“Has he? What an utter waste of his precious time.”
She stiffened. “He’s worried about you. Though goodness knows why.”
I cut her a bland look. “Yes, I, too, am rather at a loss as to why.”
Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “You don’t deserve him as a friend.”
I raised an eyebrow, a mocking smirk curling my lips. “You and I must have very different understandings of the definition of the wordfriend, Ms. Howard.”
Confusion flickered over her face for a second before she wiped it clean and pushed open her office door. I followed her inside.
“I’ll leave you in private,” she said, stepping back and closing the door behind her, leaving me in a room with a tall, broad-shouldered man who looked to be in his early fifties. His belly strained slightly against his white shirt, but beyond that, he looked like he could squash me between his large, bear-paw hands. The woman at his side was dressed similarly in a suit and winter coat, but while she was tall, she was younger and fit-looking. Her brown hair was pulled back in an efficient ponytail, and she wore little makeup.
“Look, let’s save us all some time. I’m alive and well and there is no reason, other than insanity, for my brother to file a missing person’s report.”
The police officers shared a look before the man stepped forward, holding out a hand. “DCI Rick English, Mr. Cavendish. This is DI Jane Hatlock. We’re with the Major Investigations Unit at Scotland Yard. We’re not here because of your brother or a missing person’s report. We’ve been trying to contact you regarding the Hangman murders.”
Dread instantly settled like a pit in my stomach.
“Are you aware of the murders, Mr. Cavendish?”
I nodded, feeling a little out of my body. “Yes. Yes, I’ve seen it on the news. I … I … I did note that the murders share the same name from my television show.” There was a question in my statement.
DCI English nodded solemnly. “Mr. Cavendish, I’m sorry to relay this, but it’s become very clear in our investigations that our perpetrator is copying the murders fromKing’s Valley.”
I shook my head, not wanting to believe it. “How … I mean … how?”
DI Hatlock said, “There have been four murders so far. Our first victim, Jennifer Parsons. Blond, twenty-four, murdered in December in Bracknell Forest. Second victim, Angela Wright, blond, aged twenty-seven, murdered in June in Slough.”
Horror began to fill me with dawning realization.
“Polish primary teacher Ewa Kowalski, age twenty-six, killed in October?—”
“In Maidenhead,” I answered numbly.
“Yes.”
Dread sank heavily in my gut. “And the fourth murder was a victim called Rachel, age twenty-three, in High Wycombe.”
The police officers nodded. DI Hatlock continued, “Each victim went missing forty-eight hours before their bodies werediscovered. They suffered stab wounds to the heart and had the wordsI’m sorrycarved in their torsos. Each victim was then hung in a location where their bodies were likely to be found quickly.”
The killerwascopyingKing’s Valleyto a tee. The show hadValleyin the title because the murders took place in towns within the Thames Valley area. Each victim shared the same name, age, month of death, and wounds as the victims on the show. My character Charlie King found his mother hanging when he was seven years old, and she’d left a note with just the two words “I’m sorry.” Charlie’s victims all looked like his mother, and the idea was that he stabbed them in the heart because his mum had broken his heart as a boy. He was acting out her punishment on other women.
“Someone on our team was a fan of the show and started to put the pieces together when our third victim, Ewa, was murdered,” DCI English relayed. “You should know members of the public have started piecing it together online. We’ve tried to shut it down, but we have our hands full, and it might not be long before the media picks it up.”
“Right. Of course they would,” I murmured stupidly. The room was spinning a bit. Stumbling backward, I leaned against the wall.
“Are you all right, Mr. Cavendish?” DCI Hatlock asked.
What did she think? “I’ve just found out the greatest writing achievement of my career has been used as inspiration to murder innocent women.”
“We don’t believe you are in danger, Mr. Cavendish, though we must ask if you or any of your cast or crew have received disturbing or threatening messages?” She probed.
“I haven’t. I don’t know about anyone else.”
“We’ll need a list of everyone who worked on the show.”
“Of course.” Renewed horror cut through me. “You don’t think the perpetrator worked on the show?”
