Neil White - LAST RITES

Katie turned around. ‘Do you want a drink? Coffee? Tea?’

I chose coffee, it would keep me in the house for at least fifteen minutes, and Katie disappeared into the kitchen, a long and thin extension with views into a concrete yard.

‘How long have you been living here?’ I asked her, as one of the pictures on the wall caught my eye. It looked like a family tree, framed, the branches spreading out, but it was the symbol at the top that drew my attention. It was unusual, like a screaming face, with hollow eyes and open mouth.

‘I thought you were here to talk about Sarah,’ Katie shouted from the kitchen.

‘I am, but you're part of the story.’

Katie returned with two coffees. ‘No, I'm not,’ she said, and handed me one of the cups.

I sat down, and I felt my knees rise up as I sank into a broken old couch.

‘You found Luke. That makes you part of it,’ I countered.

She sat down on a chair opposite and thought for a moment. She pulled her legs onto the cushion and took a drink, watching me over the top of the cup. ‘So what do you want to know?’

‘The story,’ I replied.

Katie drank her coffee for a while, and then said, ‘If you've read the papers you'll know most of it. Sarah's a teacher. She couldn't pay for the house without a lodger. She put a notice on the college notice-board. I saw it and got in touch.’

I nodded and smiled, played at being the interested journalist: sympathetic glances; faked empathy. I noticed that her body language was less defensive, and that her voice was quieter now. ‘I presume I'm talking to Katie Gray,’ I said, more as a comment than a question.

Katie paused, and then smiled properly for the first time, her eyes twinkling.

‘You have read the papers,’ she said.

‘It's my job,’ I replied, and then asked, ‘What do you study?’

‘History,’ she said, and blew into her coffee as she watched me, the cup cradled in both hands. She looked younger now, more vulnerable. ‘So if you've seen the papers, you already know the story,’ she said. ‘You must want something more.’

‘Sarah's parents just want me to find her,’ I said, shrugging. ‘They are convinced she had nothing to do with her boyfriend's death, but the only way to prove it is to get Sarah to come home.’

Katie nodded as she listened.

‘I know how Luke died,’ I continued, ‘and I can guess what the police think, but I need to know more.’

She put her cup down on the floor and leaned forward. I thought I saw something in her eyes. Sadness? Loneliness?

‘Where have you been so far?’ she asked.

‘I've started here.’

‘Where else are you going to look?’

I looked at her carefully when she said that. Katie seemed interested in my movements and I wondered why.

‘Wherever the facts take me,’ I replied cautiously.

‘How are Sarah's parents?’ Katie asked.

‘How well do you know them?’

‘Not much at all really. I'm just the lodger.’

I thought back to the meeting in Sam's office. ‘Somewhere between frantic and sad,’ I said.

Katie looked back and ran her fingers through her hair. She smiled at me and then asked, ‘What do you need to know?’

‘Just tell me about Sarah,’ I said simply.

Katie watched me for a few seconds and I felt myself shuffle in my seat. I looked away, tried to take in the room. The walls looked sparkling clean. No cobwebs around the light-fittings, and the tabletop gleamed so that the scuffs and scratches seemed to catch the light and shine it back. Katie still lived in the house. Maybe the house had been cleaned to wipe out the memories of what had happened there.

‘She was fun,’ Katie started, making me look back, her voice low, so I had to lean in to catch what she was saying. ‘She wasn't like a teacher. She was more fun than that. Her parents live close by, but she wanted her own place. She moved in, but she bought the house at the top of the boom and so needed me to help with the mortgage, and that's it.’ Katie smiled wistfully. ‘We got on. We went out together, met some men together, just normal stuff. She started seeing Luke, and the rest, well, you know how it ended.’

‘Who was Luke?’

‘He was a personal trainer at the Pendle Gym. I reckon Sarah was different to most of the women he met. He could have had anyone at the gym. You know, he had the body, the smile, but Sarah was cooler than that. She was a bit prim and proper on the outside, and I think he liked that.’

‘And on the inside?’

Katie laughed, blushing slightly. ‘I used to hear them in the night. She wasn't always so reserved.’

‘So Sarah liked him,’ I said.

‘Oh, it was more than that,’ she replied, grinning now. ‘He was handsome, six foot and muscular.’ She traced the top of her cup with her finger. ‘She was falling in love.’

‘Was he?’

Katie sat back and thought for a few moments, more solemn now. ‘I really don't know,’ she said. ‘You know what men like him are like.’

‘You mean he was seeing other women?’

‘Don't men like Luke always see other women?’

Would it make her grab a knife and stab him, I thought to myself, as Katie twirled her fringe with her finger, watching me as I jotted down her quote?

‘So what do you think happened?’ I asked.

Katie watched me, almost studied me. ‘Why do you think my opinion matters?’

‘Because you knew both of them. The police didn't, and they've got an opinion.’

‘Have they?’

She was teasing me, trying to make me uncomfortable.

‘My guess is that the police think she killed him,’ I said.

She shrugged, her eyes never leaving mine. ‘They're the experts,’ she said.

That surprised me. It seemed like Katie agreed with the police hints, that Sarah was Luke's killer.

Katie glanced at her watch and put her cup down. ‘Have you got many more questions?’ she queried. ‘I've got to go somewhere.’

‘Lectures?’

She nodded.

‘Can we talk again?’ I asked.

Katie waved my business card at me. ‘I've got your number. I'll call you.’

I went to stand, but she leaned forward and grabbed my hand. Her fingers were warm and soft, her grip gentle, almost a caress.

‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘For what?’ I asked, surprised.

‘Just for being nice. It seems like people avoid me now.’

I nodded and smiled, felt my cheeks flush. ‘That's okay,’ I said, and dropped her hand. I turned to go. I thought she was going to show me out, but she stayed in her seat, tapping my business card against her cheek.

‘Another time then,’ I said. I felt awkward but I didn't know why.

When Katie didn't answer, I let myself out. I looked back at the house and wondered at how much I had learned in there. And then I felt my cheeks. They were hot, and my fingers trembled slightly.

Sarah Goode scrambled backwards as the sound of the heartbeats stopped and the door at the end of the room slid open. It was heavy, and it scraped noisily against the soil in its runner as it was pushed open.

She saw the hood first, and she screamed out loud. It was black cloth, pulled over his head, ragged around the neck and tied by thin rope, scarecrow-like. It was a man, she knew that from his height and broad shoulders, but he seemed different. She had seen the hood before, when she had been taken out of the box to stretch her muscles, to ease out the cramp, to have the chance to breathe properly, and it had terrified her. It was faceless, emotionless, but that person had seemed different. Younger, slimmer.

He stepped into the room slowly, deliberately, his heavy boots shuffling on the floor. His arms didn't move as he walked towards her, his back ramrod straight so that he almost seemed to glide. The hood billowed out slowly as he breathed.