Be My Killer: A completely UNPUTDOWNABLE crime thriller with nail-biting mystery and suspense Page 9

Which meant she had to accept whichever deal they put forward while it was still on the table. ‘But I can’t jeopardise what we’re trying to achieve here by putting us under that sort of pressure.’

  Rick didn’t say anything and waited for her to fill the silence.

  Hazel sighed. ‘But let me review the schedule and see if I can square some circles.’

  ‘Excellent. I’ll brief Wesley. I’m sure he’ll be stoked.’

  Rena ducked under the half-closed shutter of the restaurant and hovered beside Hazel.

  ‘Call me if there’s even a tiny chance of some leeway, Rick. Even an extra day would be a luxury.’

  ‘I’ll let Wesley know this afternoon.’

  Which meant there wouldn’t be. ‘Thanks a bunch, Rick.’ But he’d already rung off.

  ‘Criteria?’ Rena raised both eyebrows expectantly.

  She knew Rena had been loitering outside since she’d seen her sneak off to make the call. ‘They want us to deliver eight days earlier.’

  ‘But they’re still in?’ Rena smirked.

  Hazel didn’t share her enthusiasm. ‘You’d better forget sleep for the foreseeable future. Something you wanted?’

  ‘I don’t want to panic you but I can’t find Henrik.’

  Hazel nodded absently and then the sentence sunk in. ‘Since when?’

  ‘He’s not in his room and nobody’s seen him this morning.’

  Hazel slid off the table. ‘But he came back last night?’

  ‘I assumed he’d gone up to his room when I locked the doors.’

  Hazel took out her phone and speed-dialled his number.

  ‘I confiscated his cell, remember?’ Rena pulled it out of her pocket.

  Hazel hung up and briefly closed her eyes.

  ‘On your instructions,’ she added, crisply.

  ‘You’re sure he’s not upstairs?’ She hadn’t seen Henrik since she’d wrapped him.

  ‘Doesn’t look as if his bed has been slept in.’

  ‘Shit… ’ But Hazel was mystified. ‘Why the hell would he split now? He’s already had his confrontation with Eve Huber.’

  ‘Maybe the pressure got to him. I saw him popping pills yesterday.’

  ‘Where was he heading when he left?’

  ‘He went for a walk around the pond.’ Rena followed Hazel back under the shutter onto the concourse.

  Lucas, Weiss and Sweeting were setting up the equipment there, and Keeler was helping out.

  Lucas stood. ‘Any sign?’

  Hazel shook her head as they breezed quickly past and headed for the doors.

  34

  ‘Henrik!’ Rena bellowed from the fishing jetty.

  His name bounced back at them from Fun Central but both women were looking into the murkiness of the pond.

  ‘D’you think? … ’ Rena dipped her head towards it, as if it would help her see through the pollution.

  Hazel scanned the water’s edge the other side. ‘Maybe. He could be lying on the bottom but more likely he’s on a plane heading home.’ As Henrik appeared so eager to exploit his brief window of celebrity, however, it seemed odd he would bail on the project now. ‘Why would he leave his phone behind though?’

  ‘He wouldn’t exactly want to clue me in on his escape plan.’

  ‘If that’s what this is. You circle around to the other side, and I’ll take a look here.’

  Hazel scoured the bank but only found several used syringes. She recalled how scared she used to be of the big sprawling forest beyond. She’d dared to go out to the old well at Third Base on a few occasions though. It wasn’t a name that was on any map. It was the secluded glade couples visited to light fires and get some privacy. A group of them often ventured there in daytime to find out what the older kids got up to, and Meredith sometimes came along. All they’d ever seen were used rubbers.

  No sign of Henrik. Maybe his publisher had convinced him to leave. She figured that’s whom he’d been having his surreptitious phone conversation with the day before. They’d probably paid him the first tranche of his fat advance, and Hazel had only given him his cab fare.

  She’d pushed him too hard and been just as guilty as the rest of berating him in the absence of the real killer. He was just a messed-up guy who had done something stupid and got in way, way over his head, and she’d allowed her own anger about Meredith to impinge on the interview. Henrik wasn’t her main suspect but, after the conversation she’d just had with Criteria, his timing couldn’t have been worse. She was now without a central narrative for the documentary. And if she couldn’t deliver to Criteria, her crew wouldn’t get paid. Her intention had been to shoot his confrontation with each subject she summoned to Fun Central but that was yielding less compelling results than she’d thought. Parts of the Eve Huber segment were usable but when he’d met Griff Needham it actually appeared as if he, perversely, hero-worshipped Henrik.

  She returned to the jetty and was about to call Rena when she spotted something nestling in the weeds beside it. It was a brown plastic pill canister. Hazel scooped it up and examined the handful of capsules behind the label.

  Flunitrazepam.

  ‘What’s that?’ Rena appeared from the trees.

  Hazel held it up. ‘You mentioned he was popping pills yesterday.’

  ‘There’s a lot of recreational medication lying around here.’

  Hazel slid the canister into the pocket of her puffer jacket.

  ‘Just a lot of smashed bottles over there. Looks like somebody uses this place for target practice. Should we call the cops?’

  ‘Not yet. He’s got to be missing twenty-four hours before we can report it.’

  Rena shivered. ‘But Henrik’s a celebrity.’

  ‘Whose fame is built on deception. We still don’t know if his suicide attempt was a performance. And I don’t want to give Bennett an excuse to shut us down. Let’s just hope he’s OK and has second thoughts before the end of the day.’

  ‘We’d better get back. The Hickmans are due on-site.’ Rena took three steps and halted.

  Hazel looked around again, momentarily lost in thought.

  ‘We are going to carry on?’

  Hazel refocussed. ‘We don’t have much choice.’

  ‘Maybe he’s getting his head together. At least the Hickmans live locally. If we need to do a pickup with Henrik when he comes back, it shouldn’t be a problem.’

  ‘If he comes back. We’ll just have to stick to the schedule in the meantime. Come on.’ Hazel followed Rena out of the forest, the pills gently rattling in her jacket pocket.

  35

  Hazel watched the recording of her interview with Henrik Fossen and Griff Needham the previous day.

  Hunched forward, Henrik shifted in his swivel chair and examined his new Reeboks.

  ‘Like I say, I’m not putting it on you.’ Griff Needham was seated beside him and waited for Henrik to look up but continued when he didn’t. ‘I’m not out for your blood like the others.’

  Henrik nodded. ‘So why come all this way then?’ He chewed his goatee.

  Griff shrugged. ‘Fight your corner.’

  ‘You don’t even know me. Why would you do that?’

  ‘Jesus.’ Griff reclined in his chair so a wall of children’s smiling features became visible. ‘If this is the thanks I get.’

  Hazel had shot the stilted exchange in the Face Painting Zone. The fading sample photos of kids’ dyed and grinning expressions offered a discomfiting contrast to their conversation.

  ‘I don’t blame you for Denise’s death,’ Griff stated dramatically, as if he were on a white trash talk show.

  ‘I appreciate you saying that but don’t you think you should be more concerned that whoever killed Denise hasn’t been caught? Or had you forgotten about them?’

  ‘Of course not but the cops have reached a dead end. Why are you giving me such a hard time?’

  ‘I’ve read some of your Facebook posts. You’re a fantasist. Just want to attach yourself to anything that
will yank you out of obscurity, even if it’s your dead sister.’

  ‘Stepsister.’

  ‘Hazel showed you the footage of Meredith Hickman, right?’

  Griff looked off-camera in her direction and then back at Henrik. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You think that was the man that murdered your stepsister?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You mean you don’t care.’

  Griff leaned forward and lowered his voice. ‘Are you busting my balls for real?’

  ‘Yeah, so now you finally know we’re not going to be big buddies or anything.’

  Griff looked genuinely hurt.

  ‘Somebody assassinated your stepsister but you seem more interested in meeting me than finding whoever it was that pumped those bullets into her.’

  Griff’s face started to glow.

  ‘You and I don’t share a connection, Griff. Neither of us has any special talent. We’re only sitting here now because of a tenuous link to some people who are dead, and yours is even flimsier than mine. But I bet you’re wishing your stepsister had died long ago so you wouldn’t have had to wait so long for your big moment.’

  Hazel paused the footage, waggled in her swivel chair and wondered if she really needed to call Griff again before he flew back to Wilmington. He was clearly freeloading on Denise’s death.

  It repulsed her. Griff was treating the whole thing as an amusement. Did he really not care about his stepsister or was it just an act for the camera? But looking at his Facebook posts there was little evidence of any grief. How much mourning had there been for Meredith? Or was her death nothing more than an opportunity for others? She couldn’t deny it had been the trigger for her project.

  ‘They’re here.’ Rena was at her shoulder.

  Hazel’s stomach fluttered. She hadn’t been able to eat breakfast because of the interview ahead. It was her first face-to-face with Meredith’s parents. She’d spoken to Meredith’s father online but now she had to look them both in the eye. Would they be as cold and attention-grabbing as Griff? She knew they’d neglected their daughter during her childhood but had to resist any urge to censure them. Hazel was still concealing the fact she’d known Meredith, and it had to stay that way. She wouldn’t be able to cajole the truth if she told them.

  She closed the interview window and selected the Meredith clip. Hazel glanced over at the crew, set up and in a tense huddle by the shrine.

  They were distinctly uncomfortable with what they were about to do and so was she. How could she put Meredith’s mother and father through the ordeal of even watching one frame that wasn’t real? But from what Officer Soles had said, it sounded like the Hickmans were still ‘persons of interest’ and she needed to determine if that was justified. She’d tried contacting Detective Bennett to get the low-down on the couple, but his deputy categorically said he would no longer take her calls.

  Hazel stood from her chair at the small table. ‘Don’t bring them in just yet. Give me half a minute.’

  Rena trotted back to the main entrance.

  Hazel followed but forked away to speak with Lucas. ‘Can you move the crew away from the monitor? I don’t want the Hickmans to know you’re shooting them. Use the zoom. Weiss, can you quickly put a mic behind the laptop?’

  Weiss looked at Lucas for his approval.

  Lucas nodded and Weiss trotted over to the table.

  ‘Think you still have a project without Henrik?’ Lucas said when Weiss was out of earshot.

  ‘We’re carrying on until he shows up.’

  ‘Maybe he’s not coming back.’

  ‘Just keep the faith.’

  ‘Faith in what? That showing bereaved parents the little horror show we put together will give us something we can use in the edit?’

  ‘I promise I’m only showing them the end frame. Just start shooting as soon as I’ve brought them in.’

  ‘You’re the boss.’ Lucas nudged past her to get his Lumix.

  36

  ‘First time I seen it close up,’ Wade Hickman said to his wife, as they both halted in front of the shrine.

  ‘You haven’t been up here?’ Hazel couldn’t disguise her surprise.

  Tamara Hickman examined the dog-eared photographs. She was an elegant and compact fifty-something woman in a slate-grey shawl, tight jeans and spiked heels. Her long, jet-black hair had blue neon streaks, and it looked like she’d had Botox because the smooth top half of her face was betrayed by the smoker’s fatigue around her lips. ‘Too upsetting.’

  Wade Hickman moved his mouth while he read the tributes and gently shook his head and ponytail. He obviously shared the same hair dye as Tamara. He was a similar age and shorter than his wife but his muscular frame was too big for the indigo cheesecloth shirt he was wearing. A leather necklace clung tight to his throat. ‘We do our grieving in private.’ He scraped his tongue around the inside of his cheek, as if he’d found a morsel of food there.

  Hazel recalled what Officer Soles had told her about Wade trying to bust Tamara’s head open on a manhole cover. She nervously glimpsed Lucas. He had the camera rested on the cool box and was pretending to go through his battery bag while he recorded them. ‘I’m so sorry for your loss. Would you like a few moments here?’

  Wade’s eyes darted around the crew, a flash inventory of everyone there. ‘We’re good. Let’s get this thing underway.’

  Hazel noticed him furtively wipe away a tear, as if he didn’t want his wife to see. The small action touched her. How private did his grieving really have to be? ‘First, would you mind taking a look at the clip we discussed?’ She didn’t want to delay the deceit any longer.

  ‘So how come the cops only showed us a still of it?’ Wade scratched his stubbly throat, and it rasped under his nails. ‘Couldn’t see shit in that.’

  ‘It is very upsetting. If you’re not happy to do this now… ’ But she needed them to. Had to see their reaction to the actor.

  ‘Those assholes have left us out of the loop this far. May be our only chance to see it. You say there’s actually a face?’

  ‘I’d like you to view it in private then we can talk about it on camera. I’d rather you examine it alone beforehand though. I’m sure seeing it for the first time is going to evoke some powerful emotions.’

  Wade put his arm protectively around Tamara.

  ‘I’ll leave you to it. All you have to do is sit yourself at that table over there and touch the keyboard. It’s just that last frame I’d like you to see.’

  Wade nodded a little too earnestly.

  ‘We’ll set up for the interview afterwards. I’ll wait here until you’re done.’

  But the couple had already turned from Hazel and were approaching the table. She could see Wade leaning into his wife to speak with her and willed them to reach the laptop so she could hear via Weiss’s mic.

  Hazel made her way over to where the crew were assembled. Weiss was crouching at his rig behind the equipment cases and had slipped on his headphones. ‘Are they in range?’ she whispered.

  ‘Just picking them up.’ Weiss blinked as he listened.

  Hazel angled her body so she was completely concealing him.

  ‘Want me to break out the directional mic?’ Sweeting said, loudly.

  Weiss held up his hand for silence.

  Hazel glanced back to the Hickmans. After they’d seated themselves in the swivel chairs, Wade leaned down to the laptop and hit the keyboard.

  ‘This has got to be our finest hour,’ Lucas murmured.

  But Hazel knew she had to be tough to get to the truth. This was her job. And she had to remember how many times she’d taken care of Meredith in Blue Grove Park because Wade and Tamara hadn’t been around. She didn’t shift her eyes from the couple. They would be seeing the actor’s face now.

  Wade and Tamara looked at each other then back to the screen.

  ‘What are they saying, Weiss?’

  ‘Nothing yet.’

  She observed Wade’s head move as he spo
ke. Hazel returned her attention to Weiss and tried to read his expression.

  37

  April’s father had told her never to hang out at the junkyard or in the old building behind it because of CFCs. She didn’t know what they were but did know there was nowhere more exciting to play.

  Some grown-ups occasionally visited. They usually sneaked inside Fun Central. April wasn’t brave enough to venture in there. Knew something bad had happened inside. The grown-ups could have that place; she was more interested in the things they’d thrown away. April had decided that, as nobody else used the junkyard as much as she did, it more or less belonged to her.

  She called it Apriltown and was familiar with every nook and crevice of her domain. If grown-ups ever came, she knew exactly which old freezers and ovens to use as cover until the coast was clear.

  It was much safer than in Blue Grove Park. The kids who acted like they owned the swings and slides there were a lot older than April and never friendly. She was seven but her next birthday seemed a lifetime away. The grown-ups who sat on the broken benches were the ones who frightened her the most though. Sometimes their gaze followed April, as if they needed something from her.

  This was where April felt safe and could be whatever character she wanted without anyone spoiling her fun. She invented stories, populated them with creatures who lived inside the machines.

  Wandering the rows of dilapidated and corroded kitchen equipment, she liked to sniff their interiors. It was the same as the damp metallic aroma April had smelt when she’d played in the broken-down car that had been parked in the garage before her father had it towed.

  Most of the time she was quite happy on her own. Sometimes though, after spending hours alone, April panicked that she was the only person left in the world. That’s when she ran all the way home through Holtwood Forest, craning to see her mother at the kitchen window and not feeling safe until she had.

  Her father poked fun at her; said it wasn’t normal for April to spend so much time in her own company. But she knew it was because he didn’t have any imagination.