I shook my head, I really only scanned a lot of my notifications unless they were from DarkCell.
‘Yesterday was… a lot for me,’ I replied quietly.
‘Oh, yes, of course,’ he said quickly. I could see the regret form in his face as he squinted his eyes and shook his head, as if scolding himself for asking the question. ‘I forgot how hard this must be for you, Ruth. I hope you’re holding up okay. I know it can’t be easy knowing he’s back.’
‘It’s not,’ I replied with a small affirmation, deciding now wasn’t the time or place to explain why my Sunday had been so terrible.
‘They’re shutting down the whole morgue,’ Uncle Phil said, dejectedly, flicking his hand to motion to the various police staff. ‘All funerals are delayed until they’ve investigated every single body. They’re going through all the security footage, searching for evidence, want to talk to all of us.’
‘What do they even think they’re going to find?’ I asked, dubiously, also realising I was half asking myself.
‘Not a scooby,’ Uncle Phil replied with a snort. It was then I realised that I couldn’t remember the last time I had seen him look so deflated. ‘I know in my heart that none of you would even think about doing something like this. What, do they think that Clive has enough brain cells to be the TellTale Killer, Lord have mercy.’
I cast my mind back to the discussion of security footage earlier and felt another razor-edged spike of worry in my chest when I realised they might well show me packing various items into anAnn Summers bag before disappearing into the morgue for thirty minutes. But we fortunately only had three cameras in the office, which meant they were limited in what they would be able to capture. There was one by the front door, one by the display coffins which had a restricted view to the morgue, and one at what we called the loading bay where we moved the sorry sods into the hearses. Surely, none of the cameras would have caught me.
I figured I could probably bluff my way through that if they did try and call me up on it. After all, Uncle Phil himself had been the one to ask me to check on Justin’s body before joining me for the impromptu job offer surrounded by the interview panel of cold stiffs.
‘My offer still stands, by the way, Ruth, about taking over the business,’ Uncle Phil said, catching my eye and shifting his lips into a kind smile. ‘I’m just sorry you might be inheriting such an absolute mess of a company at this rate.’
‘Oh, don’t be silly,’ I replied with what I hoped would look like a friendly smile to him. ‘Thank you, by the way. I am very interested.’ Fine, I lied, but I figured I should try and keep my options open. ‘I just think that these past few days have been such a…’
I made a strange warbling noise with my mouth, waving my hands around my head in a gesture that was meant to convey my internal lunacy. Uncle Phil gave a robust chuckle, smoothed his hand over his chest as if to ease the indwelling anxiety, and took another dainty sip of his Capri-Sun. I didn’t know whether to tell him that drinking his problems away wasn’t the answer.
A soft courtesy knock sounded at the open door behind me and I turned to see Detective Carlota looming in the doorway. I was still a little unsettled from my last conversation with her, feeling like she had a moderate-to-high suspicion that I had played a part in the TellTale Killer’s return; I mean, she was always incredibly perceptive, she was a detective, after all. Still, regardless of that, I couldn’t deny how fabulous she looked today, like always. Tall and muscular, she seemed as though she’d just casually stepped off a runway at Paris Fashion Week. Today, she wore a stylish camel-coloured double-breasted coat over a dark cable-knit blue jumper that perfectly accentuated her striking facial structure.
‘Mr Camborne, hi,’ she said, smiling at Uncle Phil spuriously. ‘I was wondering if I could borrow Ruth for a moment?’
Uncle Phil flicked a hand and bowed his head as if to say,Of course, and I followed Detective Carlota into the claustrophobic office kitchen; it could barely fit one of us. She placed a hand gently on my upper arm, as though hoping it might feel reassuring to me, but all I could think about was her telling me they had finally found evidence of my tampering and asking me what kind of prison food I liked.
‘How are you holding up, darling?’ she asked, her voice gentle and delicate, her words seemingly comforting but with very little warmth under the surface. I’d never seen Detective Carlota like this. She’d always been kind and supportive which made the sudden chill of her professionalism all the more jarring; it felt like watching the family dog bare its teeth after taking a treat from your hand.
‘I’m okay, I think,’ I replied, trying to keep any telltale guilt from creeping unknowingly onto my face.
‘Good, good, good,’ she murmured. ‘Look, I need your help. The police gave a press conference last night dedicated to catching the TellTale Killer; you may have watched it on TV.’
Admittedly, I had only watched the highlights, there was frankly too much TellTale Killer content to keep up with at the moment. The media circus was very much back in town. ‘So, I’m still sceptical this is actually him, the real TellTale Killer,’ Detective Carlota continued. ‘That being said, due to some recent developments, shall we say, it looks like he may have killed two people already.’
Oh, so they did receive my first package. Rude of them not to reply.
‘I thought you were off the case?’ I asked Detective Carlota. She cocked her head in response, as if to say,Well …
‘I’m not the lead, I’m afraid,’ she said. ‘But seeing as I was thelast time he struck, they’ve asked me to oversee whatever we can glean from Camborne and Sons.’
Good for her. Less good for me.
‘But I’ve spent all bleeding night searching for what could have happened to Justin’s body, tracking every single place it went between inquest and funeral. I’m just determined to get to the bottom of this, Ruth,’ Carlota continued. I’d almost forgotten this about her. With the Telltale Killer quiet for two years, I hadn’t seen this side of her in a while. But I remembered how it was after Greta, when we still thought the killer might strike again: there was a ruthlessness in her, a kind of callous edge. She would do anything not only to bring him to justice, but to be the one specifically who did it.
She gave me a look I imagine doctors reserve for the moment before they mention a colonoscopy.
‘I need your help to try and figure this whole thing out.’
‘Oh,’ I said, fighting again to keep any flicker of compunction or scruple from betraying me. ‘You know me, Detective, I’m always here to help.’
Casually, she noted that I’d been captured on CCTV entering the morgue on Friday – I’ll leave you to guess which particular occasion that was – but reassured me I’d since been struck off the list of suspects.
‘You see, not only do I know you pretty well at this point, Ruth, but I spoke to a surgeon, and she told me that no amateur could remove an entire heart and cover it up in just thirty minutes,’ she added, ‘especially not someone who works in admin and finance.’ I felt an almost overwhelming urge to point out that it wasn’t so difficult, provided you had a bulk supply of kitchen towels to stuff the body, but instead I just decided to make my best concentration face as she spoke.
‘I’m actually doing some more work on the bodies now,’ I said, figuring that not outright denying anything might make me seem less suspicious. ‘It’s not just numbers anymore.’
