Page 63 of Death Kiss

‘She doesn’t deserve this,’ I say, resting my head against Liam’s shoulder. Hamish appears, sees the human cuddle puddle and climbs into my lap.

‘I know. It’ll be okay. We’re nearly there.’ Liam rubs Hamish’s chin, making the silly dog wriggle.

‘We might lose everyone anyway.’ The fear of it’s been growing with every kill. The odds of us surviving and completing the list might have increased, but with each one, the chance of discovery grows.

Reggie sits in the doorway eyeing us. He refuses to come any closer until Liam grabs some cat biscuits. Then he bumps Hamish out of the way and chows down, begrudgingly accepting pets.

‘Three to go,’ Liam whispers, kissing my hair.

One of whom is Ashworth.

I have a feeling he’s not going to go quietly.

TWENTY-EIGHT

FREDDIE

I’ve watched enough true crime to have seen the inside of a police interview room before. Being in one was a whole different kettle of fish. It smells of old coffee and stale body odour.

Rank.

They also fail to mention just how long you’re left in here between interrogation sessions. Technically, I’ve not been arrested, so I could leave at any time, or invoke my right to a lawyer, but I’ve been waiting for the small fish to do their bit with the hope of confronting the big fry himself: Ashworth.

It’s been hours since the last stint of questions, and I’m beginning to think that Ashworth won’t bother with me. My eyes hurt, and my back aches from sitting in the brightly lit room with the terribly hard chairs.

Boredom soon wins out over discomfort. I lean back in the chair, closing my eyes and letting my mind wander over the events of the last few weeks. It all started with Ellie. I don’t know where it’ll end.

My head lolls as sleep steals over me. The minute I’m out, the door slams open, startling me so hard I fall out of my chair.

With bleary eyes, I pull myself up and take the chair again, coming face to face with Ashworth himself. The guy looks utterly unfazed by the latest twist in his case.

The ability to be as entrenched as I know he is, and not even look a little stressed, makes my stomach churn. Breathing through my nose, I try to stay calm, knowing these things are being filmed.

Going straight in with accusations could be twisted to make me look unhinged. And play my hand too. I don’t want him to know what I know until I can figure out what to do with the information.

Ashworth pulls out his chair across from me and sits, hitting the button on the recorder to start it.

‘Evening, Mr Baker.’

‘Mr Ashworth,’ I say. ‘This is a funny way to get that interview I’ve been after.’

‘Call me Richard. Killing two men is certainly an extreme way to talk to me directly.’

I’ve been questioned every which way for hours, as though I’m going to trip up on that little nugget. ‘I’m sure you’ve verified my alibi by now, Richard.’

He tenses his fingers into a fist on the table, but his face is a picture of calm.

‘We have. But we also know that you were at the scene quite a while before you called it in. What were you doing?’

‘Mostly trying not to throw up and implicate myself.’ A half-truth is always the best way to cover a lie.

‘Took a good look at the bodies, did you?’ There’s a gravel in his voice that sets off little warning signs deep inside me.

‘Just to check they were definitely dead. I’m a reporter; accuracy is paramount.’

Ashworth laughs at that. ‘We all know the press doesn’t care about precision. They care about clickbait and shifting copies. Let’s not fool ourselves.’

I give a non-committal shrug.