Fallen Heroes

by Amy Cross

  “I'm going out,” she whispered finally, before getting to her feet and hurrying to the hallway. “Mum!” she called out. “Just watch TV for an hour! I'll bring takeaway for dinner!”

  ***

  Waiting in the shadows, she finally spotted a figure rounding the corner and making its way along the dark street. She waited until she was sure it was him, and then she stepped out, blocking his way as he reached his front door. Her heart was racing and she knew this was a bad idea, but at the same time, she felt she had to make a stand.

  “Detective Foster,” Daniel Gregory said with a faint smile, “is this wise? I feel my solicitor should be present if -”

  “I'm not doing it,” she told him.

  “I'm sorry?”

  “I'm not playing your game. Whatever you want, whatever sick enjoyment you're getting out of this, I'm not going to give it to you.”

  “You're not?”

  “I'm not.”

  He paused, but the smile was still on his face. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

  “I know you killed Natasha Simonsen.”

  “You do?”

  “I also know you killed Sarah Jenkins.”

  “I was under the impression that you'd been removed from the Jenkins case.”

  “That's right,” she continued, “and even if I hadn't been, I would have removed myself by now. I know you're trying to turn this into some kind of sick game, but I just wanted to come here tonight and tell you that it's over. I'm not going to obsess over either of these cases, I'm not going to tag along with anyone while they're investigating, and I'm not even going to read the case reports. Hell, I won't even read about any of this in the paper.”

  She waited for a reply, but he was simply staring at her, as if he found her amusing.

  “Do you understand me?” she asked. “I'm out of this whole thing!”

  “Have you considered seeking psychiatric help?” he replied. “You seem awfully stressed, Ms. Foster.”

  She took a step back, while reminding herself that punching him would be a mistake in the long-term. Still, the thought was extremely tempting.

  “Here's what I think this is about,” she continued. “You killed Natasha Simonsen for your own perverted reasons, and then you somehow found a way to slither out of a conviction. You turned the whole thing into a game, and you're good at games. But that wasn't enough for you, was it? Suddenly you realized that you'd done something really smart, you'd beaten the system, and you wanted to brag about that fact. You couldn't just slink back under a rock and count yourself lucky. So how does someone brag about something he can't admit, how does a murderer gain the adulation he knows he deserves? He can't, so he does the next best thing. He repeats it. He wants to feel big and smart, and he wants to let certain people know that they were right all along.”

  “Why would someone take such a risk?”

  “Ego.”

  “You think I have a big ego, Ms. Foster?”

  “I think you have a huge ego, Mr. Gregory. I think you're very proud of yourself, and I think the idea of getting away with another murder is the only thing that lures you out of bed in the morning. Everyone else is looking for a motive for the murder of Sarah Jenkins, but the truth is, the only motive is the sheer pleasure of going through all of this again. You'd even like it if the case went to trial, because you're confident you could slip away again, and you know what? You might be right. Everyone has one skill, Mr. Gregory, and getting away with murder would seem to be yours.”

  “I don't know whether I should take that as a compliment or not.”

  “But it won't be enough,” she continued. “You're addicted to killing, the way a junkie's addicted to whatever they can get on the streets. What happens if you get away with killing Sarah Jenkins? Then what do you do? You're back at square one, because you still can't let anyone know how smart you've been. So what happens? Do you do it again? And again? And again? Do you just keep killing and keep getting away with it until eventually you end up making a mistake?” She paused. “Because you will make a mistake. Everyone does, everyone falls at some point, and then your little world of pride will come tumbling down. You're a junkie, and you'll need to keep getting more and more until finally you'll spiral out of control.”

  She waited for him to reply, but he seemed lost in thought for a moment.

  “If you were right,” he said finally, “wouldn't I want to get caught? Eventually, I mean. Wouldn't I want to show the world that I beat the system? Or would I simply rack up the murders until finally, like a magician, I stepped to the center of the stage and took a bow? It seems to me, Ms. Foster, that the kind of person you're describing is very theatrical and would be drawn to such flourishes.”

  “Like sending random postcards to a woman he's planning to murder?”

  “Like that, I suppose.”

  “Except,” she continued, “it's not going to play out the way you think it is, because I'm not going to fall for your traps.”

  “Hypothetically speaking,” he replied, “if I was doing all the things that you claim I'm doing, then why would I care about your involvement? Any old police officer would do.”

  “But it'd be more enjoyable for you if I was the one you managed to slip away from a second time,” she pointed out. “Everyone needs to put a face on their opponent, and through sheer bad luck I've become yours. It doesn't have to be like that, though, which is why I'm stepping back. You're going to have to start again, Mr. Gregory, right from the beginning and this time I won't play the role of your nemesis. You're going to have to find someone else. I'm not going to play along as you try to recreate your first murder down to the finest detail.”

  “You're not?”

  She shook her head.

  “Well...” He paused. “Either you've just confronted a very dangerous man, or you've just made a complete fool of yourself with some nonsensical accusations.”

  “I'm done,” she told him. “The truth is, I actually find you kind of boring. There are far, far more interesting killers around.”

  With that, she turned to walk away.

  “Who said Natasha Simonsen was my first?” he asked suddenly.

  Stopping, she turned back to look at him.

  “Hypothetically speaking,” he continued, with a faint smile, “wouldn't your theory make a lot more sense if there had been many more victims before the Simonsen girl, and she was supposed to be the mistake that got me caught and allowed me to brag about all my previous victories? In which case, your pathetic mishandling of that case offered me a sudden and unexpected opportunity to extend things a little further.” His smile broadened. “Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

  She opened her mouth to reply, but after a moment she realized that he was trying to draw her back in, to make himself seem interesting again. Figuring that there was no way she could win, she turned and hurried away into the night.

  ***

  “Of course I'm not giving up,” she said with a sigh, a short while later, as she and Nick sat in her dimly-lit kitchen. “I just need to disrupt Daniel Gregory's plans. If he thinks I'm out of the picture, he's going to have to try something new, and then maybe he'll make a mistake. It's worth a shot. Frankly, it's the only shot I can come up with right now.”

  “So you're goading him into killing someone else?” Nick asked, pouring himself a glass of whiskey before offering one to her. When she shook her head, he filled a glass anyway and slid it across to her. “I know it's taking a while, but I'm convinced we'll make progress on the Sarah Jenkins case. We can't always rely on sudden moments of realization or streaks of genius, Laura. Sometimes slow, plodding police-work does the job a damn sight better.” He took a swig from his glass. “And that's where my superpowers come in.”

  “He more or less admitted to me that he's killed before,” she told him. “All I had to do was get under his skin, and he offered up some new information. I need to go through old files and look for any case that could possibly be linked
to him, it's possible that the guy's a serial killer.”

  “And it's possible that he was just winding you up.”

  “I've always known that he's guilty,” she replied. “I just didn't realize he was this guilty, not until now. The man's a monster, and for the first time I genuinely don't know whether I have a hope of stopping him.”

  “Don't start doubting yourself. You've had some big successes lately.”

  “Only as Ophelia's sounding board.”

  “No, you -”

  “Would I have caught Victoria Middleton without Ophelia?” she asked. “And the Longhouses? Without Ophelia, the past couple of years would have been failure after failure. By some miracle, she turned up and briefly made everything seem okay, but maybe she just blinded me to my own inadequacies.”

  “So which one of you is Batman, and which one of you is Robin?” He smiled as he took another sip. “There's nothing wrong with admitting that you work better with someone else. I mean...” He paused. “I probably shouldn't admit this, but I feel like I work better with you than with anyone else I've been paired up with. You piss me off so much, I end up trying harder just to outsmart you.”

  “That's very sweet,” she replied.

  “I mean it. If working with Ophelia somehow helps you get things done, then why not work with Ophelia? What matters is the end result, right? Put it like this... If she was here right now, being annoying as usual, would you feel more confident about bringing Daniel Gregory to justice? Assuming for one moment that he really is doing what you say he's doing.”

  She stared at her glass for a moment. “I wouldn't have any doubts at all.”

  “So you don't think you can do it without her?”

  “Maybe.”

  “And what about her? Do you think she could do it without you?”

  She smiled. “No chance.”

  “Well there you go, then,” he continued with a smile. “You heard from her?”

  She shook her head.

  “She'll turn up,” he continued. “Next time she needs somewhere to kip for the night, or someone to piss off.”

  “I don't think so. She's gone.”

  “So now what?”

  “Now we hope that Daniel Gregory is goaded into making a mistake.”

  “Before anyone else gets killed,” he added, raising his glass. “Cheers.” Taking a sip, he watched as she stared down at her own glass. “You need to find a way to unwind.”

  She shook her head.

  “You're going to explode. I can almost see veins throbbing on the side of your head. You're gonna have a stroke or something.”

  “I'll be fine.”

  He paused for a moment, as if he wasn't sure what to say next. “You ever thought about getting a life? Maybe even a boyfriend? You know, the kind of thing that normal people do?”

  “One day.”

  “How about now?”

  She smiled. “Are you offering?”

  At this, he paused for a moment. “Course not,” he said finally, looking back down at his drink. “Even if you don't want a relationship, though, maybe you could benefit from...”

  She waited for him to finish. “From what?”

  “Well, to be blunt... A roll in the hay.”

  “You've got to be kidding.”

  “I'm not offering myself, I'm just saying it's a good stress-reliever. Go down the pub, pick up some guy. When was the last time?”

  “It's getting late,” she replied, standing up and sliding her untouched glass of whiskey toward him. “I've got paperwork to get through in the morning, and you've got a killer to find. And we both have to wait until Daniel Gregory makes a move. He will, you know. I could see it in his eyes tonight. The man's slow and cautious, but he's smart and he'll try something eventually. I got under his skin.”

  After finishing his whiskey and then downing hers, Nick got to his feet, although he was swaying a little now. “Well, give it some thought,” he muttered, grabbing his coat and then heading to the door. “And if you get really desperate...”

  “Oh, so now you're offering your services, are you?” she asked.

  “Anything to help a friend,” he muttered, making his way along the hallway and then opening the front door. He took a long, deep breath. “I need coffee.”

  Smiling, Laura followed. For a brief moment, she actually considered testing him, seeing if he was actually suggesting what she thought he was suggesting, but by the time she reached the door she'd been able to remind herself that the whole thing was a terrible idea. Relationships never worked out for her, and she'd come to accept that fact a long time ago.

  “Night, then,” he muttered. “I'll leave my car outside, yeah, and pick it up in the morning? I don't think driving would be a very good idea right now.” Checking his watch, he had to focus to see the time. “Damn, too late for Nando's. I could murder a chicken thigh right now.”

  “Go home and sleep it off,” she told him, leaning closer and kissing the side of his face. “I can't wait to see how hungover you are in the morning.”

  “I don't get hangovers,” he replied, turning and heading along the garden path before turning right and making his way along the street. He called something else back to her, but rain had begun to fall and his words drifted away into the night. In the distance, car horns sounded and a train rattled past, and the sounds of the city seemed to rise up and filled the buzzing, orange-hued sky.

  Standing in the doorway for a moment, Laura watched as Nick crossed the road and staggered to the junction. Part of her felt guilty for not letting him stay in the spare room, but she was worried that she might have ended up doing something she regretted. She'd learned long ago that whenever temptation seemed to be close, she was better off sealing herself away and waiting for it to pass. As Nick reached the corner and stopped for a moment, she smiled. He clearly wasn't sure which way to go to find a bus, and in his semi-drunken state he seemed genuinely confused.

  She stepped out into the rain, figuring she should help him.

  “Nick!” she shouted, waving.

  Realizing that he hadn't heard her, she grabbed her coat and slipped into it, before pulling the front door shut and hurrying after him. Deep down, in the back of her mind, she'd already decided to maybe let him take the spare room after all.

  “Nick!”

  The rain seemed to become more intense as she reached the other side of the road. She could still see Nick up ahead, standing on the corner and tapping at his phone, no doubt trying to find the nearest late-night takeaway.

  “Nick!” she shouted, starting to regret her decision as she hurried through the rain. “Nick, how about -”

  Stopping suddenly, she saw it.

  There was a car approaching the corner, but she could tell instantly that it was going too fast. Headlights glared through the rain as the vehicle shot straight across the roundabout, heading straight for Nick.

  “Nick!” she shouted, racing toward him.

  Too late.

  The car mounted the pavement and slammed into him, sending him spinning into the wall of the house on the corner. As Laura ran forward, she realized the lights were heading straight for her. She froze for a moment, focusing more on trying to see the driver's face than on the car itself, before finally ducking out of the way just as the car swerved. After smashing into a couple of bins and sending them flying, the car thumped back down off the side of the pavement and sped off into the distance, its tires screeching as the driver almost lost control.

  Feeling a sharp pain in her knee from a deep graze, Laura got to her feet and limped to the edge of the pavement, but the car was already too far gone and she had no hope of spotting the registration.

  Behind her, someone screamed.

  Even before she'd turned to look, she knew that it was bad.

  People were shouting.

  Terrified.

  Horrified.

  Calling for help, their voices filling the air as they crowded around the figured slumped on the paveme
nt.

  “Nick?” Laura whispered, taking a step forward as she felt her heart pounding in her chest. She told herself it wasn't true, that it couldn't be, but after a moment she saw one of the figures reaching down and checking for a pulse. “Nick!”

  Racing toward the corner, she almost tripped on one of the upturned bins but she managed to keep running as more and more people gathered up ahead at the corner. By the time she reached the scene, she saw that a crumpled figure in a dark suit was on the ground, with several onlookers approaching while a couple of other people turned away, as if they couldn't look.

  “Nick?” she called out, forcing her way through the crowd before stopping and seeing that it was true.

  Nick was on the ground, and there was a patch of blood on the floor, as well as more blood on the wall. Something about the shape of his body wasn't right, as if his legs were broken in several places. For a moment, all Laura could do was stare in horror as the rain continued to fall.

  “That bastard just came out of nowhere,” said a nearby woman. “Slammed right into him, hit him against the wall, and then -” She turned and looked around for a moment. “The fucker drove off.”

  “It was a hit-and-run,” said someone else. “Call an ambulance! Did anyone get his number?”

  Stepping closer, Laura looked down at Nick's crumpled form, desperately hoping that he'd suddenly sit up and say that everything was fine. With each step, however, she was starting to see that his injuries were worse, with his legs twisted and mangled. After a moment, she saw blood on his face.

  “Nick,” she stammered, kneeling next to him and reaching out to roll him over, before realizing that she should leave him in place. As someone nearby called an ambulance, she made her way around until she could see his face, and with a trembling and she reached out and slipped his jacket aside.

  His eyes were open, staring blankly at the wall, and after a moment he blinked.