Gusts flapped the aluminium cladding of Fun Central and sounded like a plane in turbulence. Hazel folded her arms tightly to her chest and surveyed the derelict fun zones as her breath loitered mistily around her face.
The murder of Meredith Hickman had acted like a cancer; her brutal slaying swiftly blighting what had once been a family destination. Nobody had wanted to bring their children back here after what happened.
Another squall blasted the roof but a different sound turned her head towards the shrine. A candleholder rolled across the tiles, and Henrik emerged from behind the pillar.
11
The breeze buffeting the panels above had concealed the noise of her entrance onto the concourse, and Henrik was engrossed by the images of Meredith taped to the shrine.
Hazel guessed he was going to be more self-conscious about the lens than the average subject, so capturing genuine emotion would be a real challenge. Maybe Lucas had been right about using his remote spy cams.
She observed Henrik lean forward and extract one of the photos. He stuffed it into his pocket and straightened again. Was he stealing a trophy?
‘Insomnia?’ Her voice sounded clamorous in the vast space.
He spun his head in her direction and waited for her echoing boots to reach him before he responded. If she’d taken him by surprise, he didn’t show it. ‘I got about half an hour, which is a miracle… considering.’
‘Considering where you are?’
‘Considering how freezing it is up there.’
His goatee partially concealed a pout but Hazel sensed he was using the complaint to deflect his presence at the shrine.
‘It’s certainly warmer up there than down here.’ She tried not to glance at his hand, which was still inside his pocket.
‘Nobody going to sweep these up?’ He kicked at the leaves under his spotless white Reeboks.
‘We want to show this place as it really is.’
Henrik scanned their surroundings. ‘I didn’t really understand why you wanted to drag me all the way here to do the interview. But now I think I do.’
Hazel rubbed some warmth into the tops of her arms. ‘Death makes a big impression in small places.’
‘I mean, location and accommodation all rolled into one. That’s some creative budgeting.’ Before Hazel could respond, his attention was drawn back to the pillar. ‘Can’t believe this could be the result of something I did.’
It was the first time she’d detected a hint of egotism in his voice, and Hazel registered how captivated he was by the Meredith pictures. ‘I thought we agreed to have the camera present for this.’
‘I just needed some time alone here. This is the first time it’s felt real to me. Ever since I set up the @BeMyKiller Twitter account, I’ve been completely disengaged from everything that happened. That’s what’s fucked me up. Trying to estimate the guilt I should feel for the lives of four people I’ve never met. But none of what I’ve seen online or on TV prepared me for this.’
Hazel studied his rapt features closely. But she couldn’t work out if the shrine repelled or attracted him. ‘And does that make you afraid of meeting the others?’
‘Take a wild guess.’
‘I’ve told you how difficult this might be for you.’
‘Time and time again.’ His gaze dropped to the dead flowers. ‘Before I do go on camera, though, I need to know exactly how you intend to portray me.’
‘That can only come from you.’
‘Don’t insult my intelligence.’ He didn’t look up at her. ‘I know about selective editing. You can manipulate everything I say.’
Hazel had been prepared for this. Now he’d committed to the project she had to make him feel firmly in her confidence; not just a participant but someone who could influence its direction as much as her. ‘I’d like you to watch the security footage of Meredith Hickman’s death.’
‘You have that?’ He turned to her and was suddenly whispering.
‘I’ve watched it and can vouch it’s a hundred times more persuasive than this.’ She nodded at the shrine.
‘How come the police released it to you?’ he asked suspiciously.
‘They didn’t. The owners of Fun Central had it backed up on their security system.’
‘But it’s evidence in an ongoing investigation, right?’
‘Are you prepared to view it?’
‘Do I have a choice?’
‘It may give you clarity.’
‘Clarity? I’m being accused of instigating the deaths of four people. You don’t think maybe I have a strong sense of clarity already?’
‘No, you’ve just admitted you’ve felt completely removed from what happened.’
Henrik opened his mouth but thought better of it. He pulled his fingers from his pocket, and Hazel noticed they were empty.
‘Look, I can’t even begin to contemplate how the footage will affect you. It’s sickening but I’m hoping that seeing it will make you differentiate between what you did at a keyboard and the cold, premeditated way Meredith was killed. I want to make it real to you, Henrik, and to the audience. This is about her life – and three others – being viciously cut short and whether it was really because of something you unwittingly put online.’
‘You believe that? Was I unwitting?’
Hazel wondered how many times a day he asked himself that. ‘Help me make sense of what happened between the moment you conceived @BeMyKiller and when it became this.’
Henrik contemplated the curled up and yellowing photos.
‘And we both know this wasn’t what you intended. Was it?’
He didn’t reply.
12
Lucas quickly assembled his kit and tried the run-and-gun DSLR rig on his shoulder for comfort. His trusty Lumix camera was the one he’d shot Isil Brides with, and he adjusted the familiar grip, put his eye to the viewer and panned along the shabby fun zones. What an eerie place. It was crazy but he felt more threatened here than he did in Syria.
As they’d shared a joint the night before, Weiss had told Lucas about the tweakers who hung about in the vast forest and waste site behind them. Hazel said they could lock the place down every night but, judging by the graffiti, there were plenty of other ways in.
He framed Hazel pep-talking Henrik Fossen outside the ball pit. Neither of them was going to be able to brush off the intimacy they’d shared on the last shoot.
That’s why he’d decided to bide his time before hitting the sack the previous night. He couldn’t afford to let her think they could pick up where they’d left off. Not now. It was going to be awkward but, if the schedule were anything to go by, they’d both be exhausted before they got to their cots.
‘Lucas.’ Weiss beckoned him over. He had his headphones on and was preparing the mics for the interior interviews while Sweeting unravelled the patch cords.
Lucas moved to where they were setting up by the shrine.
Weiss finished tightening the legs and stood. ‘Had a word out of our star yet?’
Lucas zoomed in on Henrik Fossen’s pensive expression. ‘I was taking a piss and he walked into the bathroom. Asked me a lot of questions.’
‘About what?’ Weiss asked.
‘Expenses mainly. He’s so intense. Quite freaked me. I almost zipped up before I’d finished.’
‘I heard him talking in his sleep last night,’ Sweeting chimed in.
Lucas swung the camera back to them but one of Weiss’s spectacle lenses filled the shot. He zoomed out until the heads and shoulders of the sound department were both in frame. ‘What was he talking about?’
‘Couldn’t understand a word. Sounded pretty heated though.’
‘Maybe it was Lucas and Hazel.’ Weiss raised his eyebrow.
Lucas didn’t respond to that. Weiss was a son of a bitch.
Weiss blew Lucas a playful kiss.
Lucas darted the camera to Sweeting.
But he was too busy surveying the grubby concourse while he unwound the cable. �
�Christ, this place is like Disneyland with rigor mortis.’
13
When Cox regained consciousness he smelt solvent. Something solid nudged the back of his throat and made him gag. His retching had a strange hollow echo.
Where was he? As he panicked and stirred his body, blood surged into his knees. It was daylight and he was crouching in the dirt surrounded by birch trees. His last memory was of the night before – driving his bike down the ramp and out of Fun Central.
His molars scraped and squeaked on something metallic. Cox attempted to expel the object but couldn’t draw air in or around its sides. He inhaled through his nostrils as he struggled to move his head away. The exertion tugged at his cheeks. Whatever he was biting on, his mouth was stuck to it.
Above him was the license plate of his beloved vintage Triumph Bonneville. He was positioned behind it doggie style, and the insides of his lips were glued around one of the twin exhaust pipes at the right-hand side of the back bike tyre, his teeth clenched against it. His feet weren’t tied but his wrists crackled at his back. Sounded like they’d been secured by tape.
‘Help!’ His misshapen cry vibrated through the cylinder. Cox shouted again and coughed as pungent petrol fumes burnt his chest.
The tendons in his neck tautened as he drew back from the exhaust, and his face stretched tight. If he couldn’t get free, he was going to choke to death.
Now he recalled somebody had been waiting at the bottom of the ramp. Had swung something heavy at him out of the darkness – a bat or metal bar. This was no prank.
He detected movement behind him. Someone was a few feet away but he couldn’t turn to see who it was.
A figure walked past him to the bike. He was wearing Cox’s leather jacket. He couldn’t see his features, however, because he was also wearing his orange motorcycle helmet.
The figure cocked their leg over the seat.
Cox tilted to the left as the side stand was kicked in and the Triumph straightened up. The stranger dropped hard into the seat. Keys jingled; they braced on the handlebars and lifted their boot from the mud to kick-start the bike.
‘No!’ His lips resisted his body’s recoil.
The figure slammed their heel on the pedal, and Cox felt the exhaust stab the roof of his mouth.
The engine didn’t fire up but Cox knew if he didn’t release himself, his lungs would be blown apart. Closing his eyes he used his guttural scream down the exhaust to cover the agony of beginning to tear his flesh away. He trembled and the skin ruptured. Better he was left disfigured than what would happen if he stayed where he was. But whatever had been used to stick him to the carbon steel was holding him fast.
‘Answer the fucking phone.’
He froze and bit down on the exhaust to stem the hot fizzing pain.
‘I said answer the fucking phone, asshole.’
It was Cox’s comedy ringtone. He’d had it for some years, and it drove his friends nuts.
‘Pull your thumb out your ass and answer the fucking phone.’
The stranger straightened and plucked the phone out of Cox’s jacket pocket.
Now Cox remembered briefly gaining consciousness when it had still been dark and a hand pressing his fingertip to the iPhone’s button to access it.
‘If you don’t pick up the fucking—’
Cox heard his visor snap up and discerned a voice asking for him. Sounded like the producer of his next gig. He howled at it and churned his hands in the tape.
The figure hung up and put the phone back into his pocket.
Cox stiffened the muscles in his jowls and prepared to violently jerk back.
The stranger lifted his boot off the leaves.
Cox snorted three times as he girded himself then bellowed and yanked with both shoulders. He felt the tissue rip but still wasn’t free.
The Triumph revved six times before the heat blasted through him; his eyeballs rolled up to his license plate and Cox no longer saw the numbers there.
Blow me!
His suggestion to the crew chat group the previous night was already wiped from his brain.
14
Hazel leaned over Henrik and hit the keyboard to activate the black-and-white footage of the pillar in Fun Central the day before it became a memorial.
A hooded figure was finishing securing Meredith Hickman there. The barbed wire encircled her body from head to toe and, as she tried to move her lips against one of the tight steel coils, the soundless clip couldn’t convey her moans for help. The figure exited left of shot.
The security camera was looking directly down at the bleach blonde, almost as if the person who had bound her there had deliberately chosen the pillar to allow the lens to capture the killing.
As he watched the recording, Henrik’s chin rested on his balled hands, his elbows on the small table he was seated at. Hazel and the crew were assembled around him in front of the shrine. The main entrance had been darkened with drapes, and the overhead bulbs were switched off. Lucas was going to capture his reactions in the guttering light from the candles they’d lit around the pillar as well as the glow from the screen.
Normally, the crew banter was right up to the take but, as they’d set up for the shot, nobody had spoken. They’d known exactly what Henrik was about to sit through. Everyone but Henrik had seen it. Everyone but Henrik and Hazel looked away from the laptop.
The hooded figure appeared behind the pillar and turned the rotten wooden fence post the razor wire was still attached to, increasing the tension and making Meredith bite down harder on the cable as it cut deeper into the corners of her mouth. Hazel shuddered as blood trickled from the wounds to Meredith’s chest.
As he hovered the camera around Henrik’s expression, she directed Lucas by lightly touching his shoulder.
Henrik gulped. ‘How much longer does this last?’
‘Another four minutes,’ she replied.
‘I know what happens.’ He jigged his leg nervously. ‘I saw the news. Do I really need to see any more?’
‘Yes.’ Hazel anticipated his horrified reaction. Would he be as appalled as she’d been?
Meredith’s captor walked around the pillar and entered shot from the right. They applied glue to her eyes, and she pleaded as much as she could, her lips working against the wire. The hood spoke to her, head moving and then slipped out of view of the lens.
Meredith’s lips moved faster.
A car slammed into Meredith, crushing her lower half against the pillar. Her features froze on impact but her chest heaved as the dark Nissan immediately reversed away.
‘Jesus wept… ’
Meredith’s shattered legs were revealed.
The vehicle came back into shot and battered the pillar again, slotting back into the first indentation.
Henrik rigidly observed the car silently strike Meredith another eight times, her torso slipping further down the cage of wires until her thighs were a pulp and her pelvic area hung in shreds. The ninth blow made the camera image flicker. Meredith’s mouth was still.
Her captor reversed the Nissan out of shot and returned to examine what was left of her. Turning, the figure removed the hood and ran his hand through his dark, collar-length hair. His impassive, slender features betrayed nothing of what he’d just done.
The footage froze.
As Lucas tightened on his revulsion, Henrik leaned back in his chair. ‘Could I get a glass of water?’ His voice trembled.
Hazel stepped into shot. ‘“Hit me up”. That was Meredith’s tweet into the @BeMyKiller Twitter stream only a few hours before she died.’
‘Think I don’t know that?’
‘Know who that man is?’ She pointed to the composed face. ‘He’s about your age, wouldn’t you say? Twenties?’
He swallowed and shook his head.
‘You’re positive?’
Henrik stood and made swiftly for the doors. ‘I need some air.’
15
Hazel found Henrik staring at a mini twister of
leaves weaving across the empty parking zone. ‘You OK?’
He stood up from his leaning position beside the main entrance. ‘What d’you think?’
‘You knew how Meredith died.’
‘Yeah but that was fucking brutal.’
‘Henrik, I want to shoot at a pace you’re comfortable with but I do have a finite number of days before the crew have to go off and do other things.’
‘Paying jobs?’
‘Exactly.’ Even though it actually felt a little warmer outside, Hazel wrapped her black puffer jacket tighter around her.
‘I’ve been speaking to some of them. They seem very loyal to you.’
‘They are but not indefinitely. They’re great guys but they all have bills to pay. So you can understand the pressure I’m under. That’s why we have to start interviewing the others tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘They’ll be flying in this afternoon.’
‘Jesus. “A pace I’m comfortable with”?’
‘Don’t worry. They’re staying in town tonight. I want to focus on you today.’
‘I really don’t think I’m ready for this.’ His head turned briefly to the forest as several crows noisily took flight. ‘Particularly after watching that clip. I thought you said it was just me for the first couple of days.’
‘That was my original intention. But I’ve had to condense the whole schedule because of everyone’s availabilities.’
‘So tomorrow… you want me face-to-face with all of them?’ There was panic in his eyes.
‘Of course not,’ Hazel placated. ‘We’ll be calling them up here one at a time to begin with and interviewing them separately. You can watch the monitor in the production office. If you don’t feel up to it, we can pick up those interviews later.’
Be My Killer: A completely UNPUTDOWNABLE crime thriller with nail-biting mystery and suspense Page 4