Bloodstream (36 page)

Outside the room – noise still growing inside the press room as the occupants became more indignant – Murphy stood off to the side as DCI Stephens and DSI Butler argued in what they thought were quiet voices.

Once it started going round in circles, each accusing the other of perceived transgressions, Murphy became bored.

‘That’s enough,’ Murphy said, taking a step towards them. ‘Who cares what went wrong in there? You ask me, that’s the best thing that could have happened.’

‘How is that, Detective Inspector Murphy?’ DSI Butler said, turning to him with a wearied face.

‘Well, that’ll be all over the news for hours now. And they’ll have to include what Hannah’s mother said. If someone, somewhere knows anything, they’re going to be moved by that. That was real. Everything we do in those things isn’t. It’s always the same spiel that people just tune out. Emily Flynn has just done us a favour. Now, I’m going back to work. You two can sort this out between you.’

Murphy turned and didn’t wait for a response. He walked away up the corridor, expecting to be called back, but the order didn’t arrive.

He smiled to himself as he turned the corner, pleased that Emily Flynn had been the one to argue with reporters and not him this time.

It worked so much better coming from a relative than a detective.

He was normal again, but the time between the two parts of him colliding was becoming shorter. He wanted to switch off from it all. Stay in normality for a while longer, where his thoughts didn’t overpower him.

There was a truth that he couldn’t face. That he didn’t want to voice, for fear of it taking over and consuming him. Allowing one part of himself to become dominant.

He wasn’t sorry for what he had done.

There was no conscience, no worry that he was going to hell or anything like that.

That was what bothered him. What he had become, killing not only the liars and those who held secrets, but also the innocent. After the fourth of those
innocents
he thought it would begin to have some effect on him, but he went to sleep not thinking of their last moments. Of their relatives left behind. He thought of nothing. Other than who would be next.

That was part of his truth and it scared him.

The celebrity couple had been a mistake. He saw that now. It had focused people’s attention away from his message and onto them. The truth was he had been given a gift and couldn’t pass it up. Inside information about someone high-profile, from a drug-induced friend of the liar. A patient, who had thought his tale could be kept secret.

There were no secrets in that hospital. He knew everything that was going on with everyone in the place. Gossip was the sole source of trade within those walls.

He was in the break room when the press conference came on the TV in the corner. The sound was turned down, so he had to wait for the subtitles to catch up with the voices on the screen. The police all serious and dressed smartly. The mother of one of his victims sitting close by, waiting for her turn to speak. He was glad to see the big detective sitting there and that he looked even more tired with each passing day.

So he should, he thought. Lies have a way of catching up with you.

It was almost interesting, watching them talk about what he had done, the panic he had created. The lives he had changed forever. There was more interest in it than anything else he could remember happening in the city. Liverpool was now a base camp for what seemed like every member of the media in the country.

He felt a sense of pride for that.

He was tired. That was also his truth. Tired of having to split his life into two compartments. Normality and the man he became when he tried to help these people. When he’d read about serial killers, they hadn’t mentioned the way it took up so much of your time.

‘You still coming tomorrow?’

There were always people wanting to speak to him, interrupting him whilst he was thinking or trying to pay attention to something. On the television screen, the mother of one of the liars was becoming more agitated as she spoke at length. He saw misspelled words appear across the screen, which seemed to be blaming the press for what had happened.

‘I wouldn’t miss it, mate. Still at five?’

‘Yeah, we’re meeting in Flanno’s first. Are you bringing someone?’

He looked at the interrupter finally, giving them a smile he’d practised in the mirror a number of times.

‘Think so. Just waiting for her to say it’s okay.’

How could she blame them? It was he who had taken her daughter. It was he who had orphaned her granddaughter. How dare she try to take credit away from him. For all he had worked hard for, what he had created. It wasn’t the media to blame for her daughter’s lies.

She was going on his list. He’d get round to her one day.

He continued to watch the screen, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone. A familiar face. Disappointment grew by the second as the face didn’t appear.

Then, the camera panned across and the big detective filled the screen. On his feet, pointing at someone in the . . . audience? He wasn’t sure what to call them.

The press conference finished then and the programme cut back to the studio; his interest disappeared.

He was tired. There was something missing. When he had killed the first couple, there was a buzz which lasted for days. He had trashed their house when they were both dead, just to do something with all the pent-up excitement he had felt once the two people sitting in their chairs no longer drew breath.

The pair he had killed the previous night had brought no excitement. Only anger. They didn’t understand. Hadn’t wanted to be helped.

The gaping wound in the male’s neck reminded him of videos he had watched on the internet, of men in the Middle East, killing for their own reasons, just like him. The woman had died with no sounds, slumped over in seconds, just like the rest of them.

Walking round the house, seeing the happy and smiling vision of the pair beaming from every photograph . . . it sickened him. He couldn’t get out of there quickly enough after tearing the photos off the walls and creating the flawed masterpiece.

He had made a mistake. He knew it now. The truth was that he thought he’d done it on purpose. That somewhere, deep down, he wanted to be found out and stopped. He was sick, he knew that. He just couldn’t help himself.

He wanted to make things better. For everyone. He wanted to be told that he had done a good thing. That the things he had said and thought were correct. That he wasn’t crazy or deserving of derision. That everything he did for Number Four meant something.

When he looked into the eyes of the innocent party, he saw no love. Only hatred and a desire for violence. The rational part of them overridden with jealousy and hurt. He had done that to them. Brought them to that place. He was doing right. He had to remember that. They deserved to know the truth. To know what they had signed up for when getting into that relationship.

There were voices now, with no distinction between what was real and what was false. His thoughts were taking over, making it difficult for him to tell what he had imagined or what had happened.

He was tired. Not exhausted, but close to it. He wanted to take someone else. Another couple. To show the world that he would continue to do his work. To do the thing he was best at. Not leave a trace of himself behind.

Except his mistake.

The drug which made them go to sleep. To move on and never know they had. Not kicking and screaming behind a gag, as he cut their throat or their air supply. The girl from the previous night, he thought. She’d had too much.

He wanted to see if she would suffer.

There would have to be changes. He would have to kill the innocent in the same way as the guilty.

Normal. He just wanted to be normal. To love someone and be loved back. To consume someone’s life and allow them the same luxury with him. To be entwined with someone and never to let go.

He hated as well. Hated the way love had been distorted and moulded into something it was never meant to be. Hated those who lied and kept secrets, destroying the love from within.

He hated them.

There was someone speaking to him, standing in the doorway of the break room, saying his name, trying to get his attention, but he didn’t want to look over. He was scared what he would do. Whether normality would finally slip away and all that would be left was the side of him he couldn’t control.

He turned his head and smiled. Wondered if the woman standing there knew there was a possibility she could be part of his next project.

Wondered if he could control himself until the time was right to do so.

DC Hale felt good about himself. He’d worked his way up, starting as a uniformed copper and putting in for promotions, eventually making it into CID. Now, he was a detective constable, which had proven to be a title he could use to his advantage. When the new command had been established, he’d made sure he was involved.

Now, he was in the middle of a big case. A serial murder. All his friends were jealous, he knew it. Spotting him on TV, as he strode into crime scenes. All of them ringing him for the latest gossip, wanting to know all the juicy details. Stuff he wasn’t supposed to reveal, but that didn’t really stop him.

DC Hale opened the door to the family room, putting on his best sombre face as he walked in. ‘Kim, do you need anything? Tea, coffee, water?’

He waited for her to turn towards him. She looked him up and down, appraising him in a second.

‘No, I’m fine.’

DC Hale slipped into the room proper, feeling a little frisson of excitement as he thought about who Kim was. The sister of an actual murder victim. A very high-profile case and he got to spend time with her.

‘Who is the person they’ve arrested?’ Kim said, nonchalantly as if it didn’t really matter. ‘Is it Carly’s killer?’

DC Hale didn’t hesitate. ‘No, it’s some bloke who sent an email to the guy. Apparently it named your sister and her boyfriend. We’re not sure of all the details yet . . .’

‘So, this guy emails the murderer and what? Asks him to kill my sister?’

DC Hale felt the ground slip away from him a little. He’d already said too much. ‘We’re not sure that’s exactly what happened . . .’

‘Who is he?’

‘I’m afraid I can’t give you that information at the moment, but if you give me some time, I’ll get someone in to talk to you about it.’

‘Is he here?’

This time, DC Hale did hesitate. ‘I . . .’

‘He is, isn’t he?’

Adam didn’t know what was going to happen next, but he didn’t think it would be anything good. He’d screwed up. He had made one single stupid decision, and his life was never going to be the same again. Not that it had amounted to much anyway, but it was still his.

He couldn’t believe Carly was gone.

He allowed himself to be led out of the interview room, towards the cells at the other end of the station. Passing people in the corridor, all staring and judging him. They all knew what he’d done. He may not have been in that room, but he might as well have been.

He’d killed Carly.

The thought brought on a fresh bout of sobs, as the uniformed officer gripped his arm harder, pulling him along the corridor.

‘What have I done?’

It wasn’t supposed to end this way, he thought. Not like this. Through a film of tears, he saw something ahead. A blonde version of Carly, walking towards him, shouting.

‘There he is. You little prick, I’m going to kill you.’

Murphy was heading back to the main office when he heard the commotion coming from one of the corridors leading off the stairs. He assumed it was some rowdy prisoner who wasn’t taking kindly to being held.

‘An email?’

The shouted accusation made him stop in his tracks. Murphy shook his head and was about to move on, when he placed the voice he’d heard.

He started running.

In less than a minute, he reached the confrontation. DC Hale was trying to hold back Carly’s sister from a cowering Adam Evans, the volume of noise all coming from one direction.

‘You as good as killed them, you piece of shit,’ Kim said, baring her teeth at Adam. She was almost out of DC Hale’s grip, only a uniformed officer standing between her and Adam.

‘Get him out of here,’ Murphy shouted, sprinting towards the group. ‘Move him now.’

The uniformed officer came to life, grabbing Adam by the shoulders and lifting him to his feet. Kim was almost away from DC Hale, slashing at the air between her and Adam with one hand as Murphy shoved DC Hale to one side and grabbed hold of Kim himself, his arms locked around her waist so she could no longer move.

‘Let me go. Let me get at him. I’ll kill you. You hear me? You killed my sister. I’m going to end you. They can’t keep you here forever.’

‘I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry,’ Adam muttered through tears, as he was led away. He ducked his head, but not quick enough to dodge the glob of saliva as it flew from Kim’s mouth.

‘Keep your fucking sorries. I’m going to find you.’

‘That’s enough,’ Murphy said, still holding on to Kim. He walked her across the corridor and shoved his way through the nearest door. Thankfully, the office inside was empty.

‘What the hell is going on?’ Murphy said, once he’d placed Kim into a chair, standing between her and the door. He turned to DC Hale who had followed them in. ‘Wait here, Kim.’

Murphy gripped Hale’s arm, leading him out of the office and closing the door behind him. He glanced to his left, saw Adam Evans being led round the corner, still crying uncontrollably.

‘Start talking.’

‘I . . . I . . .’

‘Did I say start stuttering? No, I don’t think I did. You’ve got precisely three seconds to tell me what the hell is going on, or I’m going to tell her you’re the one who killed her sister and leave you alone in there with her for a while.’

‘I wasn’t thinking,’ DC Hale said, lifting a shaking hand to his hair and trying to smooth it out. ‘It just came out.’