Now Comes the Dark (Basic Instincts #1)

Chapter Fifteen

A Grim Discovery

Roman was waiting at the front of Julie’s at five minutes to eleven on Sunday morning. He had stayed home last night, watched an old Roger Moore Bond movie, avoided alcohol and gone to bed after ten. Phil was throwing him a financial lifeline, and he couldn’t afford to screw it up. He had to take this trial seriously. Just a couple of shifts a week for the next few months would enable him to save money in a way he couldn’t right now.

Ashley and Patrick had gone clubbing, which had been another incentive for Roman to stay home and savour the peace. He had yet to have the conversation he needed with Ashley. He knew he couldn’t put it off much longer, but having the flat to himself and being able to enjoy an early night, just for once, had been a blessing. They had come in sometime around four. Roman had heard them in the kitchen—thankfully there were no arguments—and he’d been able to turn over and get right back to sleep. They were both still in bed with he’d left that morning.

Roman had already decided that if the conversation with Ashley didn’t go the way he’d like it to, he’d have no choice but to move out. He could never afford a place of his own, but it was time to make enquiries and see if anyone was in the market for a flat share, preferably someone without a toxic boyfriend. The money he earned working at Julie’s would come in handy for a deposit, should he need one.

He felt surprisingly cheerful this morning. A part-time job could be just what he needed. It was a progression. The first step on a journey, and it was something he was doing for himself. Nothing would change for the better if he sat around waiting for it. He had to take ownership of his situation. The job would mean less time to spend with Mallon, but it’s not like they were living in each other’s pockets, anyway. They only got together one or two nights a week and for a few hours at the weekend. And with Mallon returning to France at short notice, Roman couldn’t allow his own life to revolve around the availability of his lover.

If Mallon really wanted to spend time with him, they would find a way.

Roman checked his watch. Two-minutes past eleven. He tried the door again. Still locked.

He had always imagined Phil to be efficient and punctual to a fault. He could get pretty pissy when people arrived late and delayed one of his meetings. “ Time waits for no one ,” he would often say.

Still, it was Sunday morning, and he would have been up late last night. The poor guy probably didn’t get to bed until two or three. He was entitled to a lie in. Not everyone had the luxury of the early night Roman had enjoyed.

When the door was still locked at ten past eleven, Roman knocked. He hoped he hadn’t got the wrong time. He was certain Phil had told him to come for eleven. Had he made a mistake? What if he’d said twelve? Even worse, what if he’d changed his mind? Phil said the bar was quiet. He might have done a check on the finances and realised he couldn’t afford the extra help after all. But no , Roman thought. Phil would have called to let him know. He wouldn’t have made him come down on a cold Sunday morning for nothing.

He must have slept in.

Roman checked his phone, searching for Phil’s number when someone approached him from the right.

“Are the doors locked?” It was Kat, one of the regular bartenders. She had changed the colour of her short blonde hair since Roman had seen her last. It was now two-tone with streaks of white and royal blue.

“Yeah. I’ve been here fifteen minutes. There’s no answer.”

“He’ll be in bed.” Kat opened her oversized black leather handbag and rummaged inside. She seemed to reach to the bottom of the farthest corner before retrieving a huge set of keys. “It happens all the time. He gave me these in case I must open on Sunday. Most weekends I do.”

Roman laughed, relieved. “Did Phil tell you I was coming?”

She nodded, frowning as she shifted through the selection of keys until she found the right one. “Yeah, he mentioned it. Trial shift, right? Don’t worry. He’ll be down to show you the ropes. Phil is quite keen on you, by the sound of it. We’ve struggled to retain good staff lately, and he seems to think you’ll do a lot better. You’ve done bar work before, right?” She unlocked the front door and entered.

“Only at uni.” He followed her into the dim interior. How different Julie’s appeared without the lights, the people, the music and atmosphere he was used to. He had a sense of trespassing, like he shouldn’t be here. Even the smell of the place was different—the sourness of stale alcohol together with damp odour of the drains and cellar. “It’s been a few years.”

Kat locked the door behind them and led the way to the bar. “That’s good enough. If you’ve got experience, you’ll pick it up fast. Julie’s isn’t all that different from the student union bar. That’s where I started, too, by the way.”

“Have you worked here long?”

Kat had been as much a part of the place as Phil in all the time Roman had been coming here. “A little over two years, I think. The biggest problem I found—that I still have—is hearing the orders when the bar is jammed and the music is blasting, but even then you’ll get good at lip-reading. I don’t make that many mistakes these days.” She chuckled and removed her coat. “This way. I’ll show where you can leave your things.”

She gave him a brief tour of the downstairs area. There wasn’t much to see. Behind the bar there was a long stock room, with coat hooks on one wall and a tiny table with a kettle and pots of tea and coffee. “The cellar is down there,” she pointed to a hatch. “I’ll let Phil show you that part. I hate going down there. Cellars are just so creepy. And the ceiling is low, so you’ll have to watch your head.”

“I’ll manage.”

Kat returned to the main bar and turned on the overhead lights. “Were you out last night?”

“No. I stayed in, knowing I was coming here today.”

“You won’t have heard then? Another man was attacked at the far end of Broad Street.”

He sighed. “Not another one.”

Kat nodded grimly. “Badly this time, too. They had to take him away in an ambulance. Three fuckers laid into him with metal poles. They beat the poor fella to a pulp. That’s what I’ve heard, anyway.”

“Three?” Roman immediately flashed on the faces of the men who had attacked him last October. Were those same guys still cruising the streets, looking for new victims? If they were, their methods had escalated. And if they were out there every weekend, how the hell hadn’t the police caught them yet? They were hardly lying low. “Bastards. Do you know who it was? The guy they assaulted?”

“No. A few names have been passed around, but there’s nothing definite. I’m sure we’ll find out later today.” Kat switched on all the lights for the bar fridges. “Why don’t you make a start filling these in? You’ll find all the stock you need back there, and it will give you a chance to get used to where everything is. Beers, ciders, white wine are all in the chillers here. Spirits and mixers are either on the counter or in one of these lower cupboards. Take your time and get a feel for the place. I’m going upstairs to see what’s keeping Phil. He’s usually down by now. When I come back, I’ll show you how the till works.”

Roman nodded. He was already familiar with the layout of the fridges and stock in Julie’s. He’d spent enough time standing at the bar waiting for drinks to get a good idea of where they kept everything. He found a notepad and pen beneath the counter and started compiling a list of what they needed. The fridges hadn’t been restocked at the end of the busy Saturday night shift and were almost empty of bottled beer and cider. He scribbled down what was required and went into the stock room.

He found a mixed case of bottled cider and carried it back to the bar. The fridge shelves had all been carefully labelled, so it was easy to know what went where. This isn’t too bad , he thought, remembering his time at the student union bar. Though he predominantly worked there for the cash, he had enjoyed it—the camaraderie of the staff, the banter with the customers. Tips had been a rarity, but he couldn’t deny enjoying himself. He hoped that would also prove to be true of working here.

He already knew most of the staff by sight, if not by name. They were a friendly bunch, and he was sure he would fit in easily.

A loud scream from directly above caused him to freeze.

It sounded like Kat.

There came the thud of footsteps across the ceiling then another, more desperate scream.

“ Roman. Oh, my God, Roman.”

He put down a bottle and hurried across the bar. Kat had gone through a door in the corner of the stock room. It was open, and he followed into a dimly lit passageway. There were stairs to the left. Roman raced up, two steps at a time.

He found her on the landing. She was on her hands and knees, gasping for breath. There was barely any light. Four of the five doors that came off the landing were shut, with just a wedge of dull grey light coming from the open door. He scrabbled around the walls until he found a switch and turned it on. He dropped to his knees, beside Kat. Her entire body trembled when he laid a hand on her shoulder.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

Between gasping for breath, she made a strange, high-pitched keening noise. Roman had never seen anyone in this state before. Was she ill? Was she in shock? He glanced towards the open door but could see nothing inside beyond the bottom corner of a bed.

Ice cold fingers of dread skittered along his spine.

“Kat,” he said, sounding calmer than he felt. “What is it?”

“Phil,” she gasped between breaths. “He’s in there… He’s… I think he’s dead.”

Oh God . Panic surged all through his body and threatened to overtake him. He fought against it. Kat had lost it. He owed it to Phil to keep it together. “ I think he’s dead ,” she had said. She didn’t know. She wasn’t sure. Phil could be ill. He might have had a heart attack. There was a chance it might not be too late.

Roman rose unsteadily. Kat was a mess, but she was breathing and making plenty of noise. She was all right for now. Phil was the unknown. Phil needed his attention.

He hurried to the bedroom door.

Roman knew, in the leaden grey light of the room, that it was too late.

The figure on the bed did not move. There was something eerily unnatural about the angle in which he lay. There were no sounds, no breathing. Roman moved his hand up the wall, searching for the light switch. He found it. He closed his eyes a millisecond before turning it on.

His heart pounded and seemed to fill his entire chest. He felt it was going to crush his lungs. Open your eyes . He hesitated. Couldn’t do it. Open your fucking eyes. You might still be able to help him.

He inhaled and forced his lids apart.

Phil was naked on the bed with the covers twisted around his legs. One arm was splayed from his body, the other was twisted inwards, laying partly across his chest. There was blood on the sheets, between his thighs. His skin was a ghastly greyish-blue shade. Roman forced himself to look at his face, searching for any hint of life. Phil’s slack jaw and open eyes, his swollen lips and tongue destroyed any hope Roman had of saving him.

He backed out of the room. On the landing he leaned against the wall for support. Kat was still on her knees. Her mouth was open, but no sound came out. Her grief-stricken face was colourless.

Roman fumbled in his pocket. When he pulled out his phone, his fingers could barely operate it. He had to call the police, but his mind and his body seemed unable to function.

Phil is dead . Oh my God, he’s dead .

As he finally managed to dial the emergency number, Roman knew with absolute certainly that his friend had become the latest victim of the Blyham Strangler.