Page 14 of Dropping Like Flies

Ben rested a finger on the photo of Duncan, the first victim. “If we count that as day one…” His finger moved across. “Day six, but lay undiscovered until day nine.” He tapped the third photo. “Day ten. That was a fun couple of days.” His finger moved to the last photo, the anomaly. “Day twelve.”

“So they’re becoming more frequent?”

“Possibly. Either that or there are bodies out there we haven’t discovered yet.”

“Well, as long as no one is expecting me to bring them back. They wouldn’t be much help.”

Ben’s stare was long and considered. “You’re talking like you’re actually going to do it.”

I was, wasn’t I? Which was strange when I’d turned selfishness into an art form over the past few years. The more I stared at the photos of the four dead men, the harder it was to summon up that same laissez-faire, though. What if I said no? They’d find another necromancer from somewhere, but how many more would die while they looked for one? I already had one death on my conscience that plagued my dreams. There wasn’t room for more.

I sat back in my chair and feigned a casual nonchalance. “One crime scene. I bring him back. You ask your questions and find out the identity of the piece of shit going around London and murdering whoever he likes. Job done.”

“And you can work with me for that long, can you?”

Something somersaulted in my gut—a feeling akin to being on a rollercoaster. Keeping up the nonchalant act, I shrugged. “I’ll guess we’ll see.” I sat forward slightly. “What about you? Can you work with me?”

Ben averted his gaze, a muscle twitching in his cheek. “If you’d asked me that last week, I would have said no, but even I’m not stupid enough to turn down a golden opportunity to catch this bastard. You don’t know how many times I’ve wished over the years that I could just talk to the victims and ask them what happened.” His eyes shone as he got more worked up about it. “If this works, it could be an absolute game changer. Bigger even than the discovery of DNA. I’d have to be an idiot not to want to be a part of that.”

Ben looked like he used to look when we were in bed together: all passion and enthusiasm. I needed to put a dampener on it, too many uncomfortable memories flooding back. “Either that, or there’ll be an increase in dismembering bodies. I’ve never yet got intelligent conversation out of a collection of body parts. I suppose we could Frankenstein them back together. Not sure whether that would work, but it might make for an interesting experiment.”

When Ben reached over the table to gather up the photos, it was with sharp, jerky movements. I’d succeeded in extinguishing all his enthusiasm for the task ahead. Griffin Caldwell, killer of dreams and squasher of optimism. My mother would be so proud.

“If we’re going to be working together,” Ben said, as he tucked the last of the photos back in the folder, “we should probably talk about Whitney.”

“No!” The word came out like a gunshot as the earth tilted beneath my feet. I stood, holding on to the back of the chair to give me stability. “In fact, if her name leaves your lips again, I’m out of here and they can find some other mug to do this. What I said three years ago still stands. We don’t talk about her. Not then. Not now. Not ever.” I could forgive Flynn for mentioning her. He hadn’t known, but Ben did. Ben knew more than anyone, especially when it had been the reason we’d split.

“Okay…” He held both hands up in a defensive gesture. “I’m sorry. I should have known better.”

“You should have,” I ground out.

“I just thought with three years having passed, that…”

“You’re still talking.”

Ben heaved out a breath and then mimed pulling a zip across his lips. “Your number,” he said as I turned to leave. “I’m going to need it to get in contact with you when there’s another victim so you can do your thing.”

I turned back and regarded him coolly. “It’s the same.”

“I deleted it.”

“Deleted it or blocked it?”

“Probably both.”

At least he was being honest. There were post it notes on the table. I grabbed one and scribbled my number on it before passing it across. “I suggest you unblock me.”

When Ben said nothing, I left, relieved to get out of there.

When I called Cade on the way home, it was Asher, his personal assistant, that answered. Asher and I had never seen eye to eye. Although, if pressed for the reason, I would have struggled to say why. Perhaps it irked me that he was even more cold and unemotional than I was. Nobody liked to be outdone.

“Put me through to Cade,” I said, without offering a greeting.

“Griffin!” Asher said with practiced enthusiasm. “How lovely to hear from you. I’m afraid Cade is busy at the moment, but I’d be happy to pass on a message.”

“Busy doing what?”

Silence met my enquiry, and I rolled my eyes. Today had been tough enough, given I’d confronted the ghost of lovers past and browsed photos of fingerless corpses, so I really wasn’t in the mood for Asher pulling his guardian angel schtick. “Put the call through,” I insisted. “If Cade’s busy, he can tell me that himself.”

---