Steven Dunne - Deity

Jake clenched a fist. ‘I tried to go in. I tried but I couldn’t hear anything — no music, no talking — so I went round the side of the house to see what was going on. There was a crack in the curtain, I could see into the living room.’

‘What did you see?’

‘They were playing some weird game.’

Brook looked up at Noble. ‘Game? What game?’

‘Becky and Adele were on the floor. Their faces were white and they were just lying there. They looked like they were dead and Kyle was filming them with Rusty’s camcorder.’

‘Kyle was doing the filming? What about Russell?’

‘I didn’t see Rusty.’

Brook read the script of Kyle Kennedy’s film review in grim silence. The entire essay was devoted to the notion that Picnic at Hanging Rock was a rallying call for suicide. The weak, impressionable, unhappy Kyle saw only the attraction and drama of self-destruction. The hunger for that brief inferno of interest in his pathetic life dripped from every word.

They’re dead, you know . .

Brook turned to the photograph of Kyle on the display board. For the first time he was prepared to accept that Terri might be right. He gazed at the picture of Adele Watson, her dark eyes burning into him. Could she destroy herself?

No. Brook wouldn’t accept it. Kyle, yes. Becky too. The discovery of their bodies would give them their dearest wish — their names on the lips of the country. But Adele. . what was in it for her? The sources of her pain, if pain she felt — her father, Rifkind — had already been exposed. What more could be achieved by going to her grave? There had to be something, some reason for her to embrace death. Surely she wanted more. Surely the brief hand-wringing at her funeral couldn’t compensate her for oblivion.

As the press conference drew to a close, Brook took the opportunity to look around the packed media room. Their first briefing had been sparsely populated but then the Deity broadcasts had become an internet sensation and now, with the film of Wilson Woodrow’s suicide to pick over, every national TV, radio and newspaper was represented and hungry for a story for the early evening news or next day’s newspapers.

Brook was next to Charlton as question after question rained down about the death of Wilson Woodrow. Was he on drugs? Was he in love? Was he obsessed with death? Who was filming his suicide? Brook marvelled at how long it took Charlton to answer questions that required only a simple, ‘We don’t know.’

The speculation surrounding the three photographs purporting to show three of the missing students dead, had been batted away by Charlton. Although Brook had convinced him the shots were fake, Charlton stopped short of saying so, merely dismissing them as ‘unsubstantiated and potentially misleading’. The FLOs dispatched to the worried families carried the same message.

Then questions switched to how the suicide of Wilson Woodrow could have been recorded, yet go undetected for over a week. Fortunately Charlton could deflect all such questions in the direction of Derby City Council.

Then a BBC journalist asked why the website hadn’t been closed down.

‘This is a question that is under constant review,’ said Charlton. ‘But we felt that with the plethora of socialnetworking sites available to carry such material, even for a short time, to close down one particular avenue for Deity broadcasts would not only be pointless but would put our investigation at a disadvantage. We’re sure the individual or group producing these films is aware of this.’

‘Do you know where these uploads are being made?’

‘I can’t comment on that.’

‘But is it true that you’ve interviewed a lecturer at Derby College responsible for setting up the Deity website?’

‘I can confirm that financial details were fraudulently obtained and used to set up Deity.com . The individual to whom you refer is not — I repeat not — a suspect at this time. More than that, I’m not prepared to say.’

‘So he was an unwilling dupe?’

‘No comment.’

Brook tried not to smile imagining Rifkind’s dismay at being so described.

‘We saw a bewildering array of reports of teenage suicides in today’s broadcast,’ said a female journalist. ‘Do you think whoever filmed Wilson’s death was involved in those other suicides?’

Charlton looked across to Brook.

‘It’s extremely doubtful,’ said Brook. ‘Those deaths took place over several years and in different parts of the country. Obviously we can’t rule it out, but I’d be more inclined to think that Deity is trying to claim credit for deaths that were way beyond its influence.’

‘So you won’t be adding those deaths to your inquiry?’

‘Other forces are welcome to reopen those investigations, and if they uncover anything relevant to the death of Wilson Woodrow, we’d be happy to listen. We will only be looking at why some of those cases were selected for broadcast, not looking into the actual deaths, no.’

The questioning moved on and Brook was relieved and a little surprised, that no one else had noticed the rogue picture of the unknown hanged boy.

‘Still think we should let that website keep broadcasting?’ asked Charlton when they’d reached the sanctuary of the Incident Room. Noble and Cooper were still there despite their early start that morning. ‘Their output is starting to seriously impact on our ability to get things done.’

‘It’s your call, sir,’ said Brook. ‘But I’d say we’ve only got one or two more broadcasts at the most.’

Charlton looked at his watch. ‘Let’s hope so. Eight o’clock — nineteen hours until the next one. So what the hell are we going to see tomorrow?’

‘You want me to answer that?’

‘If you can.’

Brook considered for a moment. ‘Best guess — more deaths.’

Charlton closed his eyes briefly. ‘Go on.’

‘Every broadcast has been an escalation of the last. Violence, sex and now death — the human experience right there. There’s nowhere to go except more death.’

‘Who?’

‘Maybe Russell. Maybe all of them.’

‘Why Russell?’ said Charlton.

‘He’s the only one we haven’t seen, who hasn’t had his moment in the sun.’

Charlton nodded. ‘Fake deaths?’

‘I would hope so. And we may get a parting message. But it’s important to Deity that nothing is resolved. Like Picnic at Hanging Rock , they want us to be talking about them years from now.’

‘Fame at last,’ said Noble.

‘But if they follow the film to the letter it’s going to end in death,’ put in Cooper.

‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ said Brook.

‘Or they pack it in and come home to soak up the attention,’ said Charlton.

‘I hope you’re right,’ replied Brook. ‘But enduring fame without talent sometimes requires extreme measures. Some commit murder like Lee Harvey Oswald or Mark Chapman. Others die young or commit suicide.’

‘And a nobody becomes a somebody,’ muttered Cooper.

‘Adele Watson’s got talent,’ pointed out Noble.

‘Then let’s hope she’s in charge,’ said Charlton.

‘So much for just messing with our heads,’ said Cooper absently.

Brook looked across at him. ‘Unfortunately Wilson’s death changes everything. Someone’s realised that to make it stick you have to make the sacrifice. Sometimes to live forever, you have to die — for my generation Marilyn Monroe, James Dean, JFK. For these kids, it’s. . well, you know better than me.’

‘And this isn’t off the cuff,’ said Noble.

‘No.’

‘Because the website was set up six months ago.’ Charlton nodded.