When Darkness Calls by Mark Griffin

Author:Mark Griffin [Griffin, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780349420721
Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group
Published: 2018-11-01T00:00:00+00:00

Twenty-six

Holly woke to the sound of the doorbell, followed by a sharp double tap on the front door.

She pushed herself up in her bed, mind groggy, and then appeared a few seconds later in the hallway, fastening her dressing gown as she stumbled like a drunk. She squinted through the spy-hole.

‘Jesus … ’ under her breath. Didn’t this guy ever sleep? She opened the door. Bishop was there, dishevelled, exhausted.

‘We’ve got another body.’

‘Let me get dressed.’

‘There’s time for a coffee if you want to put the kettle on.’

‘There is?’

‘I’ll explain on the way.’

She nodded absently. ‘Come on in then,’ she said, and led him into the living room. She ground some coffee and put two mugs on the counter.

‘How do you like it?’

‘Milk and two please.’

She watched him sidle over to one of the bookshelves and stare at the small collection of framed photographs on top. ‘Your mum and dad?’

‘Yes.’

When she handed him a mug of coffee he was looking at a holiday snap from the beach. Her with her mother and father, all three of them with sandy-faced smiles and wind-blown hair. She wondered if he could see the similarities between herself and her mother. The same brown hair and high cheekbones, full lips and deep brown eyes.

‘How old were you here?’

‘I was six and a half. Already wanting to take over the world.’

He nodded and when he turned back he noticed the homemade incident board that covered the wall above the mantelpiece. He gave her a wry smile. ‘Love what you’ve done with the place.’

‘Thank you. Magnolia is so nineties.’ She moved over to the airing cupboard and armed herself with a towel. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’

When she emerged from the bathroom, towel-drying her hair, she couldn’t see Bishop at first, then noticed the open door to the spare room. Ah, she thought, this could be interesting. She took a deep breath and went inside.

Bishop was standing in the middle of her special room. Her very special room. His mouth was open in the proverbial ‘O’ and she couldn’t blame him. The room was an odd museum. Or rather a museum of oddities. Racks of knives and machetes, a Georgian blunderbuss, a pickaxe, a hangman’s noose, a ghoulish china doll that seemed to follow you with its glass eyes, two Victorian dresses on hangers labelled ‘Ripper Victims’, glass specimen jars containing bits of preserved flesh …

Holly flicked a switch and the place lit up like a gallery. Spotlights highlighted some of the more macabre pieces. It was supposed to impress but she thought Bishop looked a little sickly in the light.

‘Holly,’ he said flatly.

She stared at him, unsure how to play this, but then suddenly dived straight in. ‘Well, I might as well let you in on my secret. This is called—’

‘Creepy.’

She couldn’t say much to that.

‘The correct term is “murderabilia”. It’s all about the history of murder and psychotic murderers. Sociopathic killers. The weapons they used, mementoes from their victims. I collect their things.’

He stared at the hairless china doll and coughed.

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