“Her navel’s caved in,” I said.
“Then get her a new stomach, and tits.”
“She could certainly do with new tits,” I said.
“Then go the full Monty: get her an entire new ensemble. A whole new body. It would be great for her, like having a new dress. And it would be great for you. A new body. A fresh new body.”
“It’s a thought,” I said. “And a good one. I could dig one up for her, I suppose.”
“Use your brain,” said Dave. “Why dig up a dead one? It would already be going mouldy. Get her a new fresh body. Get her a live one.” He nodded towards the delicious young woman who was now coming out of the Ladies. “Get her that one.” And he turned and winked through his eye mask. “Sandra would really appreciate that one.”
“What are you saying?” I asked, but I knew exactly what he was saying.
“You know exactly what I’m saying,” said Dave. “How long have we been bestest friends, Gary?”
“For ever,” I said. “As long as I can remember.”
“And we trust each other, yes?”
“No,” I said. “I wouldn’t trust you as far as I could poke you with a stick.”
“That’s not what I mean. I mean that we can trust each other in that what we say to each other will never go any further. We can trust in each other.”
“Absolutely,” I said. “How could it be any other way?”
“Exactly,” said Dave. “So we are honest with each other.”
“Absolutely,” I said.
“So let’s be honest,” said Dave. “Where are you working, Gary?”
“At the telephone exchange,” I said. “I’ve been there for five years.”
“There,” said Dave. “That wasn’t difficult, was it?”
“No,” I said. “I didn’t like lying to you.”
“Good,” said Dave. “So, I’ll ask you another question and you’ll give me an honest answer, yes?”
“Yes,” I said.
“OK,” said Dave, in a lowered tone. “To your knowledge, how many deaths have you been responsible for, Gary?”
I scratched my head. What kind of question was that? I mean, what kind of questions was that?
“I’m waiting,” said Dave.
I stared at Dave.
“How many?” said Dave.
“A few,” I said. “Maybe.”
“A few,” said Dave. “Maybe. And that would account for your daddy, the ice-cream man, and Count Otto Black and Sandra, by proxy. I might have been in the nick when Count Otto copped it, but I knew what he was up to with Sandra. And I recognized your hand in his tragic demise.”
I shrugged and made an innocent face, but as I was wearing a domino mask Dave couldn’t see me making it.
“So, that would be four,” said Dave. “You never actually laid a hand on them, but I know, and you know that I know, that you were directly responsible. I’m asking you how many others you have actually killed by your own hand.”
“It’s not so many,” I said.
“How many?” said Dave.
“About thirty.”
“About thirty?”
“Thirty-two. No, ’three.”
“Thirty-three would be the taxi driver I ran past earlier in the quiet street round the corner, I’ll bet.”
“You should have seen how much he wanted to charge us for the fare.”
“I’m not judging you,” said Dave. “I’m your friend. Your bestest friend. The fact that you are a serial killer does not affect our friendship.”
“Nor should it,” I said. “It has nothing to do with our friendship. Have I ever condemned you for being a thief?”
Dave shook his head. “You killed Captain Runstone, didn’t you?” said he.
“I did.” I sighed. “He was the very first – no, second, actually. He caught me in the restricted section of the Memorial Library. He was drunk and he tried to interfere with me.”
“Self-defence,” said Dave. “You’d have got away with that one.”
“Oh, I didn’t mind him interfering with me,” I said. “I quite liked it. But his breath smelt rotten.”
“You’d have gone down,” said Dave. “You were wise to keep quiet. But what about all the rest?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “It was just here and there. People upset me. They make me angry. I hit them. I don’t mean to. Something just comes over me, or into me, or something, and I’m not myself, I just do it. There was the labourer, once, on a building site, where Mother Demdike’s hut used to be. He was a homophobe. Something came over me. I lost my temper. Stuff like that.”
“Well, I’m your bestest friend and I would never grass you up, as you know. It’s your thing. It’s the way you are.”
“It’s my daddy’s fault,” I said. “I’ve read a lot about this sort of thing. An abused child becomes an abusing adult. It’s in the programming.”
“Yeah, right,” said Dave. “But I’m not judging you. All I’m saying, and this is the whole point of this conversation, you love Sandra and so you should put Sandra first. And if that means sacrificing a few young, nubile, attractive women to acquire their bodies as replacements, then you should consider it. You would be doing it for your Sandra. The benefits for yourself would of course be secondary.”
“Yes,” I said and I nodded thoughtfully. “You have a good point there.”
“Of course I do,” said Dave. “And I took the liberty of placing the dead cabbie in the boot of his cab and helping myself to the keys. So, if you wish to acquire the nubile young woman later, I’ll be more than pleased to give you a hand.”
“You’re a real friend, Dave,” I said, putting out my hand for a shake. “I’ve wanted to talk to people about the bad things I do, but I know they’d only freak out and tell the police and then I’d have to go to prison and I don’t want to go to prison. I’m really glad we could talk about it. It’s good to have a friend like you.”
“Of course it is,” said Dave, shaking my hand. “I’m your bestest friend.”
And so we drank some more champagne.
And we chatted about the good old days and we buddied up once again and I thought to myself what a wonderful thing real friendship is and how you can’t put a price on it. Which is probably why the rich and famous, for all the money they have to squander, never have any real friends.
Dave nicked another bottle of champagne and we took to drinking that too.
And, of course, when you drink a lot of champagne and you’re in the company of your bestest friend you do tend to talk too much.
“I talk to the dead every night,” I said to Dave.
“Now, why doesn’t that surprise me at all?” Dave said in reply. “You’ve finally taken to drugs, then, have you?”
“No, it’s not drugs. I really do talk to the dead. On the telephone.”
“Yeah, right,” said Dave.
“No, really.” And I told Dave all about FLATLINE. All about FLATLINE.
“Bowls of bleeding bile!” said Dave when at last I was done with my telling. “And this is true?”
“All true,” I said. “All of it.”
“And you haven’t got caught?”
“Barry and I have it sewn up.”
Dave shook his head and he shook it violently. “You are in big trouble,” he said. “And I mean the biggest.”
“Eh?” said I. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying,” said Dave, “that I’ve heard about this. In the nick. I met an old boy in there – he’d been in for years – who told me about the FLATLINE thing and I didn’t know whether to believe him or not. But if you’ve actually spoken with the dead, then it must be true.”