Sincerely, Yours

by Charlotte Barnes

  In the time he’d been on the phone the three of us had perused our respective menus, swapping only quiet whispers about which pizzas and how many of them we were likely to order. Jessie opened her mouth as though to add another whisper, but Landon held a finger up to shush the noise before it had even arrived. Jessie’s eyes spread wide and I spluttered a laugh across the table. It felt like old times, but with alcohol and work phone calls.

  ‘Well, I’ll talk to her,’ Landon finally said, his tone curt. ‘I’m with her right now, actually.’ He winked at me and I knew what was coming. ‘Well, if you’d let me… Haha, yes… Well, it was a celebratory dinner, not a business… Of course, yep… You too.’ He ended the call without the formality of a farewell.

  ‘Jesus H Christ. I’m sorry.’

  ‘We’re ordering a spicy vegetable, hot meat, and four cheese for the table,’ Jessie announced. ‘Tyler wants chicken sticks, too, so…’ she petered out, and looked down the menu again. ‘I’ll order?’

  Landon looked at me, then Jessie. ‘No garlic bread?’

  ‘Okay, and garlic bread.’ She stood. ‘Anything else, good sir?’

  ‘No thank you, good woman, that’ll be all,’ Landon answered, using a tone much more jovial than his telephone voice. When Jessie was out of earshot, Landon leaned in a little closer to me. ‘Can we talk work?’

  ‘No,’ Tyler answered from across the table. ‘We said no work.’

  ‘But I’ve already taken a call.’

  ‘Exactly. Take a night off, Lan. If Sarah can afford to then you can. Right, Sarah?’

  I held my hands up in surrender. ‘I’m not involved.’

  ‘For such a controversial writer–’ Landon started but stopped abruptly when Jessie hit him round the back of the head with a menu. ‘Did you get garlic bread?’ He tipped his head back to look at her.

  ‘I hope you choke on it.’ She kissed his forehead and then walked round to her own seat. ‘Now work stuff is out the way, can we get to the part where we’re celebrating achievements? You know, now we’re all breaking bread at last.’

  ‘Garlic bread, right?’ Landon grabbed his beer. ‘I’m not breaking regular bread.’

  Jessie carried on as though she hadn’t heard him. ‘To Sarah, who is, the last I checked, still riding high on the bestseller charts, and who will, I don’t doubt, be the best crime reporter this city has ever seen.’ She raised a glass, and the men matched the gesture. ‘These knuckleheads won’t say it, but we’re proud of you.’

  ‘Thanks, guys.’ I swigged my beer. ‘And Landon, cheers to you, as well, for landing the job you always wanted.’

  ‘I wouldn’t go that far.’ He laughed. ‘But I came good in the end.’

  ‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ Jessie mimicked, and we drank again.

  Landon grabbed the baton, then, and added, ‘And to Tyler, for finally asking out the girl of his dreams and making a life with her.’

  ‘Well, that was a lot nicer than I expected,’ Tyler answered.

  ‘Come on, I’m genuinely happy.’ Landon drank at a speed that suggested otherwise but no one commented. ‘Is that a joint toast, or do we have to find something good that Jessie has done as well?’

  ‘I’m happy with a joint toast.’ She reached across the table to grab Tyler’s hand. All of us had bottles of beer to swig from apart from Jessie. I wondered whether she was going to bring it up the next time we were all together. Although by then we might have been on a more child-friendly night out. She glanced my way and I cocked a raised eyebrow at her orange juice and lemonade.

  ‘Congratulations to both of you, then,’ I added, and Jessie gave me a quick nod. So, something good did come out of our teenage years, I thought…

  Over too much food and too many beers we talked about what we’d missed. My news – the job, the book and all – was biggest, but my friends knew not to force the issue of talking about it. Well, Jessie and Tyler did. Landon tried to steer the conversation into work as best as he could, using all of Jessie’s bathroom breaks – of which there were many – to ask what my start date was at the newspaper; was I writing the new book to a deadline; was I in the city permanently or would I have freedom to visit crime scenes?

  ‘She’ll be creating a crime scene if you’re not careful,’ Tyler eventually intervened. ‘Seriously, Landon, leave it. If you’re that desperate to talk to her about work then book a meeting in her billable hours.’ He downed the dregs of his drink which gave Landon a second to compose himself. Tyler had never been the outspoken one of us all. But maybe Jessie is having her influence, I thought as I threw back the last of my own bottle.

  ‘He’s right, you know?’ I nudged Landon. ‘You can at least talk to me during work hours. Why not take me out to lunch?’

  He perked up. ‘When?’

  ‘I’ll call you.’

  ‘Oh, Sarah Wainwright, you’ve been dining out on that line for years. I’ve heard you promise other young sweet boys much the same.’

  I smiled. ‘Okay, so you call me then.’

  ‘I’ll do that,’ he leaned in a little closer, ‘but so help me you better answer or you’ll break my heart.’

  ‘I can see we’ve reached the portion of the evening where we’ll need to separate you two out,’ Jessie interrupted us, which was likely a good thing. She slipped her coat off the back of her chair and draped it around her shoulders. ‘I got the bill on my way back from the bathroom so we’re good to go.’

  I grabbed my purse. ‘I’ve got cash.’

  ‘Really,’ she held up a hand, ‘it’s on us. We want to.’

  ‘Can we put you in a taxi?’ Tyler shrugged on his own jacket. ‘Separate taxis.’

  ‘We can be trusted,’ I promised, and Landon laughed. ‘I can be trusted.’ I closed the space between me and Tyler, and pulled him into a hug. ‘Let’s not leave it so long next time, okay?’ I lowered my voice. ‘I don’t want you to be a dad before I see you next.’

  He squeezed me. ‘Thank you, Sar.’

  ‘And you,’ I moved away and shifted to Jessie, ‘you glorious woman, you. Take care of yourself, would you?’ I held on to Jessie even tighter than I had done with Tyler. ‘I’m in the city now, which means I’m only ever a call away, for anything. And I’m excellent at holding hair out of the way while you vomit, from years of arduous practice.’

  Jessie smiled and looked behind me, to where Landon and Tyler were saying their goodbyes. ‘Don’t tell Landon yet? We haven’t really told anyone and–’

  I held up a hand. ‘It won’t come up.’

  ‘No,’ she smirked, ‘I doubt it will.’

  ‘Share a taxi with me?’ Landon appeared, then, and squeezed me by the shoulders. ‘I promise I won’t flirt with you.’

  ‘You’re a goddamn liar,’ I replied, ‘but some company in the taxi is fine.’

  It only took minutes for Landon to flag down a black cab; testimony to his time spent navigating big cities, before he’d ended up back at home where he’d started. He waited nearly a full minute before he asked, ‘Seriously, can I call you?’

  ‘I can’t talk about the second book,’ I said, looking out of the window to track our journey.

  ‘What about the first book?’

  ‘Sure, I can talk about that.’

  ‘What about the new job?’

  I half-laughed. ‘That too. Or at least, I’ll talk about it once I’ve started it.’

  ‘And what about the fact that he waited two years between each set of victims, are you prepared to talk about that?’

  ‘I don’t know that I have that much to say about that, Lan.’

  ‘You’re a goddamn liar,’ he matched my earlier tone.

  And of course he was right. With a killer murdering in threes, every two years; with an anniversary around the corner; with no leads, still, since the first set of killings. There was plenty left for me to say.

  16

  The first day in a new job had always felt to me like the first day at school. Only, at scho
ol you can tell a teacher if someone is mean to you. In the workplace, people can be arseholes on the sly and not get caught. I tried to leave my caution in the office doorway though. Madison always told me I was too quick to judge people; she even called me on the walk to work that first day to remind me to be kind, and I wondered whether my new co-workers were getting the same warning from anyone.

  I pressed hard on the intercom and spoke to the stranger on the other side. I was partway through explaining it was my first day in the office when she cut across me with the buzz of the door being released. By the time I’d climbed the two flights to the main office, I was more than grateful to see Marcus – a face I recognised from my video interview – was waiting for me there. He held the door open and stepped aside to make way for me.

  ‘Welcome to the inner sanctum.’

  Behind the door lay a labyrinth of half-empty desks. The spaces that were occupied were packed full of people making phone calls and typing at such a speed that I expected to see wisps of smoke. Marcus led me through the pathway to the private offices at the far end of the room without anyone giving us a second glance. Before we stepped through one of the open doorways, though, he turned to face the hurried workers.

  ‘Let me do this just once and then you won’t have to suffer it all day,’ he said, before clearing his throat. ‘Folks, gimme a minute of your lives, would you?’ Those who were typing, stopped; phone calls were instantly hushed. Marcus’ power over the room was impressive. ‘This is Sarah Wainwright, she’ll be sitting in as the resident crime reporter for the paper from here on. If you need her, she’ll be in this back office or she’ll be out in the city. If it’s the latter, and you need her, her number will be listed in the office directory. Any questions?’ He looked from one side of the room to other. There was a hand raised near the doorway we’d only just walked through. ‘Shoot.’

  ‘Those Who Stay?’ the woman asked.

  ‘Yes.’ Marcus’ tone was neutral. The questioner shrugged and then went back to looking over whatever paperwork was on the desk in front of her. ‘Right, have at it.’ They all fell back to work and Marcus turned to me. ‘This’ll be where you’re based.’

  He led the way into a private office – which hadn’t been listed as one of the job perks – and retreated to a corner of the room, as though giving me a minute to enjoy the space. The desk was stripped bare, with no visible marks or indentations on it; I wondered how much action it had seen previously before my appointment.

  ‘I get a new desk in for every writer,’ he explained, noting my stare. ‘I’m a superstitious kind of editor.’

  I smiled. ‘You worry about bad writing energy?’

  ‘Something like that. It’s a bit like sleeping in someone else’s bed, isn’t it?’

  ‘I’d never thought of it that way,’ I answered, but my attention was already drawn to the walls of the room. There were small collages of newspaper clippings, showing famous stories from the city’s history. I scanned the headlines to find the reports I belonged in: ‘Mother dies in brutal murder’; ‘Town terrified by killing spree’; ‘Women warned by police’; ‘Killer’s cooling off period?’

  ‘Ah, and that’s a bit like seeing pictures of someone’s ex.’

  ‘You have some interesting analogies for these things.’

  ‘I’m wasted on editing, what can I say?’ He followed my gaze over to Mum’s claim to fame. ‘Bollocks.’

  I held up a hand. ‘It’s okay, really.’

  ‘Well, that’s the first cock-up out the way. Why don’t I leave you to get settled?’ He was halfway to the door already. Mum was never a good topic of conversation for people. ‘We’ve got a staff meeting in about an hour, which will hopefully give you time to get settled in. Is there anything you need?’

  ‘Permission to redecorate?’ I smirked.

  ‘Granted. Anything else?’

  ‘I’m good, thank you.’

  ‘Sarah, look, don’t think me rude…’

  My stomach clenched. In my experience people only ever asked you not to think of them as rude when they were about to say something rude – or offensive. ‘Haven’t you had enough crime in your life? I mean…’ he gestured to the walls. ‘You’re sure you want to surround yourself with this? This city has seen some stuff.’

  I know, I thought, I’m part of its rap sheet. ‘Whether I work in reporting or not, this is kind of where I’ve made a home for myself now. What with the book and all.’

  ‘Of course, and the infamous second book.’ He flashed a tight smile. ‘People have been asking me about it. I think they think because I’m your editor now, somehow I might know more than the average.’

  I matched his expression. ‘It must get boring having to tell them you’re my editor at work and not in writing. Was that everything?’

  ‘Yes, yes, it was.’ He turned to leave then and collided with an older man, wearing beige trousers, a grey T-shirt and a bright smile. ‘Jesus, Joseph, I didn’t see you.’

  ‘They never do!’ The man laughed.

  ‘Post for me?’ Marcus held out a hand.

  Joseph waved him away. ‘Post for Miss Wainwright.’ He pushed past Marcus and into the room to hand me what looked to be a bundle of envelopes. ‘Fan mail?’

  I couldn’t quite summon a laugh, but I tried. ‘Must be.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, Miss Wainwright,’ the postman said as he retreated without another word. Marcus gave me a curt nod and then followed out too.

  The small bundle of letters I dropped on the empty letter-tray on the corner of my desk. It wasn’t uncommon to get letters from readers, although they’d historically been sent to my agent or publisher. But the paper had announced my arrival through their social media channels the week before my start date, so it was hardly a government secret.

  While my laptop stirred into life I set about rearranging the headline display on the far wall. Some, I didn’t mind keeping. The ones about Mum – about him – I couldn’t stand to look at every day. I took them down and leaned them against the wall, facing inward. Soon, I thought, I can throw my own headlines up there.

  The phone on my desk chirped to life and sent me out of my skin. It wasn’t often anyone used landlines anymore; I didn’t even have one fixed in at the flat. The noise had become alien over the years, so I snatched at the handset to bring it to a stop.

  ‘Sarah Wainwright’s office.’

  There was nothing, only dead air. I sucked my breath in to see whether I could find background noise and there, faintly, there was the in and out breath of whoever had called me. I slammed the receiver back into its cradle and thought, you don’t quite get that satisfaction with an iPhone. When the phone rang again seconds later, though, I was resentful of not having a caller ID feature to fall back on. I tried for a neutral voice when I answered; experience had taught me that these people usually thrived on hearing you were aggravated.

  ‘Sarah Wainwright’s office.’

  ‘I’m calling to discuss details of a crime,’ Landon’s voice came through the earpiece.

  ‘And what might that be?’

  ‘It’s a crime that after a quick peck on the cheek in that taxi, you haven’t so much as text to check on me and my broken heart.’

  ‘You’re being dramatic.’

  ‘This is me being sincere.’

  ‘Then we may have worked out why you’re single.’

  ‘I’m single because I’m hankering after you all the time, Sarah.’

  I dropped into my office chair. ‘Now, is that you being sincere?’

  ‘Come on, Wainwright, give me some credit.’

  ‘I’ll give you credit when you earn it. Take me to lunch?’ I checked the time. It was short notice but I reasoned that if Landon was desperate enough to impress his boss then he’d make it work.

  ‘Where will I meet you?’

  ‘Front of my office.’

  ‘One thirty?’

  ‘Perfect.’

  ‘Can we talk about the second book?�
��

  ‘Landon–’

  ‘Off the record?’

  ‘We can’t talk about it, full stop.’ I hung up, then, to punctuate my point. I couldn’t have told Landon – or anyone else, for that matter – about the second book, because I hadn’t written it yet. I’d been working on it quietly since the first one hit the bestseller list. But even my publisher hadn’t pushed the issue. ‘You’re a hit, kid, we trust you,’ they’d said, which was a relief, given that they’d bought an unwritten book about a string of murders that hadn’t happened yet. But I knew they would. Because he’d told me.

  17

  2012

  Sarah,

  I promised myself I wouldn’t do this again. Write to you, that is. I always knew there’d be more women. After the first – after, well, you know. I always knew it was something I’d do. It was like, Sarah, when you try a new flavour of ice cream or a different type of drink. You expect to turn your nose up at it but the reality is so, so far from that. Instead of turning your nose up it turns out, instead, to be the best flavour of anything you’ve ever tasted. But at the same time you don’t want to taste too much of it because then maybe you won’t enjoy it all that much. So you ration yourself, sensibly, to having the ice cream once every couple of years. You know what it’s like when you get a taste for something, though, Sarah, and it’s suddenly all you want.

  There’s talk of a book. They’re only rumours, Sarah, I know. But I don’t know that I know you well enough yet to know the truth in them. Would you write about me? Maybe not. But you’d probably write about your mother. Maybe you’ll write about these women, too, Sarah. God forbid, but maybe you’ll write about the next ones – and the ones after.

  Or maybe they’ll catch me first. But I don’t know about that one.

  The thing is, Sarah, whether they catch me or not, whether it’s these women or the next, it feels a lot like you’re the only person who really knows me. Maybe that’s because you’re the only one to see me at my worst? God. There are a lot of maybes here, Sarah. Whatever the truth, thanks for letting me be honest with you.