Be My Killer: A completely UNPUTDOWNABLE crime thriller with nail-biting mystery and suspense Read online

  It was why Hazel had taken her under her wing. The other kids that played in Blue Grove Park had teased Meredith. She was weak and they’d all sensed it. Meredith had been four years younger than her but Hazel had given her one of her woven rainbow friendship bracelets and shielded her from the bullying of the others.

  Her parents never picked Meredith up from the park so Hazel often walked her to the gates because she knew she was reluctant to go home. Meredith had two brothers but they were much older and had already been getting into trouble with the police.

  Having researched her background Hazel hadn’t found any surprises in the trajectory of her life. Both her brothers were now serving time on drug dealing charges, and her parents had substance abuse histories. Meredith had grown up in a criminal family. Maybe the simple truth was that she’d been doomed because of her upbringing.

  She’d spoken with Meredith’s father, Wade Hickman, via FaceTime, after he’d agreed to take part. Her mother, Tamara, had been vehemently against the documentary being made and had only conceded after it was clear the shoot would go ahead. Hazel had decided against mentioning to them she’d been a childhood friend of Meredith’s.

  That was something Hazel hadn’t declared to her crew either. She didn’t want them to think her connection to Meredith would cloud her impartiality.

  Statistically, out of the eight million people who had used the #BeMyKiller hashtag, a small percentage of them would have been murdered in any case. But the similarity between the nature of three of the deaths in the US and what the victims had specifically said in their tweets was irrefutable, and the FBI investigation was still focussed on catching multiple perpetrators.

  It had ground to a halt, however, and Hazel was exploring an alternative: that, despite the fact that each murder had occurred in a different state, one individual committed all the crimes. This ‘lone tourist theory’ was popular online but had been dismissed by the official investigation because the time-frame of the murders didn’t allow for one killer to travel to all the locations.

  But in light of a recent revelation, Hazel believed it would have been possible. And to her it seemed plausible that the murders were the work of one person rather than #BeMyKiller inspiring several people to kill in the space of one week.

  The killing stopped at Meredith Hickman. By then, Twitter had shut the account down for breaking Twitter Rules. Meredith Hickman’s horrific execution had put Hazel’s anonymous home town on the map in the worst way possible. They’d both grown up in the same place. Both played in Blue Grove Park. Hazel had been lucky enough to move away to the UK with her mother. If she’d stayed she doubted she would have had the same fate as Meredith. But if she’d remained in Broomfield, could she have saved her?

  4

  Fun Central

  The words of the stilted sign were plastered over balloons that Hazel remembered used to be different hues but had now been faded a uniform blue by the sun. She swung her car onto and climbed the ramp before levelling off in front of the condemned domain of mirth. It was part of a shopping mall, and bleached stars were also dotted over its teal aluminium roof. A familiar orange Toyota and a vintage motorbike were parked near the main entrance. Looked like some of the crew had beaten her.

  Positioning herself in a space nearby, she switched off the engine, got out of her grey Mazda and took in the building while the chill March wind blasted through her black puffer jacket. She recalled her parents driving her out here on weekends to shop, and her father buying her a malt shake while they waited what seemed to be an eternity for her mother.

  After the bigger mall was built on the east side of Broomfield, however, Fun Central struggled to survive. Many of the chain stores relocated and, although it attempted to entice families back with its go-kart arena, it never recovered. Hazel couldn’t believe it had hung on so long. But after Meredith Hickman was murdered the place had been closed down for good leaving it to skulk emptily on the edge of town, an unwanted reminder of what could happen right on your doorstep. From what her location manager told her, Fun Central had been moribund before the homicide; the waste dump behind it and the stagnant pond nearby a hang-out for junkies and the criminal dregs of Broomfield.

  The sliding main entrance doors parted and Cox trotted out into the parking zone. ‘Haze.’ He quickly covered the distance between them with strides of his spindly legs and hugged her. The location manager’s long auburn hair smothered her.

  ‘I thought I’d be the first here.’ She’d wanted a little time on her own to explore the exterior before Cox arrived with the keys.

  ‘We were lucky with the traffic.’

  The soundman, Weiss, ambled out of the building to join them. The blonde German was leaner than Cox but squeezed her as tight. Behind him was the cameraman, Lucas. He waited his turn. She wasn’t sure she liked him with his head so severely shaved. It seemed even less likely a smile would break out on his stern, meditative features. He’d always been her cameraman. And even when they’d become closer, their relationship had remained professional.

  ‘I must be a glutton for punishment,’ Lucas quipped in her ear.

  She embraced him but for a shorter time than the other two, and they diplomatically parted.

  ‘The others should be arriving over the next few hours but I really want to thank you guys for this.’ She made eye contact with each one.

  ‘How could we possibly pass up on such an exotic location?’ Lucas gestured around.

  ‘Ready for the tour?’ Cox held up a bunch of keys.

  Hazel followed her core crew to the entrance. It was so good to see them again. And she already felt guilty she had no immediate budget to pay them with. She was working on that but, for the moment, they were back where they’d started. The tacit notion of their hard work on Isil Brides being a springboard to bigger things was now a little frayed around the edges. After the Emmy, everyone believed the days of shoestring gigs might be behind them and Hazel felt she’d let them all down. Now she was determined to reward her crew in the way they should have been last time around.

  ‘Come see the shrine.’ Cox strode ahead. ‘It’s sadly beautiful.’

  Her head spun towards a sound to her left. Crows suddenly took off from the branches of the trees on the edge of Holtwood Forest. She’d been a little girl the last time she’d ventured in there but it still seemed as foreboding.

  The doors parted and Hazel was walking over the dirty peanut butter tiles of a wide concourse that smelt strongly of bleach. A row of glass-fronted and numbered fun zones stretched away from her on the far side, and the leaves that had blown in were piled in their doorways. It was difficult to square the scene with the one she’d visited in her childhood. She tried to spot the shake place.

  It looked like it had been replaced by a ball pit and, as she squinted through the dirty window, Hazel could see the grubby red rope climbing frame and the slide leading down to its full pool of gaudy plastic fun. To the right of it was an entrance to the mini go-kart arena, ‘Speed Zone’.

  Looking left she saw a large, empty space bordered by low, plastic green hedges emblazoned ‘Bounce Zone’, where, she assumed, various inflatables used to be positioned. Shops and a shuttered fast-food outlet, ‘District Burger’, were to the left of it. Next to them were the bathrooms and a row of three grabber machines. There were only a few faded cuddly toys left inside each one, and their reinforced glass cases were distressed where vandals had failed to break them open. One was blackened from fire damage.

  MEREDITH SUCKED DICK FOR CHANGE proclaimed the graffiti words over a crude phallic drawing sprayed on one of the support pillars to her right. It seemed such a vile desecration: scrawling that where Meredith had lost her life in such an abhorrent way. Hazel hadn’t found any evidence of prostitution in Meredith’s background. Only a record for petty theft and under-age drinking. She identified the pillar shrine straight-ahead – votive candles in jars, shrivelled dead flowers, soft toys and pictures taped around its base.

>   As she followed Cox, Lucas and Weiss, the photos of Meredith’s beaming face emerged from the cluster of tributes and handwritten messages. They depicted her at various stages of her life. Same smile in all of them that couldn’t conceive of her horrible end there.

  Hazel had seen the pictures plenty of times but it was only contemplating her callow image in such a squalid place that accentuated how alone and helpless she must have been. And even though it was twenty years ago, Hazel could still vividly recollect handing her the rainbow friendship bracelet and Meredith’s expression of undiluted relief when she’d accepted it.

  5

  As the crew continued their survey of Fun Central, Hazel excused herself and stepped back outside for a breath of fresh air.

  This had taken her by surprise. She hadn’t envisaged how returning to Broomfield would have affected her in such a way. Even standing in the parking zone she felt claustrophobic. So much had happened in her life since she’d last walked through the doors of Fun Central but suddenly it seemed as if none of it had.

  If her father hadn’t died when she was ten years old, would they have stayed? And, if so, who would she be now? Perhaps she’d be living in town, working in Stooky’s bar or one of the other dives.

  She wondered if Meredith had ever yearned to escape. But her parents had owned the turkey farm here. Work and family – for most people – that was usually reason enough to stay. But she’d seen Meredith picked up from Blue Grove Park by police and driven home enough times to know that her domestic life had been pretty unstable. Hazel could see how easy it was to get trapped.

  The media attitude towards Broomfield had been pretty bromidic. Patronising reporters insinuating the ‘Be My Killer’ craze would be seized upon by disaffected kids in small towns. Hazel knew it would be a mistake for her own investigation to make the same facile assumptions.

  She turned on her heel and looked through the glass panels of the doors to the shrine. Meredith hadn’t been her responsibility for two decades. They’d both made a lot of choices in the meantime. Even if Hazel hadn’t left and remained as her friend, she suspected they might have grown apart. Or could those photos around the shrine just as easily have depicted her own face?

  6

  Henrik Fossen had a dusk view of the fallow fields of Broomfield from both sides of the cab.

  The driver was in his forties and blinked at Henrik in the mirror through thick lenses. ‘They making a movie about the girl who died?’

  ‘Something like that.’ Henrik glanced right as they turned at the huge Fun Central sign and climbed the ramp.

  ‘How long they gonna be here?’ The driver parked up.

  ‘Not my department, sorry.’ Henrik got out of the car and dragged his single bag with him. He peeled off enough bills from his wallet and thrust them through the window.

  ‘Only asking,’ the driver grumbled.

  ‘I really am the wrong guy to talk to.’

  The driver pocketed the money and didn’t offer him change. ‘Who then?’

  ‘Her?’ Henrik indicated the pink-haired girl who had emerged from the entrance to the complex and was doing one of those elbow walks that looks like running but actually isn’t any faster. As she approached, he tried to maintain eye contact with her and not look at her breasts’ jiggling, independent rhythm.

  ‘Henrik, hi.’ She was carrying a clipboard that held a thick yellow itinerary. ‘I’m Rena, AP,’ she said breathlessly.

  He frowned.

  ‘Associate producer,’ Rena explained, as if it wasn’t the first time she’d had to. Most of her freckles had hibernated for the winter but were still visible across the bridge of her nose.

  ‘What are you folks shooting here?’

  ‘Documentary,’ Rena answered the driver.

  When she didn’t elaborate, he gave them a sour look and swiftly reversed his cherry Chrysler away.

  They both watched him go.

  Henrik turned to Rena. ‘Hazel said I could claim any travel expenses.’

  ‘Absolutely. Just give me any receipts and I’ll get straight on it.’

  Henrik looked back at the receding car.

  ‘Right this way.’

  Henrik tried not to focus on the cellulite of Rena’s denim-clad butt as she led him across the parking zone. His brother could always find something he found attractive, some physical characteristic he appreciated in every girl he met. Henrik had a talent for the opposite. He caught up with her.

  ‘You’re the first interviewee to arrive. Hazel wanted some one-on-one with you before the others get here,’ she informed him over her shoulder.

  Henrik nodded uncertainly as the entrance doors to Fun Central shakily slid open.

  ‘I know this must be a… significant moment for you, Henrik,’ she said as they approached the shrine.

  He hung back and didn’t reply.

  ‘But I think Hazel wants the camera present for the tour. If you wouldn’t mind bypassing this… ’

  Bypassing it was what he’d been unsuccessfully trying to do for the past five months – why he’d taken the overdose of flunitrazepam pills, and why his last seizure had made him nearly bite his tongue in half. Meredith Hickman, a complete stranger to Henrik, had been kidnapped and mutilated twenty feet from where he was standing, and the finger of blame had been pointed firmly in his direction. All because, out of sheer boredom, he’d created the @BeMyKiller Twitter account.

  Henrik moved tentatively forward again.

  ‘The crew will be done soon. Hazel’s in a production meeting with them now… ’

  Henrik was mesmerised by the images of Meredith Hickman.

  ‘Hazel, sorry, Henrik’s here. You might want to head down.’

  Rena’s phone conversation receded as he reached the pillar. In between the tiny champagne tiles Henrik could see a dark residue and deep dents in the plaster. He knew exactly what had made them.

  ‘Henrik.’ Rena was behind him. ‘Hazel said take as long as you need.’

  7

  When he walked into the production office, Henrik Fossen was much taller than Hazel expected from her FaceTime conversations with him. But despite that, the twenty-four-year-old’s hooked posture made him look like he’d been punched in the stomach and was nursing the blow. A brand new pair of white Reeboks flashed under the flares of his jeans. It was difficult to believe the awkward individual in front of her was responsible for all of them gathering at Fun Central.

  The crew took his entrance as their cue to swiftly wrap up the meeting. There was no furniture in the damp-smelling upstairs room so they stood from their leaning positions around the graffiti-daubed walls and moved towards the door.

  Hazel firmed her lips at Henrik. ‘Everyone, just quickly say hi to Henrik Fossen. He’s just flown in from Saratoga.’

  They all nodded at him as if they didn’t know exactly who he was. He smirked a greeting, his goatee tightening up his haggard face.

  ‘Henrik, this is Lucas, Weiss, Sweeting, Cox and Keeler, and they’ll be so in your face for the next couple of days you’ll have nightmares about them. Their hygiene standards are evolving though,’ she joked, perfunctorily.

  Henrik pursed his lips as they filed past him.

  ‘I’ll let you guys eat and then we’ll block out tomorrow. Sorry again about the catering situation. Rena’s sourced some delivery menus and will take your orders. Beers in the cool box.’

  The crew grunted. They were used to living on pizzas and cold dough balls but it was late March and freezing so the alcohol wasn’t going to be the recompense it usually was.

  Hazel moved across the office and held up her finger to Henrik. ‘Sorry – one minute. Lucas? I can sweeten the pot with a bottle of Glenlivet if you can give Rena a ride into town.’

  He ran his palm over his shaved head. ‘No problem.’

  Hazel handed her credit card to Rena. What the hell, she had expenses debts from Isil Brides she was still making minimum payments on. ‘Henrik.’ She took his hand and it
felt like a cold rock. ‘Thanks again for agreeing to take part. Rena tells me you’ve just seen the shrine.’

  He met the gravity in her gaze and nodded. His matt green eyes were emotionless, however: no indication of how the encounter had affected him.

  Hazel was still disturbed every time she walked by it and saw Meredith’s familiar smile in such a godforsaken place. She filled the awkward gap. ‘It’s an arresting sight.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Rena said you wanted to record it.’ His Norwegian accent was barely discernible.

  ‘It’s me that should be sorry. I should have been there to chaperone you.’

  ‘I got an earlier plane. I hope my turning up early hasn’t spoilt everything.’ He released her hand.

  She couldn’t yet tell if the apology was genuine or if he still had the vague disdain for the project Hazel had sensed in their FaceTime conversations. ‘Of course not. I really don’t want you to be uncomfortable with anything we’re doing here, but my job is to capture as much of the reality of this place as I can.’

  Henrik nodded impatiently. ‘You mentioned I could claim for my expenses.’

  It wasn’t the response she expected but confirmed to her what the main motive for his presence was. ‘Just give any receipts to Rena.’

  ‘I’m afraid I wasn’t aware of that when the cab dropped me here.’

  She reached for her handbag. ‘Sure. Let me reimburse you for that.’

  Henrik made no attempt to stop Hazel retrieving her purse.

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Thirty… and tip,’ he said, with an air of entitlement.

  She knew all about his wealthy background and how his behaviour had impacted his father’s business empire. Hazel handed him forty, and he pocketed it.

  ‘I was told there was accommodation on-site?’

  ‘Yes. You have the rare pleasure of bunking with us. It’s actually ideal and means you won’t have to get up early in the morning to travel to location.’ She could see from his expression she hadn’t sold it. ‘We’ve converted the admin offices and storerooms up here into sleeping quarters. The crew are sharing but you get your own room. I’m hoping you’re going to be too busy to spend much time in it though.’