Rush of Blood

by Mark Billingham

  Marina nodded and picked up an eyebrow pencil.

  ‘You’re an arsehole,’ she said. A simple statement of fact, because she’d known this pussy-arsed little speech of his was coming; known it before she’d let him persuade her into that cubicle. It was the reason she’d got down on her knees. ‘I was acting and you’re an arsehole.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry that’s the way you feel.’ He licked a rolling paper. ‘I genuinely am.’

  ‘And you can stick your poxy devised piece of shit up your arse.’

  ‘As you wish.’ He popped the roll-up between his lips and lit it. ‘You know I can’t refund any of the tuition fees, don’t you?’

  ‘Whatever.’

  ‘Course rules, I’m afraid.’ He picked a strand of tobacco from his lip, watched her for a few seconds, then slapped his hands on his thighs and stood up. He turned at the door and said, ‘Just so you know, you weren’t that great in there.’ He nodded towards the cubicle again. ‘Maybe you weren’t the only one who was acting, you know?’

  She spun round fast. ‘Just watch yourself walking home at night. All right, Philip?’

  He snorted. ‘What the hell’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘You heard me.’

  ‘This some “black” thing, is it? You got gang connections? Shagged a Yardie or two?’

  She spat at him, but it didn’t even reach halfway to the door.

  ‘So what, you going to come at me with a hairbrush up some dark alley?’

  ‘Not me, wanker. People who care about me.’

  He laughed at her. ‘Seriously? Your boyfriend? That ratty little toerag who looks like an am-dram Raskolnikov?’

  Marina didn’t know what he was talking about.

  She pointed at him, hard.

  She said, ‘You have no fucking idea what we are capable of.’

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  So, all set for the last supper.

  Or at least, the last three-course dinner for six, with nibbles beforehand, chocolates of some description with coffee and a cheeseboard, you know if you’re really pushing the boat out.

  Stupid isn’t it, these games we play? The conventions that tie us together, come hell or high water. The rules that make us do things we don’t really want to do: talking to people we despise; shacked up with people we don’t love; sleeping with people we don’t fancy any more or who we suspect don’t fancy us.

  Yes, these are only small things in their way, though believe me they can do plenty of damage. Small, though, compared to the important rules that govern us all, that are supposed to make us into a decent and caring society.

  All kicked off with the big ten, I suppose.

  You know, those ones that begin Thou Shalt or Shalt Not, though I’m guessing we’re all way past coveting our neighbours’ oxen these days, aren’t we? So, why is one life supposed to be as important as any other, when it so obviously isn’t? I can’t honestly tell you my life is really worth more than the person who’s going to cure cancer. That would be stupid, wouldn’t it? If you had to get rid of one of us, which one are you going to pick?

  Life isn’t fair. Fair is somewhere you go to ride the dodgems and win a goldfish. A goldfish that will probably die within a week, by the way, because life tends to be shit and not all creatures are created equal.

  Sorry about that.

  So, am I saying that what I’ve done up to this point would be worse if those two girls had not been … the way they were? Yes, I am. I’m sorry if that sounds horrible. It’s not meant to upset anyone, honestly, I’m just trying to explain. I don’t expect anyone to like me, and before anyone starts jumping up and down and crying, ‘Good job!’ it’s worth pointing out that none of this has been about getting anyone to like me.

  There’s no point screaming about Hitler or any of that, either. Not if you’ve ever killed a wasp or really been honest about how you’d react if you were carrying a child that was damaged.

  Go on, ask yourself.

  I’m not expecting anything but simple hatred. I’m not an idiot. And I’m also honest enough to admit I might not have been able to take those girls in the first place if they hadn’t been quite so trusting.

  If they’d known that the world was not fair.

  I know it might seem strange that I go along with some ways of doing things and not others. With the trivial stuff. But we draw our own lines, and besides, going along with some of life’s stupider conventions was all part of it.

  We’ve got to talk to people after all, we’ve got to play the game.

  And who doesn’t like chocolates with coffee?

  THE FINAL DINNER

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  They stood around in the living room, it being fairly apparent that there were not enough comfortable chairs for six. It was similar in layout to the Dunnings’ place, but the two connecting rooms on the ground floor were smaller and squarer. The one in which they were clearly going to be eating did not look as though it was a dedicated dining room, but rather one without any specific function into which Dave and Marina had simply moved the table from the kitchen.

  ‘It’s got those extra bits you put in at either end,’ Marina said.

  ‘Leaves,’ Dave said.

  Dave and the three women were drinking wine. Barry and Ed nursed cans of beer. Marina had set out bowls of olives, nuts and spicy trail mix on a side table.

  ‘I like your cushions,’ Sue said.

  Marina smiled, but she was watching Barry stare at the plain rectangular hole in the chimney breast which housed the largest of the dozen or more candles that were burning around the room. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘Probably used to be a gorgeous old fireplace there. Idiots who were here before us took all that stuff out. Got rid of the sash windows and put double glazing in, for God’s sake. Be really nice to put everything back one day if we can afford it.’

  ‘Maybe Barry can sort something for you,’ Angie said.

  Barry said he’d keep an eye out.

  ‘Double glazing’s a damn sight more efficient though,’ Dave said.

  Marina curled her lip. ‘Ugly, though.’

  ‘Our gas bill’s ridiculous,’ Sue said.

  ‘Only because you keep the central heating turned up.’ Ed rolled his eyes at Barry. ‘It’s like a bloody greenhouse.’

  Sue shook her head. ‘Who leaves the lights on in every room in the house? I spend my life turning lights off.’

  ‘Barry’s the same,’ Angie said, laughing. ‘Not to mention the dirty pants left lying around.’

  Barry grunted and helped himself to a handful of trail mix.

  Ed raised his beer can. ‘As long as it’s only the little things we argue about, eh?’

  ‘Blimey, that’s a bit poky,’ Barry said, chewing and pointing at the bowl.

  There was music coming from small speakers on a computer table in the corner. Guitar and piano, a smoky, swooping voice. Sue nodded. ‘God, I listened to this album non-stop when I was a student.’

  ‘Yeah, I love Joni Mitchell,’ Marina said.

  They all listened through another mouthful of wine and beer, for the time it took Sue to wander across and start looking at the books on shelves to one side of the chimney breast. Self-help, astrology, fringe theatre; pristine-looking paperbacks by Alice Walker and Margaret Atwood. Then Dave said, ‘Right, I’d better see how dinner’s going. Who’s hungry?’

  ‘You’re cooking?’ Ed shuddered theatrically. ‘Is it too late to send out for pizza?’

  ‘Hilarious,’ Dave said. ‘I’ll try and remember to spit in yours.’

  ‘It’s one of my mum’s recipes,’ Marina said. ‘Caribbean lamb, so I hope it’s not too spicy for anyone. I did pudding though. Well, I bought pudding …’

  When Dave and Marina had gone into the kitchen, Sue walked back across to the group. She nodded towards a framed map on the wall behind the sofa. ‘See that?’

  ‘I noticed,’ Ed said.

  ‘What?’ Angie said. She looked at the map, and said, ‘Oh, it
’s like that one you’ve got. We used to have those in school.’

  ‘We’ve got a few actually,’ Sue said. ‘The school I used to teach at was cleaning out an old storeroom, so I pinched them and got them framed. Look … same cushions as ours as well.’

  ‘Right,’ Angie said.

  The two women turned and stared around the room.

  ‘I don’t see what the problem is,’ Ed said.

  ‘Well, it’s not just this, is it?’

  ‘What, that dress?’

  ‘I’m sure I had Joni Mitchell on as well, when they came round …’

  ‘What’s going on?’ Barry asked.

  ‘Sue thinks Marina’s copying her.’

  ‘Not just Marina,’ Sue said, her voice hushed. ‘Dave’s wearing a pair of trainers the same as yours.’

  ‘This is stupid,’ Ed said. ‘So they think we’ve got good taste.’

  ‘Keep your voice down …’

  ‘I can’t see anything of ours,’ Angie said, a little disappointed.

  ‘Sorry, I think it’s spooky,’ Sue said.

  Barry nodded. ‘It is a bit strange.’

  ‘Like they’re trying to steal our lives or something.’

  Ed said, ‘That’s just mental,’ as Marina walked back in.

  ‘What’s mental?’ she asked.

  ‘Bloody football,’ Sue said, with barely a second’s hesitation. ‘Barry reckons his team’s going to do better than Man United this season.’

  ‘Right,’ Marina said.

  Ed swung round and nodded towards the sofa. ‘We were all just admiring that fantastic map.’ He ignored the look from Sue. ‘That’s really nice.’

  Marina walked across and stared at the map, spoke with her back to the group. ‘Great, isn’t it?’

  ‘How long have you had it?’ Ed asked.

  ‘Oh, ages,’ Marina said. ‘I found it in a junk shop in Islington.’

  Sue looked at Angie and shook her head. Barry looked at Ed and shrugged. Dave appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Grub’s about ready …’

  Marina ushered Barry and Angie across to the table, while Ed and Sue lagged behind.

  ‘Maybe she doesn’t even know she’s doing it,’ Ed said, quietly.

  ‘Course she does.’

  ‘Like an unconscious thing.’

  ‘Just sit anywhere,’ Marina said, waving Ed and Sue across.

  Sue hissed, ‘She knows exactly what she’s doing.’

  ‘I hope you two aren’t having a domestic!’ Marina patted the back of a chair.

  Ed led the way. ‘Like I said … only the little things.’

  Sue said, ‘It’s certainly spicy, but it’s nice.’

  Barry said, ‘Yeah, very nice.’

  Ed said, ‘The spicier the better as far as I’m concerned. And I’m not just talking about food.’

  Angie waited another minute or two, then said, ‘So, come on then, who’s ready for Angie’s latest Crimewatch update?’

  ‘That must be a record,’ Ed said, looking at his watch. ‘A whole forty-five minutes before we get into the Florida thing.’

  ‘Not just Florida any more,’ Dave said.

  ‘Oh here we go, Inspector Morse has kicked off.’

  ‘Well, do you want to hear it or not?’ Angie looked annoyed. She laid down her fork. ‘I mean, I’m really not bothered.’

  ‘Go on,’ Marina said.

  ‘Well, it’s like Dave said … it’s not just about Florida any more.’

  ‘I think we’d all worked that much out,’ Ed said.

  ‘Yes, but I know why,’ Angie said. She smiled, pleased with herself and clearly delighted to finally have their attention. ‘I did a bit of digging on the internet, OK? It took a while, but I finally came up with an article from a few years back in one of the local papers. Sevenoaks Chronicle, I think. Anyway, it was all about that poor girl Samantha Gold and there was a picture and everything … all because she’d won some art competition for children with special needs.’ She waited. Looked from one face to another. ‘She’s got learning difficulties, you see … same as that girl in Florida. That’s the link.’

  ‘That’s why they’re talking to us then,’ Marina said. ‘Bloody hell.’

  Ed pushed his food around for a few seconds. ‘They’re probably talking to lots of other Brits if that’s the case though, don’t you reckon?’

  ‘That makes sense,’ Angie said.

  ‘Anyone who was there, right?’

  ‘Hang on though,’ Marina said. ‘Why are they presuming it’s someone British who was on holiday or whatever? Why can’t it be an American who’s come over here?’

  Barry said that was a good point.

  ‘Why does it have to be a Brit or an American?’ Dave said. ‘The killer could be from anywhere, when you think about it. He could be moving around deliberately to disguise where he’s from.’

  Angie nodded, impressed. ‘God, I never even thought about that.’

  ‘Why not? He could be from bloody Timbuktu for all we know, could be doing this all over the world. He could be in Italy or Sweden or Australia already. Eyeing up another girl.’

  ‘Oh that’s horrible.’ Angie turned to Sue and pulled a face. ‘Makes me feel a bit funny.’

  ‘It’s perfect when you think about it,’ Dave said. ‘Another stamp in his passport, another victim.’ He banged his fist lightly on the table. Once, twice, acting it out. ‘Easy as that.’

  ‘The EasyJet Killer,’ Barry said, his mouth full.

  Angie looked at him.

  ‘What? They always have a nickname, don’t they?’

  ‘What do you know?’ Angie said. ‘You thought it was that girl’s father.’

  ‘Still do,’ Barry said. ‘A tenner says it was the dad. He abused her then killed her. What d’you reckon, Ed?’

  Ed poured himself another glass of wine.

  Marina asked if anyone wanted second helpings, despite the fact that only Dave had so far cleared his plate. He was the only one to take her up on the offer. As the food was being spooned on to his plate, Sue leaned across the table towards him.

  ‘So you really think the girl’s dead then? The second girl.’

  ‘Definitely,’ Dave said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, it certainly looks like the same person took both girls and he killed Amber-Marie Wilson, so …’

  ‘And you definitely don’t think it’s a … sexual thing?’ Angie asked.

  ‘Why are you asking him?’ Ed said. ‘He’s like the … oracle now, is he?’

  Dave ignored Ed and considered Angie’s question, a forkful of food halfway to his mouth. ‘Still impossible to say. There was nothing to indicate there was anything sexual with the first girl, but if you remember the DNA evidence had already been destroyed because of the time she spent in the water. So we’ll have to wait and see.’

  ‘Never really about sex though, is it,’ Sue said.

  Dave nodded. ‘Right, it’s actually about power. Same as rape.’

  ‘There’s no end to your expertise, is there, Dave?’ Ed said. ‘It’s Italian food one day, serial killers the next. Now you’re an authority on rape all of a sudden.’

  ‘I’m not claiming to be—’

  Ed reached for the wine bottle again and winked at Marina. ‘I should watch him if I were you.’

  Seeing that the second bottle they had opened was already empty, Marina stood up and said she was going to fetch another couple. Ed told her to be sure and open the one he and Sue had brought with them. It was a decent red, he said, though obviously he’d need to confirm that with Dave, who’d probably been on some course or other. Or watched a fascinating documentary …

  ‘It’s actually about being a nutter, isn’t it?’ Barry said. ‘Doing this stuff, you’ve got to be sick in the head, surely.’

  ‘That’s the big question, isn’t it?’ Dave said.

  ‘Is it?’ Ed said.

  Marina returned with the wine. Ed opened a bottle and poured
himself a large glass. He leaned towards Sue, but she shook her head and covered her glass with her hand. He topped up Marina’s when she sat down and held it towards him.

  ‘What have I missed?’ she asked.

  ‘If a killer’s not in control of themselves because of some mental problem, how should we treat them?’ Dave looked around the table for a reaction. ‘If they can’t help themselves.’

  ‘We should bang them up,’ Barry said. ‘Simple as that.’

  ‘I’m not saying we shouldn’t, but—’

  ‘Or worse. Anyone who hurts kids is an animal, end of story.’

  Angie nodded. ‘Doesn’t matter how mental they are,’ she said. ‘I still think it’s evil.’

  ‘Loads of people are evil,’ Marina said. She swirled her wine around in the glass. ‘Loads of them and you wouldn’t even know it.’

  Dave said, ‘Yeah, but what does “evil” mean?’

  ‘Hang on though, Dave’s got a point.’ Ed cleared his throat and held up his hands, a wine glass in one of them. ‘Let’s say I had some physical problem, like a twitch or whatever, and I wasn’t in control of my limbs, right? If I was to suddenly lash out and smash Dave here in the face …’ He moved his hand quickly towards Dave’s face, spilling a small amount of wine on to the table.

  ‘All right,’ Sue said. She leaned across with a napkin to dab at the spilled wine.

  ‘No, hang on … if I was to smash Dave in the face and he fell over and cracked his head open and died, does that make me a murderer? I mean, obviously I couldn’t help myself, could I?’

  ‘It’s not quite that simple though,’ Dave said, quietly. ‘Some people pretend they can’t help themselves.’

  ‘Right,’ Ed said, taking a drink. ‘Tricky …’

  ‘I don’t care,’ Angie said. ‘It’s evil and it’s always worse when it’s kids.’

  ‘“Beasts”, that’s what they call them in prison,’ Barry said. ‘Anyone who hurts a kid … and that’s what they are.’