Kill Who You Want

Chapter Twenty-Three

Plot reminder: Cathy Hargreaves is a female constable who has featured several times during the novel and who is sergeant Wye's best friend. Madeleine Cosgrove was Catherine Butterfield's best friend who Wye interviewed earlier in the novel. Vince has traced the murderer to a modern apartment complex in St Fridswade's Lane.

~~~~~

For the four-fifths of the Ravensby population who had chosen to stay, or who had no other option but to stay, life continued as normally as was possible. It had to be so, for sanity's sake.

Saturday night was still Saturday night. Though both the Red Lion and King's Head were closed until further notice, the town's pubgoers were not devoid of options. The most popular choice amongst professional twenty- and thirty-somethings - the once favoured haunt of Catherine and Adam Butterfield, for instance - was the The Granary on Abbey Road. A former grain warehouse, as its name suggested, the multi-level layout and bare brick walls evoked a Manhattan loft-style chic.

It was here that, following weeks of persistent pestering, Wye had finally allowed Cathy Hargreaves to drag her. Though only marginally less crammed than in happier times, the pair had managed to bag themselves a couple of stools and a bit of ledge space in one of the upstairs rooms.

"Still feels strange," remarked Wye, sipping at her half of bitter. "Phone could ring any second and I'd have to dash off to another godawful murder scene."

It was aways a distinct possibility, yes, but both she and Kubič were of the opinion that the third recipient would hold out for as long as possible in the hope that the murderer might be caught. That such a hope was wildly optimistic at best, a near impossibility at worst, was a source of constant self-flagellation for both of them. It felt wrong to be enjoying a girls' night out when somewhere in their midst stalked a crazed and extremely skilled psychopath. When somewhere else in their midst a frightened individual was tortured by the cruellest moral dilemma any human being had ever been forced to face. It felt as wrong as stepping past a mugging without attempting to offer assistance. As wrong as leaving a young child alone at home. Rather than sitting there drinking beer, perhaps if she were to read through the Gilchrist letter for the thousandth time, recheck those endless lists of names, reorganise the board notes... Perhaps if she were to keep banging her head against that investigative brick wall... Well, perhaps finally something might give.

Cathy had placed a hand on her arm, was seeking a returned gaze. "I've told you Annie, you need to just try and forget about it. Couple of hours at least. A bit of time-out, help clear your head."

Wye nodded, tried to convince herself the constable was right.

Cathy's eyes had meanwhile widened, gone dashing off to some point over Wye's shoulder.

"Check the tall one out."

"Too tall," Wye concluded, after a discreet turn of the head. "You'd need a stepladder."

Cathy now nodded in the opposite direction. "What about him?"

"Too thin."

There was another nod. "That guy then. Not telling me you don't think he's a dish.'

But that was exactly what Wye was going to tell her. "Too muscley. A bloke only bothers going to the gym if he needs to make up for some deficiency somewhere else. Lack of brain cells most usually."

Cathy smiled. "So that's why my ex spent all that money on one of those rowing machine things." Then, more seriously: "How long's it been Annie?"

Wye took another sip of her bitter, calculated the exact answer. "A while," she admitted. "Nine months or so."