Killed in King's Cross

by Samantha Silver

  “Fair enough,” I laughed. “I was going to text you yesterday, then figured you were too busy to come out.”

  “That’s definitely accurate,” Jake replied. “Let me just put Marnie here back in the freezer and I’ll finish up after.”

  Ten minutes later we had made our way to The Marquis of Granby, a pub a couple of blocks away from the mortuary that was definitely a little bit on the fancier side while still maintaining a lot of that classic London charm. Jake and I managed to snag a small round table in the middle of the packed bar, and I looked around while Jake went to the bar to order food and drinks for us.

  The place was dark, small, and packed to the brim. The low murmur of various conversations spread through the room like a hive of buzzing bees, while the sounds of tinkling glasses and cutlery on plates seemed to pierce through as well. It could’ve been annoying, but really, the cacophony of noise gave the place a warm feel, which was very welcome within the dark walls.

  A few minutes later Jake came back with a couple of beers, and I took a long sip, not realizing until that moment just how much I could use that drink.

  As I put my glass down and saw Jake still enjoying his, I figured he was in the exact same situation I was.

  “So,” Jake said with a grin. “Have you decided what you’re going to do yet about your medical school applications?”

  I let out a groan and leaned back in my chair. “You do realize I texted you because I didn’t want to go home and have to face that same question, right?”

  “A lesser man would be insulted by that, but yes, I’m completely aware. That’s not going to make your problem go away, though. You said to me the other day that no matter what you want to make a decision for this semester.”

  “I did, and I kind of figured that as the deadline got closer I would figure out what to do. But I genuinely have no idea. What if I make the wrong decision?”

  Jake shrugged. “Then you’ll change. Lots of people make the wrong decision. When I was in school, I was sure I was going to become a lawyer. I actually did the first year of uni to become a lawyer before I realized I absolutely hated everything about it.”

  “Really?” I said, my eyebrows rising. “How come you never told me that before?”

  Jake shrugged. “It wasn’t really a big part of my life. I made a mistake, I changed paths, and during the year where I did a lot of random study I realized that I really, really enjoyed science. So I went into medicine, and I found my spot.”

  “What if I take the spot of someone who already knows this is what they want to do, though?” I asked. “If I do become a doctor, don’t I owe it to everybody who taught me anything to see it through?”

  “No,” Jake replied. “This is your life. And the fact that you’re even thinking about it that way lets me know that you will be a great doctor. You’re not one of those psychopaths that were only in it to feel like God; you genuinely feel for other people and think about how your actions affect them. That caring nature will make you a good doctor if you decide to go down that path, but it also means you need to take extra care to make sure you’re doing what’s best for you. Because in the end, this is your life. You don’t want to get your deathbed and regret everything you’ve done because you thought that was what other people would want from you.”

  I looked into my half-drunk beer glass and realized Jake had a point. A really good point. In the end, this was my life. Shouldn’t I do what was right for me, so long as it didn’t affect other people in a negative way too badly?

  My train of thought was interrupted by a waitress coming by with our food, and Jake and I spent the next ten minutes silently stuffing ourselves, me with fish and chips and him with a meat pie and fries.

  “I don’t think I’d ever been this hungry my life,” Jake said when he finally finished the pie. “A part of me is really tempted to order another one, but I know I shouldn’t.”

  I laughed. “If you’re hungry, go for it. I won’t judge.”

  “You’re the best,” he replied, planting a kiss on my cheek as he swept past me to make his way back to the bar. I was so thankful to have Jake my life. His advice was always on point, and I knew that if I ever needed to talk to him about anything, he was ready to listen and help in any way he could. It also helped that he wasn’t that bad to look at.

  When Jake came back, he grinned. “I couldn’t bring myself to order a whole new pie, so I got us a bowl of sweet potato fries to share.”

  “I knew I loved you for a reason,” I grinned, and my eyes widened immediately as I realized what I’d said. I had just told Jake I loved him. I had never done that before, and sure, it wasn’t like I straight out said it. But it was close enough. I guess the thought of sweet potato fries had completely overridden my brain-to-mouth filter. I had to do something. “Sweet potato fries, I mean. I love sweet potato fries.”

  Super smooth. Way to brush past it completely naturally, Cassie. As I felt my face start to do a great impression of a tomato, I wanted to die. I wanted to sink under the table, curl up into a little ball, and never be seen again. I didn’t even dare look at Jake; what on earth was wrong with me?

  To my surprise, Jake just laughed. “You’re ridiculous,” he said. “I know you love sweet potato fries, and I love you too.”

  There was that warm, fuzzy feeling again.

  Chapter 14

  Twenty minutes later, we left the pub, with Jake having to get back to work. I still couldn’t believe that had happened. Jake had told me he loved me! I was going to be honest: I had never had a boyfriend tell me he loved me before. This was huge.

  There was a spring in my step as I kissed Jake goodbye and made my way back towards the underground station. I couldn’t help it. Jake loved me! Plus, he had totally taken it in stride when I had embarrassed myself by accidentally saying it first.

  Wasn’t that true love? Finding someone who could take your embarrassing moments and make you feel like you were the most special person in the world?

  I hopped back onto the train, but instead of going home, I decided that this was it. I was going to find something to get Violet for Christmas, no matter what. From Victoria Station it was just two quick stops to Oxford Circus, which I knew was right in the center of trendy Soho. Surely I’d be able to find a cute little independent shop here that held something perfect for Violet.

  I found myself, as all good nerds eventually do, inside the middle of Shapero Books, a bookstore and art gallery that felt like I had just stepped back into the library of a nineteenth century manor. I walked carefully up to a teal blue bookshelf filled with leather-bound volumes. An antique globe sat on a table in front of the window overlooking the street, and the wooden floorboards creaked beneath my feet. This was basically the perfect shop, and I suddenly had the perfect idea. I knew exactly what I was going to buy Violet for Christmas.

  “Can I help you?” a woman about my age asked with a smile, and I turned to her.

  “Yes, I know exactly what I’m looking for, and I hope you have it.”

  * * *

  A couple of hours later, my gift bought and wrapped and carefully sitting inside one of my drawers at home where a mischievous Biscuit wouldn’t be able to get to it, I got a text from Violet. Warrant came through. I have the list of members. Come to my house.

  I left my spot on the couch, where I had been absolutely failing at watching Netflix, and instead stared at the TV while trying to figure out who on earth Violet could possibly suspect of having committed the crime. I hoped I was going to get my answer soon.

  Giving Biscuit a quick pat as I left, I made my way to Violet’s house, where I found her in the study, looking at a list of names on the computer.

  “Is your suspect there?” I asked, and Violet nodded.

  “He certainly is,” she replied. “I am now one hundred percent certain that I know who our serial killer is. The problem is I do not yet know how to prove it.”

  “So who is it?” I asked, and Violet smiled at me.


  “Do you not have the slightest idea yet?”

  I shook my head. “Wouldn’t have a clue.”

  “I can give you a clue. When was the first pacemaker created?”

  “Nineteen-twenty-six,” I replied instantly. “In Australia. It was first used to save a baby’s life in 1928.”

  “And when was the last Sherlock Holmes book published.”

  I stared at Violet. “I have no idea. The thirties? I’ve read them, but it’s not like I’m a huge fan or anything.”

  “Nineteen twenty seven. The first pacemaker in England was implanted in 1960. Therefore, there is no reason for one to have been left in the Sherlock Holmes Museum at the crime scene.”

  “You think it’s a clue.”

  “I believe it was a taunt by our killer. He left it there as a clue. It was a stupid mistake, but that is what gets them all in the end. The stupid mistakes. The killer who does not have an ego, the killer who is content to kill for killing’s sake, he is the one who gets away with it. But this one, no. The pacemaker was a fatal flaw.”

  “The killer’s a doctor?” I asked, incredulous. I knew there had been doctors who had been convicted of murder. But still, I had a hard time wrapping my head around the idea that someone who dedicated themselves to saving lives was also taking them.

  “Yes,” Violet replied matter-of-factly. “The killer is a doctor.”

  “Doctor King?” I asked, frowning slightly. He had seemed so normal when we met him, and yet if Violet said he was a murderer, he almost certainly was. She never said anything until she was sure.

  “Indeed,” Violet confirmed. “There are a few reasons why I believe him to be the killer. For one thing, he is on the list of members at the gym in Bloombsury. But I suspected him before then, as well.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, for one thing, his entire demeanor. Psychopaths are often excellent at blending into society and acting the way people expect them to. When we saw him, doctor King was cordial, he was polite, and he was helpful. But it also took him a split second longer to speak than it would have for a regular person, and there were subtle clues in his demeanor that indicated to me that he was not exactly as he seemed. They would have been invisible to you, but for me, they were obvious. As soon as we met him, I knew the good doctor was not nearly as good as he pretended to be.”

  “I knew it,” I said. “As soon as I saw him I stereotyped him as an arrogant butt, but then he was so nice I scolded myself for judging people before I got to know them.”

  Violet smiled. “Perhaps you should trust your instincts a little bit more.” That definitely wasn’t the first time I’d heard that saying over the last couple of days.

  “So you knew as soon as we left the hospital that it was him?”

  “Non. I only knew when we left the hospital that docteur King was not perhaps as good a man as he pretended to be. But, there are plenty of people who are similar, and who have not killed anyone.”

  “When did you figure it out, then?”

  “I began to have suspicions after I saw the pacemaker in the museum. I know some of the people who work at that Museum, and I know that they would never be so reckless as to have something there that Doctor Watson would not have used. That was when I realized it had to be a hint from the killer, and it meant that our killer was most likely someone who worked in the medical field. Someone in the medical field would have known about the conference that Doctor Persson attended, and may have even been registered himself, which would have made it easier to steal the wallet. However, when we went to visit Marnie Phillips’ husband and he told us that she had not been to the hospital any time since returning from Australia, I began to think that perhaps my suspicions were wrong. However, the gym was the key. Doctor King was obviously in good shape, and evidently spent a great deal of time working out when he wasn’t at the hospital. It made sense that the gym he attended would be near his work, and the fact that the gym at Bloomsbury was a twenty-four hour gym only worked more in favor of my theory. After all, Elise told us herself that a great deal of their clients are medical staff whose hours are not consistent.”

  I nodded. Everything Violet was saying made perfect sense, when she said it that way.

  “The problem is, there is no way to prove anything I just said.”

  “Right,” I nodded. “While it makes sense if you put everything together, individually, none of it is actual evidence.”

  “Exactement. If I go to DCI Kilmer now and tell him what we have discovered, he will not even be able to get an arrest warrant for Doctor King, let alone convict him of the two murders we know about.”

  “So what do you do now? We can’t sit around and wait for him to kill someone else and hope he makes a mistake.”

  “No, we absolutely cannot. What we need to do is have him show himself and his true colors before he has the opportunity to kill again. We need to trap him so that he can be convicted of the crimes we know he has committed.”

  Well, that sounded super safe and easy. We were going to set a trap for a serial killer. What could possibly go wrong?

  Chapter 15

  “The first thing we need to do is to find a target,” Violet said. “I suspect that he will not attempt to kill me; not immediately, anyway. The body at the Sherlock Holmes Museum shows that he knows I am on this case, and he is taunting me. That was not a show put on for the police; that was a show put on for a private detective who occasionally helps the police. So, he is playing a game with me.”

  “Great, this is going to lead to me being poisoned or thrown out a window or something, isn’t it?” I asked with a sigh.

  Violet smiled at me. “Only if you are willing to do so. You really would be the perfect target: being my friend, going after you would be the perfect way for Doctor King to get under my skin.”

  “So what you’re saying is if I don’t do this, other people are going to die?”

  “Not necessarily,” Violet said. “I do not want you to do this if you are not comfortable with it. But I will do everything in my power to make sure you stay safe. There are other ways; I believe this to be the easiest, however.”

  I sighed. To be totally honest, I really did not want to do this. I had never been an especially adventurous type, and throwing myself into the lion’s den of a serial killer that we knew was taunting Violet didn’t sound particularly appealing to me.

  On the other hand, if I died, at least I would never have to make a decision about medical school.

  Shoving that morbid thought aside, I considered what I was going to do in reality. On the one hand, I absolutely did not want to do this. There was a very real risk that I was going to become the target of the serial killer, but at the same time, what if I didn’t do this and someone else died? I would never be able to live with myself knowing that I could’ve done something about it, but that my own cowardice had prevented me from stopping a killer before it was too late.

  Two people were already dead. I had to do whatever I could to stop that number from becoming three. Even if it meant sacrificing my own safety for a little while.

  Besides, I knew Violet. I knew if anybody was going to be able to stop Doctor King, it was her. And if anybody was going to be able to stop him from killing me, again, it was her.

  “I’ll do it,” I said before I had a chance to talk myself out of it.

  Violet nodded, as if she knew that was what I was going to do the entire time. “Good. This will make it easier to stop him, and it will hopefully not take too long.”

  “Can we do this in a way that doesn’t involve too much pain on my part?” I asked. “With my knee, I have to say I’ve experienced enough pain for one lifetime.”

  “It would be easier if you were willing to break a bone.”

  “No! No, absolutely not.”

  Violet shrugged. “It only hurts for a little bit.”

  “It does not! Have you forgotten that I am practically a doctor? I know how the human body works, and I’ve seen a lot
of broken bones. I’ve even broken them myself. I know how much they hurt. Come up with something else.”

  “Fine,” Violet said. “We will do it with less pain. Are you able to fake dizziness and weakness properly?”

  “I think so,” I replied.

  “Good,” Violet said, standing up. “Then, we go back to the crime scene at Baker Street, since it makes sense that we would be there, and that is where you will have your injury.”

  “Are you at least going to tell me what that injury is going to be?” I asked. “Dizziness and weakness makes me think blood loss.”

  “Very good, doctor,” Violet replied with a smile, and I had to admit, I was a little bit worried. At least she said faking. That was something, right?

  * * *

  Half an hour later we were back at the crime scene, having made our way past the police officer guarding the door at the bottom and back into the room where Marnie Phillips’s body had been found. The scene looked almost identical to the way it had when I was last in this room, except that the body had been moved, there was mud on the floor that had been tracked in by the various law enforcement officials that had come by, and everything was covered in a thin layer of black fingerprint dust.

  My eyes were immediately drawn to the pacemaker, which was still sitting where it had been the last time I had seen it. Violet’s eyes followed mine, and she scoffed.

  “Of course they would not realize that was a crucial piece of evidence and not simply one of the artifacts in this museum,” she muttered. “I will have to text DCI Kilmer and have one of his men come over and take it into evidence; it may come in useful later on.”

  “At least they took fingerprints from it,” I said, motioning to the black dust on top of the piece of metal.

  “There will not have been anything on that pacemaker,” Violet said. “Doctor King was much too careful for that.”