Killing Kate. Alex Lake

Kate said. ‘Don’t you like it?’

      ‘I dunno,’ Gemma said. ‘I suppose so. It’s – well, it’s a pretty big change, Kate. It’s not your usual style. It’s not what you do. I mean, it’s kind of like if Kate Middleton did it. A bit of a surprise.’

      ‘I know,’ Kate said. ‘And I hate it. Not as much as I did this afternoon – I suppose it’s growing on me …’

      ‘Literally,’ Gemma said. ‘Although it’s still got some growing to do.’

      ‘… But I have my reasons.’ She took out her phone and typed a search into Google. A picture of the two murdered women came up. ‘They look like me,’ she said, handing her phone to her friend. ‘Remember you guys teasing me about that? We laughed, but it’s not so funny now.’

      Gemma studied it for a second or two. When she looked at Kate she was pale.

      ‘They don’t look like you now,’ she said.

      ‘Right,’ Kate said. ‘And it’s going to stay that way until this is over.’

      They spent the afternoon at the Trafford Centre. Kate had never noticed before, but it was a place that, between the glass shopfronts and the mirrors inside the shops, was full of reflections. She saw herself everywhere, saw this stranger with the short, red hair and green eyes walking side by side with the familiar form of her friend, and each time was surprised anew at the realization that it was her.

      It was interesting to see how the shop assistants treated her. When they suggested clothes for her they were different to the clothes she was used to being offered: more urban, more punk, more edgy.

      She wasn’t quite ready to embrace her new style fully yet, not least because those scruffy-looking punk clothes came at designer prices. It cost as much to dress down as to dress up.

      She was glad, though, that they saw her that way. It meant that the transformation had been a success. Whatever the type was that the killer was targeting, she no longer fit it.

      That evening they went out for dinner, and then for a drink at a wine bar. Gemma had agreed to stay over, and they had drunk a bottle of wine with their meal. They were now drinking gin and tonics, and Kate was feeling the effects.

      It was a nice feeling, though. Relaxing and warm. A great way to end a difficult week.

      ‘Well,’ Gemma said. ‘I’m starting to get used to your new look. And I have to say, I kind of like it.’

      ‘You’re only saying that,’ Kate replied. ‘And there’s no need. This is temporary. You don’t have to make me feel good about it.’

      ‘I’m not, I promise. It’s cool. And you’re so pretty that you can get away with it. Especially with those green eyes. I might get some myself.’ She sipped her drink; it was getting low. ‘One more?’

      ‘Why not?’ Kate stood up. ‘It’s my round. And I need the loo.’

      In the Ladies she used the toilet, then, after washing her hands, took a small bottle of eye drops from her purse. The contact lenses were irritating her eyes. She wasn’t used to wearing them and she was looking forward to taking them out when she got home.

      She stared at herself in the mirror. It was like looking at a different person. She smiled, and headed to the bar.

      As she waited her turn, someone bumped into her back.

      ‘Sorry,’ a voice said. ‘Excuse me.’

      The voice was familiar, and she turned round. It took her a moment to realize who it was.

      It was Mike, the guy from Turkey.

      ‘Sorry about that,’ he said. ‘It’s a bit of a tight squeeze.’

      She grinned; it was clear he didn’t recognize her, which was exactly what she wanted. ‘That’s fine,’ she said. ‘No problems.’ Then she added: ‘Mike.’

      He paused. ‘Do I know you?’ he said. He stared at her, then his mouth opened. ‘No way,’ he said. ‘It’s you! It’s Kate?’

      It was half-question, half-exclamation.

      ‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘How’ve you been?’

      ‘Great,’ he said. ‘Same as usual. Nothing new.’ He gestured at her hair. ‘Can’t say the same for you. It looks great, by the way. You look great.’

      ‘Thanks, but I didn’t do it for looks.’ The wine and the gin and tonic were making her more loose-lipped than usual. ‘I did it for tactical reasons.’

      ‘Oh? Like what? You joining the SAS?’

      She laughed. ‘No, not exactly. It’s kind of a disguise.’

      ‘It’s a pretty good one. Can I ask why?’

      She took out her phone and showed him the picture she’d showed to Gemma earlier.

      ‘Wow,’ he said. ‘I see. Good idea. It’s a bonus that it looks pretty awesome too.’

      ‘That’s kind of you to say. Anyway, what are you doing here?’

      He pointed to a group of men at the end of the bar. ‘Cricket club. I used to play and I came to watch a game today. Been having a few beers with the boys.’ He looked at his watch. ‘But I have to go.’

      ‘Hot date?’ She was surprised at her forwardness; maybe she’d think again about another drink.

      ‘Something like that.’

      She was intrigued to find that she was – a little – jealous.

      ‘Well,’ she said. ‘Enjoy. And I’ll maybe see you around?’

      ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘See you around.’

      When she got back to the table, Gemma gave her a knowing look. ‘Was that who I think it was?’

      ‘Who do you think it was?’

      ‘The guy? From Kalkan? What was his name?’

      ‘Mike. And yes, it was. And guess what? He didn’t recognize me.’

      ‘He’s kind of cute. In an older way.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘And you obviously thought so when we were on holiday.’

      ‘He’s OK. But I’m not interested. Not at the moment.’

      ‘At the moment,’ Gemma said.

      ‘Ever,’ Kate replied, although she wasn’t sure that she meant it.

       18

      Gemma gestured around the pub.

      ‘It’s so weird,’ she said. ‘Look. This place is full of people talking, drinking, falling in love. There are probably people meeting each other tonight who’ll get married. Others are having affairs. It’s full of life and warmth and fun …’ She paused and leaned forward. ‘And any one of these people could be a serial killer. It makes you think, doesn’t it?’

      ‘It makes me sick,’ Kate said.

      ‘I mean, it could be anyone,’ Gemma said. ‘It doesn’t have to be some oddball loner. It could be someone’s husband, or father, or a teacher or a judge. You have no way of knowing.’

      That was the reason serial killers were so fascinating, Kate thought. An ordinary killer – if there was such a thing – was easily explained, banal almost. It was a matter of normal emotions or situations that got out of hand. Someone screwed his wife and a husband got jealous; a robbery went wrong; a brother wanted all of an inheritance to himself. Grubby human life, writ large: jealousy, lust, greed.

      And then there was