Page 71 of Dropping Like Flies

In fact, it probably had. I stumbled backwards, the knife dropping from my suddenly nerveless fingers. Stay on your feet, my subconscious screamed. But there was about as much chance of that as there was of me becoming prime minister one day. I went down like a ton of bricks, the hand I pressed to my head coming away sticky with blood. When darkness pressed in on me, threatening to tip me over the chasm into unconsciousness, I fought it with every fiber of my being.

The knife. My vision was blurred, but I could see it. Less than a meter away on the carpet. If I could just get to it. I crawled in that direction, but a foot got there first. I let out a moan of protest, unable to form words because of the intense pain in my head, as the knife was kicked away.

Doing my best to overcome the nausea caused by doing it, I followed the legs upwards, blinking to clear my vision. My attacker was wearing jeans—blue jeans—his legs slightly spread. He held the baseball bat loosely at his side, presumably in case he needed to use it again. Fat chance of that when I couldn’t even stand.

I continued my journey. Black T-shirt with some sort of lettering on the front. A band name? When I tried to read it, the letters jumped around and I gave up. I finally reached his face. Brown hair. Green eyes. Familiar, even though I’d only met him once. Flynn smiled when I met his gaze. “Hello Ben. Thanks for coming. I knew you would.”

Chapter Twenty-five

Ben

“You!” The word sounded cracked and dry, like I’d left it out to bake in the sun for too long.

“Me,” Flynn said. He held his arms out to the side as if presenting himself for inspection.

I tried to think as I blinked away sweat and blood, the mixture running into my eyes and impairing my vision even worse than it already was. “Where’s Griff?”

“Griff!” Flynn seemed surprised by my question. “At home in bed, I would think.” He tipped his wrist so he could see his watch. “I suppose he could be getting up for breakfast. Although, you had rather a late night, didn’t you? So probably not.”

I’d been stupid and let my emotions get the better of me. Of course, Griff wasn’t here. Why would he have gone to Flynn on the same day we’d gotten engaged? Or re-engaged if you wanted to be pedantic. Panic hadn’t had me thinking clearly at all. A lot of other realizations came hot on the heels of that one. This house was far too grand a house for a bartender to own or rent. Where had the money come from? Flynn had been at Eclipse that night. I’d spoken to him myself. Despite knowing he’d slept with Griff, I’d liked him. He’d had the perfect opportunity to talk to Dougie, to insinuate himself into his head and convince the poor boy that Dougie, not him, had carried out the murders. Then he’d put a knife in his hand, given him a little push and the rest was history.

Except… there was something that didn’t add up. “Your eyes,” I got out, the pounding in my head still making it difficult to speak without throwing up. “They’re green… not blue.”

Flynn laughed. He rested the baseball bat on the carpet and leaned on it, his body language relaxed. “Seriously? The Metropolitan’s finest can’t work that one out. Although, I appreciate the blow to your head is clouding your thinking. But before that? It never occurred to you that there are simple ways to change eye color? You’ll be telling me next that you’ve never heard of hair dye.”

“Contacts,” I said, wiping away more of the blood-sweat mixture with my sleeve as it dripped down my face. I really didn’t feel well, my guts heaving and lightheadedness coming in waves. Best-case scenario, I had a concussion. Worst case? Probably a fractured skull. It was best not to think about it.

“Contacts,” Flynn agreed, his voice dripping with mockery. “They take a few seconds at most to put in. Don’t tell me you’ve been scouring London for blue-eyed men?” He made a tutting sound. “And I always thought it was the cream of the crop that made detective. I guess not.” His gaze drifted over me, contempt present in his eyes. “Let me guess, it’s decided some other way.” His eyes lingered on my crotch. “Biggest dick maybe.” Flynn laughed at his own joke. “Imagine.” He affected a voice far posher than his own. “Thanks for coming to the interview. If you could just drop your trousers so we can make a final decision.”

I didn’t laugh. I didn’t feel remotely like laughing, and should I have tried, my skull would no doubt have felt like it was splitting open. Even with my thoughts so clouded, it was apparent, though, that him telling me all this meant he had no intention of letting me walk out the door. Which perhaps I should have already worked out from the blow to the skull.

“Tattoo?” I croaked out.

He looked momentarily surprised, the baseball bat wavering for a moment before he readjusted his weight. “I take it back. You’ve been doing some detective work, after all. Where did you glean that nugget of information from?”

“Dougie. He saw it. When you coerced him into confessing.”

“Ah, Dougie.” Flynn looked momentarily sad. “So many contrasting electrical signals firing there. Poor boy didn’t know which way was up. You’ve got to commend me for thinking on my feet that night, surely? I had very little time to put that show together once I realized you were there. I thought you’d appreciate me throwing you a bone.”

“He’s dead,” I said, bitterness tinging my words. “He killed himself tonight. I guess after all the men you’ve murdered, that means nothing to you, though?” The effort of stringing so many words together had my head pounding even more.

Flynn contemplated my question for longer than I’d expected. “That wasn’t my intention. I knew he’d get released once I killed again.” He pulled the collar of his T-shirt down to reveal the tattoo I’d asked him about. “I didn’t think he’d seen this. He was obviously more observant than I gave him credit for.”

“Why didn’t Griffin know about it? You two…” The words stuck in my throat, the horrific thought occurring that perhaps he had known and he’d kept quiet, that he’d been covering for Flynn. I dismissed the thought immediately. Griff had many faults, but condoning murder wasn’t one of them.

“Had sex?” Flynn finished for me. “We did.” He sounded awfully smug. “Griffin’s slippery, but once you pin him down, he’s got a lot to give. But I guess I’m preaching to the converted there.”

Although I knew he was goading me and I was falling into his trap, there was no stopping white-hot fury from coming to the fore. “Yet, you weren’t intimate enough for him to know about the tattoo.” I could goad too if pushed to it. “What did he do? Push your face against a wall and do you from behind, so he could pretend you were me?” I made another attempt to get up, figuring I’d played the part of victim for long enough.

The end of the baseball bat landed in the center of my chest, pushing me back on the carpet. “Don’t make me hit you again, Ben,” he threatened. “I’m not sure your skull can take another blow.” Our gazes met and held, Flynn only smiling at the hatred coming off me in waves. He let out a sigh. “Anyway, as entertaining as this conversation has been, it’s time to get things moving.”

“What things?”

Flynn removed the baseball bat from my chest, spun on his heel and went over to a chest of drawers. I watched him for a moment until I realized my mistake. This was my chance. I was up then, struggling to my feet and using the wall for support. I just had to make it to the front door. There were people out there who would help me. People who would call the police. Because he hadn’t. He’d said that to make sure I wouldn’t. And I’d fallen for it. Hook, line, and sinker.

I made it to the top of the stairs, the thought of the police coming to my rescue making me realize I’d overlooked one important source of aid. I fumbled in my right pocket, my fingers coming up empty. Fuck! Where was my phone? All I needed to do was find it and put in three numbers. Left pocket. Same result. It must have fallen out when I’d hit the floor. Back to plan A then, to get the fuck out of here.

“Where do you think you’re going, Ben?”

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