The Art of Murder

by Rebecca Muddiman

  Michael moved around behind the sofa, reaching into his pocket. Knife in hand, he grabbed Cas, his arm tight around his neck, and pulled him over the back of the sofa onto the floor where he plunged the knife into his side.

  Cas barely had time to register what was going on, never mind put up a fight. It was only once the knife was in, that he seemed to realize and his hands clawed at Michael’s face. But Cas was a small guy. He was wasted too. It didn’t take much to keep him down, to wait for the blood loss to empty the life from him.

  Michael watched him slip away, the soundtrack of the movie playing on the TV drowning out his last whispered words. Putting the knife aside, Michael took out the nails he’d brought from home. He’d assumed Cas would have a hammer but apparently that was too much to expect. Clearly this man did nothing useful himself.

  He looked around and found a small sculpture on the bookshelf. Michael picked it up and weighed it from hand to hand. Satisfied with its heft, he smiled to himself. It would do. It didn’t need to be precise. He was simulating crucifixion, not putting up a picture.

  Michael stripped Cas and found a couple of white sheets. Even the useless Cas was able to supply those. Michael smoothed out one of the sheets on the dining table, then used the second sheet to fashion a loincloth for Cas’s modesty.

  The feet were harder than the hands. It took a few tries but eventually he stepped back and looked at the bloody marks. They looked good.

  Going into the kitchen, Michael filled a bowl with water and found a cloth and went back to clean the body of excess blood. He took the small pots of make-up from his pocket and went to work on creating the look of the early stages of putrefaction. This was Hans Holbein’s The Body of the Dead Christ in the Tomb, and it had to look right. Cas would probably be found quite quickly so there was no time for nature to do its own part.

  When he was done, Michael placed the body on the table and stepped away and looked at the set-up. He moved in and repositioned the body, extending Cas’s middle finger.

  It was perfect.

  It was also time to go. Just because Cas had planned to spend the night alone, chillin’, Michael knew that he had dozens of hangers on, people who would show up, hoping for free weed and a chance to bask in the light of his glory.

  But there was one more thing Michael wanted to do.

  After taking his own photographs of the scene, Michael picked up Cas’s phone and took another, this time sharing it on all of Cas’s social media accounts. He tossed the phone aside and went to the door, listening to the sounds of Cas’s latest post blowing up as he left. It wouldn’t be long until Cas was found, before the police knew Michael had struck once more.

  He wished he could see Nick Kelly’s face when he heard.

  62

  Nick

  Nick wondered why he was still there. People knew something was wrong. He could feel it. He’d barely said a word all afternoon. He knew he should make an effort to make things seem normal, but he couldn’t. Every time Azrah looked at him, he thought she knew something. Even if it was nothing to do with Michael Fisher, then about Alison’s club. Was Azrah fucking with him? Trying to make him sweat? She didn’t need to. He was doing a good job of that all by himself.

  He’d driven to two out-of-town stores to buy the burner phones but was having second thoughts. What if the cops investigating Elena Jones’s murder were onto Fisher? What if they were watching him? But if he didn’t get the phone to Fisher, how would this plan work? All he’d have was a dead wife and nothing else to show for it.

  Dan had already left for the night, as had a few of the others. Lynch was still in his office and Azrah was beavering away, desperate to be seen working hard as always. Nick thought he should go too. It was driving him insane sitting there. But where would he go? He couldn’t go home. What if Fisher decided to pay Karen a visit that night? But how would Nick know if he did? Maybe he needed to go and wait outside their apartment just in case. Forget about the phones.

  Nick felt a wave of nausea. Maybe he should call it off, find a way to lead the others to Fisher. Let them have him.

  No, it was too late for that. He needed to either go through with it or silence Fisher himself. He’d made too many mistakes. He needed to fix them.

  ‘Nick. There’s a call for you.’

  Nick looked up and focused on Tony Emmery, who was waving the phone at him. The guy still hadn’t figured out how to transfer a call. Reluctantly, Nick got up and took it.

  ‘Nick Kelly,’ he said, but whoever it was hung up. Nick stared at the phone and wondered if it was him. Fisher. Was this him signaling it was time? Should he go home? Just in case?

  ‘Who was that?’ Azrah asked.

  ‘Don’t know. He hung up,’ Nick said.

  ‘She,’ Tony said and Nick turned to him.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It was a woman,’ Tony said, and Nick relaxed a little and went back to his own desk. But it wasn’t long before he stood up again, unsure what he was going to do, but certain that whatever it was wasn’t going to be achieved by sitting there, moping. As he pulled on his coat, Azrah looked up as if to say, I win. As if it was a competition and whoever sat there longest won. But whatever clever remark she was about to utter was interrupted by the phone.

  Nick started to walk away when he heard the urgency in her voice. ‘Nick!’

  He stopped and turned back. ‘Another one,’ she said before turning her attention back to the phone call.

  Nick felt a strange twist in his guts. Was this it? Karen? He stared at Azrah, trying to gauge from her reaction if she knew. She looked up, catching his eye, her brow furrowed.

  It wasn’t supposed to go down like this. He was supposed to be there, waiting. He was supposed to be there to catch him. Maybe he could’ve even stopped him.

  Azrah put the phone down and Nick tried to slow his breathing, hoped the sweat he felt trickling down his skin wasn’t as obvious to her as it was to him. He noticed Lynch come out of the office but couldn’t look at him.

  ‘Another victim,’ Azrah said. ‘Male. Twenty-six-years-old. Cas Nazan.’

  Nick heard a small noise come from his throat but the others didn’t seem to hear it, already talking about getting over there. Nick was vaguely aware of them speaking, saying something about social media. But his vision was blurred.

  He felt sick.

  A man was dead and it was his fault.

  63

  Karen

  Karen lost Mark somewhere in the subway station. By the time she’d made it to the platform, a train was leaving and Mark was nowhere in sight. She walked up and down, hoping to find him, but he was gone.

  When the next train arrived, Karen got on and headed home. It was possible Mark was coming to see her, to tell her that her lunatic of a husband had been to visit him. But when she got home, there was no one there. No Mark, no Nick. She tried calling Mark but there was no answer and she had to assume that whatever Nick had said to him, wasn’t good. Why else would he be ignoring her? Why else wouldn’t he want to talk to her about it?

  Unless he was afraid. It was entirely possible Nick had threatened him, and Karen wondered if she should march down to the police station and let Nick’s boss know what had happened. Unfortunately, she had no idea what had happened. All she had was a slightly crappy photo of Nick leaving Mark’s house, taken on the spur of the moment so he wouldn’t be able to deny it later when she confronted him. But even with proof he was there, it was doubtful he’d admit why. And now she’d lost Mark too, she wasn’t going to find out the truth any time soon.

  But she was desperate to know. And if Mark wasn’t picking up, she’d have to find out from Nick. It was unlikely he’d pick up if she called him, but there were other ways.

  Karen called the office number and asked to speak to him.

  ‘Hang on,’ his colleague said, and Karen listened as the man hollered across the office for Nick. But Karen hung up before he could answer. At least she knew where he was.

/>   She raced out of the apartment and down the street to the bookstore.

  Jamie looked up as she burst through the door. ‘I’m really sorry,’ she said before he could mention how long she’d been gone. ‘But can I borrow your car?’

  Jamie looked confused but nodded and Karen went into the office and found his keys in his jacket pocket. ‘What’s going on?’ Jamie asked, but Karen shook her head.

  ‘I’ll tell you later,’ she said and rushed out again, retrieving the car from its place at the side of the store.

  She pulled out into traffic, irritated at the slow progress she was making. Nick was still at work, but for how long? If he left before she got there, she had no idea where he’d go. As she edged through the traffic, she wondered why she was bothering. She could wait for him to come home, the end result would probably be the same. He’d lie about it and she’d never know.

  But as she finally got a block away from the station, she saw Nick’s car pass her, heading the other way. Karen cursed, trying to keep an eye on him, miraculously managing to turn the car around in the stream of traffic without causing an accident.

  She followed him, pulling up a hundred yards from where he’d stopped. What was he up to? And then she saw the other detectives, the coroner’s van, the gathering media. It was a crime scene. There’d been another murder.

  Karen felt a sudden sense of shame. She was worried about her husband ruining her love life, and meanwhile some poor man or woman had lost their life. She needed to go, to forget about Nick and whatever he was up to. She should forget about Mark too, if he hadn’t forgotten about her already. She needed to go back to the store and apologize to Jamie.

  But as she tried to pull away, she found she was stuck. The traffic had become gridlocked where the police cars had blocked the road. It was chaos and she wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

  All she could do was wait.

  64

  Michael

  Michael cleaned himself up and headed out to work. Not his real work, but at the 7-11. His boss had called, desperate for cover, and made veiled threats about firing Michael unless he came in. It was rather pathetic. Michael almost told him to stick his job up his ass. In a day or so he wouldn’t need it anyway.

  But he still couldn’t get hold of Phoebe and he’d finally accepted that finding a replacement for Elena wasn’t going to happen. Sure, he could hit the clubs and find someone who’d gladly take him home, but he’d know nothing about them. The project would be hollow. So he decided to count Elena, and when the time came he would describe her as his failed piece. Every artist had one. Sometimes you took chances and it worked, other times you ended up with a horrible mess in a garbage-strewn alley.

  But without another project, it only left Phoebe and Karen, and Karen had to be last. He wouldn’t give Nick Kelly the satisfaction of capturing him before he was ready. So until he could get hold of Phoebe, he would continue as normal, even if that meant going to the 7-11. Besides, there was something about him going to his shift a couple of hours after killing Cas that he thought would play well in the story to come. When it came out, and it would, imagine all those people who realized they had been served by this man, this killer on their TV screens. He couldn’t help but smile at the poetry of him touching all those mundane lives and elevating them, for just a moment.

  But there was something demoralizing about it too. All those people not realizing whose presence they were in, treating him like he was nothing, like he was less than they were. He wondered if he should add one more piece to his collection. If not the customers, then his boss at least. But he could never be art. He was utterly worthless.

  As he rode the train to work, Michael wondered if Nick Kelly would be looking at Cas’s body yet and what his reaction would be. He bet Nick never saw it coming, imagining himself to be in control of every situation. This was a man, after all, brazen enough to approach a serial killer to make a deal about killing his wife. He could almost admire the man if it weren’t so messed up.

  Michael had never been in a long-term relationship, never would now, so he couldn’t understand how people could go from loving each other enough to declare they’d spend the rest of their lives together to wanting each other dead. He wondered what percentage of divorcing couples actually felt that way and, if they knew they could get away with it, would go through with it. Perhaps Nick Kelly was a one-off. It made Michael almost feel sorry for Karen. He did actually like her, as he did several of his projects. In a different life, perhaps they would’ve been friends.

  Stepping out into the night, Michael wondered if he should let Karen go. It would be a good story to come forward with after Phoebe was complete. He could share with the world Nick Kelly’s true self. But apart from infuriating Nick, what purpose would it serve? Michael had wanted to kill Karen, even before he knew who she was married to.

  It seemed that no matter what, Karen Kelly was destined to die.

  65

  Nick

  Nick pounded on Fisher’s door for the third time but there was no response. He wondered if he should bust down the door, or maybe be a little more subtle and break in around the back again. But what good would it do? Fisher wasn’t home. He was probably out killing someone else, just to fuck with Nick.

  He could feel his heart hammering, his blood speeding through his veins. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. This wasn’t the deal. He raised his hand once more and then noticed a little old lady peering out from the house next door.

  ‘Are you looking for Michael?’ she asked. ‘I think he went to work. I saw him going out a little while ago and I’m sure he had his uniform on.’

  Nick nodded and walked away, hoping the old woman would forget his face. He had no doubt when all this came out, she would be first in line to tell the reporters how shocked she was, what a nice boy Michael Fisher was. Nick hoped that she would focus solely on Michael and not on the detective who had been at his door some time before he was arrested.

  A car horn honked as Nick pulled out without looking but he barely glanced at the driver before tearing away, driving as fast as he could to get to the 7-11. He didn’t want to risk showing his face in the store again, but pulled up outside and waited.

  Ten minutes later he saw Fisher walking up the street. As he approached, Nick leaned out of the car and shouted, ‘Get in.’

  Fisher looked at him for a minute, smug smile on his face, but finally did as he was told and slid into the passenger seat. As soon as he was in, Nick grabbed him around the neck. ‘What the fuck was that? We had a deal.’

  Fisher was still smiling, knowing as well as Nick did that he was hardly going to kill him in his own car. He pushed Fisher away, grabbing the steering wheel instead, his knuckles turning white as he squeezed.

  ‘What did you expect?’ Fisher said. ‘I’m the bad guy.’

  ‘I could take you in right now and make sure no one ever utters your name.’

  ‘Haven’t we been through this? If you had any intention of doing that, you would’ve already. Thing is, I think you want her dead more than I do.’

  Nick turned away, watching the trickle of people across the street, wondering who else’s life would be at risk if he carried on with this. But the truth was, Fisher was right. At this point, Nick probably did want her dead more than Fisher.

  ‘You have one more chance,’ Nick said. ‘You do her next or it’s over. I’m going to be watching you. If you go near anyone else, I will kill you myself. You get that?’ He handed Fisher one of the burner phones he’d bought. ‘This has one number in it. When you’re going to do it, you call it. Let it ring three times and I’ll come.’

  Fisher took the phone, smile still on his face. ‘I thought you were going to be watching me.’

  ‘I am. You only call when you’re actually about to do it. Understand? Then I come in and this is over. Right?’

  ‘Whatever you say,’ Fisher said, slipping the phone into his pocket. ‘Now, if that’s everything, I’ve got to
go to work.’

  Fisher got out of the car and Nick looked around, paranoid someone would see, but there was no one around. He watched as Fisher went into the store and then pulled away, confident that Fisher would be no problem for the next few hours.

  He told himself that this would all be over soon. Karen would be dead but there would be no deal with Michael Fisher for anyone to speak of because as soon as Nick arrived on the scene, Fisher would be dead too.

  66

  Karen

  Karen watched Nick’s car stop alongside a 7-11 but he didn’t get out. Why was he sitting there? After being stuck at the crime scene, Karen told herself she was being stupid. What would she gain from following Nick around all night? He was working. So as soon as the traffic cleared enough for her to leave, she turned the engine on and planned to return Jamie’s car and go home. But then she’d seen Nick coming out of the building. He got in the car, tires screeching as he pulled away. Something was wrong and Karen couldn’t help following.

  And here she was, outside a 7-11 in Queens, with no idea why. It must’ve had something to do with the murders. What if Nick was about to find the guy, this serial killer? She knew she should leave, but curiosity made her stay.

  After a few minutes, she saw Nick lean out of the car and tell someone to get in. She felt like she was watching a cop show on TV. Was this guy an informer? Or a perp? Maybe an undercover officer. She laughed at herself but quickly stopped when she saw who was getting in the car.

  Her stomach knotted as she watched Mark climb in next to her husband. What the hell was going on? She leaned forward. All she could see was they were talking, and then Nick seemed to hand something to Mark. But what? Money? Was he paying him off?