Simon Kernick - The Business of Dying

By this time his eyes were fluttering and he was coming round. I lit a cigarette, savouring the first taste, and went round switching on all the lights before filling up the kettle and switching it on to boil. There was a four-pack of cheap lager among his shopping so I pulled off one of the cans and opened it, putting the rest in his sparsely populated fridge. I took a long drink – my first alcohol of the day – and stood watching him.

It took him a minute or two to realize where he was. He saw me, and his eyes widened. I smiled at him. He attempted to move, realizing then that he was helpless. I put my fingers to my lips to indicate that he should be quiet, then removed the tape from his mouth.

'What's going on?' he demanded. His voice was surprisingly high-pitched for a big guy and, though it sounded confident on the surface, there was a hint of nervousness which, under the circumstances, was no great surprise. 'I'm not saying nothing without my lawyer here.'

This was an interesting statement. It meant he knew exactly who I was. Maybe Car la had told him. I laughed and took a drag on the cigarette, stepping backwards. I had a perverse feeling that I was going to enjoy extracting information from him.

'You tried to kill me last night,' I said.

'I don't know what you're talking about.' He struggled against his bonds. 'Now let me out of all this stuff. I could sue you for this.'

I pulled the tape back over his mouth and stubbed the cigarette out on his carpet. 'You know who I am, don't you?' I said. 'You know I'm a copper.' I paced slowly round the chair. 'Unfortunately, what you don't know is that I've left the Force. And what you also don't know is that I'm a killer, and that I've killed people who've deserved it a lot less than a piece of shit paedophile like you. So what I'm saying is this: I'm not like anyone who's ever questioned you before. I'm not here to put you behind bars. I'm not here to try to find out why you do the things you do. I'm here to find out some answers, and if you don't give me those answers I'm going to blow your fucking brains all over this shitty wall, and that's after I've kneecapped you.' I stopped in front of him and pulled the Browning from my pocket, placing the barrel hard against his forehead. His eyes widened. 'OK? First question: why did you kill Carla Graham?' Once again, I removed the tape from his mouth.

'I don't know what you're talking about,' he blustered, looking down at his hands. 'Honestly.'

I pushed the tape back, then turned and walked into the kitchen, picking up the freshly boiled kettle.

He knew what was coming when he saw me emerge with it, but there was nothing he could do. Desperately, he struggled in the seat as I stopped in front of him, stood there for a moment, then ever so gently tilted it until the boiling water dribbled slowly out and on to his upper left thigh. I increased the flow a little, moving to his other leg, watching as his face stretched tight and red with pain and his eyes bugged out of his head. I stopped, paused for maybe three seconds, then repeated the procedure, this time chucking a little on his groin for good measure. His wriggling became hysterical and a surprisingly loud moan came from behind the tape as he tried to cry out. His face was now beginning to go purple.

I stood back and watched him for a little while, a serene smile on my face. I felt that I was performing a worthwhile task, probably the most worthwhile task I'd performed in my whole career.

Without warning, I chucked a load more over his groin, waited while the pain racked through him in great agonizing bursts, then put the kettle down and took a drink from the beer.

'Right. I hope we understand each other now. There's no limit to the pain I'll inflict on you if you don't answer my questions truthfully, so it's in your interests to just get it over with. And in case you think about crying out…' I reached down beside the chair to where the small jerry-can of petrol sat and poured its contents all over his body and head. 'If you thought hot water was painful, then nothing will prepare you for this.'

I put the can down and removed the tape. This time I crumpled it up and chucked it on the floor. I was confident I wouldn't need it again. He'd answer my questions now all right. Kover gritted his teeth, still fighting against the effects of the scalding, and turned uncomfortably in his seat.

'Now, let's start again. Carla Graham was involved in the murder of Miriam Fox. I know that for a fact. And I suspect you were too. What I'm missing is the reason. Whatever it was, you and her fell out about it, and you responded by butchering her on her own bed. Now, let me tell you something. There's no point in you not telling me the whole truth or protecting anyone else who may be involved or whatever, because if I get one word of a contradiction in your answers, then you'll burn. It's as simple as that. And I know you know that I'm serious.'

'Look, I didn't even know her! She was just-'

I pulled a lighter from my pocket and stepped forward, igniting the flame so it was only inches from his petrol-soaked face. Instinctively, he turned his head, but I followed it with the lighter and the flame remained right in his field of vision. He let out a fearful moan.

'You know, Kover, you're a very slow learner. I know you knew her. There's no way you got through the security door into her building without being let in, and there was no forced entry to her flat because I was there just after you, remember? You knew her and, for whatever reason, I think she was expecting you. So, I'm going to ask again: why did you and Carla murder Miriam Fox, and why did you then kill Carla?'

There was a long pause. The moment of truth. It was like opening a door, although even in my darkest nightmares I could never have been prepared for what I heard that night.

'I killed her. The one last night. But I didn't know her, I swear it.'

'Then what did you kill her for?'

He sighed, his face still reflecting the pain he must have been in. 'Because I was told to.'

'By who?' He didn't say anything. 'By who, Kover? There's no point protecting anybody here, you know. Not in the position you're in.'

'This bloke who worked with her. He was the one who told me to do it.'

'What's his name?'

'Dr Roberts.'

'Dr Roberts, the child psychologist? The guy from Coleman House?'

'Yeah, him. That's how I got in the flat. He had keys. I think he took duplicates.'

I was confused. 'What did he want her dead for?'

'She was on to him for something.'

'And what was that?'

'Look, it's all a bit complicated.'

'I don't care how complicated it is. Start talking.' I flicked on the lighter again, just to remind him that I wasn't fucking about. It had the desired effect.

'She knew he'd had something to do with the murder of the whore. The one you lot found last week down by the canal.'

'Miriam Fox?'

He nodded.

'You killed her, didn't you? Miriam Fox.'

'Yeah, I killed her,' he said eventually.

'So, Carla Graham had nothing to do with the murder?'

'No.'

I felt an overwhelming gloom then. Guilt sank slowly down on to my shoulders. Guilt that I had seen only the worst in her. That I'd misjudged her, and that her anger at my false accusation had been genuine. And that, in the end, I'd done nothing to save her.

'How did Carla find out about Roberts's involvement?'

'I don't know for sure, but I think he told her something only the killer could have known, and for some reason she picked him up on it yesterday.'

So that was how she'd known the manner of Miriam's death. Roberts must have let it slip while talking to her. I felt another terrible pang as it became clear that, by confronting her in the Gallan, I'd effectively signed her death warrant.