Yarrow: The Smiley Killer

17:45

"Nope, too slutty," Christine whispered to herself, running her fingers over the lace fabric that farmed a revealing dress. She threw it on the bed, sliding out a red dress made of fabric that in the right light would resemble latex, "Makes the previous one look like a nun's gown."

"Too casual."

"Too thick."

"Too green." 

She continued going through every outfit she lay her hands on in her wardrobe. The mound on her bed began to match the size of the mound on her floor from the morning. Her house was always immaculate but not her room. Ms. Lington, the maid, had been instructed never to enter her room. It was a rule her father had made to try and teach Christine some responsibility. Christine had never changed the rule after her parents had died, she liked having her own messy space.

She stood in her underwear, her eyes scanning the room that now stored the contents of an extensive wardrobe. She poked out her belly and started drumming on it as she huffed and puffed.

She threw herself backwards on to her bed, sinking into the chaotic garments and reached for her phone. A text from Doug.

Dear Christine,

I can't really tell...it could be. Then again it could be any 6ft plus male wearing a baseball cap. I've asked Scott to send forensics over there. Take care and be careful.

Her eyes rolled at the last sentence, it always saddened her he'd never met a nice girl and started a family, he'd have made a great dad.

She breathed out heavily, pressed reply:

Will do Dad

She smiled, dropped her phone by her head and then worried he hadn't quite got the tone. She snatched it back up again and replied:

Joking of course, you know I love ya 💕. I'll be careful, speak soon.

"Urgh I give up," with the mottled thump of feet on a pile of clothes, on top of carpet. The light had suddenly begun to drop from outside meaning that the room began to look more monotonous. her hand snatched at a pair of denim jeans. She sniffed the armpit of a white blouse that was on the floor to check it was clean and threw it on. 

*   *   *

"What's his deal anyway?" Doug asked the barman. gesturing his eyes over to Teddy sitting in the corner. 

"What's that information worth?" Troy said, a large man with a full thick beard. He was the owner and was often found in a moth bitten white t-shirt and a pair of jeans in an even worse condition.

"It's worth not getting your livelihood shut down, you know the deal."

Troy chuckled, a laugh that only moved his shoulders up and down and was nearly silent. "Fair point mate. To be frank I don't know a huge amount, he's not really a big player. Think he just likes coming in here to get away from people. Most people steer well clear of here."

Doug nodded, and went to take out his small pad from his coat pocket. 

"Woah, what you doing? You mad? You may give off a faint whiff of bacon but that pad will turn you in to a full blown hog roast. keep it away."

"Fine, tell me what you know."

"Most the time he sits over there and drinks by himself. On the odd occasion he comes to talk with me, well, it's mostly just whinging about family stuff."

Doug's eyes lit up. He knew some of the issues but not the full story.

"Come on Douglas, you know how much fucked up shit these people live with, I can't remember every little detail can I?"

"Don't give me that nonsense, I've known you for long enough, you remember everybody's story. It's what keeps you safe."

"Fine, have it your way," his eyes flickered over to the tall man in the corner drinking watered down, budget whiskey, "Rumour has it..." He leaned in, "His mother  used to be quite...firm with him. Anyway his Dad showed up earlier in the year and made it clear he didn't want anything to do with him. See now, Teddy knows this and didn't care, what he did care about is that the mother he loved so much decided that she'd rather be with his Dad and fucked off, went to Spain, or Greece or the Lake district or somewhere else to be with him. Just up and left."

"Right?"

"Well she sold up and took all the money, he was forced to rent some shitty little house down in the crap-hole of no where. Work then lays him off and he bounces from job to job to get enough money to cover rent. His only real crime is claiming job seekers allowance and not declaring odd jobs. He stumbles out by 7pm every night, he can barely hold his own head up let alone a weapon."

"How do you know I'm looking for..."

"Who do you think I serve all day, the pubs been talking about it non-stop. Policeman comes in, let alone the most veteran one on the homicide team and you think I can't put two and two together. Seriously Douglas?"

"So he bl..."

"Blames his mum, of course. Everything that's wrong in his life is her fault. Lost his house, his job, lost his faith - used to go synagogue every week apparently."

"So you can give him an alibi?"

"Ha, no, of course not. What I can tell you is if he's a killer I'd be shocked. When he's sober he's polite..."

"Doesn't mean anything."

"Clearly well educated..."

"Again..."

"And depressed. He's not angry Douglas, He isn't the sort to snap and he isn't the sort to plan out a string of murders. At least I've not seen it in him since I've known him and I know these sorts of people when I see them. He is more the sort that I'd be calling the police for if I didn't see him tomorrow if you get my drift."

Doug nodded.

"Now Mr. Chaney, would you like another beer, a scotch, maybe you feel exotic and fancy a rum?"