“What happened to Morris wasn’t fair,” Thea spoke up and she immediately had all their attention. “He wasn’t asking for it. He was targeted because someone out there has a sick, twisted mind, but it wasn’t his fault just like it isn’t your fault.” The woman met each of their eyes and didn’t look away until they nodded their understanding. The little worm of doubt in Nif’s mind made her wonder, though, if she could’ve done something differently.
“You will have all heard by now that there were two more deaths today. What I’m telling you hasn’t been made public yet, but it will be soon. I’d rather you hear it from me. Beatrix O’Conner and her older sister Judith were killed this morning around seven in an underground car park in the West Garden’s shopping centre. Beatrix was a non-shifter.”
That made five now.
“Surveillance footage revealed one perpetrator, disguised in a dark hoodie, who attacked Beatrix. She was waiting in the car while her sister ran in to pick up a chemist script. Judith interrupted the murderer when she returned and was stabbed trying to save her sister. A passing driver discovered the two after the perpetrator fled the scene but the sisters died before the ambulance could arrive.”
“So they can’t make out who it was?” Moira asked, her voice firm but her hands clenched white around her mug.
“Estimated six foot two. Eighty kilos. Light skin and wore white runners. Now what we do know is three of the six victims were reported missing a week before they were eventually found dead in places they’d not normally frequent. All were discovered in isolated places like back alleys and train stations, and yet they were not so isolated that they wouldn’t be found quickly.”
“But what about Morris? We’d just seen him.” Nif bit the inside of her cheek to keep back the sudden pressure of tears. “We’d just said goodbye.” How many minutes had there been between when Nif gave Morris a kiss on his cheek to when she saw his feet poking out from beside the rubbish skip?
“I suspect something may have interrupted the attack,” Thea admitted. She didn’t say it had been Nif. Perhaps when she was calling out Morris’s name. Gods, had he still been alive even then? Had it only been seconds? “This is all just speculation, but the attacker may have initially planned to kidnap the victim and transport them to another location for purposes unknown, but when they were either interrupted or the kidnapping became complicated…”
“Like the arrival of Beatrix O’Conner’s sister,” Clinton interjected.
“Exactly. The attacker cut their losses and went straight to their end game.” Morris’s empty sockets would haunt Nif’s nightmares for the rest of her life. “It’s not much of a pattern, but it could be something. Now this is when I ask for your help. The team assigned to this case have yet to come up with anything that connects the victims.”
“And since we all potentially match the victim’s profile, we might be able to help?” Philippa huffed, bristling in her seat. Josephine hunched down lower in her sister’s shadow.
“I know it’s a lot to ask, but they killed Morris,” Clinton said, setting his half drunk mug down with a clack. “This way we can help catch them.”
“Well, were they part of their own support groups maybe?” Josephine twiddled with the little wooden totems her sister and her had been making. They looked like people, wrapped in different coloured ribbons.
“Only Morris appeared to attend a group,” Thea explained. “None of the victims seemed to have met in person. They’re aged between twenty-four and forty-five and there’s a mix of genders and work situations. No connection stands out.”
They all quietly glanced around the table. Philippa gave a frustrated shrug and Clare just looked more worried. Maybe bringing her along hadn’t been the best idea.
“Have any of you noticed anything out of the ordinary?” Thea pleaded. “For example, you may have seen the same person on your bus a few mornings in a row. Maybe a wrong package delivered to your home. Any phone calls where the person has hung up when you answered or strange noises outside at night, like a crying baby or cat.”
“Are they seriously things we should be worried about?” Moira asked, horrified. Nif noticed she’d grabbed Clare’s hand, and the older woman appeared surprised but pleased.
“There’s no need to be afraid.” While Thea hurried to reassure them all, Nif suddenly recalled the strange messages she’d been receiving through Tender. It hadn’t struck her as particularly weird because it was what you’d expect for the app it was. But something about them didn’t sit right with her and maybe this was the kind of weird Thea meant.
“This could be nothing,” Nif spoke up in a lull and instantly had the room’s attention.
“Go on. Worst case we can put your mind at ease,” Thea encouraged.
Nif pulled out her phone and thumbed open the Tender app. There were more messages than she’d thought. All from the same user. Hound-of-Baskerville.
“It’s just a few messages I’ve gotten on Tender. It’s a dating app.” She refused to glance Oliver’s way but she could sense his gaze on her. “I’ve been meaning to close my profile, but things have been so hectic.” She passed over her phone to Thea and the police officer scanned through the messages. As she read, her face became more and more serious until she lurched to her feet, already pulling out her own phone.
“Do you mind if I get a copy of these?” she asked and Nif nodded for her to go ahead. Thea took photos of the screen, chewing her lip in concentration, then handed the phone back.
“It’s something, isn’t it?” Oliver rapped his knuckles against the wood of the table, a rapid, angry staccato.
“I need to call this in. It could be nothing but…” Thea glanced at her partner.
“You’ve got a feeling,” Clinton finished for her.
“Yeah. If you’ll excuse me.” Thea hurried from the room, her phone pressed to her ear.
“Can I see?” Oliver asked Nif.
Nif passed her phone and the others crowded round. Oliver read the messages out loud.
“You must be busy since you’ve not replied yet. I like that you’re ambitious even when it must be so much more challenging for you. If you ever need a shoulder to lean on, let me know.”
If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
“What does he mean by challenging?” Philippa asked, her hands clenching like claws over the back of Oliver’s chair.
“The next one says ‘do you have any pets? I was wondering because I saw someone who looked like your profile pic at a dog park near my place. Wouldn’t it be something if we were neighbours?’”
“I don’t have a pet, but there is a big dog park I used to walk through before I started getting lifts home,” Nif admitted. “I honestly didn’t think much of it.”
“Well you won’t be walking home alone any time soon,” Oliver stated. “If I can’t take you then ask your boss.” It clearly took a lot for him to say that. “But you’re going to get picked up and dropped off at your door from now until this creep is caught.”
Moira had snagged the phone while Oliver had been distracted and swore heartily as she skimmed over the last few messages.
“Tell us,” Josephine asked quietly. She was clutching her empty gluhwein mug tightly, her knuckles bleached white.
“Okay. Okay.” Moira took a deep breath. “‘I don’t judge people by their shift form, gender or sexuality. I’ve dated plenty of people from all walks of life. Chefs and artists and shop assistants, but it’s always that first moment when I look into their eyes that I know whether the relationship will work or not. We should meet. Grab some coffee sometime and maybe we can see if we have something that sparks.’ That was sent a week ago.”
Why hadn’t Nif reported this sooner? Hearing them aloud, they took on a more sinister vibe. The Hound of Baskerville was just the sort who’d follow a woman home on a train or go through her rubbish for her used toothbrush.
Thea bustled back into the room and with her, the atmosphere shifted to one of heightened excitement tinged with an underlying fear.
“I need you to access his profile page. Take screenshots of everything you find,” Thea said. “I’ve reported it and the officer in charge has requested I take your statement here if that’s okay. You may need to visit the precinct to follow up, but this is the biggest lead they’ve had.”
“How do you know it’s anything?” Nif opened the Hound of Baskerville’s profile and copied every photo. Not one had a clear shot of his face. That was assuming he was even male. You couldn’t really tell from the photos. Only that they were tall, lean and had dark hair, usually tucked beneath a beanie, hoodie or cap.
“The chef, the artist, the sales assistant. Jeremy Chang was a chef in training. Beatrix O’Conner worked at the retail store in Upper Eastrict.”
“And Morris was an artist,” Oliver concluded.
“The comment about the eyes is also suggestive. The homicide team will check to see if any of the other victims were on Tender. Has anyone else here used the app?” No one else had.
“I’ve just got no time,” Moira admitted. “Not that I’m not looking.” The glance she gave Clare wasn’t subtle at all.
“Should I close my account?” Nif really wanted to. The knowledge that someone had been keeping tabs on her, perhaps even knew roughly where she lived, made her sick to her stomach. Thea shook her head.
“It’s best you keep it for now. If you change your behaviour, it may trigger a response.”
“Now hang on,” Oliver growled, standing up and almost knocking over his chair. “If this creep really is the one murdering partial and non-shifters, then we need to get Jennifer somewhere safe!” He reached out and grasped Nif’s shoulder. He was shaking. “You should go visit your parents until it’s all over.”
“No way! I’m not a damsel in distress,” Nif snapped, pulling away. “What happened to all of us saying we’d not let this monster change how we live our lives? I’m staying and I’ll help as much as I can to catch Morris’s killer. Even if that means being bait.”
“No way!”
“Out of the question.”
“Are you crazy?”
Over everyone’s cries of horror and distress, Nif crossed her arms and prepared to do battle to make it clear she wasn’t running anywhere.
“Quiet!” Thea boomed, clearly using the same voice she’d use to command a squad room full of police officers. In the following silence, Nif realised that Clinton and Thea must’ve kept birds. She could hear a startled chorus start up outside, beyond the patio. “It won’t come to that,” Theas said. “Thank you, Jennifer, for your offer, but no one will be bait. Continue to go to work. Oliver and your boss can pick you up and drop you off like they’ve been doing. Don’t be alone. You have a housemate, right? If she’s not home, stay with another friend.”
“You can stay with me,” Clare and Moira chorused at the same time. Their eyes met and Clare blushed red and Moira found the wood grain patterns suddenly fascinating.
“Good. You’ll check in to the group chat just like the rest of you will. Even though we may suspect the perpetrator is selecting their victims through this dating app, that hasn’t been confirmed. Does anyone know if Morris was using it? No? We’ll find out as soon as we can, but until then, this is all just conjecture.”
“We just have to be smart about this,” Clinton added. “Now let’s drink more Gluhwein and enjoy the muffins that Clare was so kind to bring. There’s not much more we can do now than be vigilant.” Clinton made sure everyone’s mugs were refilled and the last of Clare’s muffins were devoured, but a heaviness hung over them all. Thick with a strange sort of anticipation.
Oliver appeared at Nif’s elbow, a frown on his face, as she focused on drinking enough Gluhwein to warm the block of ice that had settled in her chest.
“There’s quite a big age gap,” Oliver murmured, watching Clare and Moira circling each other. He was clearly trying to decide if he was happy for his best friend or worried.
“Age doesn’t matter. They’re both adults and they’re adorable together,” Nif said over her drink.
Moira was glowing, her smile so wide it reached her ears and Nif was fairly certain she’d shifted a little, her ears pointier and furred at the tips. It made her appear even more elfish, dressed in her skinny jeans, long sleeve rainbow top and dark green leather jacket. Her hair was a tumble of dark curls. Beside her, Clare was frilly in creams and golds and on her palm was balanced a mini-muffin studded with blueberries and choc chips. They couldn’t hear what Clare was saying, but it was obvious she was smitten with the younger woman and if Oliver hadn’t told her Moira never drank, Nif would’ve assumed Moira was tipsy as her cheeks flushed prettily.
“Clare is a good person,” Nif assured Oliver, dragging her eyes off the two. “I think they’d be a good match. Moira will push Clare outside her comfort zone and Clare will remind Moira to slow down and be in the present.” If anything, Nif was a little jealous. The moment Nif had introduced them, they’d just clicked. The question was, when would they realise the other was equally into them?
Moira said something that surprised Clare -- probably something dorky – and she burst out laughing, the sound ringing out across the room. Nif had never heard Clare laugh like that before. She was always so softly spoken.
“Are you okay, Jennifer?” Oliver had moved in closer so as not to be overheard. Thea had slipped out of the room again, her phone glued to her ear. Nif could only hope the lead would pan out. Clinton was doing his rounds, topping up Philippa and Josephine’s mugs while listening intently as they described whatever those wooden dolls were.
“I wonder if Morris would still be here if I’d reported the messages sooner,” Nif admitted. It was a nasty guilt that was buried deep inside her, building a palace out of the icy fear that had grown. Oliver looked speechless for a moment so Nif hurried to cut off his protests. “I know it’s not my fault. The messages before Morris’s death were pretty benign. There was no way of knowing the Hound of Baskerville had anything to do with the murders, but I still can’t help but think I could’ve done something.”
“Morris wouldn’t want you to blame yourself, though,” Oliver finally said. “Let’s just catch this bastard and go on with our lives. That’s what Morris would want most.”
“God, he’d be all grumpy saying it, too,” Nif admitted, smiling sadly, remembering how he’d been so gruff and yet possibly one of the sweetest people she’d ever met.
“Jennifer…” Oliver hesitated, glancing back over to Moira who was taking a small bite from the muffin Clare was offering. She looked like a star, glowing with happiness.
“You can call me Nif, Oliver. We’re friends. All that stuff from earlier…it seems so silly now after everything that’s happened. We promised to start anew, so maybe...” Nif took a deep breath and then slipped a hand into his. He automatically tightened his hold and the ice in Nif’s chest cracked, beginning to melt.
“Nif. Maybe, when this is all over, we could go out for dinner? Just the two of us?”
“I’d like that.”