Page 12 of Pure Killers

“Oh yeah. Silver face, shiny like, and a smile like he enjoyed it.”

“Excuse me?”

“Big guy,” he continues, “that’s how he overpowers ‘em, gets ‘em tied down. He had a saw ready… ‘least I killed ‘em first. He was gonna start while I was alive! Sicko.”

"Where was this?" I ask.

"Cellar down on the east edge of Crennick. I've eyed it myself for downtime… Never got round to setting it up though, abandoned like. He chased me there like I was livestock."

"How did you get away?"

"Well." Here, he looks proud, like a near-death survivor who deserved his escape. "He didn't know I'd been there before, did he? I knew about the manhole over it, and I got loose long enough to climb out."

"Right. Now, back to his appearance. Our sketch artist…"

He slams a hand on the table, and I swallow my flinch, only looking at him, nonplussed. I could have let him scare me, but nothing irks these men more than a woman unimpressed by them. Shrinking into the little balding man he truly is, his voice has forced gruffness to it. “I need my guarantee first. He can’t get me.”

I let the silence stretch out, make him wait. He's the one scared now, and he doesn't like it. Closing my file, I stand, turning for the door.

"Oi wait, ain't you gonna ask about my crimes?" he calls after me. Perhaps he pictured getting caught one day, being able to tell his story and enjoy the rapt attention as he paints his own picture and describes everything in minute detail.

"No."

The door clicks shut behind me.

***

I go to the lab, even though I already know everything they could tell me.

“Where’s Rosie?” It's just Seb in the lab, hunched over his desk in the corner.

He looks up at me briefly, eyes flitting away as he answers, “Anniversary.”

“That’s nice.” I mean it, but as I sit down in an actual chair for the first time since sometime yesterday, it comes out exasperated. When was the last time I slept? I was meant to go to bed after reporting on the failed stakeout, but this morning feels like a long time ago now. And the stakeout, an extra waste of time since the Needler struck anyway, a few blocks from where we were watching. A look at my watch has my fatigue compounding. How did it get to lunchtime?

Seb has turned his chair to face me, where I have been quiet for too long in Rosie's chair. "L-long night?"

I manage a smile for him. He's pulled off his lab mask, and his mouth is a little crooked, quirked on an angle in a way that makes one dimple stand out very deeply. Seemingly oddly, he has straight teeth, the kind of person who you can tell has had braces in his life. "And a long morning."

"Rosie h-has a kettle back here. I heard you d-don't drink coffee but..."

"Tea would be great, thanks."

I need to get up out of this chair soon, or I'm in danger of falling straight to sleep.

“I s-saw the press conference this morning,” Seb says, from behind Rosie’s desk. I glance his way, but his hair has fallen across his cheek, straight and copper-coloured.

Taking the warm tea, and realising as I do that my fingers are cold, I groan, “Yeah, things didn’t go exactly as planned last night…”

Seb sits down again, stretching one leg out as though it pains him. Sometimes he moves like an old man, though he appears and often has the awkwardness of someone younger than me. But then, it’s not unusual to have old injuries in this business."You want to know if it’s really th-the Tartan killer. Th-that’s why you’re here?"

Taking a long sip, I look up. Peppermint.

"It’s him," Seb tells me.

"You've got matches from the crime scenes?"

"Y-yes. Many."

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