The Killer You Know

by S. R. Masters

  “It’s an independent connection,” I said, looking over at Rupesh. “Which means he’s not on the radar, we have an independent connection…”

  “And as for the character profile you wanted for your three criteria, Rupesh,” Jen said, “Adeline’s story and that wall at the parents’ house are pretty—”

  “Off the wall?” Steve said.

  “Fucked up,” Jen said. “I think if you want a motive, then Will being mental gets my vote.”

  “Is being mental a motive?” Rupesh asked, raising his eyebrows at Jen.

  She looked hurt. “What I mean is he’s got some type of head issue. Maybe he hates women. No murders are ever random—that’s what they always say on crime shows, anyway. It means your criteria have all been met. There’s more too. Some idiot left a horrible comment that Ellie Kidd was a known druggie and that the article didn’t include the fact that the inquest said she was high on GHB. I’ve seen friends take GHB, back in the day anyway, and I tell you what, if you wanted to give someone a drug to get them in a state where you could make it look like they’d hung themselves, you could do worse.”

  “True,” Rupesh said. “GHB could do that.”

  “It would be interesting to see if GHB was one of the drugs Sara had in her body.”

  “I think it would show up on a routine toxicology test,” Rupesh said, thinking aloud. “Saying that, something like Rohypnol wouldn’t, and that could make someone pliable too. I don’t know about Ketamine. If it was GHB surely the coroner would have noticed the connection. Or maybe not.”

  “I suppose the GHB is hearsay,” Jen said, “but I was thinking about maybe getting copies of the inquests. Checking the GHB thing. And also checking to see if Sara was on Paroxetine. I mean, think about it, if you wanted to trick a coroner into thinking your victim was prone to suicide, stuff them with some drug with suicidal thoughts as a side-effect. I looked online and you can get inquest details, but only certain people get access. It’s basically up to the coroner, but Rupesh, with your background surely—”

  Rupesh cut her off with a laugh. “I’m not doing that.”

  Jen pressed her lips together and stared at him. Then she said, “Okay, well anyway, Will was into drugs, right? I mean, he’d know which drugs to use to get someone out of it enough to set up a suicide. Hey, maybe he was even their dealer.”

  “I don’t know about that last part,” Rupesh said. “It’s all interesting. Interesting, too, that we know Will had dependency issues, which may have put him in direct contact with a hospital like Wallgrove. Same with the Loch Ness lady. The three northern connections is something. It’s a fun jigsaw. But how would you feel going to the police with this? And say they then take us seriously, not that I think it’s likely. So we send the police out to Will and we’ve got it wrong. How is that going to make him feel about us? How are we going to feel about doing that to Will? Especially if, from all we’ve learned so far, he’s actually quite vulnerable.”

  “Or worse,” I said, “imagine dragging this all up again for those girls’ families if we’re wrong?”

  “Imagine if we’re right, though?” Jen said.

  The room fell silent.

  Rupesh went to get Jen some water at her request. When he came back, he said, “Of course, if he is doing this gig in Manchester, he’s not off the radar, is he? Then we’re back to square one, ish.”

  “Well, then we need to go,” Jen said. “Only problem is I can’t. I want to so badly, but I’ve got bloody Gamestock.”

  “Gamestock?” Steve said.

  “You heard,” Jen said. “Bloody Gamestock. This stupid thing my older sister makes us do with the extended family every year.”

  I’d forgotten Jen’s older sister, mainly because by the time I’d met Jen, Andrea—that was her name, wasn’t it?—was a university student, an otherworldly thing to be at the time.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, “but I’m already in their bad books for spending so much time with you lot. But you guys have to go, someone’s life could be on the line, right? If he’s still got a third planned. I’ll try and get the diaries down from the loft, too, before next time.”

  “Got to say, Jen, it’s impressive, how much you’ve found out already. You considered becoming a detective?” Rupesh said, and Jen beamed. “I would come, but I’m working tonight.”

  To me, Steve said, “Do you fancy it then?” The others couldn’t see his quick suggestive eyebrow lift, a gesture just for me, sealing our partnership.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I suppose we have to.”

  “Keep us updated to let us know you’re safe,” Jen says.

  “Sure, but we’ll be fine,” Steve said. “It’s a public place. I’m not worried.”

  Steve, 1998

  Steve kneels at the base of a laurel hedgerow bordering the farmhouse’s front garden, pretending to look busy in case his dad decides to check up on him through one of the windows. What he’s actually doing is resting his legs, lost in a slow fume about the injustice of this particular set of chores. Dad can dress it up as a “deal” all he wants, but this is a punishment really.

  He snips off one of the remaining stray branches missed by the electric hedge trimmer using a pair of rusted shears, agitating a wasp that flies at his head. He swats at it and growls before throwing the branch into the darkness beneath the bush.

  At first that brick through Strachan’s windscreen last summer had seemed like the perfect response to the dog being back in the garden. It hadn’t been Steve, but he was proud of whoever had taken it upon themselves to level things up. Only then the police had got involved, and Dad had to cancel meetings and fly home from Singapore. Life hasn’t been easy since then, and after being sent back to school early he’d then been made to stay at school during half-terms, and with two depressing host families for Christmas and Easter. He’d had to plead with Dad to avoid a similar fate this summer—which is why he’s now having to tidy this mess of a garden before June ends.

  He’s been making some progress, especially since GCSE exams finished, but when he agreed to the chores he imagined being able to find more short cuts. He throws another cutting beneath the bush. Hiding waste this way saves him having to pile it up and carry it over to the burn barrel, but it doesn’t save much time.

  He wished Will would come back. He’d shown up the afternoon Dad wasn’t in, and taking a trick straight from Tom Sawyer, Steve had got him to cut back all the conifer bushes in the back by telling him how much fun it was to use the hedge trimmer. He’d also thrown a tenner his way, mainly because Will didn’t get pocket money and he felt bad he’d done so much. It’s slow going and with only a few days left until July there’s every chance Steve might not get it all done. Whether or not Dad will stick to his promise to send him away if the garden isn’t in tip-top condition, despite all his efforts so far, he doesn’t want to find out. Especially as a far worse threat was raised in the aftermath of last summer: moving back to London. It’s in his interests to keep Dad sweet and as far away from this idea as possible.

  Steve’s calves are starting to go numb. He stands up and his knees click. Over the top of the hedge he can see all of Elm Close. The back of a car is just disappearing onto Adeline’s drive, and shortly after the girl herself emerges from the driveway. She walks towards the farmhouse, and Steve checks his T-shirt for sweat stains—a habit born of having a surname, Litt, that rhymes so well with pit. This year some kids at school had taken to calling him “The Pits,” though he hoped that was more about his attitude than his smell. After meeting Adeline last year he’d felt the need to compromise at school less. People he genuinely liked really existed so why bother pretending any more? He’d turned against some of his friends—acquaintances at best, really—and their daft opinions. Had stood up to teachers he knew were talking rubbish. Seen himself as a sort of Socratic superhero, righting wrongs in the wake of not giving a fuck. The others hadn’t seen him this way, though.

  Adeline wears the remnants of her
school uniform, an untucked white shirt and grey skirt that hangs down to just above her bare knees. She also wears a smile that is either apprehensive or confrontational, either one likely there because they haven’t spoken since last year. She is just as pretty as he’d remembered and his heart punches the air. A day hasn’t gone by without him thinking about her.

  “If it isn’t Steve Litt,” she says, coming to a stop on the other side of the hedge.

  “Afternoon, Adie Thomas,” he says, tugging at the reins of his grin without success.

  “So here you are,” she says. “I’ve seen all the others but was wondering if you’d deafed us off. They said your dad was back.”

  “Yeah, he’s taken some holiday to keep an eye on me. I’m still working off my Strachan debt from last year.” He glances back at the house to make sure he isn’t being spied on.

  “God, really?”

  “Annoying too, because I told him when we moved here he should get a gardener, but he said no and that he wanted a big garden he could work in to relax more. I knew he wouldn’t. But no one listens to me. What happened with your parents when the police showed up then?”

  She shrugs. “Dad defended me to the police. Mum tried bloody shopping me. They argued.” She gives a double thumbs-up.

  “Seriously?”

  “Strachan gave the police that note, and when they asked my parents if they recognised it, Mum was all like, Hmmm, let me think about it, that writing does look a little bit familiar. Then she grounded me.” She puts air quotations around grounded. “Like we’re in some fucking American sitcom.”

  “Wow.” They’re getting close to talking about how last summer ended, which he isn’t keen to do. They’ll need to at some point, but he’s not sure he can really explain just how fast it all happened, and that even if he had found some small way to get a message to her it wouldn’t have come close to capturing what it was he wanted to say. Even putting it like that makes it sound too intense and like a romantic movie. She’s here, though, still talking to him. Perhaps the Christmas card he’d sent her had done the job.

  “So are you still doing exams then?” he says. He glances at her skirt, then can’t help but drop his gaze further down to her legs before looking straight back up to her face. It is hard to keep your thoughts straight around her because your mind just wants to try to comprehend what it is seeing. She is just so striking, raven hair and pale skin—by far the most extreme looking girl he’s ever seen.

  “Literally just finished my last one.”

  “So great, are we all finished now, then?”

  “Yeah. The others were going to come call for me after tea. Suppose you can’t join us, though.”

  “You should come to mine,” Steve says.

  “What about your dad?”

  “He’s out tonight.”

  Steve has big plans for the gang this summer, and he wants them to get back into their rhythm again as soon as possible. Nothing he wanted to do could really start before Dad went back to work properly next week but perhaps tonight would be a good warm-up.

  His attention is drawn to the drive next to Adeline’s: Mr. Strachan is out in his front garden washing his silver van.

  “Our old friend is out,” Steve says, and she turns before he can add: “Don’t look.”

  He’s in a tight white T-shirt, and for an older guy he looks quite strong—his chest solid and arms thick.

  “Looks like he’s been working out,” Adeline says.

  “Didn’t have you down as being into muscles?” he says.

  “I’m not. He’s probably one of those saddos that spends all their time in the gym, like lack of muscles is the reason his wife left him and not the fact he’s a thoughtless div.” Steve can’t help but laugh at this.

  Strachan glares at them. He can’t have heard, though.

  When Adeline heads home she walks down the middle of the road to avoid getting close to Strachan’s. Not entirely sure why, Steve begins counting in his head. He has reached five when she looks back at him, smiles, then looks back to face the direction she is heading once more. It’s a law, isn’t it? The law of looking back. The sooner someone does it the more they like you. Whether he’s just invented it or heard it somewhere before, it feels true. And now tonight can’t come quickly enough.

  There is no way he won’t be finished with the garden now.

  That evening in Steve’s lounge they half-watch a film while catching up on what happened to them over the previous year. Adeline stuns Steve by knowing the name of an actress with just one line.

  “I got a subscription to Empire for Christmas,” she says.

  Both Will and Rupesh are taller, and Will now has a wispy moustache—just like Strachan. While Jen doesn’t appear physically bigger, she somehow occupies more space than she did before. Gone is the uncertain girl from last year. This is superstar Jen, lead in all three school plays that year and fresh off the back of a relationship with some dim lunk who in school status terms had apparently been a catch. Her hair is short, making her look older.

  Adeline had mentioned earlier that her path rarely crossed with Jen’s during the school year. That Jen had been an insider at the school in a way Adeline hadn’t wanted to be. Steve could have guessed this would happen. He’d known Jen had an established friendship group, a group of girls who are told off daily for wearing their skirts too high and too much make-up—conventional girls, not girls Adeline would have much time for. Also, with Adeline being as set as she was on going to Marlstone Sixth Form, what would have been the point in making an effort for just a year? That’s how he’d felt when things had started to turn against him at King George’s this year.

  The way the gang are with one another it’s like only a week has gone by. It’s obvious now they are all together that the group needs the five of them, that the group has its own special dynamic.

  When the film draws to an end, Steve asks: “Any of you lot notice something about the road, by the way?”

  They have noticed many things it turns out, but none of them know what he is talking about.

  “Strachan’s dog,” he says. “It’s not there any more. Even that pole is gone.”

  He looks around to see that they are all looking around too, searching for a confession.

  No one says anything, though, and Steve says, “Whichever of you did that, well done.”

  It’s another week before Steve’s dad goes back to work. Steve finishes the garden in time, although his dad has thrown in the added hassle that he is expected to keep the garden in good shape now it’s been completed. Small print, he says.

  The first afternoon he has to himself he calls on Adeline but she’s not in. Rupesh is away with his family in India. Not wanting to speak to Jen’s sister, he calls in at Will’s.

  “I saw them all go out earlier,” Will’s older brother, a Will-a-like in a Metallica T-shirt, says. “The really fit one was going on about the train tracks?”

  “Thanks,” Steve says, trying not to get too close to the open front door, which was emitting a warm, mushroomy stench.

  “She got a boyfriend?” Will’s brother asks. “The Wednesday Addams girl. She’s well nice.”

  Steve shrugs. He’s pretty sure that Adeline wouldn’t be interested in this bloke, though older boys are always a threat when it comes to girls. Most of the eligible girls at King George’s go for older guys because they can drive and buy booze.

  “Yeah, she’s with someone,” Steve says and leaves.

  As expected he finds the others out by the train tracks. Are they trying to flatten things on the tracks again? Funny given Adeline was always so snarky whenever it was suggested last year. He sneaks up along the embankment through the grass in order to jump down and surprise them, tough work but worth it so he can eavesdrop on their conversation.

  “I just had a thought,” Will says. “You ever wondered why people eat bogeys but not ear wax?”

  “Oh, God,” Jen says, exasperated, her upper body collapsing onto
her legs dramatically. “I’m soooo bored. Adeline, speak to him.”

  “Me,” she says. “What can I do?”

  “He was really off with me when I asked him about how long this is going to last,” she says.

  Steve had been off with her a little bit. Only because he’d been both disappointed that it wasn’t Adeline and because he had made it clear he’d seek them out once he knew it was the right moment. He can see through the grass that they are on the stony embankment opposite. Jen throws a stone at a plastic bottle they’ve set up on the opposite side of the tracks. It bounces off the plastic and the bottle stays upright. Not coins then, but not much better. They’re so useless at amusing themselves.

  A high-speed train rushes by where they are sitting and not one of them—Adeline, Jen or Will—so much as flinches. Something weird is going on with Jen and Will—they’re sitting unusually far apart.

  Adeline throws her stone next and misses. “I don’t know if he’ll tell me,” she says.

  “Of course he’ll tell you,” Will says.

  “He bloody loooooves you,” Jen says.

  God, is he that obvious?

  “No he doesn’t,” Adeline says, looking away from them. Steve can see she is smiling.

  “He’s probably just being cautious because of what happened last year,” Adeline says.

  “Do any of you want to confess to that while we’re talking about it?” Jen says. She’s looking at Adeline.

  “Don’t look at me.” She can’t help but laugh. “I thought it was Rupesh.”

  This cracks everyone up, including Steve, even if it isn’t outside the realm of possibility. The obvious candidate is surely Will, though? Will who’d all but suggested it was what he was going to do mere hours before it happened.

  Another train shoots by.

  “We don’t need Steve to have fun,” Adeline says after it has passed.

  “Why don’t we go down to that fruit farm and free all the bees from the hives or something?” Will says.