Chapter Eleven Killer
Chapter eleven
Killer
Kenny’s weekends were getting shorter.
Or maybe he had things to fill them with now. Another date with Heather on the Saturday had gone as well as it could have. This time they ate dinner in the pub, talked less about horrific things, and he walked her to her door, kissing her again, but leaving her unfulfilled and him empty. Again.
Maybe on their third date he’d move things on a bit.
If he could shake a certain troublemaker from his mind, that was.
But he couldn’t. It wasn’t just the haze left over from a night of reckless indulgence, clinging to him like his filthy smoking habit had his lungs. And like those cigarettes, that night would always call him back to it, even if he’d told himself he’d quit. Because this craving was deeper. Visceral. There was something far more unsettling lurking beneath the surface, too. Far more destructive . And it gnawed at him, an unease he couldn’t fully grasp but felt with every fibre of his being. Something about this, about Aaron Jones, was more dangerous than he wanted to admit. More dangerous than the memories of the night with him.
So on Sunday, he spent his time trawling through old case files. Searching the internet for any scrap of a lead on the case that had never left his mind either. He wrote a letter to HMP Ashbridge, backing that up with an email to the internal lead Clinical Psychologist he’d known for a few years hoping to gain access to one of his inmates and get some answers. Another email sent to the team at Ravenholm Psychiatric Hospital, then he’d prepped for the week’s lectures, his supervisory meetings with his students. He ended the night watching a David Attenborough documentary about killer whales on TV, mulling over the irony of labelling a creature hunting for survival a killer, when it was humans who hunt for sport and amusement. The thought lingered, heavy and unsettling, until sleep claimed him on the sofa.
When Monday arrived, he wasn’t refreshed.
But he turned up on time, suited and booted, hair down, glasses on, for the faculty staff meeting later where he had to present his research budget to the Dean. Before that, though, he had Intro to Criminal Psychology, year one.
Aaron’s class.
He kept his eyes down on entering the theatre, purposely not scanning the tiered seats for pink hair. As soon as he raised his head to address the students, his eyes would pick him out among them all, as if he already knew where he was. As if he could sense him.
Was it because of that night?
Or was it because of what he feared might be true?
“This week, we’re going to be talking about psychology and investigations.” Kenny pointed his remote clicker at the screen behind him, the little red dot circling over the link to his own book on the subject, part of the core reading list. “Interviewing and Deception. I’m sure you all have a copy and have read the chapter, but if you haven’t by now, get one.”
Kenny swept his gaze over the room, and as suspected, it snagged when he landed on Aaron at the back. He had his eyes locked on him. Unblinking. Intense. And Kenny froze mid-sentence, unable to tear his attention away. It wasn’t just the striking presence, the wrenching attraction, or the unexpected connection with a man who’d meant to be nothing more than a throwaway. It was the dark bruise surrounding Aaron’s laser blue eye, causing Kenny to linger.
Aaron didn’t flinch. Didn’t break eye contact. He held Kenny in place, a silent challenge, a tension humming in the space between them, fizzling over the heads of the other students who felt like statues. As if the room had shrunk, he and Aaron were the only two people there. The only two in the world who knew it was about to implode. Kenny’s pulse quickened, but he forced himself to break away, and return to the lecture. His voice faltered, but he pushed through, desperate to shake the unsettling feeling creeping inside his chest.
“There are two key approaches to investigative interviewing and we’ll talk later about how each can support in aiding lie detection,” Kenny said, voice booming over the lecture theatre and getting himself back into the room. “But for now, we need to understand the two potential ways to interview a suspect or a witness—information gathering and the accusatorial approach.”
The next hour passed in a flash of rabid typing or scribbling of notes from his class, and Kenny conjured his ability to do his job, then dismissed the class with a sigh of relief, shutting down his laptop. But before everyone could leave for seminar, Kenny’s mouth flew out the words, “Aaron Jones?”
It surprised even him .
Not more than Aaron, though, as he stopped his descent from the top of the theatre, passing a brief exchange with the emo girl he sat next to, before peering over to Kenny with a nonchalant raise of his eyebrow. Those eyes. Those piercing blue eyes hid so many sins Kenny wanted to dive right in and commit the cardinal.
Aaron Jones was going to ruin him.
“Can I see you down here for a moment?”
Obsession is just a process of the mind.
Aaron said something to his friend, then chucked his bag over his shoulder and thumped down each step to the side, passing his fellow students all clambering to get outside for their hour of freedom. Aaron approached him at the front lectern and the swollen and cut hand he clutched his bag strap with caught Kenny’s gaze.
Kenny waited until everyone was gone to ask, “What happened to your eye?”
“Walked into a door.”
“And your hand?”
“Paper cut.”
Kenny shifted from one foot to the other. “Is that what you’ll tell Drew later?”
“Who the fuck is Drew?”
“Welfare counsellor. You have your session with him today, no?”
“Maybe I’ll just tell him I gave myself these because I’ve a huge crush on my professor.” Aaron’s voice dripped with sarcasm and he took a slow step forward, closing the space between them. “Cause I want him to ask me who the fuck did this to me in a low growl, then scour the university for the culprit.” Aaron cocked his head. “See? You do care.” He curled his lips into a half-smile.
Kenny held his gaze, searching. Looking for the truth behind those words. For a moment, the air felt charged, crackling with something unspoken, heavy with possibilities he didn’t dare voice. Not yet. Not until he knew more. But the faint scent of him—slightly sweet, cloyingly sultry—drifted over Kenny, feeding the dangerous edge of limerence he’d been trying hard to ignore. Aaron didn’t flinch. Didn’t back down. He stood there, eyes locked on Kenny’s, almost like he was waiting for him to figure it out, to make the next move. Like he wanted him to.
Kenny’s phone buzzed in his pocket, the sharp sound cutting through the moment like a blade. He blinked, breaking the spell Aaron had over him before he could do something reckless, something that would shatter his very existence.
“I’d ask if any of my students turned up to a lecture looking like you.” Kenny fished his phone out from his back pocket, a random number flashing up on his screen.
“No, you wouldn’t.” Aaron was so damn sure of himself, it hit Kenny hard.
Because he was right .
Aaron wasn’t the first young man to walk into his lecture theatre with bruises. Most of the time, they’d come from sports injuries. Or drunken fights. Kenny could detect when something needed closer inspection. When the person attempted to cover them up, embarrassed by them, rather than display them as trophies. That indicated potential abuse.
Aaron hadn’t covered up.
“Fucking would.” Kenny swiped the call, putting the phone to his ear, but kept his eyes on Aaron. “Dr Lyons.”
Aaron turned to leave, but before Kenny could stop himself, or even fully understand why, he reached out and grabbed Aaron’s wrist. The contact was sudden, unplanned, and Aaron stumbled as Kenny pulled him back toward him. For a moment, they both froze. Kenny couldn’t comprehend why he’d done that other than a basic instinct at not wanting Aaron to walk out, believing he had the upper hand.
Aaron peered down to where Kenny circled his wrist with his fingers. Absently. Determinedly. Then he slowly rose to meet Kenny’s gaze. That look could stop traffic. Could pierce hearts. Commit murder. But he didn’t pull away. Instead, he cocked his head, curious, almost challenging, waiting to see what Kenny would do next.
Kenny would like to know himself.
A voice cut through the unrest. “ Kenny ?”
Kenny jolted, the familiar voice on the other end of the phone shunting him to the present despite it belonging to the past. And instead of letting go of Aaron, he tightened his grip on him. “Jack?”
“ Yeah. Although, it’s DI Bentley. This is an official call .”
Kenny turned away from Aaron, in case the hot flush found his cheeks, but he compulsively stroked his thumb along the delicate skin on the underside of his wrist. What the fuck was he doing? Why was he doing this? Treading this dangerous line could end his career. Aaron knew it, too. And he waited. A smile Kenny could see in his peripheral vision. And he wasn’t sure what was gnawing at his resolve more. Aaron, or this phone call.
“Official?” Kenny said into the phone, hearing the blowing wind in the background along with muffled conversations coming from wherever Jack was.
“ Fraid so .” Jack sighed. “ Do you have a moment ?”
Kenny pulled his phone away to check the time. “I have about an hour before my next class. I can call you back when I’m at my office?”
Why wasn’t he letting go of Aaron? Not only was this totally inappropriate behaviour for an associate professor to be engaging in with a first-year student, more so one of his own, but he had Jack on the other end of his phone. The Jack. His Jack. Well, his old Jack. And he’d said this was official . Which meant police work. Yet Kenny could feel Aaron’s pulse racing beneath his thumb and it had his own elevating in harmony.
“ Actually, I’m near you. Could you come to the river? Not far from the campus. It’s your usual run route, if I recall correctly.”
“You’re here? Not…Glasgow?”
“ I’ll explain when you get here. Just walk out of the campus into the woodland. I’ll pin you a location .” Jack closed the call.
Kenny shoved his phone in his pocket, then faced Aaron. “Didn’t I say stay out of trouble?” He tightened his grip on Aaron’s wrist, the pressure firm, halting his absentminded stroking of his radial artery, and he held his gaze in warning. Like how a parent might.
Maybe not his parent.
God, who was Aaron?
“And I told you what you need to do to keep me out of trouble.” Aaron’s eyes darkened as he jerked his arm, jolting Kenny a step closer, forcing him into a tense, breathless standoff. “Stop dating her.”
The realisation hit Kenny like a cold shock into a freezing river and he released Aaron’s wrist, recoiling as if burned. “Get to seminar.”
Without another glance, he turned to the lectern, shoving papers and his laptop into his bag, quickly and agitatedly, needing the distraction.
Aaron didn’t move.
“Seminar.” Kenny slipped his bag on his shoulder, then scooted around him toward the exit. “ Now !”
He then bolted out to the corridor, footsteps echoing off the cold, tiled floor. The heavy door clanged behind him, creating a final closure on his insanity, and he burst out into the sharp autumn air. Students milled about, and Kenny cut through them, breath already coming fast as he darted past the Halls of Residence, heart rate elevating again, this time not with the lure of fascination but with why Jack had called him. Why Jack was here. And why he’d asked to him meet him in the woodland stretch. Officially .
The winding path led him toward the back, where the open gate beckoned him from the safety of the campus into the dense woodland. He fumbled for his phone, opening WhatsApp and pulling up the location pin Jack had sent him. It wasn’t far, and he quickened his pace, trees closing in as he left the last traces of the bustling university behind to be swallowed into the natural expanse where the river’s murmur grew louder, swirling currents visible through gaps in the foliage.
Kenny jogged along the narrow path, weaving through the trees and tangled undergrowth. Up ahead, the landscape opened up, and he caught sight of a flurry of activity just beyond the tree line. The white of forensic suits stood out against the dark backdrop of the woodland, and the soft hum of voices and radios reached his ears.
“Fuck.” He tucked his phone back in his pocket.
Official indeed.
This was a crime scene. The air was thick with it. And the quiet urgency as uniformed officers milled around a cordoned-off section of the riverbank had Kenny’s gut twisting. A white forensic tent stood like a tombstone by the water, its entrance a revolving door of specialists in full-body suits, snapping gloves as they went in and out. And the dull murmur of radio chatter mixed with the crunch of boots on gravel rivalled the smell of wet earth, causing Kenny’s shivers.
It had been over two years since he’d last stood on a site like this. Not for lack of invitations. The department had called plenty of times. They valued his insights. Especially if something was a local case. And he was an expert in his field for a reason. But he’d kept his distance of late. The work had eaten away at him, the obsessive need to find answers in every scene. It was no way to live, so he’d focused on the academic pathway, steering himself towards lectures, research, mentoring.
Let someone else wade through the blood and bone for a change.
Yet here he was, despite every promise he’d made to himself.
He drew in a breath when he laid eyes on PC Jack Bentley. Except he wasn’t a PC anymore. He was plain clothed, with a stunningly tailored suit hugging his broader frame and blond hair styled neatly in a short back and sides. He stood outside the tent, telltale plastic gloves on, but his face was unreadable. Kenny didn’t need to assess the body language. The fact he’d called Kenny at all said enough. Not only had they not spoken in eight years, but if anyone knew Kenny’s demons, it was Jack Bentley.
This might be a long overdue reunion, but it wasn’t over any old crime scene.
“Hey, Dr Lyons,” Jack said as he approached the barricade tape, voice light with a hint of a remorseful sigh.
“Hi.” Kenny peered over to the tent, worry preventing him from blurting everything out. Everything he’d kept in for eight years. His apologies. His regret . “What’s happened?”
Jack lifted the yellow tape, and Kenny stood frozen for a moment, heart pounding. Crossing that threshold meant stepping back into a world he’d sworn to leave behind. A live case, the rush of it, the obsession that would follow. It was all too familiar. Just like when he’d spiralled, trying to find out what really happened to Jessica. He hesitated, caught between instinct and dread.
“I wouldn’t have called you if I had a choice,” Jack said, and the words cut through Kenny like a knife. “I need a second opinion. Your second opinion.”
Reluctantly, Kenny ducked under the tape and the familiar snap of latex gloves as Jack handed them over sent him swirling into the past. “Like old times.” Jack offered a smile, but there was no real melancholy in it. Nor fond memories.
“How come you’re here?”
“Transferred back. You’re working with the new Detective Inspector of Ryston.”
“Haven’t said I’m working on this yet.”
“You will.” Jack hesitated at the opening of the tent. “It’s good to see you, Kenny.”
“Is it?”
Jack breathed out a dejected smile. Then he angled his head and slipped into detective mode. “First responders are leaning toward accidental death. Maybe a suicide. But we haven’t moved the body yet. I wanted you to see it first.”
“Because you don’t believe it’s accidental?” Kenny said flatly.
Jack shook his head. “No.”
“Why call me?”
“First, because he’s a student at your university. And second…” Jack lifted the flap of the white tent. “Because you need to see this.”
Inside, the air was heavy with the sterile scent of chemicals and wet earth. Dr Chong, the pathologist, was kneeling next to the body, fully suited in PPE. She glanced up when they entered, her eyes narrowing with recognition.
“Dr Lyons,” she greeted, voice muffled behind the mask. “Long time no see.”
“Dr Chong.” Kenny managed a weak smile in return. “Nice to sort of see you.”
She lowered her mask for a moment, offering a brief smile before turning back to the body. “Male, late teens or early twenties. Likely died a couple of days ago.”
A boy, tangled in the undergrowth by the riverbank, clothes soaked through, torn in places where the brambles had snagged him, face pale and lifeless, was dead.
“Found this morning by a dog walker,” Jack said, watching Kenny’s reaction. “You didn’t run today, huh?”
“No.” Kenny kept his gaze fixed on the young man and not on how Jack had flippantly reminded everyone of how close they’d once been.
“Good job, or you might have stumbled on this.”
“Who is he?”
“Student ID says Rahul Mishra.” Jack flipped open his notebook. “Sent a PC to the university earlier. Reported missing a couple days ago.”
Kenny crouched, studying the body. “How did he die?”
“Drowning,” Dr Chong answered. “But I’ll know more once I get him back to the lab. Whenever that is.” She glanced pointedly at Jack, signalling her impatience to move forward.
Kenny glanced up at Jack. “You don’t think it’s as simple as that?”
“Keep looking.”
Kenny had always been able to read Jack. He might be a closed book to most, but to him, he was like a well-worn paperback. So Kenny shifted his attention back to the body, mind already working. Something wasn’t right. He shuffled closer, brambles snagging his suit trousers as he inspected the scene. The body lay awkwardly, limbs tangled in the undergrowth like a discarded puppet. The kid, no older than eighteen, stared vacantly into the canopy above. Life drained.
Kenny sighed. He hated this. Fucking hated it. The kid couldn’t have been more than a first-year, fresh on campus. It reminded him of the suicide a couple of years back—the one that had hit the student body hard. After that, the university had ramped up pastoral care, welfare checks, the whole shebang. They were supposed to catch kids like this before they ended up here, in the dirt, in the cold.
Could it be an accident? Sure. Maybe he’d gone for a late-night stroll, thinking the woodland was as safe as it was beautiful. The river wasn’t far off; it was deeper than it seemed, with a current strong enough to pull a non-swimmer under. The water would’ve been freezing this time of year, especially at night. A shock like that could’ve knocked the kid out before he even had a chance to fight.
Still, something didn’t sit right.
Kenny straightened, the weight of the scene pressing down on him. He had seen too many of these. Bodies in strange positions, explanations that felt too convenient. Easy answers always made him uneasy. He exhaled, ready to move on, when something caught his eye. His breath hitched.
“You see it?” Jack crouched beside him, edging closer to him than most would. Closer than any other detective might.
Kenny could smell the lingering hints of his usual aftershave hovering distinctly beneath the rotten flesh. Bleu de Chanel. Creature of habit. And he clung onto it for a moment, shunting himself back to the past when they’d been doing things like this on the regular.
No one had known back then that the PhD student following the force around various crime scenes for his research had been sleeping with the PC on the investigating team. Kenny had met Jack in the incident room and he’d known the moment he’d shaken his hand they’d change each other’s lives. For better and for worse. It hadn’t been the same pulse-pounding thrill he’d had when he’d laid eyes on a pink-haired beauty in the middle of a dancefloor, but it had been as devastating. And they’d kept their relationship secret from their superiors for various reasons. There were suspicions, though. Because they stood closer than others would. Like they were now.
Kenny locked onto the detail on the body that stopped him cold. Wrapped tightly around the kid’s neck was a rose vine, thorns embedded in the flesh, tiny pricks of blood marking where the sharp points had dug in. The vine hadn’t strangled him—it wasn’t nearly strong enough for that. It was just there. Deliberate. Placed after death, maybe, like a cruel consideration.
“The vine,” Kenny said.
“No rose bushes around here for him to have been caught up in. Not for miles.”
Kenny narrowed his eyes, processing the scene from a new angle. “Put there postmortem?”
“Chong agrees.”
The vine wasn’t just an odd detail. It was intentional . Kenny could feel it in his gut. And it was a rose . “This is a message.” He used a finger to pry the vine up from the man’s neck and get a better look.
Jack brushed his shoulder to Kenny’s, and it was too familiar. Too intimate .
Like Kenny’s fingers around Aaron’s wrist earlier.
“That’s what I’m thinking,” Jack said. “See why I had to bring you in?”
Kenny lowered his head, a tightness building in his chest. “It can’t be related.” Although that was more hope than fact.
“Copycat?”
“It’s too late.” Kenny shook his head. “Copycats move fast. They feed off the publicity, the thrill of replicating someone else’s crime to get the same recognition. This? This is too…methodical. And different. It’s staged, for sure. Almost like a…gift. The vine?” Kenny pointed to it. “That’s tied around him like a bow.”
Jack gave him a sideways glance, lips twitching in the faintest of smirks. “Welcome back.”
Kenny’s expression hardened. “No—”
“You know you won’t sleep, anyway.” Jack squeezed Kenny’s shoulder, then stood, glancing up to the sky where a helicopter fluttered overhead. “The media will have a field day with this.”
“Sir?” A uniformed officer approached, breaking the tension. Kenny stood, blinking back the significance in Jack’s words. He wasn’t ready for this, and yet…he was already in.
Jack straightened, slipping back into his role as senior officer. “Yes, Jenkins?”
The officer, a woman with sharp eyes and a notebook at the ready, flipped through her notes. “We checked with the university administration. No one filed an official report on Rahul Mishra going missing. Not even to his family.”
Jack frowned. “Who reported him missing, then?”
Jenkins adjusted her stance. “It took some chasing, but eventually we found it. A neighbour in the Halls reported it to the accommodation officer late Friday night.”
“And no one followed up?” Jack glanced back at Kenny, as if expecting him to explain the university bureaucracy. Kenny shrugged. He was an academic, not pastoral.
“Do we have a name for the neighbour?”
Jenkins nodded, flipping to another page in her notebook. “Aaron Jones.”
Kenny’s pulse quickened. Throat tightened. “ What ?”
Jack turned sharply toward him. “You know him?”
Kenny blinked away the sudden unrest. “Yeah. He’s in my first-year cohort.”
Jack paused for a second, reading the tension in Kenny’s face before nodding. “Well, looks like you’re involved, whether you like it or not. Let’s go talk to him.” He stripped off his gloves with a snap, the finality of the motion echoing in Kenny’s mind.
Kenny followed, with heavy steps and a thudding against his chest, spelling out the words, s hit, shit, shit.