Cosplay Killer

by Dahlia Donovan

  9

  Osian

  The moment Dannel rushed into the flat. Osian had known something was wrong. His gaze immediately turned to Myron when he stepped into their living room.

  “Myron.”

  “Osian.”

  Osian reminded himself that getting into a fistfight with Dannel’s dad probably wouldn’t solve anything. “A little late to be chasing your son to his bedroom.”

  “If he’d learn how to handle conflict, I wouldn’t be following him down the street.” Myron stepped further into the living room. “He’s a grown man.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I don’t like your tone.”

  “I like my tone just fine. You storm into our home when you’ve obviously upset Dannel—not sure you get to comment on how I speak to you.” Osian had once been scared of Myron York, but he wasn’t a little kid or a punk of a teenager anymore. “What did you want with him anyway?”

  “You were arrested.”

  “No, no, I wasn’t.” Osian lifted both arms up. “See? No handcuffs. I was simply helping the detectives by answering a few questions.”

  The conversation danced around for several minutes. Myron asked questions. Osian artfully avoided answering them.

  Their chat bordered on a hostile interrogation from both sides. They’d never gotten along. Myron had taken an instant dislike to him and never changed his mind.

  He’d completely tuned out the man when something caught his attention. “What did you say?”

  “You’re coddling him.”

  “And you hate how he loves and respects me more than he’s ever done you.” Osian thought if he’d been an attack dog, he’d have gone for Myron’s throat. He despised the way the man treated his son. “So, you’ve overstayed your welcome. The door is behind you. Why don’t you see yourself out of it?”

  Myron’s jaw practically hit the floor. He didn’t seem to be able to put together a response. His fists clenched tightly at his side, and Osian prepared himself for a fight.

  Crossing his arms, Osian stared down the taller and larger man. He had no desire to play the polite game. Family might be family, but Dannel would always come first for him.

  Always.

  After several long minutes of uneasy staring, Myron backed off and stepped out of the flat. He slammed the door behind him, not unlike his son had done earlier. Osian dropped onto the couch with a tired groan.

  Save me from overly dramatic men who slam doors and won’t talk about their feelings.

  At the heart of it, Osian knew Myron cared deeply for his son. He simply didn’t appear to know how to express his love. It left the two at odds more often than not.

  Heading to the kitchen, Osian fixed two mugs of tea and grabbed an opened packet of biscuits. He tucked the latter under his arm, managing the cups in his hands. With a little deft work, he got the door open.

  It wasn’t a surprise to find Dannel listening to one of his favourite albums. Osian set the mugs on one of the nightstands. He tossed the packet onto the bed and flopped down beside it.

  “He gone?”

  “Yep.” Osian twisted on his side. He plucked the biscuits up before he crushed them. “Hungry?”

  “Tired. I could manage a biscuit.” Dannel snagged a couple and sat up to eat. “Or an entire tin.”

  “We’ve got a packet.” He was relieved to see some of the tension gone from Dannel’s shoulders. “Almost a tin.”

  Shifting further, Osian rested his head against Dannel’s thigh. He brushed at the stray crumbs dropping on his forehead with a chuckle. Dannel grabbed his phone to adjust the volume of the music playing.

  “So, how many lectures am I getting about being nicer to Myron?” Dannel spoke after inhaling his fourth Bourbon biscuit. “Your tea’s getting cold.”

  Osian gave an exaggerated groan before pushing himself up into a seated position. He snagged his mug and handed the second one to Dannel. “Who’s going to lecture you? Not me. Probably not your mum. Roland? If he actually runs to his youngest son to whinge about my telling him off, I’d be genuinely surprised. Your baby brother doesn’t pick sides.”

  It had always surprised Osian how Roland managed to avoid all family drama. He never chose sides. It was irritating at times when he didn’t step in to defend his brother.

  Then again, Osian had a rather skewed perspective. He’d fight any number of people on his sister’s behalf. They were fiercely protective of each other.

  Holding his mug carefully in his left hand, Osian stretched out his right to gently grasp Dannel by the back of his neck. He tugged him forward into a kiss. They separated after several minutes.

  “Love you.” Osian took a sip of his tea and snagged one of the last Bourbons to dip into it. “Are you feeling better?”

  “Always with you.”

  “Remember your podcast suggestion?” Osian switched subjects, pausing to let Dannel process the change. They’d dealt with family nonsense enough for the rest of the month. “Investigating Gemma’s death?”

  “I don’t think I suggested investigating.” Dannel repeatedly coughed to clear his throat of the biscuit that he’d clearly inhaled. “Ossie.”

  “What?”

  “We’re not shoving our noses all the way in the police’s business,” Dannel warned.

  “Better to investigate and find answers than have them dragging me in for questioning repeatedly because I was the last person in the room.” Osian didn’t quite believe he was completely off the police’s radar. “At the very least, I want to chat with Ethan. Isn’t it odd how he vanished?”

  “Very.” Dannel finally nodded his agreement. “Fine. I’ve got the next few days off. How about we pay a little visit to Ethan?”

  Ethan. And track down Noah, Gemma’s ex, to see if he’s returned from his extended self-imposed exile.

  A jealous ex-lover wouldn’t be a complete stretch as a potential murder suspect if he were in the city.

  “We can stop by on the way to Olivia’s.” Osian glanced over when he didn’t get a response. Dannel had slumped over and already begun to snore. “Sleep well, love.”

  Lifting the packet of biscuits, Osian tossed the last one in his mouth and dropped the plastic into the rubbish bin. He made sure both of their mugs were safely out of reach. They’d knocked over too many glasses over the years; he didn’t want a rude awakening with broken mugs and tea everywhere.

  Again.

  Despite the soothing music and the familiar rhythm of Dannel’s breathing, Osian found sleep difficult. He’d covered them both loosely with a blanket. His head rested on Dannel’s chest while he contemplated the mystery of Gemma’s death.

  The broken defibrillator kept popping into his mind. It had been an older model—one they’d been able to easily afford for their group. While it had safety precautions to prevent accidental discharge, anyone with the right knowledge could circumvent those and overcharge the equipment.

  It wouldn’t be outside of the realm of possibility for someone to use it to stop Gemma’s heart.

  But why? Why Gemma? What could she have possibly done?

  The question stayed on his mind even as he drifted to sleep.

  The following morning, Osian snuck out of bed. He left Dannel still sleeping. His eyes kept trying to close on him while he brewed a fresh cup of coffee.

  Midway through his second cup, a sharp whistle outside caught his attention. Osian stepped over to the window and stuck his head outside. He frowned at his brother-in-law, who was waving enthusiastically up at him.

  Morning people.

  “Why don’t you come up?” Osian rolled his eyes when Drystan waved him down instead. “Fine. Hold on a second.”

  Glancing down at his T-shirt and sweatpants, Osian decided Drystan could deal with him in his sleepwear. He took the steps two at a time. By the time he reached the ground floor, Ian Barrett, their seventy-six-year-old neighbour and infamous rogue who worked as a consultant for a local theatre troupe, was chatting up his
brother-in-law.

  “Ahh, Osian, who’s this lovely dish whistling up at your window like a young Romeo?” Ian draped a lanky arm across Osian’s shoulders. “You must introduce me.”

  “He’s married, Ian.”

  “I’ve had married men.”

  “He’s married to my sister.” Osian tried not to laugh at the look on Drystan’s face. “Aren’t you late for the morning rehearsal?”

  Ian tapped the side of his nose and shrugged elegantly. “Fair enough. You two misbehave. I always do.”

  “Drys.” Osian turned to him once Ian was out of sight. “Shouldn’t you be fighting fires or throwing rose petals in front of my sister while she’s walking?”

  “I’m on my way home. Your darling sister wanted me to make sure you two were doing alright.” Drystan sounded genuinely concerned, so Osian held back his sarcastic response. “Are you two okay?”

  “You could’ve texted me to ask.”

  “You’re well versed in the art of lying via text. But you don’t have a poker face to save your life. So asking in person seemed the best option.” Drystan held a hand up to stop Osian from responding. “I can see you’re at least not eating your way through every chocolate biscuit in the shop. And we wanted to make sure you’re coming over for Sunday roast.”

  “On Monday. Why don’t we call it Monday roast?”

  “Osian.”

  “Mum,” he teased.

  “Don’t be a prat.” Drystan shoved him away. “We’ll see you this evening, then. Try not to get yourself arrested in the meantime.”

  “Ha. Ha. Ha.”

  “I promise we’ll have cake. We can hide in the corner, eating it while Olivia, your mum, and Dannel’s mum argue about whether cereal constitutes soup.” Drystan grinned with him. “Wait? Are you wearing pyjamas? Honestly.”

  “Tell your wife that we’re fine.” Osian dragged his brother-in-law into a hug, then sent him on his way. “And quit hanging out under my window. Someone might get the wrong idea.”

  “Prat.”

  10

  Dannel

  “I made a list.”

  “What?” Osian shifted closer to look at Dannel’s phone. “Of course you did.”

  “How else are we going to remember the questions for Ethan?” Dannel had used jotting them down to distract himself from family drama. He’d spent much of the bus ride making notes on his phone. “Can you think of anything else?”

  “You were thorough.” Osian scrolled through the twenty-plus questions. “Incredibly thorough.”

  “Are you laughing at me?”

  “Only on the inside.” Osian winked at him, blocking his arm when Dannel went to elbow him in the side. “So, you hold him down, and I’ll interrogate him.”

  “We can’t hold him down.” Dannel pocketed his phone and shifted in the uncomfortable seat. He hated taking the bus. “Think he’ll answer our questions?”

  “He will if you hold him down.” Osian snickered with him. He twisted his head to the side to brush his lips against Dannel’s mouth. “He might. What're the most important things we want to know?”

  “If he killed Gemma.”

  “Inside voice, love.” Osian pinched the bridge of his nose. “Maybe we should be a little more circumspect?”

  “Why?”

  “Because non-autistics need subtlety. We don’t deal well with blunt queries.” Osian stretched his legs out, making Dannel envious of his smaller stature. He wasn’t quite as squashed as Dannel. “We prefer reading between the lines of conversation.”

  “But why? It’s so pointless,” he grumbled. “We could save so much time.”

  Despite being surrounded by non-autistics and being in love with one, Dannel didn’t know if he’d ever be able to understand them. Life was so much simpler when people said what they thought and got straight to the point. The subterfuge exhausted him.

  What’s the point?

  Why can’t we just walk up to Ethan and ask him?

  Osian nudged him gently with his elbow. “I know what you’re thinking. The reason we can’t simply ask him is not only will he not tell us the truth, it’ll probably cause him to shut down. He won’t answer any of our other questions. If he didn’t do it, he might have a piece to the puzzle. We wouldn’t want to make him clam up at the first hurdle.”

  “Hurdle?”

  “Metaphor.”

  “I understand what a metaphor is. Yours doesn’t make sense,” Dannel argued.

  “Sure, it does. I’m the king of metaphors.”

  “Metaphors aren’t a territory. How can you rule over a verbal concept? Or would it be a construct?” He batted away Osian’s second attempt at a kiss. “No public displays of affection. Sometimes people get weird.”

  “Sometimes people are rude wankers. Let’s get back to me being the Tsar of Metaphor.”

  A few stops later, they were hopping off the bus, still debating Osian’s metaphor. They made their way to Gemma and Ethan’s place. The two had moved in together only a few months ago.

  “What if he’s not home?” Dannel glanced down the street. “Hey, we’re not far from the tattoo shop. Want another one?”

  “More toast?” Osian grinned.

  They both had a number of tattoos. They had matching jam-covered toasts with smiley faces on their ankles. Osian had the PlayStation controller buttons down his calf designed like an inkblot test along with a rendition of the Assassin’s Creed logo.

  Aside from the jammy toast, Dannel only had one other tattoo. He had a stylised firefighter helmet on his back. It was a memorial for a friend lost on a call a few years back.

  “Not sure there’s space on our to-do list for an impulsive tattoo session.” Dannel pointed down the street. “Ethan.”

  “I see him.” Osian whistled sharply, which immediately got his attention. “He doesn’t seem thrilled to see us.”

  “Not a requirement.” Dannel followed Osian, who jogged down the pavement to catch up to Ethan. “I’m never thrilled when visitors show up unannounced.”

  “Which is why no one does.”

  “No one does because you get shirty on my behalf when they do. And I love you for it.” Dannel had always appreciated how voraciously Osian defended his need to be in control of his environment. “Hello, Ethan.”

  Ethan glanced between the two of them uneasily. “Surprised to see you both in my neighbourhood.”

  “Gemma’s neighbourhood,” Dannel commented absently and blinked a few times when Ethan physically recoiled. “We’re happy to see you too.”

  Ethan rubbed at his eyes. He motioned toward the building behind them. “Why don’t we grab a coffee? I somehow doubt this is a coincidental meeting.”

  They got coffee and snacks, then headed across the street to the park. Ethan seemed content to wait them out. He sipped his drink, staring at them expectantly.

  “How’ve you been?” Osian asked.

  “Fine.”

  “Why’d you run off when Gemma died?” Dannel peered over at Osian when he smacked him on the arm. “What?”

  “Subtlety.”

  “I didn’t ask him if he killed her,” Dannel protested.

  “Dannel.” Osian covered his face with his hands and burst out laughing.

  “What?” Dannel had stuck to the rules.

  “If you two wankers are quite finished?” Ethan scowled at them with his coffee cup clutched tightly in his hand. “I’m still grieving, you know?”

  “Not an actual answer.” Dannel ignored the hand Osian placed on his arm. He knew the police wouldn’t completely remove Osian from their suspect list until they’d solved the murder. Why dance around the issue? “Where’d you go?”

  “I panicked.” Ethan was definitely not using his inside voice. “The police already asked me. I felt like I was suffocating, and I ran outside. She was gone. Going into the room wouldn’t have done a thing to help. I can’t resurrect the dead.”

  “Why not come back when you felt better?” Osian asked while Ethan
seemed to be trying to calm himself down.

  “It felt too real.”

  “I made a list of questions.” Dannel redirected the conversation slightly. He didn’t want Ethan to clam up on them. “Just a few.”

  Ethan began to pace in front of them. “Well, go on then. I can’t exactly stop you if you want to play detectives.”

  “Were you arguing at all? Had any recent fights?” Osian stepped in, despite his claims about wanting to be subtle.

  “No,” Ethan said heatedly. “We had little spats like every couple but nothing recent.”

  “Who would want to hurt Gemma?” Dannel had a feeling any more pointed questions about Ethan’s involvement would end their conversation. “She didn’t do this to herself.”

  “How would I know? Everyone adored Gemma.” He shoved his free hand in his pocket and waved the coffee cup around with the other, sloshing some over the side. “Wait. No. She’d heard from Noah recently.”

  “Noah?” Osian sat up on the bench. “Didn’t he move to Cornwall?”

  “He moved back.” Ethan shrugged. “He was trying to worm his way into her life again.”

  “Was he?” Dannel knew Osian had considered Gemma’s ex. He hadn’t personally known him well, though Osian had worked with him on occasion before the break-up and move. “Was he stalking her?”

  “She never said. I just know he’d left a few messages.” Ethan tossed his cup into a nearby rubbish bin after spilling coffee for a second time. “Why don’t you ask him your questions? I’m going to be late. Her parents have scheduled the memorial for the end of the week. They wanted to make sure you both knew. Are you going?”

  “Of course.” Osian shook his hand cordially.

  Dannel simply waved. He stretched his legs and then got to his feet after Ethan had disappeared. “Not sure this trip was worth it.”

  “Well, what have we learned?” Osian grabbed his hand and led him through joggers in the park. “He told us about Noah.”

  “He wanted us to know about Noah. To focus on him.” Dannel grabbed Osian with his other arm to keep him from falling when his foot caught on the side of the kerb. “He was very insistent that they weren’t arguing.”