Definitely Dead by Kate Bendelow (howl and other poems TXT) 📕

to concede that Donnelly was right. Keeping Spencer James alive in the future was not going to be an option. He was a dead man walking.

33

Lurch sat sipping his drink, smacking his lips against the froth that settled around his mouth. He continued to watch Spence as he served drinks and kept the bar clean. He decided he liked him. Not only had he given him a free drink, he had also asked him what his favourite colour was. Nobody ever bothered to ask him. Spencer James seemed like a nice bloke. Lurch decided that in different circumstances, they would probably become good friends.

Nowak and Donnelly were the only friends he had. Before them, nobody had ever shown any interest in him. Having friends transformed his sad, lonely, and often scary world into something fun and colourful. Having spent his life in care, Lurch had never been socialised. His friendships provided the normality he craved.

For the first time ever, Lurch had full and meaningful conversations. Previously he had only experienced strained small talk with strangers. This limited experience had led to him being educationally disadvantaged. Small talk was the reason he had become so fixated with asking people what their favourite colour was. It was the only conversation point he’d experienced as a child. It was his infantile alternative to discussing the weather.

Lurch felt accepted by Donnelly and Nowak. He shared opinions and in-jokes with them. He had an insight to family life when he was allowed in their houses. He learnt to laugh and play and got up to all kinds of scrapes. He was too naïve to realise that a lot of the time, his friends used him as a scapegoat and laughed about him behind his back. But, even if he had realised, he wouldn’t have cared. He would have taken the flack for his friends quite willingly. It was the least he could do to thank them for including him in their friendship and allowing him to be the nearest he had ever been to ‘happy’.

As the three of them grew older and the scrapes turned into more serious criminal acts, the dynamics of their friendship didn’t change. Donnelly and Nowak were the brains; Lurch was the brawn who contentedly took the rap whenever they were caught out. Now, Donnelly had told him to follow Spence and report back about what he did and who he was with.

He didn’t have to hide from Spence, but he did have to take photographs of the people he was in contact with. Lurch had to make sure Spence didn’t see him doing that. Lurch was good at the following. Considering his huge stature, he was incredibly good at not being seen. It came from a childhood of being passed in and out of the care system.

In care, Lurch used to hide in the shadows so no one could hurt him. Being in the shadows kept him safe but he didn’t like it there. The small spaces made his breath feel snuffly and there was no colour. As he grew, so did his anger and resentment towards all those who had ever hurt him. Soon, he was big enough to make people stop hurting him. That was when he started to notice all the colours. He had never looked back.

And as for Spence? Donnelly hadn’t said anything about hurting him, which Lurch was pleased about. He didn’t want to hurt someone who seemed so nice. Unless Donnelly told him too. Then if need be, nice or not, he would break every bone in his body.

34

Andy Carr was dressed in green hospital scrubs and was now slipping his feet into a pair of mortuary-issue, size ten, white wellington boots, choosing to ignore the sight of a diluted bloodstain on the toe. He had been tasked by Kym to attend Geoffrey Doran’s post-mortem and he was not happy about it. Firstly, he hated them. He had been in the job far too long now to find anything remotely interesting about them. They were also a stark reminder of how fragile his own mortality was, something he really didn’t need reminding of at the moment.

Secondly, he had enough stuff going on and he could do without this added inconvenience. The last thing he needed was to spend several hours watching some poor fucker get sliced open and be swabbed, weighed and measured.

He was in the company of Anwar Singh, from the collision reconstruction unit. He was part of the investigation team looking into the circumstances surrounding Doran’s death. Anwar was joined by Jean Collins, the exhibits officer. Jean was a quiet, unassuming woman who absorbed information through her large owlish glasses while constantly scribbling her way through copious amounts of notes.

While Anwar remained cheerful, keen and enthusiastic, Andy was his usual morose, disinterested self. He continued to be distracted by the chiming from his mobile phone, which he had placed on top of his crime-scene notes.

‘Andy, I apologise profusely if we’re keeping you from something,’ Doctor Granger sneered. He abhorred interruptions whilst holding court and had been continually irritated by Andy’s lack of attention as he made his preliminary observations of Doran’s naked, broken body. The pathologist expected people to be in awe of his extensive skills and knowledge. Usually, investigators hung on to his every word, desperate to know how their victims had died. He did not appreciate the repetitive bleeping which indicated that Andy Carr had yet another text message.

Andy was either oblivious to the pathologist’s sarcasm or in true immutable style, was too arrogant to care. He was just about to reply to Granger when his phone started to ring again. Catching sight of the name of the caller, Andy could feel the blood drain from his face and his sphincter start to twitch.

‘If you’ll just excuse me, Doctor Granger, I need to take this. It’s an important work call. Please, accept my apologies.’

Andy could hear Doctor Granger sighing exasperatedly at Anwar and Jean as he made his