The Art of Murder

by Rebecca Muddiman

  Instead, he slipped out the way he came, hoping Michael Fisher would be none the wiser. Nick needed to think it through. He’d tried calling Elena so she could ID Fisher from the 7-11 photo, but there was no answer. She was probably working out. He’d have to try again later.

  Nick went to open the front door, stepping back as Karen beat him to it on her way out. She looked surprised to see him.

  ‘I figured you must’ve moved out,’ she said. ‘I was making plans for the spare room.’

  ‘I was working,’ he said and pushed past her into the apartment.

  ‘Yeah, I bet you were.’

  ‘Does it still bother you?’ he asked, and she looked at him blankly. ‘If I’m sleeping with other women.’

  ‘Hardly,’ she said and turned to go.

  ‘You look a little pale. Rough night?’

  She ignored him and started down the hall. Nick went to close the door but something made him call out to her again. ‘You have any plans tonight?’

  She stopped and slowly turned around. ‘Why? You taking me out?’

  ‘Hardly.’

  ‘I’m sure I can amuse myself,’ she said, smiling, as if she had a secret, and Nick wondered if he should tell her. Would she even believe him if he did?

  ‘Goodbye, Nick,’ she said and walked away.

  Nick watched until she disappeared before going back inside.

  He stripped off his clothes as he walked to the shower. He really wanted to sleep but he knew he had to go to work and see what was going on with the evidence from Alison’s club. But more than that he needed to find a way to catch Michael Fisher red-handed. If he could do that, then nothing else would matter.

  45

  Karen

  Karen looked out over the sea of faces. She had to hand it to Aronsen. He said he’d bring the people and he had. Okay, so sea of faces was pushing it a little, there were maybe fifty or sixty people there for him, but it was still a whole lot more people in the store than usual on a Sunday afternoon. Or any afternoon for that matter. That they were there for Peter Aronsen was what surprised her most. His books were terrible, his personality somehow even worse. Yet people lapped it up, listening to him, rapt, as though he were the Messiah. There were even a couple of young women, maybe mid-twenties, certainly old enough to know better, who were sporting homemade T-shirts with Aronsen’s face on them. They sat on the front row, gazing up at him with what appeared to be lust. Karen was certain that the nauseous feeling in her stomach wasn’t only down to her hangover.

  ‘Why do you think the police refuse to listen to you?’ someone in the audience asked, and Karen saw Aronsen’s face light up.

  ‘That’s a very good question,’ Aronsen said. ‘And I think the answer is that there are certain members of the NYPD who are intimidated by me, by my knowledge and expertise.’

  Karen bit the side of her cheek to stop herself from laughing but the audience were nodding along in agreement.

  ‘I know one detective in particular, let’s call him Mick Jelly,’ Aronsen said, and the audience laughed. Karen turned her attention back to Aronsen, keen to hear what he had to say about her husband. ‘You’ve all seen him on your TVs. Although maybe not so much lately.’ More sniggering. ‘This is a man who loves the limelight and doesn’t care to share it. I think that when you have a personality such as that on a case, they’re not going to be open to ideas from anyone else, especially when those people are more famous. I think that’s what it ultimately boils down to, and I think it’s not only a shame but it’s a slap in the face of the families of those who’ve lost their lives. Now I’m not saying I could solve the case all by myself, although you might remember a little case I was involved with a few years ago that saw the perp quickly put behind bars.’

  There were a few mutters and Karen resisted the urge to roll her eyes. If she remembered correctly, Aronsen had followed a police officer, hoping to get a scoop, and had got himself held hostage by a man who had already killed eight people.

  Karen chanced a look at Jamie, expecting to see him holding in his own laughter. Instead when she caught his eye, he nodded to the rear of the room. She looked over but didn’t see what he was trying to point out. She looked at Jamie who nodded again, more urgently this time. Her eyes skimmed over the faces of the people who were standing at the rear of the room but saw nothing out of the ordinary. She wondered if he’d spotted a shoplifter or something weirder than the fan girls sitting at the front. She was about to turn to Jamie again and shrug when she saw “him”. Sitting on the last row. Mark. And he was looking in her direction.

  Karen turned away, her cheeks flushing. Really? He’d spent the night screwing someone else and now he was here?

  She was determined not to give him what he wanted so forced herself to pretend she hadn’t noticed him. But she could feel him staring. She glanced at Jamie and he raised a brow. She looked away quickly, pretending she was interested in what Aronsen had to say, even as she was zoning him out.

  Though she enjoyed the way he mocked Nick, there was only so much she could take. She wondered when he’d stop. He’d already been talking for two hours and had now opened it up to questions from the audience, who seemed to have an endless supply of them. And once that was done, he’d be signing books and, quite possibly, body parts. It felt like it would never end. And now Mark was here and all she wanted to do was go home and sleep.

  Why didn’t he take no for an answer? He said he’d leave her alone if she didn’t call him, yet here he was.

  And then she remembered calling him the previous evening.

  Fuck.

  She found herself glancing over again but quickly looked away when she saw he was still staring at her.

  ‘Are you going to talk to him?’

  Karen jumped. She hadn’t seen Jamie come over. She shook her head. ‘I’m not interested,’ she whispered as Aronsen answered another idiotic question.

  ‘You were interested last night,’ Jamie said.

  ‘I was drunk.’

  ‘No shit.’

  Karen kept her eyes on Aronsen, hard as it was. But now she could feel both Mark and Jamie’s eyes boring into her. She held off as long as she could before turning to Jamie.

  ‘I don’t care. I really don’t.’

  Jamie didn’t reply, just made a face that said he didn’t believe her.

  She sighed and walked away from the scrutiny as well as the pain of listening to Aronsen. She shut herself in the office, sitting down and resting her head on the desk.

  An image of Mark flashed into her mind, followed by Jamie’s look of disbelief. And it irritated her because maybe she didn’t believe it herself.

  46

  Michael

  Michael listened to the writer, swinging between anger and wanting to laugh. The man was an idiot and so far off the mark about Michael that he had to stop himself from raising his hand and pointing out all his errors. How much fun would it be to reveal himself right there in the store and see how cocky this asshole was then? But even if he didn’t go so far as to expose who he really was, standing up and sharing his own theories and advanced knowledge of what made a killer tick was probably not the image he wanted to reveal to Karen. Not yet, anyway.

  He was feeling good, having had a few hours’ sleep. Part of him had wondered if he’d be woken by the police hammering at his door, yet still he slept soundly. And when he woke a few hours later he realized that he must’ve been right. Elena hadn’t gone to the police. She hadn’t shared what she knew about him. He was safe.

  And so, feeling untouchable, he decided to pursue Karen again and make sure she was still interested. Her novel had been delivered while he’d been sleeping and he’d eagerly begun reading, quickly forgetting his need to eat. It was a slim volume and he’d whizzed through it in a few hours, both impressed and saddened by it. There was a playfulness and confidence in her writing that seemed missing from Karen herself. Perhaps she’d been different once upon a time, maybe before marrying Nick
Kelly. It was a shame. But more than anything it was proof that she was perfect for Michael’s project, and spurred him on to finish.

  To be honest, he was surprised when he’d arrived at the bookstore and saw all the people. He wondered if he should leave. If he approached Karen now, there would be a lot of witnesses. And then he realized the reason for the crowd. Peter Aronsen. That had surprised him too. He’d thought she would have more refined tastes, but business was business. Besides, with everyone focused on the celebrity author, no one would be taking any notice of Michael.

  He’d slipped in at the back and taken a seat, watching as Karen moved around the room. He saw the look of undisguised disgust on her face as Aronsen spewed forth his theories and Michael felt relief that she wasn’t another of his fans.

  It was a couple of hours in – man, could that guy talk – before Karen finally noticed him. Michael had clocked the little guy from the store staring before bringing her attention to him. If he wasn’t mistaken, she blushed when she saw him. Michael kept his eye on her but she refused to look his way and finally she left the room and he watched as she closed the door to the office at the back of the store.

  When an argument broke out between a couple of customers, one encouraged by Aronsen, Michael got up and made his way to the office. The little guy was distracted by the argument quickly accelerating into a physical scuffle.

  Michael knocked on the door and gently nudged it open. Karen was sat behind the desk, head in hands.

  ‘Has he finished yet?’ she asked.

  ‘No. I think he might be here for the duration,’ Michael said, and she looked up sharply. ‘Sorry. I don’t want to interrupt. Are you all right?’ Seeing her more closely, he could see she looked a little ill.

  ‘I’m fine. I… I thought you were Jamie.’

  Michael almost mentioned the fight her colleague was trying to break up but realized by telling her he’d be giving her an out. Instead he closed the door behind him. He saw a shift in her body language. Fear, he thought. But then… No. It wasn’t fear, it was something else.

  ‘You called me last night,’ he said.

  She looked away, down at her feet. ‘I misdialed. Sorry if I interrupted something.’

  Michael noticed the sharp tone and wondered what it meant. Did she know? Had she seen him with Alison that night after all? No. If she’d seen him with Alison, she’d be afraid.

  ‘Not at all. Sorry I missed your call. Did you…?’

  ‘I need to get back to work.’

  ‘Sure,’ he said, but stayed in front of the door. ‘But I was thinking maybe we could go out afterwards. If he ever finishes, that is.’

  This raised a small smile, even if she quickly wiped it away.

  ‘What do you say? A quick drink?’ he asked. ‘Or something to eat?’

  Karen opened her mouth but raised voices made her stop. ‘Shit,’ she muttered, and edged past Michael to open the door. He could see that the argument between the two men had grown into an issue dividing the whole audience. It looked like a scene from West Side Story. ‘I have to deal with this,’ she said and walked out.

  Michael followed, thinking he could use it to his advantage. But at that moment, the front door opened, the tinkling of the bell barely audible over the fracas. But Michael heard it. He wondered if it could be the police, if someone had realized how out of hand it was already getting and called it in.

  But it wasn’t the police. Or rather it was. But just one of them. Nick Kelly.

  47

  Nick

  Nick had gone into work that morning wondering if it would be the last time. But would they have hauled him in already if they’d found something on the tapes from Alison’s club? Or would they wait for him to show up before letting him have it? He was certain he could feel his blood pressure rising minute by minute as he made his way in.

  Sometime between getting out of the shower and getting in the car, he’d realized that not only could it mean the end of his career if it came out he’d been paying for sex, but it could also seriously affect his chances at getting the apartment. His lawyer had assured him that his cheating meant nothing. But, if Karen could prove that he’d spent a large chunk of their money on his lovers, then the judge might see it as – how did he put it? – a wasteful dissipation of their assets. Nick assured him that was irrelevant. He’d never really spent anything on Zoe, or any of the others. And though he’d only begun frequenting the club after he and Karen had separated, Karen might find a way to get it to work in her favor. Was it any wonder his blood pressure was so high? He could lose everything for the sake of a few mediocre fucks.

  Thankfully someone was looking out for him. When he got to work, Azrah informed him that the footage from the security cameras only went back a couple of days, not even the required thirty days, and so far they’d found not much of interest. They’d contacted anyone they could identify but all had solid alibis for Alison’s murder. They were still working on cross-referencing anyone on those tapes with anyone on other CCTV footage they had, but they all knew it was pointless. This guy was careful.

  Nick made a discreet enquiry about the sex tapes, learning that someone from Vice was in charge of that, that it would be a separate investigation. Nick breathed a sigh of relief but knew he wasn’t off the hook yet. It could still come back to bite him.

  He wondered if he should tell the others about what had happened the night before, about Elena Jones and the information she’d given him. If he spoke up, it could be over in a couple of hours. But that would lead to all kinds of scrutiny about why he hadn’t logged Elena’s complaint, why he hadn’t followed up with the staff from the 7-11. Nick wondered if he could fudge it. Say he only asked about someone named Francis because that was the name Elena gave him. He could have a sudden realization that the guy could’ve been lying and go back to dig deeper, but not only would it make him look incompetent, it was possible Lynch would take it away from him, insisting he stay focused on the serial killer rather than this asshole who tried to kill his date.

  Nick knew he had to keep it to himself for now, partly to cover his procedural errors, but mostly to make sure he could be the one to bring this guy in. Ideally on his own. He still needed to get hold of Elena to identify Michael Fisher and give him good reason to go knocking on his door.

  Unable to reach her, Nick got up and muttered something about following a lead but was out the door before Azrah could ask any questions.

  Driving towards Michael Fisher’s house, Nick decided he would pay the guy a visit on the pretense of following up Elena Jones’s complaint, with or without Elena’s help. He’d ask to go in for a chat, stumble across the evidence he was the killer, and boom, he’d be the hero. The paperwork he’d sort out later.

  But there was no one home again and Nick knew he couldn’t risk another break-in, certainly not in the daylight. He figured the next best thing would be to follow his wife. He had no doubt that she would lead him to Fisher eventually. So he’d gone to the bookstore, planning to wait for her to leave. Instead he’d found a large poster of Peter Aronsen’s face in the window.

  ‘What the fuck?’ Nick muttered and stormed into the store.

  He had no idea what was going on, but a large group of people were all arguing, some getting physical. Nick wondered if he should break it up but as he walked towards them, Peter Aronsen’s voice rang out, stopping them.

  ‘Would you look who it is,’ he said. ‘Looks like we have a special guest joining us.’

  The crowd stared at Nick and started chattering as though this was some kind of stunt. He turned to Aronsen, who stood there looking pleased with himself.

  ‘What do you say, Detective? Perhaps a little Q&A? Or maybe a heated discussion? These fine people are already warmed up.’

  ‘Fuck you, Aronsen,’ Nick said and then wished he hadn’t. His anger seemed to spur the little troll on. But he couldn’t help himself. ‘Did you and my wife think–?’

  ‘Woah, woah!’ Aronsen said
, holding up his hands. ‘Me and your wife? What exactly are you accusing me of?’

  ‘What? No,’ Nick said, realizing what Aronsen was getting at. ‘Not even she’s desperate enough for that.’

  ‘Listen, man. I’ve never even met your wife.’

  ‘What?’ Nick said. Was anything that came out of this guy’s mouth the truth? It was at that moment that Nick noticed Karen standing there, her face red. ‘You’ve never met her? You’re in her bookstore. She’s standing right there. But, right, you’ve never met her.’

  Aronsen turned to Karen who had her head in her hands. He looked overjoyed, if surprised. ‘She’s your wife?’ he asked, laughing. ‘Jesus.’

  Nick could hear the chatter from the crowd of people. They were laughing at him. He marched towards Karen, grabbing her arm, pulling her towards the office at the back. She tried to shake him off but he held tight.

  ‘Hey.’

  Nick looked over his shoulder to see Jamie coming their way. ‘Back off,’ he said, and Jamie stopped.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Karen said, and Jamie stepped back a little, but stayed within listening distance. Nick tried to close the office door but Karen stubbornly held it open. In the end, he gave up.

  After a couple of breaths, he turned to face her. ‘Really?’ It was all he could think of.

  Karen just shrugged. ‘I need the customers. Like it or not, he sells books.’

  ‘Oh yeah, and I bet you like it a lot.’

  ‘Actually I don’t, but like I said, he sells books.’

  ‘Right. And there was no other writer in the city you could’ve got to come in. No one at all.’

  ‘Not today, no.’