone who could corroborate her story. An additional problem for the cops was that they couldn’t prove she had been at home at that time, either. They could not locate or even identify the murder weapon, and there was no forensic evidence on Jean’s clothes linking her to her husband’s killing.

Webley pressed as hard as she could in the interviews. Against her solicitor’s advice, Jean was perfectly willing to answer questions, but all she did was to keep repeating that she had gone for a long walk and hadn’t the faintest idea what took place at home while she was absent.

After several fruitless hours, Webley was ready to give up. Her intuition told her that Jean was guilty, but gut feelings carry no weight with the Crown Prosecution Service. It looked like they were going to have to set the woman free until such time that they could gather more evidence against her.

On the verge of surrender, Webley put one final question:

‘Can you suggest anyone who would have had the means, motive and opportunity to enter your garden and murder your husband?’

Jean looked at Webley, then at her solicitor, who was shaking his head, then back at Webley. She could have taken her cue from her counsel and said ‘no’, and then the interview would have been over and the woman would have been sent on her way.

Instead, taking the room by surprise, she threw up her arms and said, ‘Look, yez are gonna find out anyway, so I may as well tell ya. It was Derek.’

Trying not to show how startled and elated she felt, Webley simply said, ‘Derek?’

‘Yeah. It was him. Little fella. Doesn’t look like he could knock the skin off a rice pudding.’

‘And who is Derek?’

‘Close mate of me husband. He talked to him most days.’

‘What’s Derek’s surname?’

Jean thought for a few seconds. ‘You know what, I never thought to ask that.’

‘Do you know where we can find him?’

‘Yeah. The lake.’

‘The lake? What do you mean, the lake?’

‘That’s where he is. In the lake at Greenbank. I put him there.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Webley said, ‘but are you telling us that the person who killed your husband is now at the bottom of a public lake?’

‘That’s what I said, didn’t I? Anyway, I’m bored with this now, and I’m starving. I’m not saying no more. Go and find Derek and then we’ll have another natter.’

And that was the end of the interview. Despite further insistent probing, Jean point-blank refused to answer any more questions until her claim had been investigated. Webley had no choice but to put in a request for the lake to be searched.

They found Derek. He was in no fit state to talk.

Later in the evening, Webley brought Jean in for interview again and confronted her with a photograph of the hapless Derek.

‘Yeah, that’s him,’ Jean said.

‘And why did you use Derek to kill your husband?’ Webley asked.

Jean jabbed her finger angrily at the picture of the eighteen-inch-high figure.

‘Cuz the narky old git loved those frigging gnomes more than he loved me. That’s why!’

So, that was last Sunday.

Sometimes it goes like that. In a sudden epiphany, a suspect realises they’re probably not going to get away with it, and they confess everything.

Webley thinks she probably won’t be as fortunate today.

She finishes her cereal, pushes the bowl aside, grabs a slice of marmalade-smeared toast. Alternates between munching on that and gulping down strong coffee. She is still waiting for the caffeine to kick in. So tired on this day that everyone else regards as a day of rest.

Parker hasn’t helped.

She was awake for hours in the night, thinking about those stupid flowers. What did he reckon it would make her do? Was he hoping she’d take one look at them and think, Ooh, dead flowers from Parker; I really must rush into his loving arms?

I mean, seriously?

And why dead ones in particular? Because to be honest, that sounds almost like a threat. The message on the card backs that up, too. Without love we wither and die. We die? As in, the two of us?

She decides she needs to stop thinking about it, because it’s not helping anything and she needs to get to work. Even though it’s a Sunday.

She carries her plate and bowl and mug to the sink, to be washed later, then heads out to the hall. She grabs her jacket and bag and goes to the front door.

Which is when she finds it.

It’s a padded brown envelope on the floor. She stoops and picks it up. It says ‘Megan xxx’ on the front. She can guess who it’s from.

The envelope is very light. She gives it a squeeze but can’t work out what it might contain.

She takes it back into the kitchen. Putting down her bag, she rips open the envelope and peers inside.

She’s not sure what she’s looking at. Is that some form of packaging?

Tentatively, she reaches in and pulls some of it out.

It looks like…

Hair.

Human hair. Dark, like Parker’s.

She tips the envelope and shakes it over the worktop. More hair falls out. And some of it is thick and curly, and she realises it’s body hair. Possibly even pubic. There’s a lot of it, too.

‘Jesus!’ she says, grimacing.

A small white card drops out of the envelope. Its typewritten message says, ‘My dearest Megan, I’m tearing my hair out at the thought of not being with you. I need you xx’

‘What the fuck?’

She finds her phone and calls Parker. It goes straight to voicemail, so she leaves a message.

‘Have you gone fucking nuts? What’s with the hair? Is this really yours? You’re freaking me out now, Parker. Call me back, and you’d better have a fucking good explanation.’

She ends the call. When it rings in her hand almost immediately, she answers it without looking at the name.

‘Well?’ she demands.

‘Yeah, I’m well thanks,’ Cody says. ‘Not so sure about you, though. Missing my wit and companionship?’

She blows out a stream of air. ‘I’m not in the mood for this right now, Cody. What do you want?’

‘Okaaaay… I just thought you’d like to know we’ve found Sam Ridley.’

Webley takes a deep breath, tells herself to calm down. This isn’t Cody’s fault.

‘All right. Thanks. I’m on my way. Are we bringing him in for questioning?’

‘Not a lot of point,’ Cody says. ‘He’s dead.’

18

The Book of Love – Peter Gabriel

‘I’m eighty-nine,’ says Mrs Washington.

Cody looks at the old lady in the wing chair facing his. A halo of fine silver hair. Rheumy eyes that look like they’ve seen so many things, happy and sad. Her history etched into the lines on her face. On the mahogany table to one side of her is a cup of tea made for her by one of the uniforms. Next to that, in a silver frame, is a photograph of her on her wedding day, with smooth skin and luscious lips and curves instead of angles. It is as if much of the air has been let out of her since then.

Mrs Washington’s skeletal figure is encased in a plum-coloured cardigan over a frilly blouse and navy-blue slacks. Her twig-like ankles disappear into an immense pair of slippers with about a sheep’s worth of wool in each one. She keeps lifting her feet from the carpet and frowning down at them, as though disappointed in her ensemble.

‘On my next birthday I’ll be ninety,’ she says, in case Cody can’t do the arithmetic. ‘And then I think I’ll stop.’

The comment alarms Cody. He has often heard old people forecasting their imminent demise and it shocks him every time. He can’t imagine being so old that death feels constantly at your heels.

But Mrs Washington smiles mischievously, and it calms him.

She says, ‘I have friends who are over a hundred. I don’t want to live that long. You wouldn’t know, young fella like you, but the ailments come after you with a vengeance as you get older. Arthritis. Dodgy hips. Failing eyesight. High blood pressure. Aches and pains. And they get worse the longer you go on. No, ninety will do me just fine, thank you very much.’

‘Well, you look amazing for your age,’ Cody says.

‘Thank you, but please don’t feel the need to butter me up. I look my age, and that’s that. No better and no worse. You, on the other hand, look like you should still be in short trousers.’

Cody laughs. ‘I think my boss would have something to say about it if I turned up for work in shorts.’

He waits while Mrs Washington takes a sip of her tea, and then he says, ‘I know it must be upsetting, but do you mind if we talk about the events of this morning?’

‘That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Go ahead, ask me. I’m not as fragile as I appear, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

Cody readies his notebook and pen. ‘Okay, so could you tell me what led you to go into Mr Ridley’s flat?’

‘The television.’

‘The television?’

‘Yes. Sam’s, not mine. I don’t watch the telly much. I prefer to read.’ She reaches for something on the side table. ‘I have this magnifying glass for the small-print books. Do you read?’

‘Yes, I’m a big reader. Always got at least one book on the go.’

‘Glad to hear it. Too many young people don’t. Always on their phones and what-not. Anti-social media, I call it. Because it is anti-social, isn’t it? Members of the younger generation never seem to speak face-to-face anymore. God knows how they find partners. Do you have a partner?’

‘Not currently.’

‘No? Oh.’ She seems genuinely sad for him.

‘So, you were saying. About Sam’s television?’

‘Yes, that’s right. I noticed it was on when I got home last night.’

‘What time was that?’

‘Eight o’clock. Dead on. Ask me how I know.’

‘How do you know it was precisely eight o’clock?’

‘Because he had the news on. The BBC news. I could hear the theme music as I went past his door. You know, the countdown with all the drums? Dum-da-dum-dum, dum-da-dum-dum.’

She gives him another cheeky smile and he smiles back.

‘But you didn’t see or hear Sam himself at that time?’

‘No. We can go long periods without seeing each other. Sam works from home. He’s a web designer, but who needs to design webs, right?’ That smile again. ‘He coops himself up in front of his computer for whole days at a time. I’ve tried telling him it’s not healthy, but as I say, that’s the current generation for you.’

‘Did you see him at all yesterday?’

‘No. Not once. Mind you, I was out most of the day. I went to see Earnest.’

‘Ernest?’

‘The Importance of Being Earnest. At the Playhouse. Have you seen it?’

‘Not this production, but yes, I’ve seen versions of it.’

‘You should go to see this one. Awfully good. Take a girlfriend with you.’

Cody clears his throat. ‘So, you went to the play…’

‘Yes, and then tea afterwards. Italian place near the town hall. Forget the name.’

‘And you got back at eight?’

‘Yes.’

‘Other than the sound of the television, there were no signs of anything out of the ordinary.’

‘Nothing at all.’

‘And then what happened?’

Mrs Washington sips her tea with gentility. ‘Not a lot. I did some reading, tidied round and then went to bed.’

‘But something aroused your suspicions.’

‘Yes, the television. It was on all night, you see. My eyes aren’t so good these days, but my hearing is excellent and I’m a light sleeper. These flats are well-built, but I could still hear the news coming from down below. That dum-da-dum-dum, dum-da-dum-dum.’

‘Was it unusual for Sam to keep the television on all night?’

‘Absolutely. He’s very considerate, very polite. A lovely neighbour.’ She pauses and glances wistfully at the photograph of her standing with pride alongside her new husband. ‘I mean, he was a lovely neighbour. It’s so hard to get used to the passing of people, and I have to do a lot of that these days.’

While Cody allows her a moment, he thinks about what he knows of Sam Ridley, which is that he was a man who made up stories about sleeping with women, and who also mocked up photographs of them in lascivious poses. He chooses not to burst Mrs Washington’s bubble.

‘I assume the television was still on this morning,’ he says.

‘Yes. And that’s when I started to worry. It’s most unlike him. So, I went downstairs, and I rang the bell and I knocked, but I didn’t get an answer. And then I tried the door. And it was unlocked…’

Cody can see from her expression that she is transporting herself back to that time, that place. He says, ‘Do you want to take a break for a few minutes?’

‘No. I’m fine. I’m used to death now. And Sam was most definitely dead. Not like Archie.’

‘Archie?’

She points to the photograph. ‘My husband. He died two years ago. Found him in that very chair.’

When she nods towards where Cody is sitting, he suddenly feels very uncomfortable. As though he’s sitting in the lap of a ghost.

‘He looked so peaceful,’ she says. ‘Serene. But Sam… well, he didn’t have a good death.’

‘No.’

She looks down at her slippers again. ‘They took my shoes.’

‘I’m sorry?’ Cody says.

‘My good shoes. The policeman took them from me.’

‘Oh. Yes. It’s because you went into Sam’s flat. We have to check them for evidence.’

‘Will I get them back?’

‘Yes. I’ll make sure of it. Did you touch anything in the apartment?’

‘No. Oh, wait. Yes. The remote for the television. I turned the news off. It didn’t seem right. Those drums, I mean.’

‘From the time you came home, did you ever hear anything else from downstairs, like the sounds of a fight or a struggle?’

‘No, nothing like that.’

‘Did you see any visitors to Sam’s flat in the past few days?’

‘No. He lived quite a solitary life, buried in his work. Perhaps he preferred it that way, but it always seemed such a waste to me.’ She looks Cody in the eye. ‘I don’t think he could have been much older than you. No wife, and I never saw any girlfriends either.’ She pauses. ‘Promise me one thing.’

‘What’s that?’ Cody asks.

‘Promise me you won’t let the same happen to you. You’re young. Live your best life while you can. Find someone. For me, it was Archie. I can die happily knowing that he filled my life with such happiness. If I ever wrote a book about my life, almost all of it would be about the times I spent with him. I sense you’re a good man, Mr Cody. You deserve to have what I’ve been so lucky to have. You deserve your own book.’

* * *

Webley suits up outside the flat. White Tyvek overalls ballooning around her, hood up, blue overshoes and latex gloves, face mask. Very sexy.

On the way to Ridley’s living room, she bumps into Cody coming the other way. He seems wary. Understandably so.

‘Good morning,’ he says. ‘Or isn’t it?’

‘Could be better,’ she says. ‘I’ll tell you later.’ She cranes past him to get a look into the room. ‘What’ve we got?’

Cody nods toward the room and leads her inside. Ridley is face down in the middle of the carpet. There’s a cord around his neck, cutting deeply into the flesh. Kneeling alongside the corpse is the larger-than-life figure of Rory Stroud, the forensic pathologist, who is muttering something into a voice recorder.

So yeah, Webley thinks. This is why I’m just a DC. What was it I was saying about the Toby and Sam angle being a waste of police resources?

She finds herself staring at Ridley’s hair. Thick and dark, like Parker’s. Or how Parker’s used to be. What will he look like now, with it all cut off? And the bigger question: why? Why on earth would he do that? What crazy thoughts are going through Parker’s cold bald head?

She tears her eyes away and scans the room. There are clear signs of a struggle. A coffee table has been overturned. A speaker has been knocked off its stand. There’s a large hole in the glass door of a cabinet.

‘Who found him?’ she asks Cody.

Cody gives her an account of his conversation with Mrs Washington in the flat above. It sounds curiously clipped, though, as if he’s withholding some aspects of it.

‘She didn’t hear the fight, though?’

‘No, but she didn’t get home till after eight. It’s possible he was killed way before that.’

‘Which would explain why we couldn’t get hold of him.’

‘Yup.’

Another white-suited figure hulks towards them like a snowman come to life.

‘Thoughts?’ says DCI Blunt.

‘Well,’ Cody says, ‘there’s an obvious suspect.’

‘Oliver Selby?’

‘He had a strong motive if he believed his wife was having an affair with Ridley.’

‘Ridley said he made that up to impress Toby Hooper.’

‘But Selby probably wouldn’t have known that. And it’s exactly the same MO as that used on Selby’s wife: strangulation in both cases.’

‘I don’t know,’ Webley says.

The other two turn their faces on her.

‘Selby’s encounter with Toby Hooper was about three weeks ago. If he thought the photos and the affair were real, why did it take him so long to murder his wife and Ridley?’

‘Maybe he was gathering more proof,’ Cody said. ‘Or it could have escalated over time. Who knows what goes on behind people’s doors?’

They all look down at Ridley and wonder exactly what went on behind his door yesterday.

Rory Stroud pauses his dictation and then addresses the room. ‘I want to flip the body. Everyone okay with that?’

Getting nods all round, he grabs hold of Ridley and gently rolls him over. Webley notices that Sam Ridley has lost one of his coloured contact lenses. The jarring mismatch in his eyes – one a vivid blue and the other a dull, lifeless grey – seems to add a curious note of finality.

Rory brings his recorder to his mouth, ready to speak again, then halts.

‘Hello,’ he says. ‘What do we have here?’

‘Found something, Rory?’ Blunt asks.

Stroud looks at her. ‘Does this mean anything to you?’

The trio of detectives moves in. Something glints in Ridley’s clenched fist. Webley leans forward for a better view. She sees a gold chain and a pendant consisting of two overlapping letters: an A and an O.

‘I’ve seen that before,’ Webley says. ‘Alexa Selby wore one exactly like it. Oliver made two: one for her and one for him.’

‘That settles it,’ Blunt says. ‘Find Selby. I don’t care what it takes. Just find him.’

19

Silly Love Songs – Wings

The only clue Parker has to the passage of time is the faint increase in light as it seeps through the thick curtains. Although a thick gloom persists, he can make out furniture and other items in the bedroom. As it did before, it strikes him that this is such a tastefully presented room – totally at odds with the disturbed mind of its owner.

He wonders whether Franklin has done this before. Has some other poor unfortunate soul laid on this bed? Were they stripped of their clothes, their hair? And what became of them after that?

He shudders at the thought.

Sleep evaded him last night, and his body and mind are feeling it. He has been here for hours now, the music assaulting his ears continuously. All of his muscles are aching through lack of proper movement, let alone exercise. It feels like he has no circulation – as though his blood slowed to a trickle and then began pooling and clotting in his inert frame.

His brain keeps replaying the moments of being stripped naked and then shorn of all his hair. He could not stop himself crying as Franklin roughly grasped fistfuls of hair and chopped through them brutally with his scissors. There was no attempt at precision or neatness. And to cap it all, Franklin fetched a hand mirror from the dresser and showed Parker the outcome, as if he were a professional hairdresser inviting expressions of approval from his customer. Parker didn’t want to look but couldn’t stop himself. A stranger stared back at him from that mirror. The haircut was uneven and patchy, his eyes bloodshot, his skin sallow. He looked on the edge of death.

And now there is another source of discomfort.

His bladder.

Overnight, it has filled almost to bursting point.

But along with the painful signals it sends him comes a plan. A vague plan, admittedly, but one carrying a glimmer of hope.

He will ask to use the toilet. And he won’t just say it’s to pee. He’ll say that he desperately needs to empty his bowels. Franklin can’t refuse him that, surely? Unbalanced though the man is, he’s also fastidious and methodical. He is on a mission. He told Parker he wants them to work as a pair, a joint force. He won’t want the distraction of a bed full of piss and crap in this nice bedroom of his.

And when he grants that simple request…

Well, that’s when Parker will rise up.

He is not much of a fighter generally. But these are unique circumstances. This is a matter of survival. He will do whatever it takes to overcome Franklin and get the fuck out of here, including hurting, maiming and maybe even killing the man.

Yes, killing.

And, truth be told, he might actually take pleasure in it. Franklin has caused him suffering and humiliation and fear. Parker feels he might feel the effects of the trauma for a long time to come. That deserves the severest kind of payback. Nobody would have to know it was done in part for the sweetness of revenge.

He has already scanned the room for possible weapons. There isn’t much on offer. His best option is probably the lamp on his bedside cabinet. It looks to be made of shiny steel. Many times in the night Parker has imagined using that lamp to strike Franklin repeatedly, breaking open that skull of his, battering his misfiring brain to mush, ramming the metal shaft down Franklin’s throat and electrocuting him.

He would gladly do all of that.

Franklin B Goodman, he thinks, you don’t know what you’ve let yourself in for.

As if sensing a summons, Franklin suddenly appears in the room. He is carrying what looks like a tray. He puts the tray down, then goes to the window and parts the curtains slightly, allowing in the morning light. Then he approaches Parker and strips away the duct tape before removing the earbuds and the gag.

Franklin brings one of the tiny speakers to his own ear.

‘Ah, that’s a beautiful song. Have you worked out the connection between all the songs on the playlist yet?’

‘I need the toilet,’ Parker says.

Franklin ignores the comment, and his voice grows sterner.

‘I said, do you know what links all the songs?’

Parker decides it’s best not to ignore him. ‘They’re all love songs.’

‘Yes, you’re right about that, but there’s more to it. Can you be a bit more specific?’

‘They’re all love songs I won’t want to hear again for the rest of my life.’ As he says this, he wonders whether the playlist will, in fact, be the last thing he hears before he dies.

Franklin stares down at him as though he’s trying to work out whether the answer is serious or made in jest. It seems to Parker that Franklin has a hard time reading people.

‘I’ll tell you,’ Franklin says, sounding almost gleeful that his riddle has not been solved. ‘They all have the word love in the title. You wouldn’t believe how many song titles there are out there that fall into that category.’

‘I need the toilet,’ Parker repeats. ‘I’m desperate.’

‘It just shows how important love is, don’t you think? For that many people to write songs about it. And that’s not to mention all the paintings and books with love as their theme. I think it’s incredible.’

‘If I don’t go now, I’m going to crap all over your bed. I’m sure you don’t want that to happen.’

‘Would you like some water? I’ve brought some up for you. You must be thirsty. You’d probably prefer tea or coffee, but I thought steaming hot beverages were a little risky in your current situation.’

‘Please, can I use your toilet?’

‘I’ve also brought up a couple of pastries. A croissant and a cinnamon swirl. They’re both delicious. Which would you like first? You’ll need to keep your strength up if you want to impress Megan.’

Parker loses it then. ‘I don’t want your fucking pastries or your fucking music. I want to take a shit. Am I managing to get that through your thick fucking skull?’

He wonders if he’s gone too far, but Franklin’s expression remains impassive.

‘You look tired. You know that you need plenty of sleep too, don’t you?’

‘What? Are you serious? You expect me to sleep? Could you get any sleep if you were tied up like this? Look at me, Franklin. Look at what you’ve done. This is insane. You have to see that. You’ve gone too far.’

Franklin finally seems to hear his words. ‘Can you ever go too far for love?’

‘Yes! Yes, you can! If it causes pain or suffering, then it’s not really about love, is it? It’s not making the world a better place. You want more love in the world? What you’re doing to me is the complete opposite of love. It’s not how human beings should behave with one another.’

Franklin is silent for a moment. And then:

‘My mother told me that sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind.’

Here we go again, Parker thinks. His fucking loopy mother.

Franklin continues: ‘She told me this when I was sitting in the wardrobe. It was very dark in there – completely black, in fact. I was often sent there. Usually it was because of something bad I’d done, but often I didn’t even know what the reason was. I think my mother just wanted me out of her sight. But there was this one time – I was eleven years old – and she sat on the other side of the wardrobe door, and she was talking to me. I think she was crying, but I wasn’t sure. She may have been drunk, too: I often saw her with a glass of wine in her hand. Anyway, she was talking to me about my father, who I never really knew because he left when I was just a baby. She told me he decided to leave after she stabbed him. She didn’t kill him, but he had to go to hospital for stitches. He said it was best for everyone concerned if he went away after that. She told him he was being cruel for abandoning his family, and he said to her that sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind. It’s a piece of advice she seemed to take fully on board from that point on, at least as far as I was concerned.

‘She talked to me for at least an hour that night. Most of it sounded like drunken drivel, but some of it made sense. She tried to drive home the message that people who say they love each other should mean it. They should keep the promises they make, even at the cost of some pain. I didn’t say anything while I was in that wardrobe, because I knew it would have meant greater punishment, but I wanted to ask how her words fitted with her actions. How could a mother’s love for her child lead to her shutting him away in a dark closet?

‘After a while, I heard her get up and walk out of the room, closing the door behind her. That wasn’t a signal for me to move; I knew I had to stay in that wardrobe until she came to let me out. So I did. I sat there, all hunched up, for hours on end, just staring into the blackness and thinking about the things my mother had told me. Eventually I fell asleep, and still she didn’t come for me. I thought I must have done something really naughty to be kept in there that long. I became hungry and thirsty, and then I needed the toilet. Even though I knew it was a risk, I tried calling out for my mother. But there was no answer.

‘Finally, when I couldn’t stand it any longer, I pushed the wardrobe door open. It was the morning of the next day. I stood up and went to the bedroom door, my legs crossed because I was so desperate for the toilet. I opened the door and called out again, but I still didn’t get a reply. I assumed she’d gone out – she often did that without telling me – so I ran to the bathroom.

‘And that’s when I found her. She was lying in the bath, naked. Her eyes were closed like she was asleep. Her skin was very white, and the water was very red. And when I took a closer look, I saw the open wounds in her wrists. It was like raw meat inside: I could see bone and severed tubes.

‘It was while I was standing there staring at my mother and leaving a puddle of urine on the bathroom floor that her words started to make more sense. I realised that if you can’t fix someone’s love then there’s no point in that person existing. They may as well just curl up and die. Otherwise, they begin to infect other people. Being denied love themselves, they take it out on others. That’s why my mother acted as she did with me. She was empty inside.

‘I don’t want you to be empty like that, Parker. You need to learn the lesson I learned. I will help you do that.’

Words escape Parker. He looks up at the madman with the beatific expression and decides that any response is pointless. Franklin has moved beyond reasonable debate.

Instead, he lies there while Franklin re-inserts the gag and the earbuds, and then he watches as Franklin glides out of the room, and then he decides there is no point in continuing his discomfort because doing so will have no impact on his captor, and so he pictures Franklin rationalising while standing in that bathroom over his dead mother, and he cries as he relaxes his bladder muscles and releases a long hot gush of fluid across his thigh.

20

Stupid Love – Lady Gaga

For the most part, Cody feels no guilt over murder victims. Blame upbringing, blame inflamed passions, blame greed, blame jealousy, blame hatred, but don’t blame him. Police officers do what they can to enforce the law, but they can’t be everywhere at once, and not everyone has the same regard for the law as he does. If they did, he’d be out of a job.

What does cause him to experience guilt, though, is when he doesn’t catch a killer who subsequently goes on to kill again. Over forty-eight hours have passed since the body of Alexa Selby was discovered. They should have found Oliver Selby before now. They should have him locked up in a cell. He shouldn’t have been allowed the opportunity to get anywhere near Ridley.

So, yes, Cody takes that as a personal failure.

The pressure has definitely intensified from above, too. Nobody likes the thought of a multiple killer roaming the streets, not least of all the higher ranks in the police force whose reputations and careers depend on results.

The thinking is that somebody is hiding Oliver Selby. Someone knows exactly where he is. Cody and his colleagues have been instructed to turn up the heat on everyone who knows him. Where possible, all interviews should be conducted face to face.

Which is why Cody and Webley now find themselves on the way to Alderley Edge, just south of Manchester. If Caldy has been the home of Benítez, Alderley Edge has seen the likes of David Beckham, Rio Ferdinand and Cristiano Ronaldo living here. More importantly in the eyes of some, it has been the area of choice for several stars of Coronation Street.

While Cody admires all the huge, luxurious houses as they flash by, he notices that Webley seems to be oblivious to the outside world.

He says, ‘You still haven’t told me.’

Webley blinks out of her reverie. ‘Told you what?’

‘Whatever it is that’s been bothering you all morning.’

She hesitates. ‘It’s nothing.’

Which perhaps ought to be left at that. But Cody knows her too well.

‘Nah. It’s something.’

He feels Webley’s eyes burning into him, and he begins to wonder what he’s done wrong.

She says, ‘Can I ask you something first?’

Uh-oh, he thinks. I’m definitely in trouble.

‘Go ahead.’

‘We’ve just had April Fools’ Day, right?’

This seems such a non-sequitur. Maybe it’s a trick question, designed to throw him off-guard.

‘Yeah.’

‘Okay, well… did that put something in your head? Like maybe playing a series of pranks on me?’

‘What kind of pranks?’

‘Those flowers. You know, the ones that arrived on my desk. They weren’t from you by any chance, were they?’

‘Me? Of course not. Why would I send you flowers?’

‘All right, Cody. A simple no would suffice. There’s no need to be that negative about the idea.’

And now he doesn’t know where he is. Did he give the wrong answer?

‘Did you want me to send you flowers?’

A sigh. ‘No, Cody, I don’t want you to send me flowers. I was just checking it wasn’t you pissing about.’

He’s really confused now, and for some reason feeling he’s guilty of more than merely failing to catch a murderer.

‘I thought you said the flowers were from Parker?’

‘Well, that was the obvious conclusion. Of course it was. I mean, you thought so too, right?’

‘Right.’

‘Only…’

‘What?’

‘I got more flowers last night. They were left on my doorstep.’

‘Aw, that’s nice.’

‘Actually, no, it’s not. These flowers were dead.’

‘Dead? Why would he send you dead flowers?’

‘That’s what I wondered. So I rang him up.’

‘What did he say?’

‘He denied it. He said they were probably from you.’

And now Cody can understand her concern. She’d probably prefer to discover it was some kind of moronic joke on his part than to face up to the fact that her ex-fiancée may have sent her dead flowers, which is – let’s face it – straying into deranged stalker territory.

But she needs to hear the truth.

He says, ‘Me? No, Megs. Hand on heart. I didn’t send them to you.’

She goes quiet for a while. And then: ‘It gets worse.’

‘In what way?’

‘This morning, I found an envelope that had been put through my door.’

Cody decides Webley needs to have her spirits raised. ‘Don’t tell me. Dick pics, right?’

She stares at him. ‘Why would Parker be sending me dick pics?’

He shrugs. ‘I don’t know. Seems like a natural progression.’

‘From dead flowers to dick pics? Yes, Cody, that’s a very natural progression. You know, sometimes I wonder about you. No, this was even weirder.’

Cody’s mind is buzzing with possibilities, all of which he doesn’t think it appropriate to voice at this moment. Instead, he throws her a questioning glance.

‘Hair,’ she says.

‘Hair?’

‘Yes.’

‘You mean a lock of hair?’

‘No. Much more than a lock.’

‘What? Not his whole head? He shaved his head for you?’

‘Not just his head.’

Cody cannot stop a snort of laughter escaping. ‘No way! Pubic hair? Parker sent you his pubes?’

‘It’s not funny, Cody. It really freaked me out.’

Cody resumes his serious face. ‘Sorry. You’re right. Are they… I mean, are they definitely his?’

‘How the hell would I know that? It’s not like they have a unique style to them or anything. They look like his. And I’m assuming he didn’t forcibly manscape some random stranger.’

‘Have you asked him? Did you call him up again?’

‘I tried, but he wasn’t answering. The only explanation I’ve got is a card that was in the envelope. It said that being without me is causing him to tear his hair out. I’m starting to worry about him.’

‘I’m not surprised. Call him again.’

‘What, now?’

‘Yes. You need to clear the air with him.’

‘I’m not calling him now. Not with you here. You’ll say something idiotic.’

‘I won’t, I promise. Go ahead.’

Webley gets out her phone. She gives Cody a warning glance before calling Parker. After just a few seconds she hangs up again.

‘Straight to voicemail,’ she says. ‘I’ll try again later.’

‘Okay, but when you do…’

‘Yes?’

‘Tell him he’s in deep stubble.’

This time the blow to Cody’s bicep is less of a slap and more of a punch that actually hurts.

‘Fuck off, Cody. You’re such a knob sometimes.’

21

Love on the Rocks – Neil Diamond

This house in Alderley Edge is even bigger than the Selby place in Caldy. Cody reckons it must have at least six bedrooms and probably as many bathrooms. Over the course of a single day you’d probably never have to pee in the same place twice.

The man who comes to the door looks to be about forty. Even though he’s dressed casually in jeans and a sweatshirt, the clothes look expensive and new, with designer labels – not like the tatty old things Cody throws on when he goes home.

The route through the hall takes them past a set of golf clubs sitting alongside a trophy cabinet, obviously placed there to catch admiring glances. They continue into a living room which is the size of an auditorium and contains white leather furniture, pale oak cabinets and a woman who also seems to have been strategically placed here to attract admiring glances. She is certainly beautiful and is wearing a long blue silk dress that probably cost more than all of Cody’s clothes put together. He wonders whether she always dresses like that or has gone the extra mile to receive today’s delegation.

Cody says, ‘Thank you for agreeing to see us today, Mr Faber.’

‘No problem, call me Ross. This is my wife, Nisha.’

‘Pleased to meet you,’ Cody says, shaking hands.

‘Would you both like tea?’ Nisha asks.

‘That would be lovely. Thank you.’

For some reason, Cody expects Nisha to tinkle a little bell, summoning a servant to take the beverage order. Instead, Nisha glides out of the room, leaving them to it.

Cody says, ‘We understand that one of my colleagues has already been in touch with you about Alexa Selby.’

‘Yes. It’s such terrible news. Alexa was lovely. I liked her a lot. Are you any closer to catching her killer?’

‘It’s why we’re here now. As my colleague would have told you, it’s imperative that we speak to Alexa’s husband about what’s happened.’

‘Yes, I can understand that. Although I really don’t think that Oliver could have had anything to do with it.’

Cody nods. ‘Hopefully that’s the case. The problem we’ve got is that Oliver has completely disappeared, and we’re really struggling to find any trace of him.’

‘It’s all so surreal. I really don’t understand what could have happened. I tried calling Oliver myself when I heard the news, but I just can’t get hold of him. It’s like he’s been abducted by aliens or something.’

Or he’s gone into hiding because he’s a murderer, Cody thinks.

Webley says, ‘When’s the last time you saw him?’

Ross looks up at the ceiling as he thinks about this. ‘Oh, it must have been about five, six months ago. Way before Christmas, anyway.’

‘Uh-huh. We’ve been told that you and he are close friends.’

‘We are. We’ve known each other for donkey’s years. Since university, in fact. When I lived on the Wirral, we saw each other all the time. Used to meet on the golf course at Hoylake or Heswall. And then I was his best man, and he was mine. I suppose that’s when things started to change – after getting married, I mean. I got a new job in Manchester and moved out here, we had two kids, Oliver was really getting into his jewellery business… You know how it is.’

Cody doesn’t know how any of that is, but he nods anyway.

Webley says, ‘What were Oliver and Alexa like together, as a couple?’

‘Great. They were made for each other.’

‘I’m not sure what you mean by that.’

‘Nothing. They were a perfect couple.’

Cody gets the impression that Ross is being evasive. He thinks about pursuing it further, but then Nisha walks back in with a tray and supplies his answer.

She says, ‘He means they were two of a kind.’ She sets the tray down in front of the detectives and begins to pour. ‘They liked the same things. Expensive things. Fast cars, a nice house, designer clothes.’ She smiles when she notices Webley looking around the room. ‘Yes, I know what you’re thinking. We like those things too. The difference is that we put our relationship first.’

‘And the Selbys didn’t?’ Cody asks.

Nisha considers her reply carefully but ends up being blunt all the same. ‘Alexa married Oliver for his money. Oliver married Alexa to have a pretty young thing on his arm.’

Ross feels the need to jump to the aid of his friend. ‘I’m not sure that’s quite fair…’

‘It’s accurate. They didn’t love each other. You know that, Ross. It was all about material goods and appearances.’

Ross backs down sheepishly. In a low voice that is never going to be missed by his wife he says, ‘Nisha never really took to Alexa.’

‘And I don’t mind admitting it,’ Nisha retorts. ‘Even if she is dead. She was a gold digger. Not to mention a flirt.’

The brutal honesty causes Ross to wince a little. ‘I wouldn’t say that.’

‘Well, I would. She was all over any man who came near her. And that includes you.’

Ross smiles. ‘That’s just my animal magnetism.’

‘Hmm,’ Nisha says, flashing him a look that suggests to Cody that this is a sore topic. He’s even more convinced of it when Nisha suddenly turns and walks out of the room again.

Ross does his best at damage limitation. ‘Whatever their relationship was, I still don’t think Oliver could have killed her.’

Webley says, ‘Could he get violent? Like, for example, if a bloke was getting a bit too friendly with Alexa?’

Ross mulls this one over too. ‘Not violent. Aggressive, yes. He was very protective of her.’

Cody wonders if possessive might be a better word.

‘Ever see him get into a fight over her?’ Webley asks.

‘No. He would just firmly let other guys know when he thought they were getting a little too close for comfort.’

‘Uh-huh.’

It sounds to Cody as though that sort of attitude could easily escalate into something physical. The more he hears about Oliver Selby, the more he doesn’t like him. But he’s not sure that this conversation is taking them any closer to finding him.

He says, ‘As I mentioned before, we’re having a little trouble locating Oliver. We’re talking to all his relatives and close friends, but so far no luck. I wonder if you have any suggestions for us?’

‘Not really. I—’

He is interrupted by Nisha sweeping back into the room. ‘My guess is he’s shacked up with a woman somewhere.’

Cody turns his full attention on the woman who seems to have her finger on the pulse as far as the Selby couple are concerned.

‘Oh? Why do you say that?’

‘Like I said, they were two of a kind. He hated the idea of Alexa playing around, but that never stopped him from looking at other women.’

Webley asks the question Cody is thinking. ‘Are you saying that from personal experience?’

Nisha laughs. ‘Me? No. He knew he’d get a slap on the face if he ever tried it on with me.’

‘So… you’ve got no actual evidence that he—’

Nisha rounds on her husband. ‘Tell them what he said about that woman.’

‘Which woman?’ Webley asks.

‘The one with the legs,’ Nisha says.

Cody thinks this doesn’t narrow it down much, but he joins with the two women in focusing his gaze on Ross.

Ross waves a dismissive hand. ‘That was nothing.’

‘It wasn’t nothing,’ Nisha insists. ‘He was serious. Go on, tell them.’

Reluctantly, Ross caves in. ‘Oliver’s got a thing about women’s legs.’ He turns to Webley. ‘You know, some guys like legs; other guys like, well… other parts.’

‘I get the gist,’ Webley says.

‘So anyway, he got really drunk one time and he was telling me about this particular woman’s legs, and about…’ He looks at Webley again.

‘Go on,’ she says.

‘About how she had wrapped her legs around his head. I mean, it was probably just drunken talk. All in his imagination, you know?’

‘Yeah, right,’ Nisha says.

‘Just to be clear,’ Cody says, ‘this was recently?’

‘Well, I haven’t seen Oliver for a while but maybe something like eight or nine months ago.’

‘Do you have a name for this woman?’

‘No, sorry. He might have mentioned it, but like I say, it was a long time ago. I was pretty drunk myself at the time.’

‘And you don’t remember anything else about her, apart from her legs?’

‘Oh, yeah. She was his assistant. You know, at the jeweller’s shop?’

22

What is Love? – Howard Jones

Franklin B Goodman is puzzled.

He has listened to the voicemail that Megan left on Parker’s phone, and it is not what he expected. So full of anger. No interest whatsoever in Parker’s well-being.

He broods on this as he washes the dishes. He cleans each item thoroughly, rinses it, places it on the rack. When he has finished, he dries everything with a clean tea-towel and puts them back in their assigned homes.

Then he goes upstairs to the bedroom.

Parker looks so different without hair. Well, it’s not entirely gone. The scissors did a pretty good job, but it’s not exactly a close shave. And there are still some tufts on his head that are longer than the rest.

Still, there was plenty to give to Megan. Not that she seems impressed.

As before, Franklin removes Parker’s gag and earphones, and then he sits down on the bed.

He says, ‘I hope you’re not too cold. I’ve got the heating on, but April can be a chilly month. Especially for someone with no hair.’

There is bitterness in Parker’s eyes. ‘I still don’t understand why you did that to me.’

‘I sent it all to Megan. A demonstration of your love for her.’

‘That won’t work. I know Megan. It will just creep her out.’

Franklin considers this. ‘Interesting. I have to confess, I don’t really understand love very well, even though I’ve been studying it for many years.’

‘Love isn’t a thing you understand. It’s something you feel. And if you’re incapable of that, then you should give up what you’re doing with me. Please, let me go. I won’t tell anyone.’

Franklin isn’t about to release him. This experiment is far too fascinating to abandon. And yet he’s not quite sure exactly what steps he should take next. He needs more information.

‘Tell me about Cody.’

Parker blinks in surprise. ‘Cody?’

‘Yes. You told me that you think Cody is the love of Megan’s life now, so tell me about him. Why does she prefer him over you?’

‘I… I’m not sure that she prefers him.’

Franklin furrows his brow. ‘I don’t understand. She dumped you in favour of Cody. In what way is that not expressing a preference?’

Parker stares up at him for a while. ‘I’m not sure what you want me to say.’

‘Well… is he better in bed than you? Does he have a bigger…’ He glances at a point further down the bed. ‘You know what? I think it definitely must be cold in here. It’s making things shrivel.’

Parker’s lip twitches. ‘I already told you about Cody.’

‘Not really. You told me he’s her sergeant and that she used to go out with him. What I’m trying to work out is why she’s gone back to him. You see, he’s your competition. We need to know what he’s got that you haven’t, and then maybe we can fix things.’

‘I don’t know what else I can tell you.’

‘Hmm,’ Franklin says. He knows that Parker is holding something back and he wonders why. ‘When we first met, you told me that Cody has issues.’

Parker hesitates. ‘Did I? I don’t remember.’

‘Yes, Parker, you did. What did you mean by that?’

‘I… nothing.’

Franklin licks his lips. ‘Parker, I would strongly advise you to remain open and honest with me, otherwise things can get very unpleasant. Now tell me what you meant.’

‘I meant that… he’s not right. In the head.’

‘Really. In what way?’

‘I’m not a psychiatrist, but I think he was traumatised. He has hallucinations, panic attacks – the works. He’s basically a basket case.’

‘How do you know this?’

‘Because Megan told me. She swore me to secrecy.’

‘Is that why you didn’t tell me the full story about him?’

‘Yes. And…’

‘And what?’

‘And because… because I was ashamed to admit that my girlfriend dumped me for a complete nut-job.’

Franklin nods appreciatively. He believes he understands the embarrassment it would have caused Parker. But he also relishes the fact that this scenario has taken on a whole new dimension. He remembers when he first saw Cody, who for some unknown reason seemed reluctant to go through his own front door. Franklin thought even then that there was more to Cody than meets the eye. Parker has just confirmed that in a most exhilarating way.

‘Cody is a police officer. A murder detective. How can he possibly do his job with this affliction you describe?’

‘I wonder that myself. Personally, I don’t think he should be on the force.’

‘You said he was traumatised. Do you mean in his job or his personal life?’

‘His job. He used to work undercover. Something went wrong and his cover was blown. He and his colleague were taken to a warehouse. Cody was tortured, but his partner was murdered.’

Better and better, Franklin thinks.

‘How was he tortured?’

‘They… they cut off some of his toes.’

Franklin whistles. ‘Nasty. And what effect do you think Cody’s ordeal has had on Megan?’

‘I think she feels sorry for him. I think she wants to help him get through his problems.’

Franklin nods again. What Parker is saying makes a lot of sense. It is Franklin’s experience that women are often much better than men when it comes to matters of the mind and caring for others. Excepting his mother, of course.

‘And what else?’ he asks.

‘I… I’m not sure what you mean.’

‘Well, do you think that Cody’s lack of a full complement of toes is the only thing drawing Megan to him?’

‘No, of course not. I’m sure there’s a lot more to it than that.’

‘Such as?’

‘Well… he saved her life.’

Franklin actually finds himself flinching with the impact of this revelation.

‘How did he do that?’

‘Megan was being held hostage by a serial killer. Cody convinced the killer to set Megan free and take him in her place.’

‘So, not only did he save Megan, but he also put his own life at risk for her benefit?’

‘Yes. And then she returned the favour.’

‘What, she saved his life in return?’

‘Yes.’

‘Such drama! Hmm. Yes, I can see how the mutual lifesaving could bring two people close together. The one being saved would recognise it as a massive demonstration of devotion, and it could also make the one doing the saving realise how much they truly cared for the other.’

Franklin is beginning to wish he had asked these questions about Cody sooner. He can appreciate now why Parker didn’t open up about his rival. He did not want to confess to losing out to someone he regards as mentally unstable, but neither did he want to put Cody on a pedestal as some kind of action hero.

He says, ‘I assume you never carried out such a selfless act for Megan?’

Parker appears irritated by the question. ‘No,’ he says. ‘The situation has never arisen.’

‘Or she for you?’

‘No.’

‘That must make you feel very inadequate.’

There’s a long silence while Parker considers his response. ‘I don’t have anything to prove. Cody isn’t a hero. He’s a complete nutcase who deserves to be thrown out of the police.’

Franklin has heard enough for now. He stands up.

Parker squirms on the bed. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘I need to go and think about what you’ve told me. There’s a lot for me to process.’

‘Please, don’t leave me here like this. Can you at least let me move around the room for a while?’

But Franklin has stopped listening. His mind is already whirring. He reinserts Parker’s earphones and the gag, taping them into place.

And then he turns and leaves the room.

23

Love and Anger – Kate Bush

Webley finds her irritation building even before she reaches the front door.

The address they have for Leah Naylor, Oliver Selby’s shop assistant, is this house in Neston. Webley told herself repeatedly on the way over not to allow this young woman to get under her skin, but here she is, her flesh already crawling.

The thing is, she’s not even sure why she’s reacting this way. This is just one more interviewee in one more case. Nothing special. They’ll probably never see Leah again after this. Well, not unless she knows a lot more than she said last time.

Actually, Webley does know why her back is up. She just doesn’t want to admit it to herself. It’s not so much that Leah is young and beautiful; it’s the fact that she knows it and is supremely confident about it. What was it she said about Oliver employing good-looking female staff? I mean, Jesus, how vain do you have to be to come out with that?

But Webley knows that’s not the full story either. It’s not just the vanity. It’s the way Leah was with Cody.

There, she thinks. It’s out in the open. I admit it. I don’t like the way she flirted with Cody.

Even though it’s none of my business.

Women can flirt with Cody. Cody can flirt with women. He can go out with them, stay in with them, have wild sex with them if he wants. I don’t care.

So why is this even in my head?

When Leah answers the door, she is wearing a vest top and skin-tight grey leggings. Her eyes lock immediately on Cody, and once again Webley feels like a ghost.

‘Oh, hello!’ Leah says, beaming. ‘Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon.’

Webley is the first to answer, announcing her existence. ‘Mind if we come in?’

Leah’s glance at Webley is fleeting. ‘You’ll have to excuse my appearance,’ she says to Cody. ‘I’ve been doing yoga in the front room.’

Course you have, Webley thinks.

As Leah leads them inside, Webley finds herself checking to see whether Cody’s eyes are taking in the view of the young woman’s pert backside.

None of my business.

The house is nicely furnished but a little dated for Webley’s taste. There are far too many knick-knacks dotted around, and the paintings on the walls are all by an amateur who has yet to master either perspective or symmetry. One particular effort in pride of place over the mantelpiece in the living room shows a dog that seems to Webley to be looking at the ceiling and the floor simultaneously.

‘Live here on your own?’ Webley asks.

‘No, it’s my parents’ house. They’ve gone into Chester.’

‘Nobody else living here with you? No temporary lodgers?’

‘Lodgers? What are you talking about?’

Webley doesn’t like the tone. Thinks it sounds a bit aggressive. She readies herself for a fight, but Cody interrupts. His voice is calmer than this woman deserves, his words more diplomatic.

‘We, er, we were wondering if you’d heard anything else about Oliver Selby. He hasn’t been in touch?’

Really, Cody? You’re going to be this nice to her?

‘No,’ Leah says. ‘Why would he contact me?’

Webley wants to let out a loud sigh, but she holds it in check. ‘You work for him.’

‘Yeah, but… well, I would have told the police if I’d heard from him, wouldn’t I? I know you’re searching for him.’

‘And you’ve still no idea where he might be?’

Like, in your wardrobe or under your bed.

‘No. Look, has somebody said something?’

‘Such as?’

‘I don’t know.’ She looks to Cody for help. ‘Honestly, I really don’t.’

Webley would quite like Cody to turn off the charm now. Time to get the thumbscrews out.

Cody says, ‘We spoke to someone who told us that Oliver had taken quite a fancy to you.’

‘Really? Who said that?’

‘We can’t say. Is it true?’

‘I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Oliver. It’s the first I’ve heard of it.’

‘Oliver never made a move on you?’

‘No. He’s my employer, and that’s all.’

‘You never went on a date with him, or go to his house?’

‘He’s married! Or at least he was until a couple of days ago. Where are you getting this?’

Webley thinks that Leah is doing a great job of seeming genuinely shocked, but she’s not convinced.

She says, ‘We heard that Oliver was infatuated with you. He even claimed he’d had a sexual encounter with you.’

Leah rounds on her. ‘That’s complete bollocks! He’s almost twice my age. He’s never shown any interest in me whatsoever, and if he did, I’d tell him where to go.’

‘That’s not the impression you gave us when we last spoke to you.’

‘What are you talking about? What did I say?’

‘You said that Oliver objected to Alexa being around other men but that he really enjoyed having a good-looking woman working for him.’

Worm your way out of that one, Webley thinks.

Leah stares at her, open-mouthed. And then, to Webley’s surprise, she laughs. ‘You thought… Oh, my God, what sort of person do you think I am? I wasn’t talking about me. I meant Claire.’

‘Who?’

‘Claire Somerville. She was the main assistant. I only used to work Saturdays. But then Claire left about a month ago and I went full-time. She was the one Oliver had a thing for. And you really thought…’

She laughs again, and now Webley feels like an idiot.

Cody comes to her rescue with another question. ‘They were having a relationship?’

‘I’ve no idea, but there were definitely sparks between them. They were always coming out with, you know, innuendos and stuff like that. She is a stunner, though. Tall redhead with big boobs.’

‘Do you know where we might find her?’

Leah thinks for a second. ‘She once told me she was living on Grantham Lane, near the Caldy roundabout. Her husband divorced her, and she got the house.’

‘Thanks.’

Cody looks over at Webley. She wonders if he’s expecting her to be the one to apologise. If so, he can forget it.

‘Sorry we got our wires a bit crossed,’ Cody says.

Leah smiles at him and runs a tongue over her lips. ‘That’s all right. Nice to know you think I fit the part of a glamorous assistant.’

Webley rolls her eyes.

24

You’ve Got the Love – Florence and the Machine

‘You didn’t like her much, did you?’

They’re in the car, Cody driving.

‘Who?’ Webley asks.

‘Leah.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Just the impression I got.’

Webley goes silent, but Cody has decided it could be fun to poke this ants’ nest.

‘Why didn’t you like her?’

‘I didn’t dislike her,’ Webley says. ‘I just thought she…’

‘What?’

‘I thought she wasn’t treating us with respect.’

‘Respect? That’s nothing new. We get constant lack of respect.’

‘Yeah, but, well, she doesn’t have to… to drool.’

Cody laughs. ‘Drool? When was she drooling?’

‘Come on, Cody. She was practically dripping saliva all over you.’

Cody grimaces. ‘That’s not a very attractive image you’ve created there.’

‘Well, that’s what she was doing.’

‘And you object to that? To women drooling over me?’

‘No. Not in general. But when we’re on the job, when we’re trying to be professional with people, the least they can do is to take things a little more seriously.’

‘Well, if it’s any consolation, I’m not interested in Leah.’

‘That begs two questions at least.’

‘What questions?’

‘First of all, why would that be any consolation to me?’

Cody shrugs. ‘I don’t know. It seems to be bothering you.’

‘No, Cody. What’s bothering me is the fact that we’re trying to solve a murder while she’s draping herself all over one of the investigating officers. It’s a wonder she didn’t ask to see your extendable baton. It is of no consolation to me whatsoever that you’re not interested in her. But that brings me neatly onto my second question.’

‘Which is?’

‘Why aren’t you interested in her?’

‘What?’

‘I mean, she’s young and attractive and she obviously fancies you, so what is it you don’t like about her?’

‘She’s part of an ongoing investigation. It wouldn’t be ethical for me to—’

‘No, don’t give me all the technical mumbo-jumbo. Suppose she wasn’t part of the case. Suppose you two were in a pub and she started acting like that. What would you do?’

Cody is beginning to regret stirring up this particular nest. These ants are starting to bite.

‘What do you mean, what would I do?’

‘You’d give her the brush-off, wouldn’t you? You’d say thanks but no thanks.’

‘I don’t know that I would. You’re putting me in a very hypothetical situation.’

‘Maybe, but I’ve seen how you are lately. You don’t date anymore. You don’t even seem to notice when women come on to you. And before you go all modest on me, they do come on to you. I see it frequently. God knows why, but a lot of women have you in their sights. Even Grace wets herself every time you walk past.’

‘Grace? As in computer mastermind Grace?’

‘Yes, Cody. Even women with brains find you fascinating. Go figure. But what I want to know is why you don’t do anything about it.’

Another shrug. ‘I don’t know. I’ve just got other things on my mind right now.’

‘Like what? And please don’t say it’s work. The reason we split up was because of work, so please tell me you’ve learnt your lesson.’

Cody wonders what to tell her. Certainly not the truth. Certainly not the fact that he’s in the middle of an ongoing battle with Waldo and his clown compatriots and needs to get past that before he can think about anything approaching a normal life.

‘No, not work. I’m just not in the right frame of mind.’

Webley stares at him. ‘You’re not… I mean, you’re okay, aren’t you? Because I’m always here, you know. You can tell me stuff.’

He should take her up on the offer. He knows he should. A trouble shared, and all that. But he also knows he can’t burden her with his messy, dangerous life.

‘Thanks,’ he says. ‘I’m fine, really.’

Webley nods. ‘Please get out more. Socialise a little, instead of spending every night cooped up in your flat. It’s not doing you any good.’

Déjà vu, Cody thinks. It’s Mrs Washington all over again. Why does everyone suddenly want me to start going out?

‘Okay. I will.’

‘Good. And start dating again. Women are fun.’

‘So I’ve heard.’

He doesn’t ask her to suggest names.

* * *

Claire Somerville’s house is a detached property with a large front garden. Clearly, she did well out of the divorce. As Cody and Webley walk up the driveway, they notice a woman in the neighbouring garden. She looks of retirement age and is on her knees tending to her flower border. When she sees the detectives, she stops what she is doing, gets to her feet and comes to the fence.

‘You’re wasting your time here,’ she says.

Cody smiles at her. ‘Oh? Why would that be?’

‘I don’t think they’re your sort of people.’

Cody has no idea what she’s talking about.

‘And I’m not either,’ she says. ‘So you needn’t waste your breath. I really don’t know why you bother. Do you ever have any success?’

‘Now and again,’ Cody answers, unsure as to what he’s answering.

‘You do surprise me. I thought people were more savvy these days. I’d bet you ten pounds you have no luck here, but then you’re probably not allowed to gamble, are you?’

‘Gambling’s okay. It’s the drunken orgies that get me into trouble.’

The woman studies him intently, and for a moment Cody thinks he’s let his mouth get him into trouble again. But then the woman suddenly jabs a gloved hand into his shoulder and issues a raucous bark of laughter.

‘Ha! I like you. You’re different from the others. I’ve got half a mind to sign up if they’re all like you.’

‘Like me?’

‘Yes.’ She lowers her voice to a whisper. ‘The other JWs.’

‘The what?’

‘Jehovah’s Witnesses. Your lot are usually stuffy bible bashers. They need to recruit a few more like you.’

‘Thanks,’ Cody says. ‘We’re trying to move with the times.’ He jerks a thumb in Webley’s direction. ‘My associate here has learned hundreds of dirty jokes just to be more down to earth.’

‘Really? They let you do that now?’

‘Yes,’ says Webley. ‘I’ve got a great one about an idiotic police sergeant.’

The woman giggles. ‘I don’t mind the occasional blue joke.’

‘Maybe next time,’ Cody says hastily. ‘Peace be with you.’

‘And you,’ says the woman before returning to her plants.

The detectives approach the house and ring the doorbell. Then they knock. Then they ring again. The woman next door continues her gardening, one eye on the besuited duo.

When they are on the verge of giving up, the door suddenly opens and a figure appears. A redhead, certainly, but not the stunner that Leah had described. This redhead has a luxuriant beard and a beer-gut. Tufts of rust-coloured curls protrude from beneath his baseball cap. Under his open plaid shirt, a T-shirt advertising a beer called ‘Badger’s Bite’ is stretched tightly across his belly. In one hand he is clutching a huge wedge of pepperoni pizza. As he peers at his visitors through large-framed spectacles he breathes heavily, as though out of breath because of having to heft his out-of-shape body to the door.

A fine figure of a man, thinks Cody.

‘Sorry,’ says the man. ‘I was in the middle of a game on my Playstation. What can I do for you?’

‘Hi,’ says Cody, flashing his ID. ‘We’re from Merseyside Police. We’re looking for Claire Somerville. Does she live here?’

‘Yeah, but she’s not here right now. Can I take a message?’ He bites a huge mouthful from his pizza and chews noisily, strings of molten cheese trailing into his beard.

‘Possibly. Can I ask who you are?’

‘I’m her brother,’ he says, jettisoning crumbs of dough in Cody’s direction. ‘Bobby. I’m looking after her house and cat while she’s gone. I do it whenever she goes off somewhere, but I don’t mind. Her house is much nicer than mine.’ As he says this, he realises the neighbour is watching them. He salutes her with his pizza slice. ‘Hello, Mrs Irlam!’

Mrs Irlam waves her trowel at him. ‘Hello, Bobby. You should take a copy of the Watchtower from these two. They’re hilarious.’

Bobby brings his woolly eyebrows together in puzzlement.

‘Long story,’ says Cody. ‘Do you know where your sister is?’

‘Actually, you only just missed her. She’s gone up to Harrogate. Her best friend’s just found out she’s got terminal cancer, so Claire’s gone to stay with her for a couple of days.’

‘Did she go alone?’

‘How do you mean?’

To Cody, it seems a perfectly straightforward question. ‘I mean, is she travelling alone or with someone else?’

‘Like who?’

Like Oliver Selby, Cody thinks.

‘I don’t know. Anyone.’

‘I don’t think so. She left here alone, and she didn’t say anything about picking someone up on the way.’

Webley says, ‘Has she mentioned anyone staying here at the house with her?’

‘Like who?’ Bobby says again.

Jeez, thinks Cody. This is like pulling teeth.

‘Anyone.’

‘No. She lives alone. She used to have a husband, but he turned out to be a dick.’

‘Do you know if she’s been in another relationship since then?’

Bobby wipes his greasy hand down his baggy denim jeans. ‘Nothing serious as far as I know. We don’t really talk about stuff like that, though. You know, relationships and that.’

Cody wonders if Bobby is in a relationship, and what kind of woman would go for someone like him. But maybe he shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. Maybe Bobby’s a real hit with the women.

‘We understand that Claire used to work at a jewellery shop in Heswall,’ says Webley.

‘That’s right, yeah.’

‘Did you ever go there?’

Bobby waves his free hand over his figure. ‘Do I look like I can afford jewellery? I can barely keep myself in beer.’

‘I just wondered if you ever went there to see Claire.’

‘Nope. Never.’

‘Ever meet her boss?’

‘Nope.’

‘I’ve got a photo of him here.’ She detaches a picture from her clipboard and shows it to Bobby. ‘Look familiar?’

Bobby leans in for a better look. His breathing sounds even heavier. Cody thinks he’s probably a walking heart attack.

‘Never seen him in my life.’

‘Okay. Did Claire ever talk to you about him?’

‘Nope.’

‘Reason we’re asking,’ says Cody, ‘is that he was found dead on Friday morning. Claire didn’t mention anything to you about that?’

‘Not a thing. Is that what this is about? Like, a murder?’

‘Yes, it is.’

Bobby stares at him. ‘Shit, that’s serious. You don’t think Claire had anything to do with it, do you?’

Cody decides he needs to be careful about how he answers. There’s every possibility that Claire is tied to the murder, especially if Oliver has been having an affair with her, but Cody doesn’t want to send out any signals that may cause her to go on the run. If, indeed, she hasn’t already done that.

‘That’s not the reason we’ve come here. It’s her ex-boss we want to speak to. We were hoping she might have some idea where he is.’

Bobby just nods and eats his pizza.

‘Do you have a phone number for Claire?’

‘Of course,’ Bobby says. ‘She’s my sister. Do you want it?’

‘Please.’

Bobby gets his phone out and searches his contacts. He reels off a number as Webley writes it down.

‘Thanks,’ Cody says.

‘No problem.’ A thought occurs to Bobby. ‘Oh, she always turns off notifications while she’s driving. If you intend to call her today, you might want to give it an hour or two.’

‘Will do. Thanks again.’

The detectives head back to their car, Mrs Irlam’s eyes on them once again. As they drive away, Cody says, ‘What do you think?’

Webley shakes her head. ‘I think it’s another dead end. I think Oliver was doing what guys always do when they’re drunk, i.e. make shit up about women they fancy, and that we’re clutching at straws like this one because we’re in a hole and we’re getting desperate. That’s what I think.’

Cody looks across at her. ‘Is that what men do? I don’t think I ever did that.’

‘Yeah, you did.’

‘When? When did I do that?’

He gets no answer from Webley, who just sits there wearing a knowing smile.

‘I never did that,’ he says. And then he adds, ‘You’re right about one thing, though. We’re definitely clutching at straws. How is it possible for Oliver Selby to kill two people and then completely disappear after each one? He’s got to be hiding somewhere, and someone must have seen him.’

25

Love Hurts – Roy Orbison

The music is driving him crazy. He’s not so hard-hearted that he can’t appreciate a good love song every now and again but not when he is constantly bombarded like this. He would give anything right now for something different. A good rock song, something to get the feet tapping. Or even something classical.

Or nothing. Silence. He would love that. This music is loud and it is unceasing. The same tracks again and again. His ears and his brain crave some peace and quiet. Just a few minutes of rest.

He wonders if it’s meant as a form of torture. Is Franklin playing some kind of weird mind game with him? And if it is a game, then what are the rules? Is there something he can say or do to win the prize of getting out of here?

Or is it a lot simpler than that? Is it more practical? Are there things that Franklin doesn’t want him to hear?

He has strained to tune in to his environment during the precious silences between tracks and the quiet parts of the songs. Sometimes he thinks he can hear noises, but he’s never quite sure. He certainly can’t identify them.

The only thing he can hear right now is Roy Orbison. A song called Love Hurts. Very apt, he thinks. Being too much in love with Megan is what got him into this mess. And he’s definitely hurting. His spine, his ribs, his limbs – they all ache through lack of movement. The ropes around his wrists and ankles are cutting deep into his flesh and restricting blood flow.

He wonders if he’ll die here.

Wonders if that’s ultimately what Franklin has in mind for him.

Franklin says not. Every time he comes into the room, he says his only aim is to fix a relationship that’s gone a bit wrong.

Parker knows that’s an unachievable objective. But he worries about what will happen when Franklin comes to the same realisation. He doesn’t seem the type to accept his mistake and say, ‘Sorry about that. Off you trot.’ It seems more likely that he will—

Parker doesn’t want to think about that.

But he has an additional worry.

What if something happens to Franklin? He gets hit by a bus, perhaps. Or he just buggers off. Or he gets caught by the police but refuses to talk. What then?

Well, what happens then is that Parker will be alone here, and nobody will know. He won’t be able to escape or cry out for help, he will have no food or water, and he will gradually waste away in a pool of his own piss and shit. Compared to that ending, an instantaneous death seems much more preferable.

But Parker doesn’t want to think about that either.

The problem is that his mind has other ideas. His mind is running the gamut of doom-laden outcomes. It doesn’t like to look on the bright side, to seek the reassurance that everything will be all right in the end. In a situation like this, it prefers to preoccupy itself with scenarios involving pain, suffering and eventual oblivion.

He wishes he could say sorry to Megan.

Wishes he could beg her to forgive him.

But then he realises that what he really wants to do is turn back time. Take it back to the point at which he chose to become a jealous idiot instead of an understanding partner. Then none of this would have happened. He and Megan would still be a loving engaged couple, not even figuring on Franklin’s failed relationship radar.

What’s that about, anyway? Why is Franklin so concerned with the love lives of other people? And why does he think his deranged actions can possibly help in such situations?

Because he’s insane, is the answer.

Normal people don’t act like this. They don’t drug people and kidnap them and tie them to a bed and slice all their clothes off and cut off all their hair and…

What?

What next?

Parker doesn’t want to think about that.

And then suddenly Franklin is standing next to the bed again. Looking down at him. Parker hadn’t heard him enter the room. He can’t hear anything beyond these damn earphones.

Franklin tears away the tape, removes the gag, takes away the music. The silence is a blessing.

‘You look like a naked mole-rat,’ says Franklin. ‘I saw them on one of those David Attenborough nature programmes. They have no hair on their bodies. Just pale wrinkly skin like yours.’

Parker doesn’t think he’s particularly wrinkly or pale, but he’s not about to get into an argument about it.

‘Ugly little things,’ Franklin continues. ‘You couldn’t love a creature like that. Dogs and cats, yes, I think I can understand how people can love them. Do you have any pets?’

‘No.’

‘No. But I think you can understand it too, right? And people genuinely do love them. Lots of people love them even more than other humans. The mistake they make, of course, is in believing that their pets love them back. They think that because Fido follows them around everywhere and rolls over and brings them a ball to play with, that’s love. But it isn’t. Fido just wants his next treat. It’s learnt behaviour, that’s all.’

Franklin sits down on the edge of the bed.

‘But sometimes I wonder if that’s what humans do, too. I mean, are they genuinely in love or are they simply doing what their partner wants them to do in order to have a nicer life and someone to procreate with? What do you think, Parker?’

Parker isn’t in the mood for philosophical discourse. But he feels the need to keep his captor happy.

‘I don’t think you can generalise. I guess there are some people who take a partner for personal gain, but there are lots of others who are truly in love.’

‘Yes, but how do you know which it is?’

‘You don’t always. But does it matter? The only thing that matters is how you feel inside.’

‘And how did you feel inside? About Megan?’

‘I loved her. I still do.’

‘Are you prepared to sacrifice yourself for her?’

Parker doesn’t like this question. Words like ‘sacrifice’ are terrifying right now.

‘It would depend on the circumstances.’

‘Well, if you were in Cody’s shoes that time when he put his neck on the line to save Megan’s life?’

‘I don’t know. I’d like to think I’d do the same. The truth is I’m not sure I’m brave enough.’

Parker hopes that, if there are right and wrong answers, he’s choosing wisely. He studies Franklin’s face, trying to read his thoughts.

‘I’ve been thinking a lot about our earlier chat,’ Franklin says.

‘Okay.’

‘About Cody, and Megan’s relationship with him.’

‘Okay.’

‘I have some more questions.’ He says this as though he’s seeking permission, but in fact Parker welcomes the opportunity to talk more about Cody. Anything to take the focus off himself and any blame he might carry for the broken engagement.

‘All right.’

‘First of all, why did they split up? Was it because of Cody’s mental health issues?’

‘No. Those problems came later. It was because he was too involved in his job.’

Franklin’s eyes widen. ‘He loved his job more than he loved Megan?’

‘That’s what she told me. He wasn’t willing to devote enough time to her.’

‘I see. That’s a very different kind of love, though, isn’t it?’

Yet again, Parker finds it strange that Franklin needs to ask. The man really doesn’t appear to understand what love is. It’s like he’s an android, or an alien from a planet where they don’t do emotions.

‘Yeah, I’d say so.’

‘Hmm. The competition between the two forms intrigues me.’ He gives a quick nod, as though he has just filed that thought away for later retrieval and analysis. ‘And what about now? Is Cody’s job no longer so important to him?’

‘I don’t know. I haven’t had an in-depth conversation with him about it.’

‘Well, if he’s managing to find time for Megan again…’

Parker hesitates. He doesn’t want to rile the man, but it feels necessary to get to the truth.

‘Is he, though? Is there really something between them?’

‘What do you mean?’

Here goes. ‘You never answered my question about the cards and the flowers. You sent them to Megan, didn’t you? Just like you sent her my hair.’

‘Why would I do that?’

‘I don’t know. You tell me. And the photographs you showed me – Cody going into Megan’s house with her – were they real or did you create them?’

‘Does it matter? You’re the one who told me that Megan was seeing Cody again. You believe there’s a relationship there. If I’m simply confirming your belief, supporting your conviction, is that such a bad thing?’

‘Yes. Of course it is.’

‘Why?’

And now Parker realises there’s a truth he must face too.

‘Because… because what if I’m wrong? What if there’s nothing there?’

‘Megan broke off the engagement. She threw her ring back at you. Doesn’t that tell you there was something going on?’

‘But… maybe that was all because I refused to listen to her side of the story. Maybe I’m the one who’s to blame here.’

Franklin goes silent for a while, and again Parker tries to divine his thoughts. He sees no anger there, no consternation. Perhaps this admission of guilt is exactly what was needed. Could that be it? A test? Was Franklin waiting all this time for Parker to accept that he was in the wrong?

‘This is very good,’ Franklin says.

Good? That’s positive, right? Hopeful.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Your introspection. The self-analysis. Very good. But the fact remains…’ He leaves it hanging.

‘What fact?’

‘Well, you two are apart, aren’t you? Whoever is at fault, you’re not together as you should be. We need to fix that.’

Parker’s hope dies, and in its wake, anger pushes up.

‘We can’t fix it! Don’t you understand? The relationship is over. Done. Finished. You and I both need to accept that. You have to call an end to this now and let me go.’

Franklin closes his eyes. Opens them again slowly. ‘I can’t do that. Not until we’ve tried everything.’

‘What else is there to try? You can’t force someone to be in love. That’s not the way it works.’

‘Ah, but Megan isn’t just someone, is she? She’s not a random person you hardly know. She was in love with you. She was engaged to be married to you. She can’t just turn off that love like a light switch. All we need to do is… rekindle it a little.’

Parker feels like he’s banging his head against a brick wall. Franklin just doesn’t get it. He doesn’t see the futility of his actions.

‘And how do you propose to do that?’

‘Yes, I’ve been giving that much consideration. You were very inspirational earlier.’

Parker casts his mind back, re-running the earlier conversation. It hadn’t seemed especially profound at the time.

‘What did I say?’

‘You talked about the things that are drawing Megan back to Cody. I particularly like the story of how they saved each other’s lives. If I could set it up so that you could rescue her from certain death…’

The notion of Megan at any kind of risk sends a jolt of terror through Parker. ‘No! Please don’t hurt Megan! I’m begging you…’

‘The problem I have with that is a logistical one. It would be very difficult to arrange such a scenario.’ He pauses. ‘Not to worry. There’s a much simpler option.’

But Parker is worried. There’s an undercurrent here. A shark beneath the waves.

‘Which is?’ he asks.

‘Pity.’

Parker is puzzled. He’s not sure if Franklin is answering his question or expressing his dissatisfaction with it.

‘What?’

‘You said that Megan probably pities Cody. She feels sorry for him because of what he’s been through. His torture in the warehouse. The loss of his toes.’ Another pause. ‘I think we need to go one better.’

And then Franklin reaches behind his back as he did last night, and Parker thinks, No, please, not the scissors again, please don’t make me less of a man…

But Franklin doesn’t produce the scissors again.

He brings out a junior hacksaw instead.

26

I Just Called to Say I Love You – Stevie Wonder

Alone in his car after making some more routine enquiries on the Wirral, Cody heads along Meols Drive, past the golf course, and then over the Hoylake roundabout with its circular bronze sculpture of interlocked seabirds. He has every intention of continuing on to the M53 and through the Kingsway Tunnel back into Liverpool.

And then his eyes drift to the shops on his right. He notices a bar in particular. A friendly little place called The Black Toad. He is reminded of the last time he was in there, and who he was with.

That’s when the compulsion hits him. He makes a sudden left turn and drives down a quiet residential street. Ahead, he can make out the promenade and then the white-tipped waves of the Irish Sea.

He pulls the car over, just as he has done so many times at this spot in the past, but pauses before killing the engine.

I should go back to the station, he thinks. I don’t need this in my head right now. Another time, maybe, when I’m less busy.

But he turns off the engine nonetheless and gets out of the car. Stares at the house for a while. Thinks about getting back in the car. Starts walking up the driveway.

It’s been a while.

He rings the doorbell, hears the all-too-familiar chime. For some reason he expects it to have been changed.

She has definitely changed, though.

When she comes to the door, the first thing Cody notices is that her hair has gone. Well, not entirely gone – she’s not imitating a boiled egg in the way that Parker probably is right now – but she has had her flowing locks shorn into a pixie cut. It comes as a shock, but he still finds her stunningly beautiful.

‘Hi, Devon,’ he says.

Shock has registered on Devon’s face, too. ‘Hello, Cody.’ Like almost everyone else outside of family, she always calls him by his surname.

‘I, er, I was just passing, and I thought…’

He’s not sure whether she looks pleased or not. She’s certainly not overjoyed. And now he is even more convinced that he should have kept on driving.

‘Come in,’ she says.

‘Are you sure? I don’t want to be any bother…’

‘Just come inside.’

He follows her through to the living room. Not many changes here, he notes. Although…

The photographs with him in have been removed.

Something falls inside him.

‘I like your hair,’ he says, forcing himself to sound cheerful.

She tugs gently at the strands on her neck. ‘Thanks. Felt it was time for something different.’

He wonders if that’s also aimed at him, then decides he’s overthinking.

‘How are you?’ he asks.

‘Good. Good. What about you?’

‘Sound. I was just…’

‘Passing. Yes, you said.’ She waves a hand to indicate his suit and tie. ‘Work?’

‘Yeah. The usual.’

‘A murder?’

‘Yeah. You heard about the woman found dead in Caldy?’

‘I did. You think the husband did it?’

‘Probably. He’s done a runner, though.’

Cody decides it’s best not to bring the Sam Ridley killing into this. He didn’t come here to talk about the job.

‘Well, you won’t find him here,’ she says.

Cody laughs, but he knows she’s still waiting for him to explain his presence.

‘How are your folks?’ he asks.

‘Great. Dad’s done his back in again, but other than that… Seen much of the Cody clan?’

‘As much as ever. Which means no, I haven’t.’

She smiles. ‘Cody, why have you come here today?’

‘Well… it’s a Sunday, so I assumed you wouldn’t be working, and I was in the area, so—’

‘Yes, but why?’

A good question. To which he does not want to give an honest answer. That answer being the things that old Mrs Washington and young Megan Webley said to him about finding himself a partner. He has thought a lot about his situation since he received all the unsolicited advice, and what he has decided is that one of the reasons he hasn’t done anything about it is that he doesn’t really know where he stands with the woman now sitting opposite him.

‘I thought… I just thought it would be nice to have a chat. A catch-up.’

‘Didn’t you think it might be a good idea to phone me first?’

‘No. I mean, I didn’t think. It was an impulse thing. Is this an inconvenient time?’

‘That’s not what I’m saying. You’ve just… thrown me a little. I don’t understand what it is you’re hoping to get from this.’

He stares at her. What the hell was he thinking? That she would welcome him with open arms? Perhaps tell him how ecstatic she is to see him before dragging him up to her bed?

What is the point of his being here?

‘I’m missing you,’ he says. ‘I’ve been missing you for a long time.’

She remains silent for an age, as though his words have bowled into her thoughts and knocked them for six. And then she says, ‘I’m not sure what you want me to say to that.’

Which really isn’t helpful, thinks Cody. Toss this starving dog a bone, at least. Let me know I’m not wasting my breath.

‘You could tell me you’re missing me too. We haven’t spoken since Christmas.’

‘And whose fault is that?’

He wants to tell her that, in his humble opinion, it’s her fault. When he phoned her at Christmas, she made it painfully clear that not only did she not want to exchange presents, she didn’t even want to arrange to meet up for a festive drink.

‘Do you still care about me?’ he asks.

‘I should probably be the one asking that question.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Cody, when you were reported as a missing person in February, I was constantly on the phone to the police. I was frantic with worry. Nobody knew where you were or what had happened to you. We all feared the worst. And what did you do when you escaped and got back home? Did you bother to call me, to let me know you were safe?’

‘I… I didn’t know you’d gone through that. I didn’t know you’d been informed.’

‘Cody, it was a missing persons inquiry. And not just any person. You’re a police officer. Of course they came to me. You know very well that’s what they’d do.’

She’s right, of course: it would be standard procedure. The truth is, he hadn’t thought it through. Hadn’t considered that she would be brought into it. And yet he’d thought so much about Devon when he was tied up in that house, waiting to die. He’d even said his goodbyes to her.

That was then, but what about afterwards? Why had he not contacted her at that point?

Because, he thinks, I was afraid. Scared that I’d find out that she wasn’t that bothered about life without me in it.

‘They asked me about your state of mind,’ Devon says.

‘Who?’

‘The Missing Persons cops. They’d dug into your background, of course, and they wanted to know if what you went through might have explained your disappearance.’

‘What did you tell them?’

‘I was torn, Cody. Part of me was desperate to tell them the truth about you, in case it helped them to find you. I kept picturing you standing there with a rope around your neck or sitting in a car with a hosepipe connected to the exhaust. I wondered if telling them about your psychiatric problems might help them to narrow down the search. But at the same time, I knew beyond any doubt that you wouldn’t want me to tell them your big secret. I knew you were worried that it might lead to the end of your career, and your career was always so precious to you.’

He wonders if there is a slight dig there about his job being of more value than his fiancée, but he decides not to rise to it.

‘So what did you choose?’

‘I lied. God help me, but I lied. I told them yes, you had gone through a terrible ordeal, but you’d made a remarkable recovery and were fully compos mentis. I did that for you, Cody, because I knew it’s what you would have wanted me to do. So please don’t ask me if I care about you. Caring about you has ripped me apart.’

He notices her lip is quivering, her eyes glistening.

‘Thank you.’

She nods. ‘So have you?’

‘Have I what?’

‘Made a full recovery.’

‘I had an assessment recently by a psychologist. She issued me a clean bill of health.’

‘That’s not what I asked.’

She knows me too well, he thinks. The psychologist’s report means nothing, especially given the way it was obtained. Cody still wakes up in the middle of the night, screaming and lashing out. Devon became the victim of one of those outbursts. Can he honestly claim it could never happen again?

‘I’m better than I was,’ he says.

She nods again, seemingly grateful for his honesty. And then she leans forward in her chair and lowers her voice and puts the central question yet again.

‘Cody, why have you come here?’

He wants her back. More than anything. He likes to think that he is well enough now for it to work. But can he risk it?

And even if he could be sure of his own behaviour, that’s not the real issue, is it? The problem is Waldo, who is still out there and who undoubtedly intends to make his presence felt again. Does he really want Devon close to him when that happens? How much more of a risk to her safety is that?

‘I came to ask…’ he begins.

‘Go on. Say it.’

‘I came to ask if… if you’ll wait for me.’

‘Wait for you?’

‘To get completely better. To reach a point where I know we could start again.’

A tear escapes and slides down her cheek.

‘Cody, how long am I supposed to wait? It’s already been about nine months since we split up.’

‘I know, but—’

‘Cody.’

There is something in the way she says his name. It carries a sad finality. Anybody else might not detect it, but he hears it clearly.

He stares at her for a long time, while she avoids his gaze.

And then he says, ‘You’ve met someone.’

Her eyes flicker towards him again, and they tell him everything, even though there are no words.

He says, ‘Can I ask who?’

A long pause, and then, ‘Simon.’

‘Simon Teller?’

‘Yes.’

Cody doesn’t know why, but he would have preferred a stranger. Someone he has never heard of. Someone he can’t picture.

Simon Teller is the orthodontist who owns and runs the dental practice on the lower floors of Cody’s building in Rodney Street. Devon knew him long before Cody did; in fact, she was the one who introduced them at a party.

Cody has always had mixed feelings about Simon. The man is tall and irritatingly handsome, with perfectly aligned white teeth that are the ideal shop window for his business. But as far as Cody has been able to tell, Simon’s passions in life have always been money, fast cars, golf, and working his way through as many women as he can. It is that last item on the list that causes Cody to doubt his credentials as a match for Devon.

At the same time, Cody has much to thank him for. It was Simon who offered him the Rodney Street flat at a bargain rate after he broke up with Devon. He could never have afforded it otherwise.

He wonders now whether it was a ploy of Simon’s to get into Devon’s good books.

But maybe that’s unfair, Cody thinks. Maybe Simon never thought that way, and it’s just me being cynical. Maybe Simon has mellowed and wants to settle down.

I still want to punch him in the face, though.

‘Are you… are you okay?’ Devon asks.

‘Yeah. Just a little surprised.’

He remembers now that Simon mentioned he was meeting up with Devon for a drink at Christmas, even though she couldn’t seem to find time to get together with her ex-fiancé. He wonders if that’s when it all began, or if it had started way before then. He wonders how serious it is, whether there is any talk of living together or an engagement or…

He doesn’t want to know.

He just wants to get out of here.

‘I should go,’ he says, making a show of checking his watch. ‘I’m supposed to be working.’

‘Cody…’

He gets to his feet. Stands there not knowing how to say goodbye.

She rushes to him, takes him in her arms.

‘Cody, I’m so sorry.’

Not half as sorry as I am, he thinks.

27

I’ve Got Love on My Mind – Natalie Cole

There’s something bothering Cody.

It’s not Devon. That’s behind him for now. He spent the whole journey back to the station thinking about her. In the Mersey tunnel, a car was uncomfortably close behind him, and Cody tried to catch sight of the driver in his rear-view mirror. He hoped to see the evil mask of Waldo, just so he could slam on his brakes and then haul his macabre pursuer out of his car and beat him to a pulp and throw him in jail, and then he could dash straight back to Devon and tell her his problems had finally been solved and she could ditch Simon and come back to him, and then they would live happily ever after.

But the man in the mirror wasn’t a clown, or at least not one of the evil, bloodthirsty type. He was just a regular guy who don’t know how to drive properly. All of which only confirmed to Cody that there are no fairy-tale endings. Good things happen and bad things happen, and most of the time you can’t do anything about either.

Waldo will return, but by then it will be too late. Devon will probably be married with kids.

Cody has already had a word with himself about accepting that and moving on. For now, he’s adhering to that advice. Later, when he’s alone in his flat, he might have a re-think.

So it’s not Devon. And yet something is definitely bothering him.

He’s sitting at his desk in the Major Incident Room, but he’s not doing any work. Actually, that’s not true. He’s thinking about the case, and that counts as work, right? The great detectives do tons of thinking. Sherlock Holmes spent a great deal of his time just smoking and cogitating on his investigations. It’s what gets results. You can type up all the reports you like, but it’s the careful consideration of the clues that leads you to the killer.

That’s how Cody justifies his current inaction. He wonders if he should put on a deerstalker. Maybe take some cocaine.

Problem is, he doesn’t know what he’s contemplating. Something about the case is nagging him, tugging at a corner of his brain. Something he saw or heard. Perhaps something somebody said. Or didn’t say. That kind of thing.

Sherlock Holmes would be embarrassed.

Cody shakes his head to bring himself back into the here and now. He looks down at his action list, which seems to be growing bigger by the minute. One of the items is to call Claire Somerville. He picks up his phone and taps in the number that Webley had jotted down at the house.

The phone rings and rings. Perhaps Claire has forgotten to turn her notifications back on after her journey. Or perhaps she’s consoling her terminally ill friend.

He’s on the verge of giving up when the call is answered.

‘Hello?’

‘Hello. Am I speaking to Claire Somerville?’

‘Yes. Who’s speaking, please?’ Her voice is quiet. Timid-sounding. Cody finds it difficult to visualise it coming from the mouth of a statuesque ‘stunner’, as Leah described her. But then the woman is unlikely to be full of beans given her circumstances.

‘My name’s Nathan Cody. I’m a detective sergeant with the Major Incident Team at Merseyside Police.’

‘Oh. Yes. My brother said you’d probably call.’

‘Yes. I just want to check a couple of things with you, if that’s okay?’

‘Yes, that’s fine.’

‘We’re making some enquiries about your former employer at the jewellery shop in Heswall. Oliver Selby?’

‘Yes. My brother gave me the news about Oliver’s wife. He said she’s been found dead, and that Oliver has gone missing.’

Cody is surprised she had to learn of it that way. It’s a story that’s now all over the news. But again, Claire has probably had other things on her mind.

‘You didn’t know?’

‘No. It came as quite a shock.’

‘Yes. Obviously, we need to contact Mr Selby as a matter of urgency—’

‘Of course.’

‘—and so we were wondering if you might be able to provide us with any information that could help us to locate him.’

‘Not really. I haven’t seen Oliver for about a month. Not since I stopped working at the shop.’

‘No contact from him at all? Not even a text or a phone call?’

‘Well… maybe a few messages for a short while after I left but nothing to speak of.’

‘I see. But nothing recent? He hasn’t come over to your house, for example?’

‘Oliver has never been to my house, recent or otherwise.’

‘Okay. How was your relationship with Oliver?’

‘My relationship? He was my boss. I did my job, and he paid my wages. That’s it, really. I’m not sure what—’

‘But you got on well?’

‘Yes. Definitely.’

‘How well?’

‘What? I don’t know what you—’

‘Did that relationship ever become more than simply a professional one?’

Cody sometimes reflects on the fact that his is one of the few jobs in which asking such personal and probing questions is standard practice. There was a time when it used to bother him. Now, it’s just part and parcel of his workday.

‘What do you mean?’ Claire says.

Cody makes it as plain as he can. ‘I mean, did you ever have an intimate relationship with Oliver Selby?’

‘No,’ says Claire, her indignation apparent. ‘Absolutely not. Why are you even asking me that?’

‘We spoke to one of Oliver’s friends. He gave us the impression that there might have been something going on between you and Oliver.’

‘Well, that’s crap. Oliver is a good-looking man, but I would never… well, I just wouldn’t.’

‘Okay. Sorry, but I had to ask. If you ever do hear from Oliver, could you please contact the police straight away?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Thank you. Sorry to bother you.’

They exchange goodbyes and then Cody puts the phone down and sighs. It feels like yet another dead-end. He has no reason to disbelieve what Claire Somerville has told him, no evidence to suggest that she is holed up in a remote cottage somewhere with Oliver at her side, or even wrapped between her legs.

That’s the problem with police work. People lie. And not just because they’re guilty of the crime under investigation. Sometimes they just don’t want to put their skeletons on display, and that’s perfectly understandable. There are plenty of things going on in Cody’s own life that he has lied about to friends and colleagues.

It’s not helping him find a double murderer, though.

His phone rings. He picks it up again.

‘DS Cody.’

‘Mr Cody. It’s Liam again. You know, from the leisure centre?’

‘Hi Liam.’

‘Hi. Yeah. I, er, I just wondered how the investigation was going. You know, into Alexa Selby’s murder?’

‘It’s going well,’ Cody lies, because he doesn’t think it’s going at all well, but he’s not about to confess that to a member of the public, even to one who aspires to be a fellow officer.

‘Cool. Does that mean you’re close to solving the crime, then?’

‘We’re optimistic. But obviously I can’t say much about that at the moment. I’m sure you understand.’

‘Oh, yeah, deffo. But do you think… well, the information I gave you, do you think it’s helped?’

‘Absolutely. We couldn’t have got this far without you.’

‘That’s excellent news. Glad to hear it.’

He pauses, causing Cody to wonder if the sole reason for his call was to get a pat on the back.

‘So, anyway,’ Liam continues, ‘I’ve been giving a lot more thought lately to joining the police.’

‘That’s great, Liam.’ Cody finds his eyes wandering to his computer screen. The nagging feeling is returning. Something he has missed. He could really do with getting off the phone now.

‘And I was wondering if, like, what I did for you guys, could that be used in my application? You know, to say that I provided crucial information in a murder case?’

‘I’m sure it wouldn’t do any harm. At the very least, it would show you’re a stand-up citizen.’

‘Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. Because most people, they don’t get to help out like I did, do they? I should use that, right? Whatever works.’

‘Of course. Whatever works. And I wish you the best of luck with it.’

‘Thanks. Who knows? I might be working on a case with you and Detective Wibbly one day.’

‘Webley.’

‘Sorry?’

‘It’s DC Webley. But yeah, you should definitely take a shot at it.’

‘I will. Thanks again. And if there’s ever anything else I can do to help you guys out again, you know where I am.’

‘Will do. See you around, Liam.’

‘Yeah, see ya.’

Cody hangs up. He hopes that Liam isn’t going to keep pestering him about his application. There are other things on his mind right now.

He’s just not sure what they are.

28

Crazy Little Thing Called Love – Queen

Webley parks up outside her house, then checks her phone again. She has no missed calls from Parker, no text messages. For her part, she has called and messaged numerous times throughout the day, but clearly Parker has decided to play silly buggers.

Either that or he’s lost his sanity.

Because this is so unlike him. Parker likes his hair. At least, he likes the hair that used to be on his head. She can’t vouch for his emotional attachment to the rest of it.

But maybe that’s the point. He’s saying, Look what I am willing to do for you. I love my hair, but I love you so much more.

She can’t imagine that she would ever go to such lengths for someone. Yes, she risked her own life to save Cody’s, and very nearly died in the process, but if his rescue had hinged on her giving up all her hair, then Cody would probably be sitting in an urn on someone’s mantlepiece right now.

She can’t imagine Parker bald. And that desperate. It’s not an attractive proposition. If she ever gets to speak to him, she’s going to make it crystal clear that all he’s doing is creeping her out.

But then why isn’t he making contact? If he’s so keen to gauge her reaction to his bizarre overtures, why isn’t he following up with further communication?

He can piss right off.

She’s angry now. She doesn’t like being toyed with like this. It’s verging on intimidation. Predatory behaviour. She is becoming inclined to visit him in an official capacity, along with a couple of scary-looking uniformed officers. Give him fair warning that he could end up in a police cell if he’s not careful.

She doesn’t want to do that to him.

She loved him, and he loved her. They made a good couple. Where did it all go wrong?

Cody. That’s where it went wrong.

It was his appearance on the scene that caused the wheels to come off her relationship with Parker.

Not that there was anything in it. She wasn’t even that happy to have Cody in her life again. But she has to work with him. It was either that or transfer out of MIT after only just getting into that select team. And they’ve got on really well together.

Too well?

Perhaps. She certainly enjoys a lot more leeway with Cody than most constables do with their sergeants. But there’s nothing in it. Parker had no reason to get so jealous.

She laughs. An image of Parker ranting at her, and she’s telling him to keep his hair on.

Best to try to find the funny side, because it’s doing her nut in.

She gets out the car, locks it up, heads for the house. When she opens her front door, she hears the gentle swish of mail sliding along the parquet floor on the other side.

Please, she thinks, don’t let this be another weird package from Parker.

But there it is.

She stoops and picks it up. Another padded envelope, with ‘Megan xxx’ typed on the front of it.

‘Fuck.’

She carries the envelope into the kitchen and places it on the worktop, then puts down her bag and removes her coat. She stares at the package for a good couple of minutes, wondering what it could possibly contain this time. Recent experience suggests it’s probably not going to be jewellery or a cuddly toy or tickets to a West End show.

She tells herself that all this staring is getting her precisely nowhere, and she opens the envelope. It contains a small white cardboard box. She embarks on another staring session.

Finally, she takes a deep breath and removes the lid of the box.

And that’s when she screams.

29

Only Love Can Hurt Like This – Paloma Faith

Cody wastes no time.

As soon as he gets the phone call from Webley, he races out of his flat, jumps into his car and tears over to her house.

That’s the effect she has on him still. When she needs his help, he’s there for her.

But a part of him doesn’t know if he can do this. For him, it’s so close to home.

Of course you can do it, he tells himself. This is Webley we’re talking about. You can do anything for her. Your own fears and insecurities can go to hell.

Webley greets him at the door. He can tell she’s been crying and that she’s now trying to appear in control again.

‘Thank you, Cody,’ she says. ‘I didn’t know who else to call.’

Cody isn’t sure if this is a compliment or an insult. Is she saying that nobody else would do? Or did she work her way through a whole catalogue of names before reluctantly settling on his?

He sets it to one side. It’s not important right now.

‘You okay?’ he asks.

‘Yeah. Just a bit… shaken.’

She leads him into the kitchen and stands in front of a small white box on the kitchen counter. Cody approaches it cautiously, like it might be an explosive device.

Webley says, ‘I don’t know whether you should…’

He looks at her.

‘I wasn’t thinking,’ she continues. ‘When I called you, I was acting on impulse. I wasn’t thinking… you know, about what you’ve been through.’

‘It’s okay.’

‘No. I’ll understand. If you don’t want to look at it, you don’t have to.’

Webley is one of the few people who is aware of how fragile his mental state can be. She has been right there at his side when he has lost control. He could back out now and she wouldn’t think any worse of him.

But he would hate himself for ever.

I can do this.

‘Honestly, it’s fine.’

He grasps the lid of the box. Counts to three. Lifts it off.

A wave of nausea washes over him. For a few seconds he thinks he’s going to black out. Or perhaps just vomit.

What he sees in the box is a severed finger.

Webley knows that he has had four of his toes cut off, which is why she was offering him an escape route. What she doesn’t know, however, is just how raw the experience is. She is unaware that one of the aforementioned toes was recently returned to Cody. Left in his building, just outside the door to his flat, presumably by Waldo. Cody still has it in the bottom of his freezer. Doesn’t know why he kept it, really, but tossing one of his body parts away with the rubbish just didn’t seem right.

He remembers how much he screamed that night. His worry when Webley asked for his help was that he would carry out a repeat performance.

But he hasn’t. He’s okay. Holding it together, just about.

He faces Webley again. ‘That’s… definitely a finger, all right. Are you sure it’s Parker’s?’

‘I think so. When we got engaged, we gave each other rings. Seemed like a more modern way of doing things. Equality and all that. That looks like the one I gave him. There should be an inscription on the inside.’

‘You haven’t checked?’

‘I… I can’t.’

A cue if ever there was one, Cody thinks. He looks into the box again, tries to block out the flesh and bone and gore and focus instead on the silver band around it.

A right pair, we are, he thinks. Two supposedly hardened murder detectives, used to dealing with the worst sights imaginable when it comes to human remains. And yet here we are, both with the heebie-jeebies over a simple finger.

‘You want me to look?’ He tries to sound unruffled.

‘Are you up to it?’

‘Sure. No problem.’

It’s a big problem.

He reaches for the finger. He can feel Webley’s eyes burning into the back of his neck.

The skin is pale and cold. The touch of it reminds him of his own dead toe, and bile starts to rise in his gullet again.

I can do this.

He tugs at the ring. It’s tight, doesn’t want to move. He tugs harder, half expecting the digit to come apart in his hands. Like pulled pork.

The ring finally relents. Cody slides it off, then places the finger back in its box. He holds the ring up to the light and peers at its inner edge.

‘It just says “For Ever”.’

Webley’s nod is emphatic. ‘That’s the ring I bought him.’

Cody puts the ring down on the worktop. ‘Okay, so it’s Parker’s ring. Presumably his finger too. The question is why?’

‘I don’t know. And I can’t get hold of him. I’ve been calling him ever since I found the… that. He’s obviously lost his fucking marbles. First his hair and now his fucking finger. What the hell is he playing at?’

Cody idly picks up the lid of the box. He turns it over. There’s something on the inside of it…

Webley says, ‘I need to go over to his house. Will you come with me?’

A small square rectangle of card. Dried blood has made it stick to the lid. Cody picks at it.

‘Cody?’

‘What?’ he says. ‘Yeah.’

He pulls the card away, turns it over. It carries a message.

‘What is that?’ Webley asks.

‘Oh, shit.’

‘What?’

He hands the card to her. ‘Read that.’

She takes the card, stares at it. Reads it out loud. ‘A toe is nothing. This is real love xx.’

She meets Cody’s gaze. ‘Oh, my God. He’s trying to compete with you.’

30

Crazy in Love – Beyoncé, featuring Jay-Z

When they arrive at Parker’s address, they find his car on the drive but the house in darkness.

The two detectives spend several minutes ringing the bell and banging on the door. They get no answer.

Webley squats and shouts through the letter box. ‘Parker! Open the door! It’s me – Megan!’

Still nothing.

‘Fuck this,’ Webley says. She reaches into her pocket and brings out a key.

‘What are you doing?’ Cody asks.

‘He gave me this key ages ago. I’m going in.’

‘On what basis?’

Webley glares at him. She doesn’t think this is a time for legal niceties. ‘On the basis that the man I was engaged to seems to have lost his mind, that he’s hacking pieces off himself, and that for all I know he’s lying on the floor in there bleeding to death.’

‘Fair enough.’

Webley opens up and enters the house, Cody following. She flicks on some lights and the pair go automatically into police search mode, checking every room of the house. Each time Webley confirms a room as unoccupied her heart sinks another inch. When she meets up with Cody again in the kitchen, she is on the edge of tears.

‘Where the hell has he gone?’ Webley says. ‘He hasn’t even taken his car. Why won’t he answer his damn phone?’

‘I don’t know,’ Cody answers. ‘He’s obviously not himself.’

‘To put it mildly.’ She looks around the room. It’s tidy. Everything washed and put away. ‘It doesn’t make any sense. Look at this place. It’s pristine. Not exactly what you’d expect of a maniac. What could have made him start acting so unhinged?’

‘Maybe he’s on something.’

Webley shakes her head. ‘I’ve never known Parker to take drugs. In fact, he strongly disapproved of it. Why would he start now?’

‘Okay, well, maybe… maybe it’s his last resort. Maybe he thinks he’s run out of options.’

‘Options for what?’

Cody pauses before answering. ‘For getting you back.’

It’s like a trigger has been pulled. The tears roll down Webley’s cheeks. Cody goes to her.

‘Hey. Don’t cry.’

‘Did I… did I do this to him? Was I too hard on him?’

‘No. You can’t think like that. You broke the engagement off with Parker because he showed a side of himself you’d never seen before. A dark, irrational side. Maybe this is more of the same. Could be you didn’t know him as well as you thought you did.’

She sniffs, nods. ‘You might be right. But he needs urgent help, Cody.’

‘I totally agree. Look, first thing in the morning we’ll report him as a missing person.’

She nods again. And then her eyes alight on something. On the breakfast bar is a framed photograph. It’s a picture of her with Parker, taken at Chester Zoo. They look so happy together.

She says, ‘Take me home, please.’

* * *

She says little on the drive back to her house. She is exhausted, but her mind is bursting with thoughts and images. Cody keeps asking her if she’s okay, and she just answers that she’s fine, but she’s not really. It’s like a deep hole has opened up inside her. She needs answers to fill it, and the reassurance that Parker isn’t on some unstoppable path to self-destruction.

Cody sees her into the house. She tells him there’s no need, but in truth she’s glad of his company.

He says to her, ‘Are you sure you want to stay here tonight?’

The question throws her. ‘It’s my home. Why wouldn’t I?’

‘Well… it might not be safe. Parker’s not in his right mind.’

She hasn’t looked at it in that way before now. Her reactions to Parker’s messages have ranged from surprise to annoyance to concern. But the concern has always been for Parker, and never for her own safety.

She says, ‘You haven’t always been in your right mind, either, and I let you in the house.’

‘True, but I don’t send pieces of myself to you. Who knows what he might do next.’

She studies his face and sees that he is genuinely worried.

‘He’s not going to hurt me, Cody. I know him too well.’

‘You know the man he used to be. His behaviour is completely unpredictable now.’

She wonders if he’s right about that. Can Parker have changed so much in such a short period of time? Yes, he is acting irrationally, but can he possibly have become so separated from the man she knew and loved?

‘So, what do you suggest? Where am I supposed to spend the night? And every night after that until we find Parker? At your place?’

She tosses it in as a joke. A bit of light-hearted banter to counter all the darkness. She is a little shocked at how serious his face remains.

‘Why not? At least I’d know you’re safe.’

She searches his face. What is he proposing? A night or two on his sofa? Or something more than that? And even if her welfare is the only thing on his mind, would one thing lead inevitably to the other? She is touched by his offer. She could easily run into his arms right now. Does she want that?

‘It’s very gallant of you, Cody, but I don’t think that’s such a great idea. And if you give it a bit more thought, you won’t either. I’ll be fine. I’m a police officer, remember? Just like all you men I work with.’

‘I wasn’t… I mean…’

‘I know. Thank you.’

‘Okay. But if it gets weird, give me a call. Any time of the night. Just call. I’ll be straight over.’

She thanks him again. Gives him a hug – but just a brief, collegial one. Then she watches him leave.

For the next hour, Webley tries to wind down. She makes a cup of tea, puts the television on, slouches on the sofa. But her mind continues to whirr. Her feelings are all over the place, competing for supremacy. She hates Parker for putting her through this, loves him for wanting her back so desperately, pities him for what seems to be a disintegration of his mental faculties.

And as for Cody? Why does he keep making an appearance in that mix? It’s like he’s the understudy who has been waiting in the wings to take over if the lead actor isn’t up to scratch. He’s always there. She could offer him a part at any time.

Enough of this, she thinks. It’s time for bed. There’s work to be done in the morning.

She locks up, turns out the lights, goes upstairs. She washes and changes into pyjamas.

And then Cody pops into her head again.

It might not be safe. Parker’s not in his right mind.

Cody’s got to be wrong about that. About possible risk. Parker is self-harming because he’s crying out for attention, but he wouldn’t do anything to hurt his ex-fiancée. He has never raised a hand to her and never would.

Would he?

She sits on her bed for several minutes, mulling it over.

He wouldn’t hurt her.

But he might come to her house again in the night, to deliver another package. And if he does, she wants to be ready to catch him in the act.

She stands and pulls the duvet and a pillow from the bed, then drags them downstairs. In the front room she puts a light on, then turns the sofa into her new bed for the night.

She reaches up and opens one of the transom windows. Cold air blows through the gap. Nobody could climb in that way, but it will give her a good chance of hearing anyone who approaches along her front path.

She draws the curtains. Before she puts the light out and climbs under her duvet, she places her police-issue baton on the floor next to her mobile phone.

Just in case.

* * *

Franklin B Goodman has watched it all.

From behind the wheel of his car he watched Cody bring Webley home and he watched him leave again.

He saw Webley in her pink pyjamas in the front room, making her bed there and opening the window.

She is in there now, curtains drawn and light off. Probably not sleeping but alert to every sound.

She is making things difficult. Not getting into the spirit of this at all. Making it very clear that love isn’t welcome here. Doesn’t she want to get back together with Parker?

Franklin decides it’s time to take things to the next level.

31

Theme from Love Story – Henry Mancini

Parker tells himself to stop crying. It’s not helping. It’s not going to get him out of here.

But then what is? What has he got to do to escape this nightmare?

It’s not as if he’s done anything bad. He split up with his girlfriend. Big deal. But that guy Franklin is treating him like a murderer or a rapist. Worse, in fact. At least murderers and rapists aren’t given torture as a punishment.

His hand hurts like hell. It throbs continuously. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was infected. There was no antiseptic involved. No preparation at all. Franklin just stood up, went to the head of the bed and sawed off his finger.

It seemed to take an age. At the time, Parker wasn’t even sure it was really happening. He thought maybe it was a prank. Another mind game. Yes, the pain and the sounds were real enough, but surely Franklin wasn’t actually cutting off a finger?

But then he brought it into view. Held it right in front of Parker’s face. Funny thing was, Parker still didn’t believe it was real at first. Thought it was a latex fake from a joke shop, even though it did seem to be wearing his engagement ring. But then he twisted his head for a better look at his hand. Tried to wiggle his fingers. Found that all but one of them obeyed. The other was just a blood-soaked stump.

Which is when realisation hammered home, and he let the screams out.

He has come to the acceptance now that someone will die in this room. It is kill or be killed. One chance – that’s all he needs. One opportunity to get his hands on that son of a bitch. He will do whatever it takes. Strangle him, batter his brains out, push his thumbs into the bastard’s eye sockets – whatever.

But, other than that, he has no plan. Franklin is careful. He has never untied Parker’s limbs. Parker doesn’t know what he can possibly do to alter that. Reasoning with him doesn’t work, and neither does pleading or demanding. Franklin simply ignores anything he doesn’t want to hear.

A light goes on. Franklin appears at the bed. He removes Parker’s earphones and gag. Parker tries to find some saliva in his dried-up mouth. It crosses his mind to spit it out at Franklin, but he knows that will only make things worse for him.

Franklin sits on the bed.

He says, ‘Love is difficult, don’t you think?’

Parker blinks. So bright in here. Then he frowns. He doesn’t understand the question.

‘I mean,’ Franklin continues, ‘you’d think it would be easy. Everyone wants to be in love, don’t they? To cherish and to be cherished in return. That should be easy to set up, no matter who you are. And yet it remains elusive for so many people. Why is that?’

Give him a thought-out answer, Parker thinks. If he believes he can learn from me, maybe he’ll go easy.

‘Love requires complete trust. When that trust breaks down it can destroy a person. Sometimes it’s easier not to take the risk. Safer.’

Franklin thinks about it. ‘Yes, I think you’re right. But love is such a powerful, positive emotion. We all need love. The world would be a lot nicer if it contained more of it.’

Yeah, because cutting off fingers is one way of adding love to the world.

‘You can’t force it on people.’

‘No, but you can encourage it. You can make people realise what they’re missing.’

‘Right now, I’m missing a finger, thanks to you.’

‘Yes, how is that?’

‘Painful. I need to go to hospital. It will get infected if I don’t. Please.’

‘You’ll be fine. The body has amazing healing properties. Besides, I need you here. We have to work together on this if we’re to convince Megan to come back to you.’

‘You know they’ll be searching for me now, don’t you? The police, I mean. They’ll find me.’

The notion doesn’t faze Franklin. ‘You’re right. Time is of the essence. We must press on with our plan.’

Parker doesn’t like the sound of this. ‘Press on? What do you mean?’

Franklin gestures towards the head of the bed. ‘The finger wasn’t enough. Yes, I know it’s causing you pain, but it’s not exactly life-threatening. We need to up the ante now. And if this doesn’t work… well, I’m not sure anything will.’

The message is as clear as it could possibly be. More suffering is on its way. Damage far more extensive than a mere finger. Parker feels panic welling up in him.

‘If what doesn’t work? What are you going to do to me?’

Franklin doesn’t answer. Instead, he picks up the material he uses as a gag.

‘No, please. Let me speak. You don’t have to do this. Please!’

But Franklin brings the cloth towards Parker’s mouth, and Parker knows that if he is silenced then it is all over for him.

‘HELP!’ Parker yells. ‘SOMEBODY HELP ME!’

He struggles and bucks and twists and turns, but his room for manoeuvre is so tight and Franklin is so strong, and then his cries turn to muffled grunts as the soft ball of material is forced deep into his mouth, filling it and threatening to choke him.

And then the music is brought back to him as the earbuds are inserted and taped into place. Those damn songs! Words of love and beauty and happiness. So inappropriate for this moment.

Franklin puts the last piece of tape in place and then he stands there for a while, as if admiring his handiwork.

‘What? What are you going to do?’ Parker demands. But he knows his sounds carry no meaning to Franklin’s ears.

He waits for the moment. For Franklin to reach behind himself again and bring out the scissors or the hacksaw.

But then Franklin suddenly turns and walks away, out of the room. Parker is confused, his mind full of questions. Where has he gone? What is he up to? Am I safe? Is this just another game?

It is not long before he gets his answers. Franklin returns to the bedroom, this time carrying something. It looks like a roll of thick grey cotton.

Franklin sits on the bed again. He places the roll on his lap. He unties the ribbons holding it together, then begins to unroll it ceremoniously. Parker cannot take his eyes off it.

And then he sees what it holds.

The material contains numerous pockets. And jutting out from each pocket is a metallic implement. There are scalpels here. Saws. Sharp-pointed picks. All manner of devices for slicing and stabbing and poking and probing.

Parker looks across the rapid rise and fall of his bare chest. He can feel his heart pounding furiously inside its cage, as if desperate to escape. His eyes feel ready to burst out of their sockets. Air is being sucked in and expelled out of his nostrils at an alarming rate.

Franklin selects one of the instruments as though choosing his favourite chocolate from a Christmas tin. He holds it up in admiration. It’s one of the scalpels, its blade looking sharp enough to cut the very air around it.

Parker thrashes on the bed. He tries again to cry out, to make himself heard and understood, if only by his captor. He needs help from somebody – anybody. Maybe even from God, if he can be so merciful.

But he knows how this will go, how his fate is sealed, and already his tears are flowing.

‘Don’t worry,’ Franklin says. ‘I’m sure this will do the trick.’

* * *

When it’s over, when the deed is done and he’s showering off the copious amounts of blood and he’s staring at the pink-tinged water swirling down the drain, Franklin cannot prevent his mind drifting back to those final images of his mother, lying there in that bath, appearing so at peace, her arms bobbing on the surface of the water, showing him her open wounds.

He remembers looking around the bathroom in puzzlement, trying to find the implement she had used to slice open her wrists. After a minute or two of this, he pulled back his sleeves and reached into the water. It was cold, and his mother’s flesh felt unreal – like that of an uncooked chicken. He moved his hands along the bottom of the bath, sliding them beneath his mother’s corpse.

He experienced a sudden, sharp pain, and when he yanked his hand out with a yelp, he saw that one of his fingers was now pouring blood that ran across his palm and dripped to the water below, splashing and turning to crimson curls that mingled with the blood of his mother.

He put his hand back into the bath, more carefully this time, and then he took hold of what he had found and brought it out.

It was a scalpel. He had never seen such a tool before. Its metal shaft was so slender, its replaceable blade so honed, its point so fine. A thing of beauty. He had no idea how his mother had obtained it or where she had kept it in the house, but he decided there and then that it was part of his inheritance. He would keep it.

He knew that when others came, they too would want to know what his mother had used, and so he went to the kitchen and found a sharp paring knife that he dropped into the bath.

After he had hidden the scalpel in his bedroom, he made another trip to the kitchen, where he prepared jam on toast. He knew he wasn’t supposed to take food without permission, and every few seconds he would turn towards the door, checking that his mother wasn’t standing there, dripping and naked and filled with fury.

He carried the toast and a glass of milk into the living room. A film was just starting – something suitable for an early morning audience. Love Story, starring Ryan O’Neal and Ali MacGraw. Only when he had watched the whole thing did he pick up the phone and dial the emergency services.

Franklin has viewed that film many times since then. It’s one of his favourites. He much prefers films from earlier decades, before it became fashionable to include so much sex and bad language. He often wonders why modern so-called romance movies can’t focus more on the romance element.

One of the things he likes about Love Story is the strength of the love between the main couple. Nobody can split them apart – not even the guy’s father when he cuts off all financial support for his son. That’s a real couple. Franklin thinks he wouldn’t have to do what he does if couples could stay together through thick and thin like that.

Another thing he likes about the film – and he thinks about this a lot – is one of its famous lines:

Love means never having to say you’re sorry.

Franklin has never quite worked that one out, but it has always stayed with him. Does it mean that two people in love should never apologise for anything, no matter what they do? Or does it mean that if you’re truly in love then you would never intentionally do anything bad in the first place? Or does it mean that if you’re in a loving relationship you should always know what the other person is thinking, and therefore apologising is redundant? Or is there another interpretation he hasn’t quite grasped?

Whatever, he likes it. He’s not great on feelings, but that phrase feels profound and true.

Which is why, when he was cutting away upstairs with the scalpel he took from his dead mother, it never crossed his mind to say he was sorry. It was all done in the name of love, and sometimes that requires human suffering. It requires blood and tears and pain.

Love deserves sacrifice.

Franklin thinks that’s a line that could be used in a film.

32

Victim of Love – Erasure

Webley hasn’t slept.

At least, she doesn’t think she has. Not properly. Maybe nodded off briefly once or twice, but no sweet dreams.

She kept thinking she could hear things. Some of them were undoubtedly real, like that stupid cat that decided it wanted to announce its presence with plaintive cries before furiously digging up the gravelled area in front of her house. In the end, Webley opened the lower window and hissed at it to piss off. The cat just stared at her while it squatted, then it scraped at the gravel once more before casually sauntering off, its tail upright in what Webley assumed was the feline equivalent of showing her the middle finger. She has never liked cats.

Some of the noises were, she decided, manufactured by her imagination. She heard footsteps outside her house, inside her house, and even in this very room. She was jolted into alert mode by doors creaking open, the shatter of glass, scratching at her window. On each and every occasion she abandoned the warmth of her duvet to investigate, and each time she found nothing untoward. She had to command herself to stop being so jittery. Didn’t stop her regularly peeking between the curtains to check for the bogeyman.

She blames Cody.

He was the one who turned Parker into some kind of demonic night prowler in her head. Before he dropped that particular grenade in her thoughts, Parker was the man she wanted to help, not defend herself against.

So now it’s still way before she would normally get out of bed, and she’s dog-tired, but there’s no use lying here any longer, dreaming up further nightmarish scenarios.

She throws the duvet off and swings her feet onto the carpet. The damn sofa was really uncomfortable, and she really doesn’t think she could face another night on it, even if she still hasn’t sorted Parker out by then.

The house is cold. Leaving that window open didn’t help. Webley hugs herself as she walks out to the hallway and then to the front door. She breathes a sigh of relief as she sees that no more packages have been pushed through her letter box. She unbolts the front door and opens it. No packages there either. Good.

She goes upstairs and finds a warm dressing gown, then comes back down to the kitchen. She puts the kettle on and makes a strong instant coffee. She carries her mug to the table, then checks her phone. One thing she didn’t hear during the night was the phone’s ping, announcing messages or emails. Sure enough, there’s nothing on it from Parker.

She rings his number. It goes directly to voicemail. She stabs the button to end the call.

‘For fuck’s sake, Parker, you lunatic. Answer your fucking phone.’

She gives up. Tries to eject Parker from her mind. All this worry is going to make her ill.

She finishes her coffee, then gets washed and dressed before having a bowl of cereal. She doesn’t actually feel like eating but knows she’ll need to get something inside her before work.

When she leaves the house it’s still early, but it’s going to be a full-on day. She’s going to have to speak to Blunt but also the Missing Persons Unit. On top of that, she needs to put aside her distractions and get stuck into the Selby case. Which is another thing bothering her. She makes a wish for some good luck today – on the investigation and with Parker.

She locks up and steps outside. Walks to her car.

And that’s when she sees it.

It’s a small white plastic bag, held in place under her windscreen wiper.

She wants to cry. This is too much to take.

She retrieves the bag. There’s not much weight to it. She looks up and down the street. She knows Parker has been here in the night. Why couldn’t it have been at a time when she was peering out of her front window?

Parker, what are you trying to do to me?

She takes the bag back into the house. Into the kitchen once again. She cuts it open, finds another small box with a typed stick-on label containing her name and the kisses that do nothing whatsoever to console her.

She reaches out a hand to open it. Pulls it back again.

I can’t do this.

She finds her phone and rings Cody. It’s answered within seconds.

‘Megan? Are you okay?’

She hears the alarm in his voice and realises she has probably just ruined a perfectly good sleep.

‘He’s been here again. Parker. He’s left me another present.’

‘Shit. What is it this time?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t want to open it.’

‘It’s okay. I’ll come right over.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course I’m sure. I’ll be as quick as I can.’

Touched by his friendship, she feels like crying again. ‘Thank you, Cody.’

* * *

Again, Cody is there in a flash. Webley guesses he can’t even have showered or eaten, he’s there that quickly.

‘Have you opened it yet?’ he asks as he enters the house.

‘No. I couldn’t. I know it sounds ridiculous…’

‘No. I understand. I’d be the same.’

Webley takes him into the kitchen again. Shows him another white box on her worktop. Déjà vu of the worst kind.

Cody looks at the box, then at Webley. ‘You want me to…’

‘Only if…’ She senses his reluctance. ‘I mean, you don’t have to.’

‘It’s fine.’

She watches as he picks up the box, but then she has to turn away as he opens it. She stands there in suspense, her hand over her mouth, her eyes half-closed. Cody’s silence goes on for too long.

She says, ‘What is it? What is it?’

‘There’s another card on top,’ Cody answers. ‘It says, “I bet Cody hasn’t given you one of these. Be mine, Megan xxx”’

Webley’s imagination runs riot. ‘Oh, God. What the hell’s in there? Can you look, please?’

Her eyes flicker towards Cody as he reaches in and gingerly removes the card.

‘Jesus!’

‘What?’ she asks. ‘What is it?’

‘I… I don’t know.’

‘What do you mean, you don’t know?’

‘I mean I can’t identify it. I’m not a doctor.’

And now her imagination is really doing somersaults. ‘But it’s a part of him, right? Something from Parker’s body?’

‘I… I guess so.’

‘Please tell me it’s not his… you know…’

‘I wouldn’t think so. Not unless he’s extremely under-endowed.’

Webley realises this isn’t working. She’ll have to cut out the middleman.

‘All right. All right. Show me.’

‘Are you sure?’

She’s not sure.

‘Yes! Just show it to me!’

Cody slowly moves the box towards her. She risks a quick peek inside. Sees what looks like a slim fleshy tube several centimetres long.

‘Shit, what the fuck is that?’

‘I have no idea.’

Grimacing, she waves the box away. ‘Jesus Christ! What’s he trying to do, post himself to me a piece at a time?’

Cody puts the lid back on the box. ‘All right, look, let me make some calls. The first thing we need to do is get this… thing checked out.’

Webley hates the fact that she’s got a piece of Parker she can’t even identify. Hates the fact that she’s already the unwitting recipient of his ring finger and all of his hair. Hates this whole fucking insane business. Why can’t she just get up and go to work and do her job and come home and relax, like normal people do?

The emotion and the tiredness overwhelm her then, and she begins to cry. Cody comes over and wraps his arms around her.

‘I don’t know what’s got into him, Cody. I loved him, I really did. And now… it’s like I don’t even know him. Like I never knew him.’

33

I Love the Dead – Alice Cooper

Rory Stroud is gorging on a breakfast muffin when the two detectives arrive at the mortuary at the Royal Hospital. They find him in an ante room next to the post-mortem area with its rows of disinfected steel tables and its cabinets of chilled corpses.

Stroud likes his food. Likes his women too, by all accounts. And his job. He enjoys the latter so much that his personalised car number registration contains the letters DOA, as in ‘Dead On Arrival’. Nothing ever seems to dampen Stroud’s spirits. Whenever Cody meets him, he is surprised by how much the man is bursting with the life so absent from the bodies he examines each day.

‘Ah, the dynamic duo,’ Stroud says, yolk dribbling down his chin. Cody still hasn’t eaten, and his stomach is rumbling, but the thought of tucking into one of those greasy monstrosities in an environment so suffused with death and formaldehyde is nauseating him.

‘I want you to know,’ Stroud continues, ‘that I am very rarely at my post this early in the day. I’m doing this as a favour to you, because I like you and because you have succeeded in piquing my interest this morning. So it had better live up to my expectations. Your strangler friend hasn’t struck again, has he?’

‘No, Rory,’ Cody says. ‘This is a personal visit.’

‘Personal? Now that is interesting. I don’t get many of those.’ He gestures towards a brown paper bag in front of him. ‘I have another muffin here, if you’d like to share it.’

‘Er, no thanks. Megan would like to show you something.’

‘Is it a nasty rash in an embarrassing place? I have to warn you that I’m a little rusty when it comes to handling patients who are capable of reacting, so forgive me if I’m a little heavy-handed.’

‘No, Rory,’ says Webley. ‘It’s not a rash.’ She delves into her bag and brings out the two small cardboard boxes.

‘For me? I didn’t know you cared. How lovely.’

‘They’re from my ex-fiancé.’

‘Your ex is sending me gifts?’

‘No. He sent them to me. Only I don’t exactly appreciate the sentiment.’

‘I see.’ He pauses. ‘Actually, no, I don’t see. What are they?’

‘One’s his finger.’

Stroud laughs, and then he sees how serious Webley’s expression is.

‘I’m sorry. For a minute there I thought you said it was his finger.’

Webley puts one of the boxes on the desk in front of Stroud.

‘Open the box, Rory.’

Stroud reaches into his paper bag and removes a napkin. He wipes the grease from his fingers and the yolk from his chin. Then he opens the box.

‘Hmm, yes, that’s a finger, all right. Male Caucasian. Well-manicured. Does it definitely belong to your fiancé?’

‘There was a ring on the finger. The engagement ring I gave him.’

‘And why do you believe he sent it to you, rather than this being some kind of extortion attempt by a third party?’

‘It came with a note.’

‘But not a ransom note?’

‘No. He’s trying to get back with me. He’s also sent me flowers and cards and… and hair.’

Stroud looks as though he doubts his hearing again. ‘Hair?’

‘Yes. From his head. And from his body.’

Stroud spends a few seconds taking this in. ‘Unusual. And also rather extreme.’

‘Yes. And then there’s this…’ She puts down the second box.

‘What’s that?’

‘That’s what I’d like you to tell me.’

Stroud points to the box. ‘May I?’

‘Please do.’

Stroud removes the lid and peers in. ‘Ah. Now that is even more extreme.’

‘Do you know what it is?’

He turns his eyes on Webley. ‘What does it resemble to you?’

‘I don’t know. It’s like… like a dead worm.’

Stroud smiles. ‘Precisely. It’s why early medical practitioners referred to it as vermiform, meaning worm-like. This, my dear Megan, is a human appendix.’

Webley’s eyes widen in shock. ‘An appendix? You mean, from inside him?’

‘That is generally where the appendix resides, yes. Lower right quadrant of the abdomen.’

‘Jesus Christ! Are you telling me that he took out his own appendix?’

Stroud is as circumspect in his reply as he would be in a post-mortem report. ‘Not necessarily. Somebody else may have removed it. Was there a note with this, too?’

‘Yes. More of the same about us getting back together.’ She looks at Cody, then back at the pathologist. ‘Could he have removed it himself? Is that even possible?’

Stroud leans back in his chair. ‘It’s certainly possible. It’s rare, but it has been done before. There was a Russian chap on an Antarctic expedition who performed the operation on himself when he developed appendicitis. Then there was a doctor in America – Pennsylvania, I think – who also carried out his own appendectomy. In both cases, though, the men concerned were highly qualified surgeons. They would have known exactly how to proceed and could have done so swiftly and safely. Does your ex-fiancé have any medical training?’

‘No. He can’t even put a plaster on properly.’

Stroud taps his fingers on his desk. ‘I suppose there are online resources that will tell you where the appendix is located and how to get to it, but it’s one hell of a risky procedure for the uninitiated. It would involve a lot of pain if he didn’t have appropriate anaesthesia. And then there are the problems of sewing himself back up again, of preventing infection…’

Rory stops. He leans forward again, his expression now grim. ‘Look, it’s impossible for me to say whether your man had help in mutilating himself, but there’s one thing I do know for sure.’

‘And what’s that?’ Webley asks, clearly fearful of the answer.

‘If he has done so purely with the aim of endearing you to him, then – and I cast no aspersions on your undoubted attractive qualities here – he has gone completely and utterly insane.’

34

Love Her Madly – The Doors

Webley can’t stop thinking about that word.

Insane.

It seems such a strong word. But it also seems appropriate. Rory Stroud is no psychiatrist, but he can’t be wrong about that. The sanity of anyone who cuts off all their hair and then one of their fingers is questionable enough, but this!

She can’t imagine it. She has tried. Pictured herself lying there with a knife, slicing into her own abdomen, parting the skin and the fat, wondering what to do about all that blood, fighting to stay conscious while coping with the pain. Rummaging through her own internal organs in search of a worm of flesh. Slicing it away.

And then the tidying up. Sewing it all back together. Can you use a normal needle, normal cotton thread? The pain of pushing steel through her flesh over and over, then pulling it tight.

That has to be the very definition of insanity.

And why? For her? To regain her love?

But maybe a question like ‘why’ doesn’t apply when you have lost all reason. There is no why. It’s just whatever your deranged mind tells you to do.

And yet there is still the question of what caused this. What led a seemingly normal man like Parker to suffer total mental devastation in such a short period?

The last time she saw Parker was on Valentine’s Day. February 14. So, about seven weeks ago. She had agreed to meet him in a restaurant on Dale Street, to ‘talk things over’.

She gave him the benefit of the doubt.

He tore it into shreds and threw it back in her face.

It was his jealousy again. His conviction that his place had been taken by Cody. Much to Webley’s embarrassment, Parker ranted at her and then stormed out.

Seven weeks to go from jealous rage to self-mutilation.

It shocks her that the human mind can be so incredibly fragile.

* * *

At his desk, Cody is having similar thoughts. He doesn’t know much about Parker, but it does seem incredible that the man Webley loved and trusted absolutely could have flipped so dramatically.

Which raises another possibility. One that Cody doesn’t want to allow into the forefront of his mind.

What if Parker isn’t doing this to himself? Rory Stroud wasn’t willing to rule that out. What if he’s right?

But worse than that…

What if this is Waldo’s doing?

It has the feel of the kind of sick joke that Waldo might perpetrate. The sending of the finger wasn’t that dissimilar to Cody’s receipt of his own toe. Could Waldo be behind this? Is he cutting up Webley’s ex-fiancé and making the comparison with Cody in the notes just to get at him?

No, he tells himself. Waldo would be more direct. He would come at me head-on.

But Cody isn’t completely reassured.

He tries to turn his mind back to the case, but that’s still bothering him, too. The unidentified thing he is sure he has overlooked continues to remain elusive.

His thoughts are interrupted when Webley enters the room and perches herself on the edge of his desk.

‘Hey,’ he says. ‘How’d it go with Missing Persons?’

‘Good, I think. They’re pulling out all the stops. I just hope they find him in time to stop himself doing something else stupid. That’s assuming he hasn’t already bled to death.’

‘What about Blunt? You spoken to her?’

‘Yeah. She was really sympathetic. Suggested I go home.’

‘Maybe you should listen to her.’

‘No. What am I going to do at home except worry?’

‘Parker might try to contact you there.’

‘I thought about that, but I can’t sit there all day on the off-chance he might pay a visit. That’s assuming he’s even capable of moving around if he’s just operated on himself. I need to be proactive.’

Something pings in Cody’s brain. About Parker going to Webley’s house? No, not that. Somebody going to somebody’s house, though. Who else? Why would that ring alarms? Why would—

‘You want to get some fresh air?’ he asks.

‘I could do with it. Why, what’s up?’

‘Something I want to check out.’

* * *

At Coleman’s DIY store they identify themselves to a supervisor and ask to speak to Toby Hooper. The supervisor, who appears to lack the ability to smile, tells them to wait at the desk. He returns a couple of minutes later with Toby in tow but seems reluctant to leave them alone.

‘Let’s go outside,’ Cody says. He turns to the supervisor. ‘You don’t mind if we borrow him for a few minutes, do you?’

The man scowls and walks away.

‘Friendly guy,’ Cody says as they head out of the building and into the car park.

‘Did you have to come here?’ Toby asks. ‘All the staff were looking at me. Word gets around. I could lose my job.’

‘You won’t lose your job, Toby. I told your boss we just needed some information from you. This won’t take long.’

‘I already told you everything I know. Honest. I learned my lesson.’

‘I know you did. I just need to check on a couple of the things you told me.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like when Oliver Selby attacked you. What exactly did you tell him?’

‘Exactly? I don’t know exactly. I was pretty stressed, you know. When someone slaps you like that—’

‘Okay, but as close as you can recall. What did you say?’

‘Well, I told him the photos weren’t mine. They were sent to me by a friend.’

‘Uh-huh. And he asked who the friend was?’

‘Yeah. I didn’t want to say anything, but he threatened me. Said he was going to knock my teeth out. I didn’t want that to happen.’

‘Of course not. So you gave up the name? You told him about Sam?’

Toby shifts his weight from foot to foot, like he’s desperate for the toilet.

‘I had to. Anyone in my shoes would have, wouldn’t they?’

‘Yeah, I’m sure they would. But here’s my problem, Toby. When you first told us that someone in your exercise class had slept with Alexa, you said it was Sam.’

Toby looks puzzled. ‘Yeah. Because that’s what he told me.’

‘But that’s all you said. Sam. You didn’t seem to know his surname. We had to find a Sam on the class list.’

‘That’s because I didn’t know his surname. To me, he was always just Sam.’

‘Did you ever know his surname?’

‘I don’t know. He might have told me once, but if he did, I’ve forgotten it.’

‘What about when Oliver attacked you? Were you able to give him the full name?’

‘No. I just said it was a guy called Sam in the Bodycon group. I mean, that’s pretty specific, right? It doesn’t take much to work out who that is.’

‘No, it doesn’t. But I got the impression there wasn’t much else you could say about him. I mean, you didn’t really know him that well, did you?’

‘That’s not true! I knew lots of things about him.’

Cody is surprised at the vehemence of Toby’s reply. It’s as though he’s upset at the suggestion that the man he considered a close friend was really just an acquaintance.

‘We had a lot in common,’ Toby continues. ‘We liked the same films and television programmes. We talked a lot about the Marvel universe and science fiction. We talked about computer games. I’m really sad we won’t have that anymore.’

Not wanting to upset the poor guy, Cody injects a tone of sympathy into his voice. ‘I understand, Toby. I’m just trying to get to grips with how well you knew each other. For example, did you meet outside of the exercise class?’

‘Only in the coffee shop at the leisure centre. We did most of our chatting there.’

‘Most, but not all?’

‘Well, we talked on the phone sometimes. We messaged each other a lot.’

‘So you had each other’s phone numbers?’

‘You know we did. You know I called him after you came to see me.’

‘And what about at his house? Did you ever chat there?’

‘No. I don’t know where he lived. I think I already told you that, too.’

Cody nods. Toby had told them that. It’s the thing that’s been bothering him all this time.

‘Sam never sent you his address? Never mentioned it in passing?’

Toby lowers his gaze and shakes his head dolefully. It’s another nail in the coffin of his friendship.

‘Okay, Toby,’ says Cody. ‘You can go back to work now.’

Toby looks up. ‘That’s it?’

‘That’s it.’

Toby begins to amble away. At the door, he stops and turns.

‘I’m going to miss Sam. He really was my friend.’

And then he disappears into the shop.

As the detectives head back to their car, Cody smiles and says, ‘Want me to tell you what that was all about?’

‘No, I don’t,’ Webley answers. ‘So you can stop looking so smug. I’m one step ahead of you, Sherlock.’

Cody drops his smile. ‘Really?’

‘Yes, really. The only thing Toby was able to tell Oliver Selby was that the guy who sent him the photos was called Sam and that he was in the same exercise class.’

‘Uh-huh. And?’

‘And so the question is: how did Oliver track down Sam so that he could kill him?’

35

You Give Love a Bad Name – Bon Jovi

Liam is taken aback when the two detectives walk into his office.

‘Hey, guys,’ he says. ‘Good to see you again.’

‘Hi, Liam,’ Cody says. ‘Hope you don’t mind us dropping in unannounced like this.’

‘No problem at all. Anything that could beef up my police application, right? I mean, I’m assuming that you’re here for my help again?’

‘We are. Do you remember that list you gave us of the people in Alexa’s exercise class?’

Liam laughs. ‘How could I forget? You don’t want another copy, do you?’

‘No. What I want to know is who has access to that information on your system?’

Liam rubs his cheek while he puts his answer together. ‘Well, there’s me, of course. The women out there on the reception desk. A couple of other staff members. Then I suppose there are the people who look after the computers and the software. I guess some people who work for the local council…’

Cody frowns at what is beginning to sound like a very long list of those who potentially have access to what is deemed to be confidential information. Talking to them all could require substantial police effort and time they don’t have.

‘What about Alexa herself? Was she authorised to access the system?’

Liam shakes his head. ‘It doesn’t work like that. The people who run the classes aren’t employees of the council. They come in and do their stuff, and they’re paid for the hours they work. There’s no need for them to know contact details of the people who sign up, and it would be a breach of data protection for us to hand them over. I only gave a list to you guys because, well, you’re police, right?’

‘Right. So, you’re pretty hot on keeping that data secure?’

‘Of course.’

‘Right.’

It seems to Cody that, yet again, they have made little progress today. He looks over at Webley, who merely shrugs back at him.

‘Thanks, Liam,’ he says.

‘My pleasure. You want me to put together a list of people who might have access to the membership data?’

‘That would be great. Thank you. My email’s on the card I gave you, if you don’t mind sending it across.’

Feeling deflated, Cody moves towards the office door.

‘Do you think the information got into the hands of someone who shouldn’t have it?’ Liam asks.

Cody stops and turns. ‘It crossed our minds.’

‘Well, maybe somebody got hold of your copy.’

‘Come again?’

‘The class list I gave you. Maybe someone has your copy.’

‘Why would you think that?’

‘You lost it, didn’t you?’

Cody is beginning to think he’s forgotten a big chunk of conversation.

‘I lost the list?’

‘Yeah. Isn’t that why you asked for another copy? Because you misplaced the first one?’

And now Cody definitely thinks he’s got early onset dementia. He doesn’t remember any of this.

‘I didn’t ask for a second copy.’

‘Well, not you personally. But that other detective you sent over.’

The hairs come to attention on Cody’s neck. He exchanges glances with Webley. Then he decides to play along.

‘Oh, yeah. There was a bit of confusion back at the station. Which one of my colleagues did they send over in the end?’

‘I think he said his name was Brown.’

‘Hmm. Are you sure he said Brown? Is that what it said on his ID?’

‘I didn’t really look closely at it. He just kind of flashed it at me.’

‘Okay. It doesn’t really matter. Did he explain why he was here?’

‘Yeah. At first, I thought he didn’t know that you two had already been. He said he was on the team investigating Alexa’s murder and that he wanted a list of the people in her exercise class. When I asked him what had happened to the first list, he just laughed and said it must have got lost.’

‘Yeah. Like I said, there was a bit of a mix-up. To be honest, it feels like we’re chasing our tails at the minute.’

‘I can imagine. Crazy situation, huh?’

‘Absolutely. Not sure the name could have been Brown, though. What did he look like?’

‘Big guy. Beer belly. Curly red hair and beard. Glasses. I’d never have guessed he was a cop. But then, you don’t exactly look like—’

‘Thanks, Liam. You’ve been a massive help again.’

‘Yeah? Nice one.’ He pauses. ‘What did I do?’

But Cody and Webley have already left.

36

Love the Way You Lie – Eminem, featuring Rihanna

When the detectives visit Claire Somerville’s house on this occasion, they come armed with a search warrant. As they pull up in the car, they see that old Mrs Irlam is once again on her knees in the neighbouring garden. Cody wonders if she ever goes indoors.

‘Do you make any sense of this?’ Webley asks. ‘Why would Claire’s brother impersonate a police officer to find out where Sam lived?’

Good question, thinks Cody. One he’s been struggling with himself.

‘Maybe his sister asked him to do it as a favour, so she could pass the info on to Oliver. Or maybe Oliver asked him directly. It could be that Bobby didn’t have the foggiest idea that Oliver intended to kill Sam. I mean, it’s not the usual thing that jumps to mind when someone asks you to find something out for them.’

‘Not usually, no, but Bobby carried out this so-called favour after Alexa had been murdered. I can’t believe he didn’t already know about that. He’s up to his neck in this.’

‘I suppose the only way to find out is to ask him.’

They leave the car and go to Claire’s front door. They ring the bell and knock several times but get no answer.

‘Hellooo!’

This from Mrs Irlam, now standing on the other side of the fence and watching them.

When the detectives turn towards her, she says, ‘My, you two are persistent. Are you going to tell me that joke now?’

Cody smiles at her. ‘Actually, we’re not Jehovah’s Witnesses.’ He displays his badge. ‘We’re from Merseyside Police. We were hoping to speak to Bobby again.’

‘Oh, I’m afraid you’ve missed him. I saw him putting his bags in his car earlier, so I had a quick chat with him. He said he was going back to his own house. Has he told you about Claire?’

‘Only that he’s been looking after the house for her.’

‘That’s right. Well, he told me that Claire has decided to come back home tonight, so there was no reason for him to hang around any longer.’

‘I don’t suppose he left an address or phone number?’

‘No, sorry. He hasn’t done anything wrong, has he?’

‘We just have a few questions for him, that’s all.’

‘I’m sure he’d help if he could. He seems such a nice fellow. Came right over and introduced himself when he arrived last week, just to put my mind at rest.’

Cody frowns. ‘Okay, thank you. You mind if we check the place out before we go? Make sure it’s secure?’

‘No. Feel free.’

She returns to her flower beds. Cody opens a gate on the side path and starts heading towards the rear of the house, Webley close behind him.

Cody says, ‘Did you hear that?’

‘What?’ Webley asks.

‘What Mrs Irlam said. She said Bobby came over and introduced himself last week.’

‘So?’

‘So, Bobby told us that he’d looked after the house several times in the past. If that’s true, why has Mrs Irlam never met him before now?’

They reach the French doors overlooking the patio. Cody tries one of the handles. It’s unlocked. He opens the door and puts his head inside.

‘Police officers! Anyone here?’

Silence for a few seconds. And then a noise from deeper within the house. As though something has been knocked over upstairs.

‘You hear that?’ he says to Webley.

‘Yeah. You think Bobby came back?’

‘Could be. Or maybe Oliver Selby is hiding in there somewhere.’

‘You want me to request backup?’

Cody shakes his head, even though he’s feeling a little apprehensive about this himself.

‘Police!’ Cody calls out again. ‘Show yourself!’

No answer.

Cody and Webley check out the rooms downstairs and find nothing. They head upstairs, Cody leading.

‘Police officers! We’re coming upstairs! Come out now!’

He gets halfway up. There’s a noise, a sudden flurry of movement. Something races down the stairs at him.

‘Shit!’

It’s a cat.

Cody remembers that Bobby said he was looking after the cat as well as the house. He watches the fretful creature fly past, then he smiles nervously at Webley. They continue upwards. On the landing they pick a door at random and enter.

The curtains are partially closed in here, casting a dull grey wash over the room. It takes a few seconds for Cody to make sense of what his eyes are telling him.

And then he emits a guttural cry.

Trailing in behind him, Webley sees what he sees and lets out a yelp.

‘Jesus fucking Christ!’

They’re in one of the bedrooms. On the bed in the centre of the room is a naked man, a cloth covering his face.

It’s not just the unmistakeable smell that tells Cody the man is dead.

A bigger clue is that the man’s internal organs are no longer internal: they are piled up on his chest and abdomen.

Cody retches. Swallows to hold down his stomach contents. He feels a wave of panic starting to overwhelm him, to drown him. He is back in that warehouse, clowns circling him, his toes already snipped off with a garden lopper, listening to the screams of his partner as his face is surgically removed…

He has to get out of here. This is too much. He turns to make his escape. Sees Webley looking at him, waiting for him to take the lead.

Don’t run! he tells himself. Deal with it!

He turns slowly back to the body, takes tentative steps towards it, his eyes fixed on the glistening wet coils of intestines, the mounds of dark offal, soaked in blood. So much blood.

‘What the fuck?’ Webley says. ‘Is that Oliver Selby?’

Cody moves closer. With the tips of his trembling fingers, he grasps the corner of the cloth on the man’s face and raises it.

‘Oh, shit!’

He hears Webley move in behind him.

‘What?’ she says. ‘What is it?’

Cody releases the cloth and turns to face her. He grabs her by the shoulders.

‘Jesus, Megan, I’m so sorry.’

‘What? Cody? What are you talking about?’

‘It’s not Oliver Selby. It’s… it’s Parker.’

37

Love Kills – Queen

Webley searches Cody’s face for meaning.

Because this makes no sense at all. They are not here looking for Parker. They are here looking for Oliver Selby. Or Claire Somerville. Or the man who claims to be Claire’s brother. In fact, any fucking person other than Parker. Parker is in a different universe. Webley’s personal universe. Not work. Not the job. The two things are completely separate. He cannot be here.

And yet Cody looks so serious. This is not a joke. He would never joke about something like this.

And so it’s a mistake. All that blood, he hasn’t seen the face properly. It’s not Parker. Can’t be.

‘Cody, what are you talking about? How can Parker be here? What’s he got to do with any of this?’

Cody’s eyes are filled with immense sadness. ‘I don’t know. I’m really sorry.’

She starts to move away from him, and he tightens his grip on her arms.

‘Megan, it’s a crime scene. We have to—’

She pulls away. ‘I have to see.’

She moves to the bed, lifts the cloth.

It’s him. It’s Parker. The man she was going to marry. The man who has now literally been ripped apart.

‘No,’ she says. ‘No, no, no…’ She backs away but cannot tear her eyes from the spectacle in front of her. ‘How can he be here? How has he got anything to do with Selby?’

Cody takes her in his arms and hugs her tightly. ‘I don’t know what the fuck’s going on. Come on, you need to get away from this.’

He leads her out onto the landing.

‘Wait here,’ he says. ‘I have to check the other rooms.’

Webley stands stock-still, staring into space, barely aware of Cody’s movements. The shock of what she has just witnessed is preventing grief taking control for the moment. It feels to her as though her brain has encountered a critical error and needs to reset.

And then it all gets worse when Cody says, ‘Oh, fucking hell!’

Webley turns. Cody appears in the doorway of another of the bedrooms. His face is ashen, his hands shaking.

‘What?’ she asks.

‘It’s… It’s Selby. And I think Claire Somerville too.’

Webley starts towards the room.

‘Don’t go in there,’ Cody says. ‘They got the same treatment as Parker.’

Webley presses on. ‘I’m a big girl, Cody.’

He steps aside to let her through. The room is much bigger than the previous one. At its centre is a huge bed. Two bodies lie on top of it – both naked and with their innards stacked on top of their corpses. Their eyes are open and bulging, their mouths gawking at the ceiling as though they died screaming to their maker. Webley recognises the distorted face of Oliver Selby. The woman next to him has long, fiery-red hair. In life she would have been beautiful. Now she looks unreal – like something from a zombie movie.

The bodies have been posed so that they are holding hands. In their other hands they are grasping fleshy bulbs.

‘What… what are they holding?’ Webley asks.

‘I think… I think it’s their hearts.’

Webley continues to stare. She has attended many murder scenes but never anything like this. So savage. And yet curiously symbolic. There is a message here, but its meaning escapes her. The presence of Parker in the same house as the man the police have been trying to trace only multiplies her confusion.

And who is responsible for this? The man called Bobby? Who the hell is he? How did he come into contact with Parker?

‘Come on,’ Cody says quietly. ‘We need to call this in.’

She steps out of the room with him. Truth be told, she’ll be glad to escape this hell-hole. She knows it will haunt her dreams.

They get only as far as the end of the landing before the music starts up.

Webley’s heart almost stops as the first guitar notes land on her ears. She whirls, as does Cody.

The music is coming from the room containing Parker.

38

Love Will Tear Us Apart – Joy Division

Cody races back into the bedroom, Webley at his side. He has no idea what to expect, but he hardly thinks that Parker has jumped off the bed and is now strumming a guitar.

Parker is exactly where they left him: on the bed, his instrument playing days behind him.

The music is coming from a speaker placed on top of the wardrobe. The song is Love Will Tear Us Apart by Joy Division. Ha-ha, very funny, thinks Cody.

Next to the speaker is what appears to be a security camera.

They are being watched.

The music stops suddenly, as though this is some kind of warped version of musical chairs or pass the parcel. Cody looks at Webley and sees a reflection of his bafflement.

And then a voice breaks the silence.

‘Hello, you two! How are you both?’

Cody doesn’t recognize the voice.

‘Who are you?’

‘I go by lots of names. When you met me, I was Bobby. That name will do for now.’

Cody casts his mind back. Bobby had a Scouse accent, now totally gone from this voice. Cody is willing to bet that everything else about Bobby was probably fake, too. The red hair, the beard, the glasses, perhaps even the paunch.

Cody has so many questions, he doesn’t know where to begin.

‘What is this, Bobby? What’s going on?’

‘Yes, I’ve been a busy boy, haven’t I? There’s another camera in the main bedroom, so I already know you’ve been admiring my handiwork. It’s something, isn’t it?’

‘So, you’re admitting to these killings, then?’

‘Oh, yes. I’m not letting anyone else take the credit.’

‘Care to tell us why?’

‘Do you really want to know? Or do you just think I’m out of my mind?’

Cody thinks he’s completely batshit crazy, but he doesn’t say.

‘I’d like to give you the opportunity to enlighten us.’

‘All right, then. I will. It’s for love. Everything I do is for love.’

Webley loses it then. ‘Love! Ha! Are you fucking serious?’

‘Yes, my dear Megan. I am deadly serious. And you shouldn’t swear. Men often don’t appreciate swearing in women.’

‘Oh, fuck off. Don’t tell me what to do, you psycho. Explain to me how what you’ve done to the people here has anything to do with love.’

‘It has everything to do with love. People need to love each other more. I help them to do just that.’

Webley gestures towards the remains of her ex-fiancé. ‘Really? By murdering them and mutilating their bodies?’

‘Not always. Every situation is unique. I tailor my approach to individual circumstances.’

Webley throws her hands up in the air. ‘Jesus. You’re talking like someone who makes wedding cakes for a living. These are human beings! They are not your playthings.’

Cody understands Webley’s anger, but he is beginning to worry that it might cause Bobby to end the conversation abruptly. They need to find out what took place in this house, and why.

Surprisingly, Bobby seems to remain unruffled.

‘I don’t treat it as a game. When love has gone wrong, I offer my services to fix it. Sometimes, though, I find out that the participants are beyond redemption. They have made a mockery of love. They don’t deserve my help.’

Cody jumps in before Webley can unleash her fury again. ‘And is that what happened here?’

‘It certainly was with Oliver Selby.’

‘How so?’

‘I met Oliver in a bar. I meet a lot of my clients in bars, Parker included. There’s something about alcohol that causes men to open up about their relationships, even to complete strangers. I’ve never understood it myself.’ He pauses. ‘Anyway, that night Oliver was extremely drunk. He was also extremely keen to get something off his chest about his wife Alexa. He was convinced she was cheating on him. And so I offered to investigate on his behalf.’

‘Investigate? You mean like a private detective?’

‘Precisely.’

‘I still don’t understand. Why would you do that? What’s it got to do with you?’

‘I’ve already told you, Cody. It’s what I do. I provide a service for the broken-hearted. I made that my mission a long, long time ago.’

‘Yeah,’ Webley says. ‘You’re such a kind soul.’

Cody quickly adds another question. ‘So, what did you find out when you investigated?’

‘A lot of things. The chief one being that Oliver Selby wasn’t exactly an innocent party. I discovered he was having an affair with Claire Somerville. He put lust before love. If there’s one thing that upsets me, it’s when people try to blame others for a failed relationship when they are so full of guilt themselves.’

‘And, in your eyes, that meant he and Claire deserved to die?’

‘Of course! They were both guilty as sin.’

The answer is so devoid of any doubt. Cody thinks there are no shades of grey with this man. Put one foot outside his rules for love and you condemn yourself to summary execution.

‘Why like that, though? Why not just kill them? Did you have to cut them open?’

‘I liked the symbolism. There was no love either in Oliver’s marriage or in his affair. They were both empty shells. Now Oliver himself is an empty shell. Did you notice how I gave them each other’s hearts? I thought that was a nice touch.’

‘It’s a sick fucking touch, is what it is,’ says Webley.

‘Oh, Megan. Where’s your romance?’

Cody says, ‘What about Alexa? I assume you’re responsible for her murder too. Why did she have to die?’

‘Because she was as bad as her husband. She was using Oliver. She married him for his looks and his money, but there was no love in her either. She had slept with others. She flirted with many.’

‘You didn’t cut her up, though.’

‘No. I wanted to make it look as though Oliver might have killed her and run away. I decided that evisceration probably wasn’t Oliver’s style.’

‘And Sam Ridley? What about him?’

‘Oliver told me about Sam. He said that Sam had done things that nearly destroyed their marriage. When Oliver found the doctored photographs that Sam had created and passed around, he had a huge fight with Alexa. It even came to blows. Oliver eventually accepted Alexa’s word that she’d never had any kind of relationship with Sam, but that doesn’t excuse Sam’s actions. You can’t go around doing things like that to couples.’

‘Whereas murdering them is acceptable in your book?’

‘The difference is that I knew there was no love left in that marriage. Sam Ridley had no such knowledge. He deliberately set out to wreck a marriage that, for all he knew, could have been beautiful.’

‘So you issued and then carried out his death sentence?’

‘He left with me no choice.’

‘You don’t think it was a little extreme?’

‘Of course not. Love is precious. It’s sacred. Don’t you agree?’

Cody looks across at Webley, who is shaking her head in despair. Bobby’s way of thinking is so divorced from normality that attempting to make him see the unacceptability of his behaviour would be a waste of breath.

‘So you pretended to be a police officer to find out where Sam lived, and then you killed him?’

‘Correct.’

‘And I suppose you left Oliver’s necklace at the scene to throw us off the scent?’

‘Actually, I thought of it more as a clue to help you out. After all, Oliver was at the root of all this. You’re only in that house now because you’ve been searching for him. On which note, I must congratulate you both. You got to this point much quicker than I thought you might. It was a good job I didn’t hang around any longer.’

‘How long were you here?’

‘A few days. It was quite a full house. The others didn’t bother me too much, though. They just stayed in their rooms. But I kept popping upstairs to keep them entertained.’

Cody doesn’t want to know what form this entertainment took. He suspects it wasn’t to play a round of bridge.

‘Claire has been here the whole time?’

‘Yes. She has spent more time in bed with Oliver than ever before.’

‘But it was her I spoke to on the phone?’

‘Yes, it was. Of course, she was only telling you what I had instructed her to say. I was standing over her with a scalpel at the time, so I think she saw the wisdom of going along with the charade.’

Cody finds himself wanting to nod in appreciation. Despite the abhorrence of Bobby’s acts, he has shown an admirable level of genius in leading the police up the wrong paths.

‘Okay, so you had us fooled. Why not leave it that way? Why even bother with this setup to talk to us now, when you could have just left us in the dark, wondering what this mess is all about?’

‘Because it’s essential that you know why I did it. You need to appreciate the importance of love. How crucial it is in our lives. And I’m not talking about the police generally. I’m talking about you two specifically.’

‘Us?’

‘Yes. Both of you. This all began with Oliver Selby, but it has developed into so much more. Of course, I knew that the police would investigate Alexa’s death. What I never foresaw was that I would be drawn into the love lives of two of their detectives. It’s been quite an experience, and I’ve got Parker to thank for that.’

Cody looks over at Webley and wonders if she’s ready for this.

It’s time to talk about her and about Parker, but also, he suspects, about himself.

39

Too Much Love Will Kill You – Queen

‘Yeah,’ says Webley, ‘I was wondering when we’d get round to Parker. Great job, you piece of shit.’

‘Thank you, Megan. But I can’t take all the credit. You played your part, too.’

‘Nah, don’t even think of trying to put the blame elsewhere. Especially not on me.’

‘Well, you did split up with him, didn’t you? You did throw your engagement ring back in his face.’

‘And that’s a great reason for cutting someone up, isn’t it? Nice logic you’re using there.’

Again, Bobby sounds unfazed. ‘Parker’s situation was very similar to Oliver Selby’s in some ways. He believed the woman in his life was cheating on him. He—’

‘I wasn’t the woman in his life. Haven’t been for months.’

‘True, you’re no longer formally engaged. But Parker was still very much in love with you when I met him in that bar, drowning his sorrows because he missed you so much.’

Webley has to stifle a cry. She finds it unbearably sad that she created such a void in Parker’s life. Was she too harsh on him? Could she have prevented all this?

‘Whatever he felt about me didn’t make us a couple. You can’t cheat on someone who’s not a part of your life anymore.’

‘I agree. But Parker suspected that an affair might have been what soured your relationship in the first place. An affair with the man standing next to you right now.’

Webley shakes her head vigorously. ‘It’s not true. There’s nothing between me and Cody. We work together, and that’s it.’

She doesn’t glance at Cody. Doesn’t want to know whether he’s nodding in agreement or looking even remotely sceptical. Either reaction would open a drawer she’s not ready to delve into right now.

‘Funnily enough, I came to the same conclusion. I don’t think you cheated on Parker. I also found no evidence that Parker was playing around. You both made big mistakes, of course. Parker allowed excessive jealousy to get in the way of his love for you, and you didn’t try hard enough to reassure him. That said, love can make you do strange things sometimes. There was no real malice involved, and so I decided you two deserved more of a chance to get back together.’

Webley points at Parker’s body again. ‘Is that what you call this? You want to try putting Parker back together? How the fuck was this supposed to make us a couple again?’

‘You’re there, aren’t you? You’re with him. You’re upset for him. Perhaps you even realise how much you really do love him. Am I right?’

Webley ignores the question. She’s not about to let this psychopath become her relationship counsellor.

‘I suppose it was you who sent me the flowers, the finger, the appendix?’

‘Yes. But on Parker’s behalf. Not quite as poetic as sending you his heart but certainly less final.’

‘You’re not right in the head. You know that, don’t you?’

‘If there’s anyone who’s not all there, it’s Oliver and Claire in the other room. You two are much more complete.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘You and Parker, you’re two parts of a whole. That’s what love is. Savour this moment now. Be with him. Show him how much you care.’

She looks down at Parker again. At the mess he has become. A part of her wants to go to him. To tell him how sorry she is. To wish him a peaceful sleep after the nightmare he has endured.

But she’s not going to give this bastard the satisfaction.

‘A little late for that, don’t you think? Why did you have to do this to him?’

‘Actually, he’s the one who gave me the idea. He told me about you and Cody saving each other’s lives. It made me realise that a selfless act like that can forge a lifelong bond. I wanted to give you a chance to save Parker.’

Webley wags a finger at the camera. ‘No, you don’t. Don’t try to make me feel guilty for getting to him too late.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it, dear Megan.’

But he has already planted the seed. She stares again at Parker, tears pricking her eyes as she wonders if she could have done more to find him in time to save his life.

‘We’ll find you, you know,’ Cody says. ‘You won’t get away with this.’

‘Are you sure about that? You’re looking for an overweight man with glasses, red hair and a beard. Good luck finding me with that description. I suppose you could try asking Parker there what I really look like, but you probably won’t get much sense out of him.’

‘You sick bastard,’ Webley says.

‘No, Megan. It’s the world that’s sick. All it needs is a bit more love, and then there would be no need for people like me to fix things.’

‘I think the world will manage perfectly well without your kind of help.’

‘We’ll see. I hope you’ll think differently soon, Megan. And on that note, I think it’s time for me to bid you both good day. I should probably move on after five deaths. Cherish the love, people.’

The speaker falls silent. Webley takes a step towards the camera.

‘Are you still there? ARE YOU THERE, YOU FUCKING PSYCHO?’

She feels a gentle touch on her arm. It’s Cody.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ he says.

She looks at him, then back at Parker. The tears are flowing freely now. She nods, then starts to follow Cody.

Her steps along the landing are a slow, funereal march. As she descends the stairs she is hardly aware of her surroundings until her eyes are hit by a blaze of light streaming through the glazed panels of the front door. She blinks, wipes away the tears. Cody opens the front door and moves out into the daylight. She sees him turn slightly to check she is still following. As she exits the house she feels a curious absence of relief, as though she has left unfinished business behind. Her mind swirls with what she has seen and heard. It is so surreal.

Cody faces her. ‘You okay?’

She says nothing. Cody reaches into his pocket and brings out his police radio. A few short sentences is all it will take to cause a mass of police and technicians to descend on this horror show. Webley is aware that her own testimony will be drawn out of her, to be analysed and dissected. She needs to remember everything but wants to remember nothing.

She suddenly realises that she still hasn’t said a proper goodbye to Parker. A kiss, a few whispered words. She would very much appreciate that closure. When her colleagues arrive, they will cordon off the scene and it will be too late. Blunt will send her home, and all she will have left of her former fiancé is his finger and his appendix.

And then something hits her. Something that Bobby said over the speaker.

She looks at Cody. He is ending his radio call.

‘They’re on the way,’ he says. But then he sees the expression on Webley’s face. ‘What’s up?’

She turns, starts heading back towards the house.

‘Megan? Where are you going?’

‘I have to check something,’ she answers.

‘Check what? What are you talking about?’

She is probably wrong. She knows this. But this is a strange case. It couldn’t be any weirder. It may still hold surprises.

She picks up the pace in the hallway, then flies up the stairs. Cody is at her heels.

‘Megan! What are you doing?’

She pauses briefly on the landing. ‘His heart.’

‘What?’

‘Where was Parker’s heart? I didn’t see it, did you?’

‘I… what? Megs, there was a lot of stuff in there. I don’t think—’

But Webley is already at the bedroom. She pushes the door open, goes to the bed, stands over Parker’s unmoving form.

Cody is still in the doorway. ‘Megan, please. Come away. This isn’t helping.’

I’m probably wrong, she thinks. Almost certainly wrong.

She reaches down, stretches out her arm.

‘Megan, no!’

And then she sweeps from right to left with her forearm. The pile of organs slithers wetly across Parker’s body and lands on the carpet with a squelching sound.

She stares at Parker’s torso, rubs her palm across the blood-smeared flesh.

It’s intact.

No cuts. Not even a scratch.

I’m not wrong!

‘Jesus!’ says Cody. ‘What the fuck?’

Webley places two fingers on the side of Parker’s neck and brings her ear to his open mouth.

‘There’s a pulse,’ she says. ‘Very slow and faint but definitely there. He’s alive, Cody!’

Cody starts to reach for his phone. ‘I’ll get an ambulance.’

‘It’ll take too long. He’s almost dead. We have to get him to a hospital now.’ She untucks the blood-soaked under-sheets and begins folding them over Parker’s body. ‘Help me!’

Cody dashes to the other side of the bed and helps to wrap the naked figure in the sheets. The detectives each grab an end of the makeshift parcel and drag it from the bed. It’s heavy, but Webley isn’t giving up on Parker now. She knows that she and Cody are his last chance.

Somehow, they manage to manoeuvre Parker down the stairs. They move as quickly as they can through the front doorway and out towards their car.

And all the while Webley is thinking, Please don’t die, please don’t die, please don’t die…

40

The Power of Love – Frankie Goes to Hollywood

Cody strolls back to where he left Webley in the waiting area in Arrowe Park Hospital. She’s so wrapped up in her thoughts that she doesn’t seem to notice his approach.

‘Here’s the water you asked for,’ he says, offering her the bottle he bought from the vending machine.

‘Thanks.’ Webley takes it from him but makes no attempt to open it.

‘And I got some sandwiches. Tuna mayo or ham and cheese. Both a bit sad-looking, I’m afraid. Got a preference?’

She shakes her head. ‘I’m not hungry.’

Cody could eat a horse, but he’s not going to sit there stuffing his face if Webley doesn’t join him. He doesn’t want to appear uncaring.

He sits back down on the chair next to Webley’s, placing the sandwiches on the other side of him.

‘Any updates while I’ve been gone?’

‘Nothing.’

‘How much longer are they going to keep us waiting?’

Webley makes no reply, so Cody tries another tack.

‘How did you know?’ he asks.

‘Know what?’

‘About Parker. That he was still alive.’

‘I didn’t, not really. But that’s what Bobby was telling us all along.’

Cody blinks at her. ‘He was?’

‘Yes. I’ve been thinking about it a lot, running the conversation back through my mind. His first hint was when he said that Parker and me deserved a chance to get back together. At the time, I thought what kind of chance is that, with Parker lying there with his guts hanging out? It just seemed such a ridiculous thing to say. But what really got me thinking was when I asked about the finger and the appendix he sent me. He said something about them not being as poetic as Parker’s heart but certainly less final. When he came out with that, I thought it didn’t make any sense. What could be more final than ripping someone apart? And if he’d really done that, why not just send me Parker’s heart anyway? Bobby was giving us a big clue to the truth. He even emphasised it by putting the hearts of Oliver and Claire on show. There were other things he said, too. I didn’t twig at the time, but now they make a lot more sense.’

‘Such as?’

‘Oh, that stuff about Oliver and Claire not being all there, and me and Parker being much more complete. I even asked him what he meant by that – remember? He came back with some guff about us being two parts of a whole. It only came to me later that he was giving us another big clue. He was basically telling us that Parker hadn’t been sliced up, and that all that crap on top of him had been taken from the other two. That appendix I’ve got didn’t even come from Parker! And then when I told Bobby to stop trying to make me feel guilty for getting to Parker too late, he said he wouldn’t dream of it. What he was saying there was that I wasn’t late; I could still save him.’

‘Jesus. What a sneaky bastard.’

‘Yeah. But you know what? I’m guessing that in his head, he thinks it’s mission accomplished. He even said that he hoped I’d come to think differently about him.’

‘And do you?’

‘No. I think he’s the most evil piece of shit ever put on this earth, and if I ever get my hands on him I’ll rip out his own organs and make him eat them.’

That’s my girl, thinks Cody.

He lapses into silence, the sandwiches forgotten as he performs his own replay of the conversation with Bobby. Truth be told, he’s more than a little embarrassed at how much of the subtext he completely missed.

He also gives some thought to what Webley just said about the mission being accomplished. If Parker survives, then he will have Webley to thank for it. She was the one who spotted the clues in Bobby’s words. And Bobby was right about something else, too. Cody knows only too well the strength of a bond forged when a life is saved.

Along the corridor, a door opens. A female doctor in hospital scrubs marches towards them. Cody can sense the tension Webley suddenly radiates.

The doctor stops in front of them.

‘Are you the police officers?’ she asks.

‘Yes,’ Webley answers. ‘And I’m also Parker’s fiancée. How is he?’

‘He’s stable, but he’s not out of the woods. It looks like he’s been poisoned, although we won’t know what with until we complete our toxicology tests. The poison’s had the effect of paralysing many of his muscles, including the diaphragm and chest muscles, making it extremely difficult for him to breathe. We’ve done what we can to counteract the poison, and we’re supporting his breathing.’

Webley seems to struggle with voicing her next question. ‘And… will he…’

‘We’re hopeful. Parker is lucky that you two came along when you did. Another hour or so of that stuff in his system and it would definitely have killed him.’ The doctor pauses. ‘We found signs of what look like torture, too. One of his left fingers has been removed. Do you know who did this to him?’

Cody thinks about this. What do they have? A man who kills for love. No proper description, no real name, no whereabouts.

‘No,’ he says reluctantly.

‘Well… I hope you catch him. Is there anything you’d like to ask me?’

Cody lets Webley continue her questioning about Parker’s condition and when she might be able to see him, but he’s only dimly aware of her words. Something else has stuck in his mind.

Webley told the doctor she was Parker’s fiancée. Not ex-fiancée.

It’s possible that it was a slip of the tongue – Webley is under considerable stress at the moment. Or perhaps she thought it would be more likely to elicit information from the doctor.

Or maybe she has reached a decision. She has been deep in thought since they arrived at the hospital. Perhaps there is some truth to what she was saying about Bobby having accomplished his mission. The thought that Parker might have been killed could have been the push Webley needed to make her realise how much she wants him back in her life.

Memories flood into Cody’s mind. Of how Webley saved his life on top of that building. Of last Christmas when she rushed through his front door on Rodney Street and kissed him full on the lips. Of how she listened so sympathetically to him that night when he told her all about the problems he’d been experiencing since his attack by Waldo. And he thinks about all the glances and smiles and private jokes and secrets they have exchanged in recent months.

He looks at her now, and he sees the concern in her glistening eyes. There is genuine love for Parker there.

He wishes them well.

41

I Want to Know What Love is – Foreigner

Franklin B Goodman sits in his car and assesses his accomplishments of the past few days.

All in all, not a bad session, he thinks.

A few people had to die, but they were beyond hope. If you destroy love, then you destroy all that is worth existing for. Franklin has no regrets about ending those miserable lives.

The Parker-Webley situation was far more interesting. Especially with Cody in the mix.

For a few brief moments Franklin thought the detectives had missed their chance, especially when they walked out of the house, leaving poor Parker behind. He wondered if his congratulations on finding the bodies had been premature. How many more clues could he have tossed out at them? No wonder there are so many criminals on the streets if that’s the intellect of police officers these days.

But they got there in the end. Webley’s love for Parker was strong enough to pull her back in.

He wonders if Parker will survive the experience. He hopes so. It would be such a shame to have wasted all that effort. Much better for him to pull through, and then Webley can shower him with all the love she has withheld from him.

There’s a possible downside to it, though, thinks Franklin. Parker is the only person who knows what his captor looks like.

But that’s only a problem if he can still make intelligible conversation.

Funny, really, Franklin thinks. All that time in the house, and not once were the occupants of each bedroom aware that there was someone else tied to a bed in another room.

Not until the end, anyway.

It was a natural extension of Parker’s suggestion. He had talked about how Cody’s ordeal had led to Webley’s sympathy for him. That’s why Franklin severed Parker’s finger and sent it to Webley. But Cody had been through a lot more than the loss of his toes. He had seen his close colleague being cut up in front of his eyes. What better way to test Webley’s compassion than by repeating the experiment with Parker as the subject?

Before he administered the toxin, Franklin set up his laptop screen to display exactly what he was doing to Oliver and Claire. Parker would have been able to see every cut and hear every scream, believing that the same fate was about to befall him. The effect of that on his mind, together with possible oxygen starvation caused by the poison, may have left him a gibbering wreck.

But Webley won’t mind. She can still love him and cherish him, even if that involves spoon-feeding him and bathing him and wiping the drool from his chin.

Franklin nods in satisfaction. Love always finds a way.

He gets out of his car, then stretches his arms. He crosses the road and stops in front of a shop. The place is closed now, its interior dark, but he doesn’t want to buy anything. Standing here at the large window reminds him of the ending of The Graduate. Benjamin Braddock at the church, watching in panic as the woman he loves is getting married to someone else, and then he’s hammering frantically on the window, shouting her name, ‘Elaine! Elaine! Elaine!’

Franklin thinks a lot about that film. When Benjamin enters into an affair, Franklin could quite happily slit him open from bow to stern. And that goes double for coo-coo-ca-choo Mrs Robinson, even if Jesus is a big fan of hers. But then Benjamin finds true love in Elaine, and he’s willing to fight tooth and nail to make her his own. In Franklin’s eyes, that redeems him, makes him worthy again, and in a sudden reversal, Franklin finds himself willing to take his scalpel to anyone who would attempt to prevent Benjamin and Elaine jumping aboard that bus.

But this isn’t a church window. It’s a window to a shop full of tat. And Franklin isn’t here to protect someone’s right to love.

Quite the opposite, in fact.

He walks to the corner of the building and then along its side. There is a scruffy door here, its blue paint peeling away. It has an intercom, but there is no name on it. Franklin thumbs the buzzer.

‘Hello?’ says a voice.

‘Hi. It’s DC Brown from Merseyside Police here. DS Cody sent me over to bring you up to date.’

There’s a pause. And then: ‘Up to date? What do you mean?’

‘There have been a few developments in the case.’

Another pause. ‘What do you mean by developments?’

Franklin releases a quiet sigh. ‘You mind if we talk inside? I don’t really want to shout this over an intercom.’

A few more seconds of silence pass. The man’s caution doesn’t faze Franklin. He knows he’s going to worm his way in.

‘Okay,’ says the voice. ‘You can come up.’

Franklin hears a buzz and a click. He pushes the door open. As easy as that.

He ascends the staircase in front of him. It smells of damp and decay. At the top, a man is standing in front of a doorway. Skinny guy, clothes hanging off him. Very pale. Like he avoids sunshine, exercise and good food.

‘Mr Hooper?’

‘Yeah. Come in. You’ll have to excuse the mess.’

Franklin nods and follows Toby in. He’s not wearing a disguise like he did the last time he impersonated a police officer, but it’s not going to matter. Toby won’t be describing him to anyone.

Franklin decides that Toby’s use of the word ‘mess’ was an understatement. He doesn’t understand how anyone can allow their home to get in this kind of state. Who owns this many comics? And why do they have to be strewn all over the place? The least he could do is keep them in boxes or on shelves.

A little TLC is what this dump could do with. Some love.

‘I was about to make a cup of tea,’ Toby says. ‘Would you like one?’

Franklin is tempted to reject any offer of food or drink in this cesspit, but he decides that it’s hard to go wrong with a cup of tea. Besides, he’s in no great hurry.

‘Yes, please,’ he says. ‘Not too strong, though. No sugar, and just a splash of milk.’

Toby puts the kettle on. He says, ‘Do you work closely with Mr Cody?’

‘Yes. He’s my sergeant on the Major Incident Team.’

‘And DC Webley too?’

‘Yes. We often work on the same cases.’

‘Are they both busy now?’

‘Yes, they are. Like I said, there have been some developments, and I’m the only one they could spare at the moment. I hope that’s okay?’

Toby shrugs. ‘Sure.’

He makes the tea. Franklin struggles to contain his grimace when he sees the stains on the inside of the fridge.

‘So, what’s happened? Is it bad?’ Toby asks.

‘No. Actually, it’s very good. We’ve found Oliver Selby.’

‘Alexa’s husband? Really?’ He brings two mugs across to the table. Franklin looks down at his tea and thinks it’s somewhat darker than he would like. Probably cheap tea-bags.

‘Yes. He was staying at the house of a woman he’d been having an affair with.’

‘Oh. Wow. And has he admitted killing Alexa?’

‘Not yet. He’s being questioned as we speak.’

‘Wow. And do you think he killed Sam Ridley too?’

‘We do. To be honest, there’s so much evidence against Oliver Selby that it won’t really matter if he confesses or not. He’s going to prison for a long time.’

‘That’s good to know.’ Toby takes a big slurp of his tea. A disgusting sound, thinks Franklin.

‘You’ll probably be asked to give evidence in court.’

Toby puts his mug down. ‘Me? In court?’

‘Yes. Oliver attacked you, didn’t he? He made you tell him about Sam.’

Toby considers this. He looks worried. ‘I suppose so. I’ve never been in a courtroom.’

‘Nothing to it. You just have to tell the truth.’

‘Okay.’ He pauses. ‘Do you know why he killed Alexa?’

Franklin has been waiting for this question. ‘Yes, we do,’ he says. ‘It’s all about love.’

‘Love? I’m not sure what you mean.’

‘You don’t? Surely you know what love is, Toby.’

‘Well, yeah. I mean, I think I do.’

‘Have you ever been in love?’

He sees the flicker of surprise in Toby’s eyes. It’s not something a police officer would normally ask. Come to that, it’s not something most people would ask. But on Toby’s answer to this and the next few questions rests his fate. He can die quickly, or he can suffer a painful and slow death.

‘No,’ says Toby. ‘I’ve never been in love. Not really.’

‘Not really? What do you mean by that?’

‘There have been times when… in my head, you know? My imagination. Maybe with someone like that.’ He points to a poster on his wall. Supergirl.

Franklin doesn’t laugh. He too has tried to imagine himself in relationships with fictional women, especially when those in real life have turned out to be such a let-down. He appreciates Toby’s candour. Perhaps he deserves a quick death after all.

‘So… you’ve never been with a girl?’

‘No. I… look, I’m not sure what this has to do with Oliver killing Alexa.’

Franklin leans forward in his chair. ‘What I’m trying to do here, Toby, is to get you to appreciate the depth of emotion that has been involved in this case.’

‘I see.’

‘Do you? Because, frankly, it’s been negative.’

‘What? I don’t understand.’

‘I’m talking about the absence of positive emotions like love. It’s been practically non-existent. Even though they were married, Oliver didn’t love Alexa, and she didn’t love him. It’s been a sham marriage. Don’t you think that’s such a waste?’

Toby nods meekly.

‘I mean, you would never have acted like that with Alexa, would you?’

‘No.’

‘No. Of course not. She was a beautiful woman, right? You would have looked after her, wouldn’t you, Toby?’

‘I…’

‘So what we have to get down to here is why you did what you did.’

Toby is squirming in his chair now. ‘Me? What have I—’

‘I’m talking about the pictures. The photographs that Sam sent you. I mean, that’s why Oliver killed Alexa and Sam. You can see that now, can’t you?’

‘I guess so.’

‘Yes. It’s as clear as day, isn’t it? Oliver believed what he saw with his own eyes. Lurid pictures of his own wife, taken by another man. Who wouldn’t want them both dead after viewing something like that? Can you imagine what you would have done if Alexa had been your wife and you saw those pictures?’

‘But… but you said that I did something.’

‘Well, yes. Because unfortunately you had a big part to play in this, didn’t you?’

‘No… I… I didn’t do nothing. Why are you saying these things? Did Mr Cody tell you to be this way with me?’

‘DS Cody would say exactly the same if he were here. You see, Oliver’s defence lawyers will try to push the blame away from him and onto other people, such as yourself.’

‘But I didn’t—’

‘They will argue diminished responsibility. They will suggest that Oliver wasn’t in a reasonable state of mind because you and Sam pushed him over the edge.’

‘No. That’s not true.’

‘It was you who put the photographs online. It was you who made out to everyone that Alexa was a slut, a whore.’

‘No, that’s not—’

‘How is a marriage meant to survive an onslaught like that, Toby? Can you explain that to me?’

Toby has no answer. His face shows only fear.

‘Can I ask you something else, Toby?’

Toby nods, clearly expecting another barrage.

‘Do you have any biscuits?’

‘W-what?’

‘Biscuits. I like biscuits with my tea. I like to dunk them. Do you have any?’

‘Y-yes. I’ve got some Digestives in the cupboard.’

‘Lovely. My favourite.’

Toby rises slowly from his chair and backs away. He seems almost reluctant to turn his back on his visitor and doesn’t do so until he reaches the cupboards. Franklin watches him as he reaches up, opens the cupboard door and pulls out a Tupperware box. He stands there for some time, unmoving, not opening the box. And then Franklin sees the shaking in his shoulders and realises he is crying.

‘What’s the matter, Toby?’

Toby turns his tear-stained face towards him. ‘You’re… you’re not a copper, are you?’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘The questions you’re asking. The way you’ve been acting with me.’

‘You’re right. I’m not a police officer.’

‘Did you… did you kill Alexa?’

‘Yes.’

‘And Sam?’

Franklin gets up from the table. ‘Yes, and Sam. And also Oliver and his mistress.’

‘Why? Why did you kill them?’

‘It’s what I said before. About love. Love is everything, Toby. We all need it, and even if we don’t receive it, we should give it. We certainly shouldn’t destroy it. That’s the worst possible sin.’

‘And that’s what you think I did?’

‘Yes, Toby. That’s undeniable.’

‘And so you’ve come here to kill me?’

‘Yes. If it’s any consolation, I’ll make it quick in your case.’

Franklin takes a step towards Toby. He reaches into his pocket and takes out the coil of cord he intends to use.

‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’

Franklin freezes.

Because the voice doesn’t belong to Toby.

42

Love is a Battlefield – Pat Benatar

Nathan Cody stands in the doorway leading to Toby’s bedroom, his eyes locked with Franklin’s.

‘Hello, Bobby,’ he says. ‘Or Detective Constable Brown. Or whatever your real name is. I assume it’s not Bobby Brown; that one’s already taken.’

‘DS Cody,’ says Franklin. ‘This is a surprise.’

Surprised seems an accurate description. Franklin doesn’t appear alarmed, and that worries Cody.

Cody smiles. ‘I thought I’d join the party. You don’t mind, do you?’

‘The more, the merrier. How did you know I’d be here?’

Cody leans against the door jamb. He tries to look relaxed, in control of the situation. In reality, he’s tensed for any sudden moves, any attempt to flee. Toby is standing in the middle of the kitchenette looking terrified.

‘Actually, I didn’t. Not yet anyway. I came here to warn Toby.’

‘Warn him? About me?’

‘Yeah. When we thought Oliver was the killer, it didn’t seem necessary. We thought he’d taken revenge on his wife and Sam Ridley for what he thought was an affair. But things are different now. You told us so yourself.’

‘I did?’

‘You couldn’t help yourself, could you? Leaving us little breadcrumbs. Teasing us with your clues. I hold my hands up – I missed most of them back in that house. But I gave our little chat a lot more thought later on.’

‘And what did you find?’

‘For one thing, you made it crystal clear that anyone who got in the way of a loving relationship deserved to die. When I asked you about Sam Ridley specifically, you said that he left you no choice. Because that’s how you work, isn’t it? You have to punish those you see as guilty. When I thought about it, I started to wonder why Toby here didn’t fit into that category. After all, he was the one who put those photographs online for everyone to see, including Oliver. I wondered why you hadn’t tried to come after him. But then you mentioned the body count, and that’s when I knew he was still in your sights.’

‘The body count?’

‘Yeah. At the end of our conversation. You said it was time to move on after five deaths. Alexa, Sam, Oliver, Claire and Parker. Only, Parker isn’t dead, is he? That makes only four. But Toby would make it five, wouldn’t he?’

Cody looks across at Toby again, who is now physically shaking with the knowledge of how close he has come to death.

‘Not bad, Cody. A bit of luck involved but not bad reasoning.’

‘I’m not taking too much credit. I wasn’t absolutely certain, but it was enough to make me come here and tell Toby to keep his eyes peeled and not answer the door to psychopaths. You’ve done the rest for me.’

‘Hmm. And so what happens now, Cody?’

‘Now I place you under arrest. So, if you’d like to put your hands against the wall there…’

Franklin glances at the wall. ‘No, Cody. I don’t think I’m going to do that.’

‘Up to you. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. My backup will be arriving any second, so make your mind up.’

Franklin raises his chin in defiance. ‘Nice try. I don’t think you’ve called for any backup.’

‘And why would you say that?’

‘Because in the brief time you had available between me ringing the doorbell and coming up the stairs, you had a choice. Option number one was to put in a quick call to your police friends and get them to rush over here. You would then jump me as soon as I came through the door and wait for them to arrive.’

‘And option two?’

‘You wanted more evidence against me. Something concrete. Everything you have so far is circumstantial unless Parker can testify against me, and to be honest, that’s not entirely assured, is it? You needed to hear me admit to what I did. Isn’t that right, Cody?’

Cody pulls his mobile phone from his pocket and waggles it at Franklin. ‘It’s all nicely recorded on here. Thank you for that.’

‘You’re welcome. But the problem you’ve got is that you chose to spend those few precious moments convincing Toby to take part in this, and then briefing him on what to say and do. So now you’ve got no friends to help you.’

‘Well, we can soon fix that.’

Cody reaches into his other pocket and pulls out his police radio. He had turned it off while recording the conversation between Franklin and Toby because even at its lowest volume the chatter and bleeps from the radio can still be heard.

He isn’t prepared for what Franklin does next.

One minute, Franklin is standing there, as calm as you like, and the next he’s launching himself like a missile, hurtling across the room straight at Cody.

Cody tries to dodge out of the way, but Franklin tracks him, coming low, ramming his shoulder into Cody’s solar plexus. The air explodes out of Cody’s lungs as his back slams into the architrave, and his radio and phone go spinning from his hands.

Cody brings his knee up into Franklin’s face and then pushes him away. He is surprised when Franklin moves further back than the push warranted, but then he sees why.

Franklin was giving himself space to reach his hand to his waistband and pull out a knife. A big bastard of a knife with a serrated edge.

Cody stares at the knife, and then into Franklin’s eyes. ‘You’re making a big mistake.’

‘Really? Well, let’s see which one of us walks out that door when we’re done.’

There’s a flash of movement. Cody’s heart lurches. He cries out.

‘NO!’

But it comes too late to stop what’s happening. He sees Toby pick up a saucepan and leap at Franklin, swinging the pan wildly. Franklin simply bats it away with his free hand, and then his other hand – the one holding the knife – punches out, straight into Toby’s abdomen.

There is a horrific moment of silence as everyone freezes in position, all eyes on the knife now embedded in Toby.

And then it’s as if someone presses the play button again. Cody dashes forwards, only to halt in his tracks as Franklin withdraws the knife and points it in his direction instead. Cody can only watch helplessly as Toby staggers backwards clutching his stomach. Blood seeps out between Toby’s fingers, and he looks with fearful, pleading eyes towards Cody before his legs give way and he slides down the kitchen units to the floor.

Cody focuses on Franklin. They face each other in a slight crouch, moving in a slow circle, looking for an opening. Every time Franklin takes a step forwards, Cody steps back, fully aware of the need to keep out of reach of that deadly blade. It’s like a dance of two scorpions.

Taking one step too many, Cody’s leg hits a pile of comics, and he loses his balance. Franklin seizes the moment to rush at him. Cody kicks into the pile, sending a cloud of paper into the air. It’s enough to distract Franklin while Cody dives to his right and grabs a wooden chair. He tips the comics it holds onto the floor and raises the chair in front of him, its legs towards Franklin.

The dance resumes. Each man pokes and prods the space between them.

And then Cody makes a sudden dash towards Franklin, hoping to pin him against the wall. But Franklin is quick. He sweeps his free arm, knocking the chair to one side, and then he steps in and swings the knife in a wide arc. Cody barely has time to react. He throws himself to his right just as the tip of the blade catches him on the bicep, ripping through his jacket. He feels the sting of steel as he falls to the floor, and he knows he cannot stay down there because it will mean his death, and so he rolls and jumps to his feet again, knowing that Franklin is coming after him. He staggers and crashes into a sideboard, and then he reaches out his arm and sweeps another pile of comic books directly at Franklin’s face. As Franklin ducks, Cody races to the other side of the room, his eyes scanning desperately for anything he can use as a weapon.

And then he sees it. Thor’s hammer, fixed to the wall. He grabs it and yanks it away from its fixings, tensing his muscles to cope with the weight of the hard wood and steel.

Or the plastic.

The hammer is made of plastic.

But his opponent doesn’t know that, he thinks, and so he swings it in front of him, trying to act like it carries substance enough to do some serious damage.

Perhaps his acting isn’t quite Academy Award level, because Franklin seems to suspect that something is amiss, and he keeps on coming, and all that Cody can do is keep on retreating. He finds himself close to the tiny kitchen area, currently occupied by a sprawled Toby and a significant volume of blood. And it occurs to Cody that a kitchen is often a good place to find knives and other sharp implements, and wouldn’t that even up the contest? But before he can give it much more consideration, Franklin makes a decision, and he starts advancing steadily towards Cody, and Cody throws his hammer at him just like Thor might do, hoping that even this pale imitation might possess a fraction of the magical properties of the original. But the hammer bounces harmlessly off Franklin’s shoulder, doesn’t even slow his momentum, and Cody dives into the kitchen, leaping over Toby and his bodily fluids…

And then he realises his mistake.

Because Toby’s kitchen is not like most kitchens. Toby’s kitchen is a mess. There are plenty of dirty plates, cups and pans on display, together with several teetering piles of comics, but Cody doesn’t want to read or wash dishes right now, and what doesn’t seem to be on show is any knives – not even of the cutlery type – and Cody is aware that if he starts rooting through drawers he will be finished, and so all he can do is turn and ready himself for the onslaught. He bunches his fists and he grits his teeth and he shifts his balance to start kicking out, because that and a determination to survive are all he has left.

Sensing that victory is his, Franklin opens his mouth and lets out a roar, and then he comes flying at Cody.

Literally flying.

Because what Franklin hasn’t banked on is that Toby, bless his cotton Batman socks, still has fight left in his body. Enough, anyway, to stretch out a leg as Franklin reaches him. Enough to cause Franklin to trip right over that leg and go sailing arse over tit across the kitchenette, and then to crash with bone-jarring force on the hard tiled floor, his hands outspread to break his fall and therefore losing their grip on the knife that then goes skidding under the oven.

Cody exploits his golden opportunity with a kick aimed at Franklin’s face, but Franklin dodges, and the toe of Cody’s shoe only scrapes down the side of Franklin’s head. As Franklin scrambles to his feet, Cody grabs a plate from the draining board and smashes it over Franklin’s head. Franklin staggers backwards, and Cody leaps at him and lands the sole of his foot on his chest, propelling him out of the kitchen.

Knowing he can’t allow Franklin time to recover, Cody rushes after him and starts firing punches, and now it’s a regular fist-fight, the pair slugging it out for all they’re worth. But Cody is younger and he’s fitter and he’s more experienced at this kind of thing. He blocks most of the punches that come his way and lands a fair few of his own. He takes great satisfaction in the cracking sound created when his fist collides with Franklin’s nose. And when one particularly punishing roundhouse crashes into Franklin’s jaw and sends him spinning onto the dining table, Cody knows he’s won, he could restrain Franklin now and read him his rights. But he doesn’t stop, he doesn’t listen to what the law says he’s supposed to do regarding minimum force, because he has revenge to exact here; this piece of shit doesn’t deserve an easy ride. And so he grabs the back of Franklin’s head and slams it down into the remains of Toby’s evening meal, what looks like a bowl of scouse. He does this not once but for each of the people Franklin has killed. And then he does it again for Parker, and again for Webley, and again for Toby. And only when Toby’s bowl has been smashed to tiny pieces does Cody haul Franklin off the table and onto the floor. He forces Franklin’s arms behind his back and he removes his own trouser belt because, like most detectives, he never carries handcuffs around with him, and he fashions the belt into a figure-of-eight binding around Franklin’s wrists. And then he looks into the face of the half-conscious Franklin, now liberally covered with a mixture of blood and spittle and meat and vegetables and beetroot and broken crockery and broken teeth, and he says, ‘Don’t fucking move!’

Cody rushes over to Toby, still lying on the floor clutching his abdomen.

‘It’s okay, Toby. You’re gonna be all right.’ Although in truth he’s not certain about this. There’s a lot of blood here, and Toby has somehow managed to turn paler than his usual complexion.

Cody lifts Toby’s shirt and examines the stab wound. It looks deep. He rummages through the kitchen drawers and finds a clean tea-towel, which he folds and presses against the injury.

‘Hold this tightly against you,’ he instructs.

And then he’s on the radio, yelling for urgent assistance.

43

And I Love Her – The Beatles

There are two conversations Cody has while he is waiting for the emergency services to arrive, both of which will stay with him for a long time.

The first is with Toby.

Cody is kneeling on the floor next to him, telling him it will be okay. For most of the time, Toby merely groans. But then he suddenly finds a smile.

‘What is it?’ Cody asks.

‘Mjolnir.’

‘What?’ It sounds gibberish to Cody.

‘Mjolnir. Thor’s hammer. You were like Thor back there. What you did was amazing. I wish I was like that.’

Cody returns the smile. ‘You know what, Toby? If anyone was a superhero today it was you.’

‘Me?’

‘Yeah. The way you came at him with the pan, that took real courage. I think you should be called Pan Man from now on. You could have a costume with a picture of a frying pan on your chest. And maybe a sidekick called, I don’t know…’

‘Pot Boy.’

‘Yeah. Pot Boy. That would be so cool.’

Toby laughs, but it causes him pain and he stops.

‘I’m not kidding,’ Cody says. ‘When he came at me with the knife, I thought I was a goner. You saved my life. Getting involved like that takes guts. Most people wouldn’t do it. You’re just as brave as those other guys in your comics.’

Toby places his blood-stained hand on Cody’s.

And then he closes his eyes.

* * *

The other conversation is with Franklin.

Franklin coughs and splutters. Spits a chunk of something out of his mouth.

He says, ‘You don’t get it, do you, Cody?’

Cody walks over to him. ‘Get what?’

‘What I was doing. Trying to make the world a better place.’

‘Several people are dead. There’s another man over there that you stuck a knife into. How has that made the world a better place?’

‘Love… is important. It’s vital. It has to be protected.’

‘Yeah, you said all that in Claire Somerville’s house. Carry on believing you’re doing good work. Everyone else knows you’re wrong.’

‘Including you?’

‘Oh, yeah. Especially me.’

‘Because what I did was for you as well, you know.’

‘What the hell are you talking about?’

‘There were lots of relationships going on here. Oliver and Alexa. Oliver and Claire. Parker and Megan. But also Megan and you.’

Cody doesn’t want to listen to this crap. But at the same time, he’s intrigued.

‘You see,’ Franklin continues, ‘I didn’t know if it would work out between Megan and Parker. I still don’t for certain. But you were always at the centre of this, too, even though you probably didn’t realise it.’

‘You’re not making any sense.’

‘But I am. And you know it. Before Parker, there was you. Megan was your girlfriend, your true love.’ He pauses. ‘Answer a question for me, Cody.’

‘Ask it, and I’ll think about it.’

‘Haven’t your feelings towards Megan changed over the past few days?’

‘No. We’re work colleagues, and that’s all.’

‘That’s not true.’ He spits out some more goo. ‘No matter. You won’t admit it to me. But I know you’ve changed, and I know I made it happen.’

‘Well, you can keep telling yourself how proud you are when you’re locked up in a cell for the rest of your life.’

Cody hears sirens in the distance. He’s relieved this is coming to an end.

They arrive en masse – uniformed police and paramedics. The medics tend quickly to Toby’s wound. Cody doesn’t distract them by mentioning the cut on his own arm. As Toby is whisked away, Cody waves to him and assures him yet again that he’ll be absolutely fine. He needs to believe it himself as much as Toby does.

The uniforms don’t question the physical state of Franklin. What they don’t ask, they can’t doubt. They know exactly what Franklin did, and their own manhandling of him is somewhat rougher than that which they would apply to most detainees.

‘Cherish the love, Cody,’ is Franklin’s parting remark as he is bundled out of the door.

Alone in the shabby, damp, chaotic flat, Cody mulls over Franklin’s words. He recalls how he felt back at the hospital when he realised there was a good possibility that Megan might reboot her relationship with Parker. He was happy for them. But at the same time, he experienced sadness. As though he’d just lost something incredibly dear to him.

Perverse though it might seem after all the bloodshed, Cody wonders if it has given him a new perspective on life.

And, more importantly, he wonders what he will do about it.

A WORD FROM DAVID

Thank you so much for reading Love Kills. When I changed publishers after Your Deepest Fear came out, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to continue writing about Cody, Webley and the gang. However, I love the characters so much, and such was the volume of requests I received asking to know what happens next, that I just had to take a gamble in writing this new book. Whether there will be further instalments in the future largely depends on how this one is received. If you’d like to see more, please do leave a favourable review somewhere, and tell all your friends! And if this is your first taste of my Liverpool series, I hope it entices you to catch up from the beginning. A full list of my novels can be found on the next page.

As Franklin B Goodman would say: Cherish the love!

David

ALSO BY DAVID JACKSON

Standalone Thrillers

The Resident

The Rule

No Secrets

One Good Deed

The Liverpool Series

A Tapping at My Door

Hope to Die

Don’t Make a Sound

Your Deepest Fear

The New York Series

Pariah

The Helper

Marked

Cry Baby

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

David Jackson’s debut novel, Pariah, was Highly Commended in the Crime Writers’ Association Debut Dagger Awards. He has written a string of internationally published crime thrillers since then, including the bestseller Cry Baby, nominated by Amazon as one of their Best Books of the Year. When not murdering fictional people, David spends some of his time writing scripts, including several episodes of the award-winning ‘Short History Of…’ podcast series. He lives on the Wirral with his family and a British Blue cat called Mr Tumnus.

X (formerly Twitter): @Author_Dave

Web: www.davidjacksonbooks.com