Cosplay Killer

by Dahlia Donovan

  They didn’t need him to brainstorm anyway. He couldn’t really put sentences together at the moment, even if he wanted. Am I getting to the point where I can’t go to cons anymore?

  Just thinking about not being able to attend conventions again devastated Dannel. For one, it was something he and Osian enjoyed so much as a couple. He’d thrown so much of his life outside of work and his relationship into cosplay.

  It wasn’t fair.

  7

  Osian

  “Oz-man.”

  Holding his hand up, Osian silenced Roland. He wanted to give Dannel enough time to get his headphones on. They didn’t need to exacerbate the situation.

  He could kick himself for not grasping how crushing the day had likely been for the love of his life. On a good day, a convention tended to be beyond exhausting for Dannel. Adding the intense emotional weight of a murder had to amplify the feeling tenfold.

  “You were saying?” Osian prompted after a minute or two.

  “I’m sorry about Gemma.” Roland clinked his glass against Osian’s bottle. “How serious do you think the detectives were when they talked with you?”

  “There was a dead body involved. How serious do you think they were?” Osian pushed his chair back from the table, stretching his legs out with a groan. “Detective Inspector Khan had a lot of questions for me. I got the idea he might have more.”

  “They’ll consider you a suspect but also a witness as the first person on the scene. They will most certainly have more questions for you,” Wayne interjected into the conversation. “You’ve got my number. The second they call you, I’m the next person you talk to.”

  “I’m innocent.”

  “And? It has nothing to do with guilt or innocence.” Wayne leaned forward with his elbows on the table. “While I have the utmost respect for our police force, my job is to ensure you understand the questions and don’t accidentally incriminate yourself for something you haven’t done.”

  “Wayne.” Roland flicked a bottle cap at his lawyer love interest. “Really? Really.”

  “Are you going to try to tell me innocent people aren’t talked and bullied into confessing?” Wayne took a sip of beer before staring Roland down. He shifted his gaze over to Osian. “You call me, alright?”

  Osian gave a sharp salute. “I’m sure it’s not necessary.”

  “You call me.”

  “Just say you’ll call him, because he won’t shut up if you don’t,” Roland exclaimed.

  Osian had to smile when the two fell into a playful argument. His amusement faded when his phone buzzed in his pocket. “Abra?”

  “I just heard.”

  He felt the dizzying sickness in the pit of his stomach once again. “I meant to text you.”

  “I can’t believe it.” She sounded devastated. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m alive, so yeah.”

  “Oz.”

  “What do you want from me?” Osian moved away from the table for a façade of privacy. “She died in my arms.”

  “Did she, or was she already gone when you got there? Don’t let your mind mess with you.” Abra spoke firmly. “I know you want to believe we have the power of life or death, but you can’t raise the dead.”

  Osian forced himself to think about the events of the day. “She wasn’t breathing.”

  “There you go, then.”

  “Yeah, listen, can I call you later? Roland’s here with a friend.” He ended the call with a muted goodbye. He glanced up to find the two men cleaning up the leftover mess on the table. “You don’t have to do that.”

  They ignored him. He’d known they would. Roland and Wayne left after cleaning up, once again reminding him to call if the detectives had more questions.

  Despite everything, Osian wasn’t worried about himself. He drifted over to sit on the couch and stare at the black screen of the telly. His mind refused to let go of one important question.

  Who killed Gemma?

  And why?

  “Ossie?”

  He tilted his head and saw Dannel in the hallway. “You okay, love? They’re gone. Want to join me in contemplating the blank telly?”

  Dannel rolled over the edge of the couch, winding up on his back with his head in Osian’s lap. “Are we going to the convention in the morning?”

  “Do you want to go?” Osian hadn’t even thought about the second day of Comic Con.

  “I asked first.”

  “It wouldn’t be the same.” Osian hated the idea of wasting all the time and effort they’d put into their costumes, but he couldn’t imagine enjoying the day when all his thoughts would be turned toward the loss of their friend. “No, I don’t want to go.”

  “Me either.” Dannel closed his eyes and yawned. “We should podcast.”

  “Wait. What?”

  “Podcast Gemma’s murder. Interview Ethan. Talk to the detectives.”

  “You want me to have a chat with them?” Osian stared incredulously down at Dannel. “Not sure that will take me off the detectives’ radar.”

  “You’re innocent,” Dannel stated pragmatically.

  I know I’m innocent.

  You know I’m innocent.

  Not confident the coppers will care or appreciate either of our opinions.

  Deciding not to debate the matter, Osian shifted down the couch, closing his eyes. Dannel had a stubborn tendency to view justice as crystal clear. Osian knew how muddied the waters could get.

  They fell asleep on the couch. Exhaustion, grief, and worry had taken their toll. Osian woke to find Dannel rushing around, having been called in last minute to cover a shift at the fire station.

  He barely got a kiss on the lips before Dannel vanished out the door. “Well, okay then.”

  An hour later, Osian hadn’t moved off the couch. He finally made himself get up and shower. The heat of the water helped clear his head enough to get something more than staring at the wall accomplished.

  He still had a towel around him when the detective inspector called and requested he come in for a few additional questions. Well, damn. Trying not to assume the worst, he dressed quickly and called Wayne. The solicitor insisted he wait for him.

  Osian stood outside the police station with two coffee cups in hand. He’d wanted something strong and sweet for himself and grabbed a second for Wayne. Stop panicking; they don’t have anything. It’s just questions.

  “Oz-man.” Wayne jogged down the street toward him. He was trying to fix the knot on his tie while awkwardly holding a messenger bag under his arm. “Shall we?”

  Osian hid his grin behind his coffee cup. “You’ve got a massive hickey on your neck.”

  “Shit.”

  “Have a good night with Roland, then?” He headed up the steps with Wayne following close behind. “Need me to help with your Windsor knot?”

  “Shut up.”

  “Yeah, I’m feeling really confident about you helping the police take me seriously.” Osian watched while Wayne finished with his tie. He straightened up, all signs of humour and his easy-going attitude vanished, leaving a serious, competent solicitor behind. “Coffee?”

  Wayne grabbed the spare cup. “Let’s not make the detectives wait.”

  They stepped up to the front desk, introducing themselves. The constable at the counter directed them to take a seat. Wayne led him over to the row of uncomfortable seats lining the wall.

  “How’s Roland?”

  “Oz.” Wayne elbowed him in the side. “Focus.”

  The two bantered back and forth. Wayne continued to deflect his inquiries. Osian couldn’t wait to text Dannel about his baby brother’s romance with their solicitor friend.

  “Mr Garey.”

  Osian glanced up to find a new detective, a woman. He didn’t remember seeing her at the convention. “That’s me.”

  “Detective Inspector Powell. If you wouldn’t mind following me? We’re set up down the hall for a little chat.” She turned her attention to Wayne. “You brought a friend.” />
  “Wayne Dankworth.” He smiled charmingly at the detective. “Mr Garey happens to be a close friend as well as a client.”

  The detective inspector seemed to reconsider what she’d been about to say. Instead she turned, inviting them to follow her. Osian clutched the cup in his hand and tried to calm his racing heart.

  Inspector Powell paused at a door, gesturing for them to step inside where Haider Khan waited for them. “If you’d both have a seat?”

  There’s no need to stress. I didn’t do anything. I’m a witness. Nothing else.

  The two detectives had definitely decided to play good cop, bad cop. They alternated peppering him with questions, often repeating themselves. Wayne kept a calming hand on his shoulder; he’d squeeze gently whenever Osian seemed to be getting worked up by the intense interview.

  Interrogation.

  It’s definitely more interrogation than a casual interview.

  “Mr Garey? If you could answer the question.” Detective Inspector Powell pushed the printed image of Gemma across the table. “You were the last person to see her alive. What happened?”

  Osian shook off the hand on his shoulder and leaned forward with his elbows on the table. “I was not the last person to see Gemma alive. When I found her, she’d already breathed her last breath. Nothing I could’ve done would’ve made a difference. I have no idea what happened. If I did, you’d be the first to know. I don’t appreciate the veiled implication. She was a good friend. I have no doubts the CCTV shows when I headed toward the room.”

  “We found your fingerprints.”

  “I performed CPR. You likely found my DNA on her as well.” Osian ignored the shifting Wayne to his right. “My costume left my face clear for any cameras in the area. So, not to repeat myself, but CCTV should show the time I arrived in the room.”

  The detectives continued their probing questions about his history as a paramedic and working with Gemma. They asked about Ethan and Gemma’s ex-husband. Osian wondered how long they intended to drag this out; he didn’t see how any of his answers would lead to a murderer.

  Unless Ethan did it.

  “What is it, Mr Garey?” Detective Inspector Khan asked. “You’ve remembered something.”

  Osian blinked a few times, trying to process the change of tone. “Maybe. It’s something Dannel, my boyfriend, mentioned to me on the way home.”

  “Which is?” Khan prompted.

  “Ethan disappeared.” Osian scratched his jaw, trying to remember. “Ethan pointed me in the direction Gemma had gone. And was gone when Dannel went to the booth looking for me. How could he vanish despite knowing something had happened to her? We both found it strange. They’d been dating for a while. You’d have to drag me away kicking and screaming if our situations had been reversed.”

  “And this is Ethan Stewart? Also a paramedic?”

  Osian bristled at the tone. He didn’t need the touch of Wayne’s finger to his arm to know he needed to take a breath. “We’re all part of a cosplay group made up of first responders—police, firefighters, paramedics. We’re family. No one would want to hurt Gemma. She was a sweetheart.”

  “Someone obviously did.” Inspector Powell jotted something down in her notebook. She tapped her pen against the page. “How was your relationship with the victim?”

  8

  Dannel

  His day hadn’t been particularly long or stressful. It had been an average one at the station. Most of his anxiety had come from waiting to hear back from Osian about his visit to the police station.

  They hadn’t arrested him. Osian had texted the second the interview had wrapped up. The detectives definitely considered him a suspect, but hopefully his willingness to talk put him low on the list.

  Both Wayne and Roland had messaged him. They’d wanted to assure him Osian was fine. Dannel had finally switched off his phone to avoid the constant beeping from the incoming texts.

  Stepping out of the station, Dannel dragged on his hat. He’d missed Evie. She hadn’t taken an extra shift, so he’d been without his best friend for the day.

  “Son?”

  Dannel was surprised to find his dad waiting for him at the end of his shift. “Myron.”

  Closing his eyes, Dannel took a few deep breaths. He honestly didn’t have the energy to deal with drama. Myron brought drama with him even when he didn’t intend to.

  His father always flinched a little when Dannel called him by his name. “How are you doing?”

  “Fine.” Dannel shouldered his bag and adjusted the beanie on his head. “It’s late in the day for you to be hanging around the station just to ask how I’m doing.”

  Take a breath. It’s been a long day. Don’t snap at him before he’s been a pain in the arse.

  “The café across the street is open. Why don’t we grab a coffee and chat?” Myron gestured toward it. “Shall we?”

  “I want to go home. I’m tired,” Dannel muttered stubbornly. “Ossie’s waiting.”

  “He can wait.” His father crossed his arms. “Just a coffee.”

  “Fine.”

  With a belaboured sigh, Dannel tried to walk off some of his irritation. He wanted to go home. His plan had been to walk straight there.

  The plan had changed.

  He didn’t like plans changing on him. It tended to throw him completely off-axis. His family were often the ones to do so most frequently.

  “Your uncle saw Osian at the police station.” Myron waited until they’d gotten their drinks to get to what was clearly the point of his visit. “Is he in trouble?”

  And instead of calling me, he nattered on the phone to you.

  Why?

  Why do they always do this?

  “A friend passed away. They had questions since he attempted to resuscitate her.” Dannel frowned at his coffee. He didn’t really want caffeine this late at night. The café didn’t serve milkshakes—and his dad had thoughts about what men drank. “You came all this way for that? Why not text me?”

  “You never answer your phone,” Myron pointed out.

  “If you didn’t insist on calling instead of texting, you might have better luck.” Dannel answered his phone for his mum, Osian, and his job. “Messaging is a perfectly valid form of communication. Better, even, since I have less chance of misunderstanding.”

  “Dannel.”

  “Myron.” He set his cup aside, completely disinterested in the coffee. “I don’t understand why you came all this way.”

  “You’re my son.”

  “Not actually an answer.” Dannel scratched his head, then readjusted his beanie. “I’m going home. I’m too tired to decipher what you want.”

  “I worry. Your friend passed away. Your whatever you want to call him is a suspect. I’m a father. I’m allowed to show concern.” Myron reached out to grip Dannel by the shoulder. “You could at least make eye contact.”

  “No, I can’t.” Dannel shrugged the hand off his shoulder. His frustration with his father increased at the man’s consistent inability to understand him. Eye contact made him intensely uncomfortable, and he listened better when he didn’t have to stress about it. “Thanks for the coffee. I should head home. Osian worries if I’m late.”

  “You don’t need a nanny.” Myron had never liked Osian even when they were younger. “How many blokes are there in London? You couldn’t pick someone with sense. I could set you up on a blind date with a perfectly respectable man.”

  “What?” Dannel didn’t know which part of his dad’s argument he found the most illogical. “Ossie’s not my nanny. A blind date? What the bloody hell are you on about? I’m attached at the hip to the man I’ve loved since before I knew what falling in love even meant.”

  A nanny?

  Honestly.

  What kind of absolute nonsense is he going on about?

  His career wasn’t exactly the safest. Something his dad knew intimately as a retired firefighter. This is the last thing I want to deal with after the week we’ve had.
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br />   “And for your information, Ossie worries because I risk my life on a daily basis running into fires.” He abandoned his untouched coffee and stormed out of the café. “Why do I bother?”

  Dannel jogged across the street. His relationship with his father always seemed to be two steps forward and ten back. They never managed to stay on the same page.

  As a result, Dannel usually wound up feeling like a constant source of disappointment. He got the impression he could never match up to his younger brother in their father’s eyes. It was exhausting.

  Despite his best efforts, his dad caught up to him. Dannel ignored his presence. He walked stubbornly in silence, finding the shortest and straightest path to their flat.

  “Son?”

  Dannel plodded on without saying anything. His temper had started to flare, and as always, much to his added frustration, his mind decided to forget how to put sentences together. He needed to be home.

  “Son.”

  Despite what some of his family believed, Dannel didn’t run from arguments. He required space to process. His dad continued to follow him all the way to his building.

  “Hello, love. Where were you? I was worried you and Evie got lost. Ahh, Myron.” Osian was lounging on the couch in a T-shirt and sweatpants. He got to his feet quickly when Dannel came in with his dad following. “What a pleasant surprise.”

  “Bed.” Dannel continued through the flat into their bedroom, slamming the door behind him. He fell face-first onto the mattress and muffled his scream of frustration into a pillow. “I hate words.”

  Rolling all the way down the bed, Dannel reached out to grab their Bluetooth speaker. He paired it to his phone and quickly scrolled through his playlists. Breathing came a little easier to the strains of The Hamilton Mixtape.

  By the fourth track, Dannel had released some of his stress. He shifted onto his back to stare up the ceiling. The voices in the living room had gotten quieter; he trusted Osian to deal with Myron.

  Trusted him to handle everything, really.