Looking Good Dead

61

Tom, shaking with nerves, sat in his den with a tumbler of Glenfiddich, trying to focus on the emails he somehow had to send to his team tonight about the presentation tomorrow morning. Every couple of minutes he clicked the send-and-receive button on his email. Followed by a large sip of whisky.

At eleven twenty his tumbler was empty and, in need of another, he went downstairs. PC Willingham was in the kitchen, making himself a coffee.

‘Would you like one, Mr Bryce?’ he asked.

Tom held up his glass and, aware his voice was slurring slightly, said, ‘Thanks, but I need something a little stronger.’

‘I don’t blame you.’

‘Would you like one?’ Tom offered, uncapping the bottle.

‘Not on duty, thank you, sir, no.’

Tom gave him an it’s your funeral shrug, filled the tumbler to the brim with whisky, ice and water – but mostly whisky – and went back upstairs. As he sat back down at his desk, he noticed another email had come in from postmaster@scarab.tisana.al, with an attachment. The header said, simply,

Message from Kellie.

His hand was shaking so much he could barely steady the cursor on the attachment. He double-clicked.

The attachment seemed to take forever to open. Then suddenly the entire screen went dark. And Kellie’s face appeared.

Harshly lit like a solo performer on a stage under the glare of a single spotlight, she was staring straight ahead, out of darkness. Still wearing her evening dress from last night, she was bound hand and foot and roped to a chair. A silver pendant Tom had never seen before hung from a chain around her neck. There was a large bruise below her right eye where it looked as if she had been punched, and her lips looked swollen.

She spoke in a choked, stilted tone, sounding as though she was attempting to recite from a memorized script.

Tom stared at her, totally numb with shock, as if this was not real, was just a bad joke, or a bad dream.

‘Tom, please watch me carefully and listen to me,’ Kellie said in a quavering voice. ‘Why have you done this to me? Why did you ignore the instructions you were given not to go to the police? They are now punishing me because of your stupidity.’

She fell silent, tears flooding down her mascara-streaked cheeks. Steadily the camera zoomed in tighter and tighter on her face. Then even tighter, tilting down, favouring the pendant on the necklace. Until the necklace filled the screen completely.

And the design engraved on it was clearly visible. It was a scarab beetle.

‘Don’t tell the police about this film, darling. Just do exactly what they tell you. Otherwise it will be Max’s turn next. Then Jessica’s. Don’t try to be heroic. Please do what they tell you. It’s…’ Her voice faltered. ‘It’s the only chance you and I have of ever seeing each other again. Please, please don’t tell the police. They will know. These people know everything.’

Kellie’s voice ripped through his soul like barbed wire.

The screen went pitch black. Then he heard a sound. It started as a low whine, then steadily got louder and higher, more and more piercing. It was Kellie, he realized. She was screaming.

Then silence.

The film was at an end. The attachment closed.

Tom vomited onto the carpet.