The Blissfully Dead

by Louise Voss

  ‘I’ve been asking around, trying to find out who was there on Saturday night when Wendy was killed. She was a colleague of mine. You heard about it, right?’

  Tears welled in Chelsea’s eyes again.

  ‘You were there that night, weren’t you, Chelsea?’ he prompted gently. ‘Some of your friends said you were. They said you left with a boy.’

  Chelsea sank her head into her hands. She seemed to have lost the ability to speak.

  ‘Was that your boyfriend?’

  ‘I’m not allowed boyfriends,’ she whispered, pulling her sleeve down over her hand and wiping her eyes with it.

  ‘Really? But you’re sixteen, aren’t you?’

  She nodded. ‘Almost seventeen. In April.’

  ‘That doesn’t seem too young to have a boyfriend.’

  ‘My nan says I am. She says I’m not allowed until I finish A levels in case it interferes with my schoolwork . . . What’s the time?’

  Her eyes were fearfully darting towards the door.

  Patrick pulled out his phone and looked at the screen. ‘Ten past two.’

  ‘Oh my days.’ She jumped up and ran over to the window. ‘She’ll be back at quarter to three! You can’t be here!’

  ‘Chelsea, that’s over half an hour away. Please don’t worry.’ Bloody hell, Patrick thought. She’s petrified of her. ‘Come on, sit down. Why are you so scared of your nan coming back?’

  She started to cry in earnest this time. ‘I want to help, I do, but I wasn’t supposed to be there, and if she finds out about the car park, then she’ll kick me out like she did before and I’ll have to go into one of them homeless shelters and it’ll be even worse than living here with her, otherwise I’d have gone myself ages ago—’

  Patrick straightened up, every hair on his body standing to attention. ‘The car park? Chelsea, what do you know about the car park? Tell me!’

  The girl was almost hysterical. Patrick got up and found a plastic beaker upturned on the draining board in the kitchen. He filled it with water and took it in to her, with a clean tissue from his pocket.

  Crouching down next to her, he handed her the water and the tissue.

  ‘You were there, weren’t you? In the car park? Is that why you didn’t go to your interview yesterday, because you were too scared by what you saw?’

  ‘What if she finds out?’ the girl wailed.

  ‘Were you doing something you shouldn’t have been doing? Drugs? I don’t care if you were.’

  ‘NO! I don’t do that shit.’ Her outrage seemed to help her gather herself. She sniffed mightily, then dabbed under her eyes with the tissue – although, Patrick thought, she’d have been a lot better off wiping her runny nose. Something clicked into place.

  ‘You were with that boy, weren’t you? It’s OK,’ he reiterated. ‘You aren’t in trouble, not with us. We just need to know.’

  ‘Nan will kill me!’

  Patrick knelt beside her, his knees cracking loudly. ‘She won’t need to know. You’re sixteen. It’s confidential, I promise you.’ Especially because he wasn’t here officially, though Chelsea didn’t need to know that.

  She looked up at him then, her face a pulpy mess of snot, smeared make-up and tears.

  ‘I saw it happen,’ she whispered.

  Patrick stopped breathing altogether. The only sound in the room was the gentle purring of the cat.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Me and – do I have to give his name? I don’t want to.’

  The boy’s name would be useful. Another potential witness. But he knew if he insisted Chelsea would clam up again. ‘That’s OK – you and the boy, you were there . . . where?’

  ‘In the corner of the car park, although he’d gone by then. I just needed a minute to . . . get myself together again. It was dark in that corner and nobody else was there, not when we arrived. We just wanted to be on our own. We, er, you know . . .’ Chelsea’s voice was strangled with embarrassment.

  ‘Were having sex?’

  She nodded, mortified. ‘Promise you won’t tell Nan!’

  ‘I won’t. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is what you saw.’

  She took a sip of the water, her hand shaking. ‘We, um, did it, quite fast, then he had to go otherwise he’d miss his bus.’ Patrick had a flash of Bonnie telling this sordid tale in a decade and a half and shuddered. ‘I didn’t want to run with him, I hate running, so I told him to go without me. Anyway I was a bit – emotional. It was my first time. It wasn’t how I thought it would be.’

  Poor kid, Patrick thought again. Her first experience of sex was a shag in a freezing dark car park, the experience topped off by her partner legging it and leaving her to witness a murder. Wendy’s murder.

  ‘I was about to leave and then I saw this girl come in – well, I thought she was a girl, I didn’t know then that she was a cop. She looked well young, too young to drive, so I thought it was weird she was there. She walked over to the far side – it was dark over there too, the lights were out – and next thing this man comes running in and they didn’t even speak or anything, he just stabs her and runs away and she’s lying on the floor and there’s blood everywhere and I sort of run over and her eyes were open, but then they closed and I could see that she was gone and I did mean to call 999, honest I did, but my phone was dead and I was really scared and I felt sick, so I—’

  She collapsed into fresh sobs.

  ‘Ran away?’ Patrick supplied. He was feeling a bit emotional himself, at the knowledge that he was talking to the last person who had ever seen Wendy alive.

  ‘I ran away and went home and heard it on the news and haven’t been out since. I never want to go there again. I never want to see Josh again – not that he’s called me anyway. He was only after a shag . . . Nan doesn’t know I go out at night. She cleans in a hotel every weekend till 11 p.m. I’m supposed to be here. I thought if I got a job at the Rotunda, then I’d still be able to hang out there and see my mates, but I don’t want it now . . .’

  Josh. So that was his name, thought Patrick. They’d need to speak to him too, although it sounded like he had gone before either Wendy or her assailant arrived. Chelsea was still gabbling, so he put a hand on her arm to stop her.

  ‘Chelsea, this is the most important bit: what did he look like, the man who stabbed her? Did you recognise him, from the bowling alley, maybe?’

  Shoulders heaving, she puffed out her cheeks and squinched her eyes closed. Then she shook her head.

  ‘He was tallish. Medium size. White. Brown or black short hair. That’s all I can remember.’

  ‘Age?’

  She shrugged. ‘Couldn’t tell. He had a big coat on.’

  ‘What sort of coat?’

  Another shrug, then another panicked glance at the door. Patrick stood up. He knew he couldn’t push her too much when she was this anxious. He also knew that, now Chelsea had revealed how much she’d seen, there was no way he could keep this from Strong and her team. He was going to be in deep shit for coming here, but right now he didn’t care.

  ‘OK. I don’t want to get you into trouble, so I’m going to go now. Chelsea, thank you, I can’t tell you how helpful you’re being. I’m going to need you to phone the police station in Wimbledon and ask to speak to someone called DCI Vanessa Strong. She’s heading up the investigation into Wendy’s death and this is vital information. Your nan need not know, I promise.’

  ‘Will I have to go to court?’

  Patrick hesitated. ‘You might. But not for ages, and we can hide your identity. We have to catch this guy, Chelsea, before he does it to someone else.’

  She nodded reluctantly. ‘I knew I’d have to tell someone eventually,’ she said. Now the storm was over, she seemed almost relieved.

  ‘It was a horrible thing to have witnessed. We can put you in touch with Victim Support, get you
some counselling,’ he said, standing up to leave. He scribbled the MIT’s main number onto the back of one of his business cards and handed it to her. ‘Promise me you’ll call DCI Strong?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘I will.’

  Just as they were leaving the sitting room, his eye caught the OnTarget poster again.

  ‘You’re a fan of OnT?’

  Chelsea made a face. ‘I used to be, I guess. Not so much now.’

  ‘Not so keen on their latest albums?’

  ‘I don’t listen to their albums, never have.’

  Patrick raised his eyebrows. ‘No? Why do you like them, then, because they’re . . . ?’ He had to think about whether to say ‘cute’ or ‘hot’, and it came out as a mixture of both: ‘cot’. He covered it up as best he could, but she gave a tiny smile. She was pretty when she smiled.

  ‘I like reading the OnT fanfic on StoryPad. I write a lot of it, but I haven’t had the nerve to put any of it on there yet.’

  StoryPad. It rang a bell with Patrick – who was it at the station who had been talking about that site? It was Martin, he thought, in one of the early briefings following Rose’s murder.

  A thought occurred to him, although it seemed like clutching at straws. ‘Do you ever go on the OnTarget forums?’

  She opened the front door, peering swiftly out into the corridor to make sure her nan wasn’t coming. ‘Nah. Had a look, but they’re all really cliquey and bitchy. Not my scene. But I like the stories.’

  ‘When you had a look, I don’t suppose you came across two girls called MissTargetHeart or YOLOSWAG?’

  Chelsea frowned. ‘Don’t remember them from the forums, but it kind of rings a bell . . . oh, I know! I’m sure I read a story by them. Yeah, that’s it! There was this really good story that got thousands of votes, written by them, I’m sure.’ Her face brightened at the knowledge that she was being helpful. Sweet girl, Patrick thought, feeling sorry for her again.

  ‘Thousands of votes?’

  ‘On StoryPad.’ She seemed to stop herself from adding Duh! ‘People vote for the best stories. I remember it ’cos it was written by a group of users, which is, like, quite unusual. There was MissTargetHeart, YOLOSWAG and two others, I think. I thought it was ever so good . . . but what’s that got to do with what I saw?’

  Patrick did up the zip on his coat and stepped out of the flat, turning to face her. ‘I don’t know. Nothing, possibly. Or everything.’

  Thanking her again, and resisting the urge to give her a kiss on her plump cheek, Patrick walked away, his head full of all the new information he had received. The two teenage murder victims had collaborated on a piece of writing. Finally, a firm link between them.

  But who were the other authors of that story?

  And were they in danger too?

  Chapter 41

  Day 13 – Kai

  Kai regarded Jade, who was leaning her forehead against the industrial-sized drinks fridge in Mervyn Hammond’s kitchen to try to cool down. She looked unbelievably hot – in both senses – in the tight black skirt, white blouse and weird little frilly white thing on her head that the temp agency had made her wear for the occasion. Her hair was scraped back off her face and she had not, to her rage, been allowed to wear more than the bare minimum of make-up.

  They were both taking advantage of the fact that the chef – a scary-looking tattooed geezer – had gone for a ten-minute break and Mervyn’s housekeeper, an excitable Thai woman, was AWOL too.

  ‘It’s not fair!’ Jade grumbled. ‘Why should that tall slag get to serve OnT’s drinks, when I want to!’

  She was referring to the fact that their agency boss had reiterated, in no uncertain terms, that Jade, Kai and the other temp staff were not permitted to talk to or even look at the boys in OnT, who had their own private waitress – an incredible-looking six-foot Somalian girl with skin like milk chocolate who was gliding around them smiling serenely and discreetly, waiting on them hand and foot. Jade was only allowed to serve the lesser mortals, and Kai only allowed to collect and wash the glasses.

  ‘Babe, you’re in the same frickin’ room as them! Ain’t that enough? And all them other slebs – did you see him off Match of the Day in there, talking to whatserface from The One Show? It’s dead exciting!’

  Jade softened, happy again. ‘Yeah, bae, you’re right, how incredible is this? We’re really here. Aren’t you proud of me for getting us the jobs? I just gave a mini-burger to Nicoletta, you know, that model that Blake’s nobbing! But I tell you what, I’m gonna fill up Shawn’s glass tonight if it kills me. I’ll do it when the dragon isn’t looking.’

  She hugged herself with joy. Kai secretly hoped she would spill red wine all down fucking Shawn Barrett’s front and get kicked out. But it was kind of cool to be there, he’d thought when they arrived. Jade had been directly approached on the forum by someone saying that the agency were looking for temp staff for a ‘special event’ and there was a rumour that OnT were involved. The rumour had turned out to be true.

  But he and Jade had hardly seen one another for more than a few moments since before the party started – Kai was buried in clouds of steam, constantly loading and unloading the dishwasher. Cool or not, he was teetering on the edge of a pretty bad mood, despite his enthusiastic comments, and the steam was making his acne itch and burn. He was only allowed out of the kitchen and into the party itself whenever the clean glasses ran out and he had to go and collect empties, and every time he’d been in there, Jade was beaming and blushing and totally obviously being ogled by the pervy host, Mervyn Hammond, as she filled up the guests’ glasses, sticking out her massive boobies the whole time. Hammond’s bodyguard couldn’t take his eyes off her either, Kai noticed. His heart sank in despair – the guy looked like Ross Kemp while he, Kai, had to do about nine million chin-ups before he got any noticeable muscle definition in his biceps. He’d worked hard at it, and his torso was getting there – although there was nothing he could do about the fact that he looked like a fucking Oompa Loompa from the waist down. How could he compete?

  The party planner, a.k.a. the dragon, their supervisor for the evening – an anorexic old lady of at least forty-five dripping in diamonds, in a hideous long purple dress that exposed her wrinkly old cleavage and bony shoulder blades – burst into the kitchen, waving a thin arm at them. ‘Come on! Stop standing around looking gormless, it’s at least an hour until your break! You’ – she pointed at Kai – ‘get out there and collect some more glasses, there are no clean ones, and you, Jane, take the beef satay out of the oven, now!’

  ‘It’s Jade,’ muttered Jade under her breath as she donned oven gloves and removed the tray of food. It was the first time in her whole life she had opened an oven door, and she only knew to use the oven gloves because she’d seen the chef do it earlier.

  Once the dragon had swept out again, Kai scurried over to try to give Jade a quick snog, but she brushed him off impatiently. ‘Don’t, Kai, I just put on more lip gloss. Got to hand round this beefy shit – hey, maybe this is my chance! The dragon said I can’t serve drinks to Shawn and the boys, but she didn’t say nothing about beef on sticks!’

  She was gone, leaving Kai hot and frustrated. He picked up an empty plastic basket and followed her back into the party. Gainful employment was not something that either of them had very much experience of, and it was turning out to be surprisingly hard work. He was not enjoying the dirty looks all the B-list celebs were giving him as he noisily stacked glasses into the basket. Not enjoying that creep Hammond and his meathead bodyguard staring at Jade’s tits. Not enjoying seeing Jade practically soak her pants every time she caught a glimpse of one of the OnT twats among the crush of bodies in Hammond’s massive living room.

  Kai was becoming increasingly worried that Jade was going to leave him for someone more glamorous – probably not Shawn Barrett, though. Kai wasn’t so deluded that he thought Jade stood a chance
with any of OnTarget. But that bodyguard . . . Jade wouldn’t be able to resist an offer of going out with him, Kai knew. It would give her a chance to hobnob with OnT and Hammond, and other people like that record company twat talking to Hammond now – the one with the hairy waistcoat and tweed baggy trousers even though the guy was, like, twenty-five.

  His bad mood increasing, Kai picked up the full basket of glasses and pushed his way back towards the kitchen, accidentally on purpose barging a sharp corner of it into the tweedy guy’s arse.

  ‘Oi, watch it, idiot,’ the guy said, glaring at him.

  ‘Sorry, sir,’ Kai said, baring his teeth in a smile. Not sorry, arsehole. Why had he let Jade talk him into this? They were only earning six quid an hour, and most of that would go on a taxi home – no public transport out here in the Surrey countryside.

  He craned his neck to look for Jade and his heart sank. She was talking to Hammond’s bodyguard, giggling and jiggling her boobs, leaning close to him and flirting for England. Every part of him wanted to stride over there and wipe the smile off the minder’s ugly face. But Kai knew he should never pick on anyone bigger than him, so he turned away, clenching his fists, reminding himself that Jade loved him. After everything he’d done for her, she owed him a lifetime of love, not to mention eternal access to those amazing boobs.

  He went back into the kitchen and made himself feel better by picking his nose and wiping it on an hors d’oeuvre.

  Things did not improve over the next hour. The chef came back in and shouted at him for not washing up the dirty platters fast enough. The dragon shouted at him when she caught him doing a bit of minesweeping – swigging the dregs from a couple of the glasses as he loaded them into the dishwasher. Jade shouted at him when he accused her of fancying the bodyguard: ‘Oh for fuck’s sake, Kai, give it a rest! I can’t help it if blokes stare at me, can I?’ Her mood seemed to have plummeted too, since some of the party guests, including OnTarget, had gone over to the leisure area of the house for a swim.