DEAD GONE (37 page)

‘Can you think of a better way, David? What does it all mean to you?’

Murphy sighed, his arms beginning to ache as they bore his weight. ‘I think it’s all been meaningless. People know they’re going to die, they just don’t want to face it. We’re taught to fear it, because if you’re so preoccupied with death you forget to live.’ He ignored the snort which came from Tom before continuing. ‘You think anyone will care that you’ve had this huge philosophical reason why you’ve killed four
people? They won’t. They’ll call you evil and be done with it. You think you’re original? Professor Garner told us Freud’s view on death.
It’s the aim of all life.
You’re just trying to prove him right, to yourself more than us.’

Tom stared at him, his face blank, devoid of any emotion. ‘Professor Garner says a lot of things.’

Silence filled the room, as both men stared at each other.

‘Well, that’s okay I guess. I don’t expect everyone to think as I do.’

‘Who died, Tom?’

Tom looked away. ‘What’s that?’ he replied, his voice wavering almost imperceptibly. Murphy noticed it.

‘Who died? Someone you were close to, I imagine.’

Tom shrugged his shoulders. ‘No one.’

‘Oh, come on. We know that’s the case. Parents? Girlfriend? Sibling? I don’t know … maybe it was your favourite dog when you were growing up. I don’t care really. I can see it was someone though. Best get it out early. I know you’ll go for a psycho defence.’

‘And you think that explains why I’m like this? Is that it?’

It was Murphy’s turn to snort. ‘Oh, nothing like that. You’re this way because you choose to be. I’m just interested, that’s all. You’re obviously a psychopath, all that shite they spout about your types. “Didn’t get enough cuddles as a kid so he started pulling the wings off flies”.’

Tom lifted a cuffed hand to his face, drumming fingers on his clean-shaven cheek, before slapping his hand on the table. ‘No one, David. No one of importance anyway. I’m sorry to disappoint. This was only about experimentation. I wanted to find out the answer to death. Why we treat it the way society does. But I think I’d still be this way even if I’d lost my parents at an early age or watched a sibling die. They’re fine by the way. Mum and Dad live in the lakes, early retirement. Grandparents died at a good age, leaving a nice pot of money behind for the four of us. The fourth is my older sister. She’s an accountant in Manchester.’

Murphy sat down in his chair. ‘Why then?’

‘I’m just not wired like all of you. I believe in progress, in learning more about ourselves through testing us to our limits. This is the ultimate experimentation of modern man. And I’m privileged to be … leading it.’

Murphy sensed something unsaid. ‘Leading it?’

A slight shift, almost unseen if Murphy hadn’t been paying attention. ‘Yes. The leader of the experimentation.’

‘No help from others then?’

‘Of course not.’

Murphy unclasped his hands, picked up his pen and chewed the cap. ‘I think you’re more like us than you realise.’

Tom scoffed, back on an even keel. ‘I don’t know of many people who kill four people in the space of a couple of weeks.’

‘Away from that,’ Murphy said. ‘You’re like everyone. You fear death as much as anyone else. I know you do. You just think you can control it. You think if you show how worthless it all is, it’ll make you feel better about your own fear. So you kill. You wanted to kill people for your own sick gratification. You couldn’t deal with just killing them though, you had to dress it up as something else. All this bollocks about experimenting, it was all designed to clear your conscience.’ Murphy could feel sweat rolling down the back of his neck, worried that he’d gone too far and maybe goaded Tom into silence. They still needed information on the other two experiments.

Tom just stared at him. The blank emotionless expression returned. ‘Interesting theory,’ he said after what seemed like minutes had passed. ‘I guess I’ll have to give that some thought.’

‘Is this just a game to you?’ Murphy said.

‘Oh no, David. This is important work. Much needed in these times.’

‘You know you’ll spend the rest of your life in prison, don’t you? No way of doing your little experiments in there.’

‘We’ll see.’ Tom leaned forward, his eyes never leaving Murphy’s. ‘Despite what you say, I don’t fear death.’

‘Tell me about Experiment, One and Two, Tom. Where are they?’

Tom rolled his eyes. ‘You tell me something first. Did you get to your parents before they died, David? What was it like at the end?’

‘Shut your mouth.’

‘Did you see their last breath? Tell me about it, I’d like to hear. Did they bleed to death?’

Too many questions. Murphy felt himself rise up off his chair. ‘Don’t …’

Tom was shouting now. ‘Do you think they died at the same time, David? Looked into each other’s eyes and cursed the day they ever brought you into the world, just so you could be the reason to end theirs? You and your junkie whore of a wife?’

Murphy had him by the throat against the wall in one single swift movement. Tom’s handcuffed hands tried to push back at him, but he was too strong. ‘I said keep your fucking mouth shut, you psycho.’

Rossi came around, tried to pull him off Tom. He wasn’t letting go.

‘I’ll choke the life out of you, see what happens at the end for you, hey? Would you like that?’

‘Let go of him, sir … sir, let go.’

Rossi’s hands left his shoulders, and he heard the door open in the background. His eyes never left Tom’s.

‘Me …’ The voice came out as a whisper.

‘What?’ Murphy loosened his grip a little.

‘It was me.
I
was experiment one. I was the first.’ It came out in choked gasps.

Then, there were hands on Murphy’s shoulders.

He was already letting go of Tom.

She breathed in, the singing continuing from the corner. She resisted the urge to ask for quiet, knowing it was important she didn’t. She was Jemma. She could do this. It didn’t matter something was crawling across her bare foot. That the walls were closing in on her again.

Always there, crushing her, squeezing the life out of her.

She was going to be out of there soon. She knew it. This would work. She just had to be very quiet, ignore the voice whispering in her ear, ignore the pain in her chest.

She shivered, tucking into herself slowly to feel more warmth, hoping the slight movements wouldn’t be picked up by the man.

Why had she got in that taxi … it had been dark, but she should have guessed something wasn’t right. He never turned to look at her, speak to her.

‘I just feel asleep, like a bleeding idiot.’

She laughed at the sound of her rasping voice. She didn’t even sound like herself anymore.

Stupid. That’s what she was. Too trusting. And where had that trust landed her? Stuck in the darkness, with only a dead man singing, things crawling around her, moving walls, and a hunger overridden only by the need for water which had now crept up on her.

And it wasn’t the first time she’d made a mistake.

She’d been nineteen, her mates from school now all at university or in full-time jobs. She didn’t go out all that much, working odd days here and there for a little bit of extra money. Shops mostly, sometimes pubs, but she tried to avoid them as much as possible.

Her mum was on her case constantly. Worried she’d disappear again or something.

That was what she did though, anything to get away from reality. Just take off, stay with her aunty on the east coast, friends she’d met online down south. Anywhere other than Liverpool.

She’d hated living there. Her more successful, happier friends, seeming to rub her nose in the bad choices she’d made.

She missed her dad.

And then she’d met her first proper love. She thought things could be better, she could be settled. They made plans to live together, a future.

She was happy.

Her mum was happy.

Then a few of the girls she was still mates with suggested going out round the uni bars. Told her it was a cheap night out, and loads of fun. That she shouldn’t miss out on the lifestyle just because she wasn’t still a student.

She’d got drunk, dancing on tables, getting free drinks handed over. It’d been a great night. Until those lads turned up, trying to pair off with each of them. She’d been seeing someone for over a year before that night. She was drunk, it was a mistake, but he didn’t see it that way. It was over and she vowed never to lose control again.

And yet here she was, after another night out had ended with her making a bad choice.

No, that wasn’t her fault. She was blaming the victim, something she always hated others doing. Blaming herself for what someone else had chosen to do. He had no right.

No right.

Her fists were clenched together, her bitten short, sharp nails digging into the flesh of her palms. She made herself relax.

It wouldn’t be long now, she thought. He’d come in the room, and she’d show him what she could with those nails. Teeth, head, legs, everything.

She was getting out of there.

He sat opposite DCI Stephens, resigned to what was going to happen.

He’d lost control. Exactly what Tom had wanted to happen. And Murphy had played right into his hands.

‘What the hell where you doing in there? Do you think you’re Gene frigging Hunt or something?’ Stephens’ voice echoed in the small office.

Murphy shrugged. ‘You heard what he said. He’s a psycho.’

‘Yes, but at the moment we only have his word for what happened. If your actions have jeopardised that …’

‘Don’t worry,’ Murphy said with a wave of one hand, ‘he’s too proud of what he’s done.’

‘You don’t speak to him again. For God’s sake, David, if he makes a complaint he could retract the entire confession. I don’t know what you were thinking. I never should have put you on this case. It’s too soon.’

Murphy stood up. ‘If it wasn’t for me, we’d never have found him. Gratitude would be nice.’

Stephens sneered, ‘Thank you, David. Now get out of here. Cross your fingers that this doesn’t come back on us.’

Murphy left the station, got in his car and drove away. His hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white against the black.

Stupid. That’s what he was. He shouldn’t be anywhere near that place.

He knew where he had to go.

Murphy pulled the car to a stop outside the house and walked up the path towards the door, his heart rate increasing with each step. It reminded him of the day he got married for the second time; the same feeling he’d had waiting at the registry office. He was sweating underneath his thick coat, despite the cold. He stopped halfway up, took a deep breath in and let it out, noticing his breath was now visible. ‘You can do this,’ Murphy muttered to himself. Steeling himself, he carried on walking. ‘It’s stupid, you’ve walked up this path so many times. It’s no different.’ It
was
different though, he knew that. It had been so long, and now nothing was the same. And he didn’t know if it ever could be again.

He rang the doorbell, hearing the soft chimes from within. The door opened, revealing her.

‘Hello, David.’

Murphy smiled. ‘Hello, Sarah.’

It had been awkward at the door, neither of them knowing how to greet each other. They settled for a quick kiss on the cheek, Sarah bringing a hand to her lips as they touched his beard, Murphy smiling in return. She hadn’t changed much at all, he thought. She would have been tall in any other setting, but Murphy still had six inches on her, meaning she had to reach up to kiss his cheek, her blonde hair tied back neatly in a loose braid. Her deep blue eyes boring into him as he crossed the doorway.

He couldn’t help but stare as she walked ahead of him into the room which led off the hallway.

Then they were standing on opposite sides of the living room, Murphy looking around the room at all the familiarity which surrounded him.

‘Tea?’ Sarah said. Her voice cutting through the silence which had hung in the room since they’d entered.

‘Please,’ Murphy answered, wishing she’d offered something a bit stronger. Murphy walked around the living room after Sarah moved into the kitchen. The ornaments on the mantelpiece, the rug on the floor … even the position of the bloody coasters on the coffee table. All the same. It was as if the last eighteen months hadn’t happened, that Sarah had lived in a bubble, not existing whilst Murphy was away.

He turned and faced the wall he’d been avoiding since entering the room. Photographs tastefully placed on the wall by Sarah years earlier. His attention moved to one photo only. His parents on holiday, around two years before they died.

‘It’s been bugging me for ages. Where was that taken?’ Sarah asked from the doorway, the kettle boiling behind her in the kitchen.

‘Kos, that Greek island,’ Murphy replied, his hand touching the photograph. ‘June 2009. We paid for it if you remember, a fortieth wedding anniversary present.’

‘That’s right. They look so happy.’

‘They were. They hadn’t been before, and Mum wanted to see the active volcano there, it was off the island at a place called Nistros, or Nisyros … something like that.’

Sarah turned, hearing the kettle click off, not before Murphy noticed her bottom lip trembling slightly. He sighed, and moved away from the photograph, taking a seat in his chair. ‘My chair …’ he muttered under his breath, snorting. It hadn’t been his chair in a long time. Perfectly in line with the TV in the corner, so he had an uninterrupted view. He wondered if anyone else had sat here in the time he’d been away.

‘Still two sugars?’ Murphy heard being shouted from the kitchen.

‘Yeah.’

Sarah came in carrying a tray with two cups and a plate of biscuits on it. ‘Chocolate bourbons still your favourite?’ she asked, sitting on the sofa.

Murphy smiled. ‘Still my weakness,’ he replied. ‘You never liked them. Which means these are either going to be very stale, or you’ve bought them specially.’