Now Comes the Dark (Basic Instincts #1)

Chapter Sixteen

Another Victim

“There’s nothing we can do,” Roman said, crouching beside Kat. “We should wait downstairs. Come on.”

When she didn’t react, he put his hand on her shoulder and gently squeezed. It seemed to bring her back to the present.

He helped her to stand.

“Is he…?” she asked.

“Yes.”

She let out another short shriek. Roman put his arm around her waist and guided her to the stairs. Staying strong for Kat kept him from crumbling himself. His mind kept returning to the sight of Phil on the bed, that ghastly expression on his face and the colour of his skin. He must have been dead for several hours.

“When did you see him last?” he asked, helping her down a step at a time.

“After two. We…closed the bar at one, cleared the mess up then stayed back for a couple of drinks. It’s what we do every Saturday.”

“Was he alone when you left?”

She sniffed and nodded. “He waited at the door until my Uber arrived then locked up behind me… Oh God.” Her legs weakened. Roman held her tighter.

“Come on. Not far now.” They reached the bottom of the stairs. He walked her through the bar, and they sat together on a sofa in the far corner.

“Any sign of a break-in?” Kat asked.

“I don’t know. I haven’t looked. The police said not to touch anything else until they arrive. We’ll be okay to wait for them here, I’m sure.”

“My bag,” Kat said, flustered. “I need my bag.” She made a move to stand and wobbled.

“I’ll get it,” he assured her, telling her to stay where she was until he returned. She had left it in the stock room and seemed fleetingly relieved when he gave it to her. She rummaged inside and pulled out a packet of tissues, offering one to Roman. He took it and realised for the first time that he was also crying. His hand shook as he wiped his eyes and cheeks.

“Do you think…it’s him?” Kat gasped. “ The Blyham Strangler .” She whispered the words.

“It’s hard not to.” He didn’t know how much she had seen when she’d entered the room, but when Roman had turned on the light, it had left him in no doubt that Phil had been strangled. The expression on his face, his bulging tongue, his eyes… Choked in his bed, just like those other men. And there had been blood on the sheets, between his legs. He’d heard rumours, nothing but unsubstantiated gossip, that the strangler mutilated and degraded his victims after their deaths. Is that what he had done to Phil? A swell of sickness deepened in his stomach. Roman shuddered and said nothing. If Kat hadn’t seen those awful details for herself, she didn’t need to know about them now.

“Oh my God, Phil.” She bawled openly, great sobs wracking her chest. “He’s the nicest man I know. He would do anything to help anyone. Nothing was ever too much trouble. Who the fuck would want to hurt him?”

Roman held her as she cried. He didn’t have the answers. Everything she said was true. Phil Logan was a great man and a good friend. Roman hadn’t even known him for long, but in a short time, he had become a powerful ally.

And now he lay above them, cold in his bed.

The world had become an evil place.

Roman lost all sense of time. He had no idea how long had passed when they heard hammering at the pub door.

“Police,” a voice called.

There were four uniformed officers on the doorstep. One of them came inside and spoke kindly to them. Roman struggled to focus on what he said, and the officer had to repeat himself twice.

“CID and the forensics team are en route,” the officer said a second time. “My colleagues are going to secure the scene outside. What time is the bar due to open?”

Roman looked at Kat. She had stopped crying, but her eyes were raw, her face red and blotchy. “Soon,” she sniffed and looked at her watch. “Ten minutes.”

“Thank you,” the officer said. “My colleagues will take care of that. In the meantime, I need one of you to show me the crime scene.”

Kat gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth. “I can’t go up there again.”

“I’ll show you,” Roman told the officer, who looked even younger than he was. He wondered how he could be so calm in the face of such a devastating discovery. Roman led him to the upper landing. “He’s in the room at the end. I can’t go back in there,” he said.

“Stay here,” the young officer said. “I just need to make sure there’s nothing we can do for him.”

It took less than a minute for him to inspect the room. Roman heard him say something into his radio before coming back along the landing. “We can wait downstairs,” the police officer said.

What came next was a confusing blur of activity. The policeman, Officer Burrows, took statements from Roman and Kat while a succession of teams arrived, in plain clothes, uniforms and forensic overalls. Other than Burrows, Roman had no idea who any of them were. Roman felt useless. He hadn’t seen Phil since Friday night when he’d offered him the job, and there was little he could add to his statement.

He asked Kat if there had been any trouble the night before, whether there been any disgruntled customers? Did Phil have cause to throw anyone out? Was he in a relationship? Did he have any visitors?

Sometime later, Roman and Kat were still sitting in the bar when a familiar face walked through the door. Benito Copploa, his hook-up of a few weeks earlier who had turned out to be a police office on the Blyham Strangler case. Benito came into the pub and spoke to one of the PCs at the door, before looking over to Roman and Kat. He nodded and approached.

Roman got up to meet him.

Benito wore a charcoal three-piece suit with a blue shirt, pink tie and black, highly polished shoes. The suit looked sharp on his muscular frame. The last time Roman saw him at the town hall meeting, he’d been pissed off to discover he was a secret police officer, but now he was grateful to see a reassuring face.

“How are you doing?” Benito asked.

Roman shrugged. “I don’t even know. Shocked. Numb. It hasn’t sunk it.”

Benito’s expression was full of sympathy. It struck Roman how incredibly handsome he was with his classic Italian good looks, and he rebuked himself for thinking about such a thing at a time like this. “Are you part of the investigation team? Into the Blyham Strangler?”

Benito winced. “I’d rather we didn’t call him names like that, but yes, I’m on the major incident team for his case.”

It struck him that Phil would have been furious with Benito. He had little time for the police anyway, let alone a gay officer who had failed to stop so many unnecessary deaths. But Roman didn’t have it in him to be angry. Maybe later he would feel that way, but for now a deep sense of sadness made it impossible for any other emotion to break through.

“Don’t you have any leads?”

“We’ll need to conduct a thorough investigation here,” Benito said. “Interview everyone who came in last night, check out the CCTV footage from the pub and the venues close by. How well did you know Mr Logan?”

“Not well enough,” Roman said despondently. “I didn’t even know that was his surname until this morning. But he’s always been good to me, always supportive. That’s the kind of man he was. He offered me a job when I needed it.”

“Might someone have taken advantage of his good nature, used it as a means of getting closer to him?”

“I don’t know. It’s possible, I suppose, but I’m not sure how easily he would have fallen for anybody insincere. Phil had a highly attuned bullshit detector. He was no walkover. He was pretty clued in about people.”

Benito nodded. “That’s helpful. Thanks.” His brown eyes connected with Roman’s. They lingered a moment longer than necessary. “Do you still have my number?”

Roman flinched. “Sorry. I er…don’t.”

Benito opened his wallet and handed him a card. “It’s all on there. Give me a call if you think of anything else that might be useful.” He paused for a moment. “I’d love to hear from you.”

Roman pocketed the card without looking at it. He couldn’t decide if Benito was being friendly or a creep. Either way, the direction their conversation had taken made him uncomfortable. “I don’t think there anything I can add to the statement I’ve already given. I’m only here today for a work trial. If it wasn’t for that, I wouldn’t have been here at all.”

And Kat would have found Phil’s body by herself . If there was any solace to be taken from this morning, it would have to be that.

* * * *

By five o’clock Roman had not been home. The police had finally released Kat and him after three, by which time news of Phil’s murder had spread all through the village. Ashley met him at The New Inn, keen to buy the drinks and help to numb his pain. After four bottles of beer, Roman didn’t feel anything other than numb. He guessed that was the whole point of Ashley’s mission.

Ashley had not invited his toxic boyfriend, which was one thing Roman could feel grateful for. He couldn’t deal with Patrick’s bullshit…not today. Though it was just the two of them, they had barely been left alone the whole time they were there. Hordes of people passed by their table, keen to know what Roman had seen and what the police had told him. He found the attention sickening. These people seemed more interest in hearing the grim details than paying any kind of respect to Phil.

“I always thought the two of you would have made a nice couple,” Roman told Ashley, as he started on his fifth beer.

“Who? Me and Phil?”

“Yeah. He’s a nice guy. Was a nice guy. Really nice. You could have done a lot worse. You have done a lot worse.”

Ashley swigged his beer and let Roman’s shady remark slide. “I don’t think we ever fancied each other. Phil was a hottie for an old guy. I fancied him for a while, but I don’t think he ever looked at me that way. I enjoyed his company, but there was never any spark between us. I don’t think it would have worked out.”

“We’ll never know now,” Roman said, glaring at the scratch marks on the wooden table. Ordinarily the jukebox would have been playing by this time on a Sunday afternoon, but the manager had left it switched off, allowing the customers some quiet time to reflect on the friend they had lost and the shock that another member of their community had fallen victim to the killer who hunted them. Roman ran his hands across his face. Would he ever rid himself of the sight he’d seen in Phil’s bedroom? Right now, it was seared into the insides of his eye lids. When he closed his eyes, Phil’s face was the only thing he saw.

“I forgot to mention,” Ashley said, changing the subject. “Mallon is back from France.”

Roman looked up. He rested his elbows on the table, his chin in his hands. “He is?”

“You didn’t know? Thought not. You’d have mentioned it otherwise.”

“What makes you sure?”

“I saw him.” Ashley covered a belch with his fist.

“When?”

“This morning. Patrick and I went for a late breakfast along the riverside. You know the place with the blue sign and the high tables outside? There. He came in for a coffee around noon.”

“You’re sure it was him?” Mallon hadn’t given him a date for his return from France, but Roman had taken it for granted that he would get in touch when he did. He even thought Mallon would have texted him a day or two in advance.

“It was him. I know what he looks like. Besides, I heard him speak. French accents aren’t all that common around here.”

Roman didn’t know what to make of the news. He was disappointed that Mallon couldn’t be bothered to let him know he was back in Blyham. Mallon mustn’t think as much of Roman as he did of him. Does it even matter? After what had happened today, Roman didn’t have the energy or inclination to worry about his love life. Until now, he’d though Mallon was one of the most important things he currently had going on, but the memory of Phil lying lifelessly in bed put that is perspective.

Fuck him .

Mallon would be in touch when he got horny, and maybe Roman wouldn’t be so willing to drop his pants and bend over when he did.

“Have you ever wondered about him? This Mallon guy?” Ashley asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you hardly know anything about him at all, do you?”

“We haven’t known each other for long. It takes time.”

Ashley shook his hand. “I don’t mean where does he come from, or what’s his favourite colour. I mean have you ever seriously wondered about him?”

“I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

He gave a deep dramatic sigh. “Well, think about it, just for a minute. Who has been in town at the time of the last two murders that we know of? He has.”

Roman tutted. “So were we, and everyone else we know.”

“But we know we’re not serial killers. He could be. And we know he wasn’t with you last night or when Cameron was murdered. It could be him. What if the Blyham Strangler is actually the French Strangler? You should find out where he was at the time of all the other murders. It could be important.”

“You’re being ridiculous now. I’m not going to ask him any of that.”

“Then don’t blame me when you wake one night to find his hands around your neck.”

“You’ll be entirely blameless. Don’t worry about that.”

Ashley was being overly dramatic, as usual. Roman had no concern that Mallon was dangerous or The Strangler, but he was a dark horse all right. He wanted Roman available at the click of his fingers but was unwilling to reciprocate. The bastard couldn’t even tell him he was back in town. Roman needed to take stock of his life, and if that meant not jumping when a sullen Frenchman demanded a booty call, then things could only get better.

He raised his empty beer bottle. “I’ve had it with this stuff. I need something stronger. I’m getting a vodka. What do you want?”

Ashley shrugged. “The same.”

Roman saw no better prospect than getting shitfaced tonight. The alcohol would numb his pain and might help with the nightmare visions that haunted him. It was better than nothing.

He got up and walked unsteadily to the bar.