Page 24 of Dropping Like Flies

Ben pulled a napkin closer and produced a pen from his pocket. On it, he scrawled four letters. “Sage,” he said, “Rupert’s last word. I assumed it was a name, but it could be something else.”

“Perhaps he enjoyed cooking and was trying to give you a recipe.”

When Ben shot me a sharp look, I held my hands up in mock defense. “Just a little gallows humor. You did it yourself earlier with the quip about where the murderer kept his fingers, so don’t go all judgmental on me. Anyway, even if it was a name, what are the chances he gave a real one? I mean, if I was going to murder someone, I’d hope I’d be clever enough to use a pseudonym.”

Ben let out a sigh. “You have a point.” He pulled his milkshake back in front of him and I steeled myself for my tastebuds to turn to sugar. “Do you ever wish we’d never met?” he said once he’d finished drinking.

Something speared me in the chest. Something that dug and squeezed and wriggled around to cause the maximum amount of pain. “What kind of question is that?”

“One I’d like an answer to.”

I got up from the table. “I’ll get a cab home.”

“I can drive you.”

“No need.” I left before Ben could say anything else. Even though I pondered it most of the way home, I still didn’t come up with a definitive answer to what should have been a simple question. And the more I thought about it, the angrier I got at him for asking it.

I wasn’t sure why I’d ended up here, whether it was the need to see a friendly face, the booze, or a combination of the two, but here I was, propping up the bar while Flynn did his usual flirtatious act behind it.

The first opportunity he got, he made his way over to me, his green eyes sparkling with amusement. “Hello stranger!” I rolled my eyes at the cliched greeting and he laughed. “Like that, is it?”

“Like what?”

“I’ve called and texted you several times. And all my messages have gone unanswered.”

“I’ve been busy.”

Interest sparked in his eyes. “Oh, yeah. Doing what?”

“Doing a job I shouldn’t be doing and had no wish to, with a person I had no intention of seeing again.” It was a toss up who was more surprised by my honesty, me or him.

“I see.” He stared at me for a moment. “That sounds like a proper sit down conversation rather than one that will get interrupted by my next paying customer.” He lifted his gaze and groaned, a woman with long red hair arriving at the other side of the bar as if on cue. “Speaking of which…” He aimed a finger at my face while he backed away. “Don’t go anywhere. Me and you are going to talk. I know the face of a man who has things to get off his chest, and that’s you all over tonight. A problem shared is a problem halved and all that crap.”

Flynn kept to his word, negotiating an early finish time and then dragging me to a cafe down the road. A different one than the one I’d gone to with Ben, thankfully. And he ordered mint tea rather than a milkshake.

“So… spill,” he said, leaning back in his chair and regarding me quizzically. “I thought your job was raising the dead of London.”

“Keep your voice down,” I urged him, the cafe fairly busy and quiet enough that his voice would travel. “And it is usually.”

“Usually?”

I let out a sigh. “CID have commandeered my services.”

Flynn’s eyebrows shot up. “CID! What do they want with you?” Rather than answering, I waited until he put two and two together and came up with the right number. “You’re bringing bodies back for them. Why would they…?” He braced his elbows on the table and leaned forward, a slight furrow on his brow. “Has this got something to do with that lunatic going around killing gay men?” When I nodded, he sat back with a stunned expression on his face. “Wow! That’s crazy. Have you done it yet? They found one the night before last, right? It was all over the news.”

“Rupert,” I said, everything coming flooding back. I’d assumed, with being up most of the night, that I could take the following day off. I’d done it anyway, no one calling to say any different. I’d wondered whether Ben had the same luxury or whether he’d had to drag himself to work and survive on nothing but caffeine and adrenaline. For once, our shared connection had lain dormant and not given me the answer to that question. I’d spent a good portion of the day sleeping, my dreams plagued by symbols drawn in blood and the trusting look in Rupert’s eyes when he’d thought we could make everything better, when in reality we’d been pumping him for information. Or at least Ben had. By being there and saying nothing, though, I’d been complicit in the falsehood.

“Did you…?” Flynn seemed unwilling to finish his sentence.

“Yes.”

“So he told you who it was, and the killer is in custody, or will be soon?”

I laughed. “It’s not that simple, unfortunately.”

“So he’s still at large?”

“Afraid so.”

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