‘No, probably not this one,’ he said with a thick layer of facetiousness, staring at Toast doing her thing because that was better than looking at my crime wall. ‘I just want to choose how I go. I don’t want it to be after months of lying in a hospital bed, slipping in and out of consciousness and family members saying goodbye to the shell of person I was. But at least I have time. At least I can go and patch things up with Dad finally.’
‘That’s true,’ I said. Ben and his dad hadn’t spoken in years, so it was nice to hear that he was open to the possibility of finally repairing or mending things. I hoped his dad would be too. Maybe this was a kinder hand from fate than just being hit by a car, maybe now he had the ability to make things right before he died. Was that a better way to die? To know beforehand so you could make amends? I had no idea, frankly.
I couldn’t help but think about what had been going through Greta’s head in her final moments. What does someone who knows they’re about to die think about? Did she hear me on the phone, telling her what a terrible friend she was, when she had possibly just sacrificed her life to save mine? God, I really could be awful sometimes.
‘I need to know why you’re doing this, Ruth,’ he asked, like a senior Sunday-school teacher who’d just caught me taking a leak in the holy water.
‘I need Greta to matter,’ I said.
‘Do you know the great lie about life?’ Ben posited after what I presumed was his own moment of small, internal reflection. ‘The great lie is that our lives need to mean something, that we need to be the founder of a tech start-up, or invent a cure for Alzheimer’s. That we need to make a notable dent in the universe, just to matter, just to have significance. But I don’t believe that anymore. I hope you know that bringing the TellTale Killer to justice won’t make Greta’s life worth any more or less. The fact we’re still talking about her, two years later, that we miss her,thatis proof she meant something.’
‘Now, wasthatfrom a TED Talk?’ I said with a light smile creeping across my face.
‘That one was,’ Ben affirmed, his eyes drifting upwards as if it was to remember which one it was. ‘Everything ends, often before we feel it’s meant to. But that doesn’t mean it matters any less.’
I didn’t know if he was referring to our marriage, his own life or Greta’s but it reminded me of what she’d said the day she died. Wabi-sabi, her word of the day, the beauty of things being temporary.
As much as I wanted to keep sinking into the deep-and-meaningful conversation with Ben, I knew I’d have to move sooner or later. For now, I was one step ahead of the TellTale Killer, he didn’t know I knew about Carlota and if I wanted to stop him from taking another life, I had to do something.
‘You said you’d help me, right?’ I asked Ben as I tried to figure out exactly how I was going to get through this.
‘Always,’ he replied, without a moment’s hesitation. ‘Till death us do part, right?’
I snorted. I thought those vows were redundant when the divorce papers were finalised.
I can’t pretend it was bravery that was pushing me right now. In fact, I didn’t even know if this was the right thing to do. I just knew that two years ago, Greta had done the same for me. She put her life on the line to save mine. Greta’s life had always meant something, but saving Carlota felt like it would let her death mean something too.
Urgh, and anyway, what’s the worst that could happen? Getting killed by a serial killer? Eh, no biggie. That was when Bill burst back through the shed door, a notepad clutched in one hand, a pen in the other and a laptop shoved under his armpit. He looked frantic, wild-eyed, jabbing the pen at me as if it were a weapon.
‘Right, Ruth, I know I freaked out a bit and I know we’ve had our differences in the past, but whatever plan you’ve got right now? Scrap it. I was having a glass of wine and I was thinking and I thinkwhatever you’re planning… it’s a bad idea and you need to stop it, right now.’
‘What?’ Ben and I said in unison, both staring at him, beyond baffled. I think even Toast was so astonished by Bill that she stopped doing her usual humping to look at him judgementally.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ Bill said breathlessly, barely stopping to let any of his words register. ‘About your crime wall, about the TellTale Killer, about Jago and how he’s just generally in love with himself. It’s like you said: they’ve all got massive egos and ego makes you do stupid things. Jagowouldprobably write the obituary for his victims before they even died. And I think I’ve got an idea. It’s crazy but it might save Detective Carlota. I mean you might die, Ruth, that is the only caveat, but I think it will save her. Because the TellTale Killer still thinks you’re a serial killer like him.’
He paused for a fraction of a moment, trying to remember what else he had come in to say.
‘By the way, you mentioned you had a friend who still worked at the paper, right?’
Don’t know if I would describe Tasha as a friend exactly.
‘Yeah,’ I said, but I was still processing Bill’s sudden willingness to help with all this. ‘But why would that matter?’
It was like Bill was purposefully pausing for dramatic effect.
‘You know about how they caught the BTK Killer?’
‘The floppy disc situation?’ I answered; of course I knew how they caught the BTK Killer, I’m just surprised that Bill did. I suppose his job was all about computers and software, maybe that was something they taught you in whatever techy school he went to.
‘Okay. So how would you feel about meeting Jago… face to face again?’ Ben asked, somewhat trepidatiously, still channelling the wild-eyed energy of a hamster who had been dunked in an espresso. ‘Tonight.’
‘What?’ Ben blurted, his shock plain, but Bill barely registered.For Ben, meeting a notorious serial killer face to face probably sounded downright mad. Bill and I were clearly more unhinged than he realised.
‘It would ideally need to be near Hammersmith, near the office,’ he said to me, ignoring his boyfriend.
‘I know a place,’ I replied quickly.
THIRTY-FOUR
