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“This isn’t how it was supposed to go, Noah,” Shenton says.
Noah scowls. “Fuck off,” he mutters.
Shenton shakes his head. “She doesn’t believe you. She can’t accept that her beloved Noah Deakin is a sadistic serial killer. What are we going to do about that?”
Noah glares at him across the table. “I’ve confessed. I’ve done everything you asked. I kept quiet while you had your fun. I even did the first kill, Robbie.”
Shenton’s face goes red. “Don’t call me that! Nobody calls me that anymore!” He stands up, screaming at Noah, breathing heavily, his eyes bulging. “And you didn’t! You couldn’t even rape the bitch. Plus you fucked up so badly you left a fingerprint behind, and I had to cover your back, finish the job.” Slowly, he lowers himself down into his seat, once again a picture of restraint. “You never had the taste for this, Noah,” he continues. “You’re weak, pathetic. You’re nothing. And yet here you are, taking all the credit. Taking all my glory.”
“So fucking confess. You were there, in the woods. You could have walked out at any time, to revel in your success.” Noah points to the doorway, angry. “Go on, you sadistic fuck. You tell her what happened.”
Shenton shakes his head. “No, no,” he says calmly, back to his usual facade. He has a small smile on his face. “That’s not how it’s going to go at all.”
They met twenty years ago. Unlikely cohorts, bonded together out of necessity in that shitty children’s home. Where they both met Jessica Ambrose. And then Noah left, and he thought he’d never see Shenton again. Until Toby showed up in the police force.
And everything went wrong.
Deakin had an aptitude for undercover work. A natural ability to blend in, to be whoever they wanted him to be. He lied with ease. He didn’t make friends; he didn’t fall in love. He knew he wasn’t worthy of the life other people had.
He was an outsider. He drank; he took all the pharmaceuticals that came his way. He worked alongside some of the worst drug kingpins in the country: he fought, he was beaten, stabbed. But still, despite his best efforts, he survived.
And then he tried to kill himself.
Shenton stopped him. He must have followed him into the woods; he cut him down from the tree, gasping for air.
“I’m nothing,” Noah wheezed, the rope falling away from his neck. “I’ll always be nothing.”
Toby had looked at him. “You’re my friend, Noah,” he’d said. “I’ll look after you.” And with those few words, Deakin was under his spell.
He was fascinated by the way Toby put on a show when he was at work, timid and pathetic.
“I spent nine years learning how to be weak,” Shenton would say. “It’s not hard to do it again.”
At night, they would drive around in Shenton’s car, following women, watching them through brightened windows, oblivious as they went about their lives. He was in awe of Shenton. They’d hang out together, sometimes at Noah’s, sometimes at Shenton’s old squalid family house, sometimes at the lodge. Toby would bring hookers, fuck them first, then pass them to Noah, ordering him what to do. While he masturbated, while he watched. Toby enjoyed exerting his will over those around him, screwing with their heads. He’d done it then, just as he had with the Echo Man murders: Mia’s earring at the fire to mess with Griffin, Libby’s prints on the pint glass at apartment 214.
Toby was in control, in charge. Always. Noah reveled in his attention; for the first time someone took an interest in his life. Noah would do anything he asked. Disagreement resulted in punches to his gut, black eyes. And once, when Noah had dared to refuse a prostitute, Toby pushed him to his knees in front of him. Show me you’re sorry, you sulky bitch, he’d said, unzipping his fly. Apologize or I’ll kill her, right here.
He’d known Toby was serious. And he’d done as he was told.
Noah took new biological samples for Toby, swapping his record on the system for an unknown. He’d complied without question, even though Noah knew Shenton had something specific in mind.
Watching those women in their homes, Toby had been excited, jittering in the passenger seat, but Noah had never asked, until one day Toby pointed to a young woman, walking home from college.
“That’s her,” he said. “That’s your first.”
Noah had looked at Toby with disbelief. “I’m not a virgin,” he’d said. “You know that,” and Toby had laughed at his naivety.
“First kill, you prick,” he’d replied.
They’d waited until the right opportunity, then pulled the struggling girl into the car. Shenton had smiled as he’d beaten her into submission, tying her up quickly, then driving out of town. They’d stopped the car in the middle of nowhere, and Noah had watched, pressed backward against the door of the car, bile rising in his throat, as Shenton had stripped her naked, then raped her, his white ass thrusting hard into her delicate body. Toby had no hesitation in the face of the girl’s screams. No conscience. Just the same insane grin, the aroused flush of his cheeks. Blood on his hands, across his face.
And after he’d finished, he’d turned away from the woman’s battered body, and he’d said to Noah: “Your turn.”
Noah could only shake his head, and Toby’s lip had curled. Then he’d reached over and slapped Noah hard across the face. “Don’t disappoint me, you little bitch. At least kill the dirty cunt.”
So he had. His face stinging, fearing Toby’s rejection, he’d strangled her, pulling the ligature tight until the girl had turned blue and motionless. Then he’d thrown up in the footwell of the car.
Toby hadn’t taken him with him again.
