Chapter Eight

Visiting Keeley that Saturday came as a relief. Never in a million years did Chad think he'd be happy to wait an extra thirty minutes in the waiting room to be seen, but the break from Vincent's files was worth it.

Romeo appeared nonchalant, completely unaffected as Vincent recounted nuzzling his face into open chest cavities, and excitedly hiding bits of body in the woods for school kids to find. The sheer amount of detail grew a nausea in Chad he'd been unable to shift at home.

He'd needed to get out of there.

Merc sat at his side, wagging his tail whenever someone walked in or out of reception. Pam, the receptionist, kept sitting up straight in her chair to steal glances at Merc over the counter, but she'd not ventured away from the computer she frantically tapped at to say hello.

"He's friendly," he said, just in case that was the reason.

Pam sat up straight again. She blew her fringe out of her eyes with a puff. "And I want to come fuss him, but this damn thing."

She smacked the keyboard.

"You any good with computers?" she asked.

Chad shook his head. "Sorry, that's not my department."

"Chad." Keeley called from the corridor. She shot a fleeting smile at Chad before crouching down and cooing at Merc dragging Chad towards her. Keeley had okayed him in their session and stroked him with obvious enthusiasm

"This is him?"

"Yep. Keeley meet Merc."

Keeley raised her eyebrow. "Funny, you never struck me as a car enthusiast."

Chad forced a smile, shrugging.

"Come inside," Keeley said, leading the way to her office. Merc tugged on the lead the whole way then jumped up on the couch.

Keeley widened her eyes.

"Sorry," Chad itched the back of his neck. "He's a sofa dog."

"It's fine, Chad." Keeley sat down behind her desk. "I've actually got something for him."

"Yeah?"

Keeley opened her drawer and pulled out a rawhide bone. Merc's ears pricked, and his nose worked overtime, sniffing the air. He dropped down from the couch and struggled until Chad unclipped his collar.

"If he's allowed it?" Keeley asked.

"Sure."

Keeley petted Merc on the head as she handed him the chew. Chad expected Merc to waddle back over to the couch, but instead he curled up on the floor by Keeley's desk and began chomping.

"He's lovely, Chad." Keeley said, admiring Merc.

"He is, but he has a weak spot for shoelaces." He gestured to the trainers he wore, absent of any.

Keeley laughed. It soon faded, and the joy in her gaze turned sympathetic. Chad knew her thoughts had gone from Merc to the shitshow of Chad's life the past week.

"How are you?"

"As good as can be expected. I knew Vincent wasn't done with me yet, and here I am, being forced to see him after choosing not to."

"You've been put in an impossible situation." Keeley pressed her lips in a grim line. "It's important you don't close yourself off to the people that love you."

"What if they close themselves off to me?"

"Has something happened with Frank?"

Chad waved his hand, dismissing Keeley's assumption. "No, he's been supportive, maybe too supportive."

He pictured a beaming Romeo picking up the next file of horrors. Before Keeley could ask what Chad meant, he jumped in again. "It's Ally."

"Your sergeant."

"Yes, she's my sergeant, but more than that she's my friend. We had a disagreement about this Vincent situation."

He breathed deep, taking in the scent of coffee, leather, and books. At some point, that unique smell had become a comfort to him. In these four walls some of his secrets were allowed out, not all of them, and never the biggest ones, but personal secrets about what went on in his head. Ocean sounds were playing from the bookcase, far too soft for the topic he inched towards.

"I imagine she's particularly worried."

"Her way of expressing worry is to go on the attack, and she said something that struck a chord. I've tried to forget about it, and even reached out and texted her to make peace, but she told me," Chad shifted his jaw from left to right, "she said she needs space from me, and she wants no contact between us while I work on the Whitehall case."

He picked his nails and looked towards the window.

"I didn't think her … rejection would hurt as much as it does, but I feel like I've lost a good friend."

Now the words were out, he shriveled at how pathetic he sounded. He'd lost a friend. Big deal. He was an adult for Christ's sake.

"Would you like to tell me what the argument was about?" She caught his eye. "If you can tell me."

He couldn't discuss cases with her, Keeley knew. Vincent was out of bounds, but Ally's accusations weren't.

"She asked me whether I enjoyed being toyed with by serial killers." He swallowed. "She seems to think I do, and get some sick pleasure out of being their plaything."

Keeley didn't press, she waited, and Chad sighed and finished the last of the accusation, "She doesn't think I can function unless someone is trying to destroy me and thinks I'm addicted to being tormented."

"And what do you think?"

"She's wrong." His voice came out shriller than expected. He dropped his head into his hands and mumbled at the floor. "At least that's what I thought at first—that was my immediate reaction—but now I've had a few days to think about it, and…"

"And?"

"I keep finding myself in these situations, where a killer has power over me. Where my sanity is at stake, but at the last second, I manage to keep hold of it, keep hold of me." He shook his head. "And that is addicting, it feels like winning, not just the case, but … I'm winning me. I tease a fall but save myself at the last second. Perhaps Ally is right. At some point in my life, I've decided being tormented and surviving is better than having a comfortable time living."

"Decided … or learned?"

"What's the difference?"

"The countless rejections from your mother, but still desperate for a relationship with her. Would you call that torment?"

Chad nodded. "I think I would."

"It's a learned behavior. You learned it from a young age, to desire attention from a bad person, who offers no warmth or safety. Serial killers are the extreme of that, maybe that's why you struggle to keep your distance."

"How do I unlearn it?"

"You interrupt the cycle. You take yourself out of the situation, develop different habits."

"That's a little difficult at the moment."

Keeley snorted. "I guess it would be in your line of work."

"I have more than enough money to stop working. I could go anywhere, find a place where no one knows me, and do something else, and live my life without suspicious glances, whispers behind hands, and serial killers seeing me as a conquest to destroy. But I can't."

"Why not?"

"I thought it was because I wanted to lock up bad people." He smirked. "Like I was a hero, arresting the serial killers, making sure they couldn't hurt anyone else, giving closure to the families, reassuring the community that good triumphs over evil, eventually, but that's just what I told myself. The real and only reason is that I enjoy working against them. I enjoy the struggle." He shook his head. "The good, the bad, and the ugly parts. I want to beat them, despite how close I come to losing myself. Does that mean Ally is right? Do I enjoy being tormented by serial killers?"

"If we imagine for a second, that Ally is indeed right, and you're addicted to being tormented, that doesn't mean you enjoy it. Think about other addictions, Chad. It might begin as love, then turn into a love-hate, then desperate hate you're unable to escape from. Does the despair you're currently feeling stem from the idea of being addicted to torment at the hands of serial killers, or Ally's assumption that you enjoy it."

"That I enjoy it." Chad shuffled and gestured to his chest. The numbers were hidden by his t-shirt, but he knew Keeley would understand. "I didn't enjoy what Marc did to me. I couldn't get out of that situation. I couldn't save myself; It was Romeo that put a stop to it."

Keeley's brow pinched in sympathy. "You still see Romeo as the hero in that situation, but you must know by now it isn't true. Excuse the pun, but he was never your knight in shining armor, Chad. He intended to kill Marc, not to save you."

He avoided her gaze. "I know that, but even so, he put a stop to Marc hurting me. I wouldn't be here now if it wasn't for him. Coincidence or not, he did save me, in the physical sense at least."

"Not in the psychological sense?"

"I'm still," he tilted his hand, "not exactly on stable ground, but I know for certain I didn't get any kind of sick pleasure from what Marc did to me."

"Was she angry?"

"Huh?"

Keeley leaned forward and looked into his eyes. "The argument—was Ally angry?"

Chad nodded. "Yeah, she was mad. She didn't want me to be involved in finding Harriet."

"People say things they don't mean when they're angry. They lash out, especially when they're scared or they're concerned."

Chad took a deep breath. "She replied to my message and told me not to contact her until this case is over." He bit his lip. "She's cut me off."

Keeley averted her gaze, and that hit Chad hard. They didn't speak. The audio track changed from a gentle sea to the patter of rain.

"Not all friendships last." Keeley whispered.

His mind went back to Gareth, once his best friend. They hadn't spoken in almost three years. They'd been close once. A long time ago. Close enough for Chad to ask him to be his best man.

"I know."

"And sometimes it's better to let go of these friendships, let go of that reliance, and that safety net, especially when they become detrimental to our health."

"I don't want to let go of Ally. She's good for me. I need her."

"I know how much you value your friendship—"

His thoughts trailed off as a damning realization took over. "Wait…"

"What is it?"

"She wants to let go of me." Chad's eyebrows scrunched together. His heart thumped. He glanced at Keeley for help. "I'm the one who's detrimental. That's what you mean, isn't it? Ally needs to let me go for her to be happy."

"That is not what I said. She hasn't closed the door on you. She specified while you're involved with Vincent she wants no contact, but after—"

"What if she realizes she's better off without me?"

"The best thing you can do is give Ally some space and concentrate on your other relationships. With Frank, and Josh."

He nodded, somberly. "I'm seeing Josh after our session."

Keeley smiled. "No doubt he wants to meet Merc."

"Yeah," Chad laughed softly. "He's been texting me every day for pictures of him."

Keeley stood up and stepped across the room to the kettle. "Do you think you've made him dog broody?"

"One hundred percent. I'm half convinced he's going to stage a kidnapping at the park and take Merc home with him."

Chad fiddled with his fingers.

"What is it?" Keeley asked.

"There's something else Ally said that's been on my mind."

Keeley flashed enough fleeting glances at the mugs to make the coffees, but most of her attention lingered on Chad. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He nodded, earning him another cautious smile from Keeley. Chad waited for her to prompt him.

"What did she say?"

"She said I'm going to die at the hands of a serial killer, it's just a question of which one."

Keeley's eyes widened.

Chad nodded. "And … I know it's crazy, but something inside me thinks the same. And it doesn't have to be they physically do it, what if one drives me over the edge."

The mug shook as Keeley held it out to him. Chad took it and rested it on his knee.

"I'm going to ask you something now, Chad, and I need you to be honest with me."

He nodded, tracking her as she stepped over Merc and sat back at her desk.

"Have you been having any suicidal thoughts?"

"No."

"Chad." Keeley's voice was unyielding. "I need to know—"

"I swear I haven't, and I'm not just saying that because you'll report it back to my DI if I have. I've not been thinking about hurting myself. It's just … a lot of people don't survive their addictions, do they?"

Keeley sighed. "Not if they don't have the right help, and the drive to change."

He lowered his head, and concentrated on his coffee, ignoring Keeley's concerned gaze. She studied him, picking up information about his current state, the tremors in his hands, and his bouncing knee. He failed at hiding them, but she didn't comment and picked up her coffee mug with a sigh.

They drank listening to the rumbling of thunder, the soundtrack of a distant, yet unavoidable storm.

****

A frown and a smile fought for dominance of Chad's face. He stared down at Merc, wondering how the hell he'd eaten all of the rawhide bone. The treat had been huge, but Merc had demolished it in the blink of an eye.

"You better not get indigestion."

Merc panted, drawn to any dog they passed as they searched for Josh in the park. Despite it being late afternoon, the sky was bright, bright enough Chad's eyes stung as he crossed the football field. After unloading about his situation with Ally, he felt lighter, more content somehow.

When Chad spotted Josh, he laughed. He laughed loud enough that Merc stopped walking to look at him, puzzled.

"I see him."

Merc stared up at him, oblivious. His clueless expression had Chad snorting.

Josh sat on a bench with a pizza box on his lap and a carrier bag rustling in the wind by his ankle. Tied to the top bench slats was a group of black and grey helium balloons. The biggest, shiniest one, that dazzled Chad as he approached had the printed words, ‘It's a boy'.

"Are you serious?" Chad asked, stopping in front of him.

"Well, he's a boy, isn't he?" Josh asked before sliding the pizza onto the bench and kneeling on the cold cement. Merc was all over Josh in a heartbeat, licking his face, and attempting to climb into his lap. Josh changed position from kneeling to sitting crossed legged so Merc could clamber onto him, kissing Josh's chin.

Chad sat down on the bench. "I don't even get that reaction."

"That's because you're always so moody," Josh said in a baby voice. "Moody, grumpy asshole Chad."

"Gee, thanks."

"Hurts because it's true." Josh flashed him a smile. "I miss your face."

"You haven't seen it for five days at most—"

"Five days too long."

"The feeling is … mutual." Chad admitted.

Josh was all smiles, bright eyes, and ruffled blond hair. He emitted happy vibes, and Chad needed to soak them up.

"Do you hear that, Merc? Chad loves me. I bought pepperoni. It should still be warm, tuck in."

"Thanks," Chad flipped the lid and grabbed a slice. Merc jumped out of Josh's lap and sat by Chad's leg.

"Food wins every time." Chad snorted.

Josh got back to his feet, dusting his knees. He dropped down beside Chad and took a slice. They ate in silence with their shoulders touching, until Chad's thoughts chased away the good vibes.

"Anything exciting happen at the station?"

"Not really, a badly decayed body floated up from the riverbed, that's what me and Faye are working on, trying to find out who he is."

"And Ally?"

Josh winced. "Ally is on leave."

Chad looked away. "For how long?"

"Indefinite leave, the DI said."

"Oh."

"How's it going with Vincent?"

Chad sighed. "It's not. We've had one…visit with him where all he did was describe Harriet as beautiful, and the rest of the week he's been too sick to speak to us."

"You're being paid to sit at home and do nothing?"

"I'm not doing nothing." He shuddered. "I've been reading through all the case files and reading transcribes of Vincent talking about how fun it is for him to cut up bodies."

Josh eyed him. "No wonder you look like you haven't slept for days."

"Screw you."

"Hurts because it's true," Josh repeated. He bit his lip. "They used some of the tapes in the documentary. I couldn't sleep after I watched it, swear I could hear his voice." He shuddered. "What about that James Poole? He looked on edge to say the least."

Chad nodded. "He lacks patience, and there's an angry side to him, that's for sure. He called me yesterday, spitting and cursing down the phone at my lack of ideas, lack of possible locations. The landscape has changed, though, so most of the countryside has now been built on top of."

"And how's Lucy coping?" Josh asked. "She looked about ready to shatter when we saw her at the farm."

"Hasn't shattered yet, but it looks inevitable."

"And the superintendent?"

"Hardly spoken to him. He wants me to report to James who will report to him."

"Real friendly bunch, then?"

Chad sighed, picking up another slice of pizza. He checked no one was in earshot. "This is going to sound crazy, but … what if…"

"What if?"

"Vincent didn't kill her."

Josh dropped his pizza crust. Merc bumped into his knees to gobble it up.

"Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?" Josh asked, still gawping.

"Like I'm crazy."

"Maybe don't say crazy things. Vincent admitted it."

"I know but … things don't add up."

"What things?" Josh asked, leaning closer.

Chad scanned the area around them again. "The lack of detail when he describes Harriet."

Josh frowned.

"When he talks about the others, it's like he's reliving it. His recollection is almost palpable. He describes how their hair smells, and their skin felt, and the color of their eyes—like the exact color. You can more than picture it, he describes it so vividly it's like you're there, standing over him."

Debbie Ark's hair smelled of apples, freshly washed, Vincent had circled his finger around her damp pigtail.

Jessica Bamber had skin as soft as silk on her face, but her back was marred with acne scars that he dragged his nails over.

Kelly Price had glacial blue eyes set in a white porcelain face that he cut from their sockets to admire in his palm.

Chad's stomach rolled. He dropped his pizza slice back in the box, and sucked a deep breath through his nose. Josh didn't push him to continue, instead he eyed the slice Chad had abandoned.

"You eating that, or…"

Chad shook his head.

Josh grabbed the slice, and tore off a bite.

"It's not just the lack of detail that made me suspicious. He says he killed her in his van, and there's blood inside. There are photographs of it in back, the passenger seat, but there's no proof any of it belonged to Harriet. DNA testing was not what it is now back then. Nothing physically places her in the van, just Vincent's words." Chad checked behind him. "And that's not all. Part of Harriet's file has been blacked out."

"What? Why?"

"No idea."

"But why would Vincent admit to a murder he didn't do?" Josh asked.

"I don't know. Maybe because he's a psychopath."

"You need a psychopath to understand a psychopath," Josh muttered.

Chad frowned. "What?"

"Only another psychopath could understand why." Josh's jaw dropped with a gasp. "But wait, let's say your crazy theory is right, then what really happened to her?"

"That's what I want to find out."

"Do James and Lucy know you don't think it was Vincent?"

Chad shook his head. "No. There's a strange energy between them, I can feel it. I doubt mentioning I have my doubts will be embraced by either of them. This needs to stay between us."

Josh smiled. "You can count on me." He finished his slice, then wiped his greasy hands down his jumper. "Now enough work talk, we've got a game to play."

"A game?"

Josh nodded, reaching into the carrier bag beside the bench. He pulled out a football. "You, me, and Merc."