Page 52 of Now Comes the Dark

“This will do,” he said, pointing across the road to the café. He expected Mallon to complain about the basicness of the establishment or sneer at the name Chez Michelle, but he nodded and followed Roman’s lead without complaint.He’s not himself at all.

There were only five other customers.

“Sit anywhere you like,” a cheerful woman in her mid-forties hollered from the bar. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

Mallon headed straight for a table in the corner, as far away from the other diners as they could get. Roman took off his jacket and hung it over the back of the chair before sitting. The café hadn’t changed much since the last time he’d been here. The walls were covered in faux brickwork wallpaper and cheap prints of the French countryside. The menus were laminated A4 sized pieces of cream card that had seen better days. He didn’t care about the posh restaurants Mallon was used to. This was Roman’s kind of place, and if Mallon wanted to spend more time with him, he would have to get used to it.

Mallon didn’t even look at menu. When the waitress came over, he asked for a large glass of Merlot and nothing else.

“Can I have a beer?” Roman said. “And a burger and fries.”

Even the horror of ordering such food in a supposed French café went without comment. Once they were alone, Roman put both hands on the table. “So, what is it you need to tell me?”

Mallon twisted his face. “After you’ve eaten.”

“It’s that serious?”

He gave a curt nod in reply.

“You haven’t taken off your coat?” Roman remarked.

Mallon seemed to notice for the first time. “I’m cold,” he said. “And, I could use a cigarette. Do you mind?”

“Go ahead,” Roman said kindly. “I want to text Ashley anyway, make sure he’s okay.”

Mallon’s face was pinched as he stood and headed outside. Roman sent a quick message to his flatmate, telling him where he was and to get in touch if he had any problems. He put down his phone and watched Mallon through the window. He paced the pavement outside the café, drawing on the cigarette. His lips moved, as though he was rehearsing a speech.

Roman couldn’t guess what was bothering him so much. Mallon had been the epitome of unflustered cool the whole time he’d known him. Even that first night, when he’d taken down three bullies in a fight, he had been unflappable. What had brought about the change?

Roman watched as he lit another a cigarette.

Something Ashley had said earlier in the week came to his mind. “What if the Blyham Strangler is actually the French Strangler?”

Whatever Mallon wanted to tell him, it was deadly serious to him.Could that be it? Is Ashley right? Is he the killer?

“Who has been in town at the time of the last two murders that we know of? He has.”

Roman dismissed the idea as stupid. Ashley spent too much time watching bad soap operas and fighting with his boyfriend. He thrived on drama. He would suspect Mallon of murder if itmade a good story to share with his friends, but there was no basis for it. Whatever was bothering him tonight, it was not that. Roman was certain of it.

The drinks arrived, and by the time Mallon returned to the table, so had Roman’s food. The homemade burger looked a lot better than he’d expected it to, accompanied by fresh coleslaw and a vibrant side salad. The fries were deliciously golden.

“Looks good,” Mallon said, watching Roman smother the fries in mayonnaise and ketchup while he finally removed his jacket.

“Do you want to share? I can cut the burger in two.”

Mallon shook his head. “You need to eat.” His voice was stern.

“You sound like my mother,” Roman said. He took a large bite. The beef patty was delicious—juicy, perfectly charred and cooked all the way through. So called gourmet burgers served pink in the middle were a particular hate of his.

Mallon sipped his wine. A fleeting grimace passed across his face before he went in for another taste.

It took less than five minutes for Roman to clear his plate. He even ate all the salad. “That was so good. I need to come here more often.” He wiped his lips with a serviette then took a swig of beer. “Okay, I’m full. You should be satisfied. Now, are you going to tell me what’s bugging you? Surely, it’s not our argument from earlier.”

Mallon sucked his teeth. “Of course not, that was nothing.”

Roman sighed. “Then what is it? I hate secrets. They fester from the inside. Nothing good ever comes from keeping them. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

Mallon’s eyes widened and glistened in the low light of the café. He took a breath, shoved his fist in his mouth and bit his knuckle.

---