The Facebook Killer (6 page)

“But by then it was too late,” Renee
continued, “I went to church every night after work and prayed for
the souls of that poor girl and her mother.”

Norman felt a lump in his throat. Renee wiped
away a tear with her napkin.

“When I first read about it in the paper I
cried for hours. I knew exactly how the husband must have felt. I
was in a similar position when my Robert was killed. I was six
months pregnant you see with our first child. The trauma caused me
to miscarry. So you see, I lost my entire family too,” she wiped
her running nose, “God. Listen to me. We’ve only known each other
for a day and I’m depressing you with all my sob stories.”

Renee straightened herself up, smiled and
laughed that laugh through wet but sparkling eyes.

“So enough about me. Tell me about yourself
Norman.”

What was there to tell? He was only two weeks
old after all.

“So tell me Renee,” Norman whispered, leaning
across the table for more privacy, “why are you still friends with
Abdul Hamid on Facebook?”

She looked confused for a moment, then she
started to laugh.

“You cheeky so and so. You’ve been checking
up on me haven’t you? I bet you were trying to check out my
status?”

God she was naive. She didn’t even ask how he
knew her surname; if she had done he would have told her that it
was on the receipt from today’s purchase. But she didn’t, which is
just as well because it wasn’t.

“Well?” Norman asked again.

“The little bastard kept asking me for a
phone number or email address but I refused to give him one, so I
ended up giving him my Facebook. I meant to take him off as a
friend ages ago but I never use it anymore. Shit,” she said
covering her mouth, “how bad does that look. Me still being friends
with a murderer?”

Norman asked the barman to call Renee a taxi
when she started to complain of stomach pains. She apologised
profusely for cutting the night so short and asked if they could do
it again soon.

“Somehow, I don’t think that will be
possible, Renee,” he replied as the taxi took her way.

Chapter 6

I cursed myself to hell when Norman came back
with the news. I hadn’t factored in the possibility that some of
Hamid’s friends might not be “real” friends after all. I was
shocked. Furious with myself. What if they were there by chance? Or
pure bad luck. I knew what I had to do. I had to shake the apple
tree and I had to shake it hard so only the loyal clung on. My plan
didn’t include killing the innocent.

I put Norman to bed and spent the rest of
that night and the next day relaxing. I had to clear my mind. I
watched the news, as always. Renee got a small mention. She was
dead. They thought it might be Legionnaire’s or Salmonella. The
Trafalgar Arms had been shut down.

I had promised myself all along that I wasn’t
going to get involved in the network. Now I felt that I must, I had
to make sure there were no more Renee Walton's out there. Death by
association.

I had to be clever, which I knew I was. I had
to be subtle enough not to cause suspicion and I knew exactly how
to do it.

After ten minutes research I had the name and
address of Hamid’s Barrister, Steven Neilson, I took his official
looking picture from his chamber’s website and I was in business.
It took me five minutes to create his Facebook page, via an
anonymous IP address I hasten to add. I added a bit of bullshit
about his career etcetera and started a simple poll entitled “Clear
Abdul Hamid’s Name.” I kept my account private, only those people I
had asked to join as “friends” could read it once accepted.

“Dear friends of Abdul,” it began, “as I am
sure you are all aware our mutual friend has suffered quite a
traumatic ordeal at the hands of the British justice system.
Thankfully Abdul has been absolved of all wrongdoing and this is
where your help can come in. I would like you to take a second to
fill in the poll, which you can see below. Why? Because I am
personally seeking justice for him in the form of recompense and
cleansing of his name,” Fuck I was starting to sound like the Pope,
“this poll is totally anonymous and no further communication will
be entered into unless you would like to submit an online character
reference.”

I then applied to be friends with all of the
uncertain apples, all of the “Renee Walton's.” I obviously didn’t
send this to the family members he had listed or Hamid himself.
With 105 apples left, I could do with narrowing them down anyway.
In retrospect I should have done this from the start.

All his “friends” had to do was click on one
of two answers. There was also a comments box below. Only I could
read the results.

1) I am still a friend of Abdul and his name
should be cleared.

2) I am no longer one of Abdul’s friends.

It seemed a bit of a long shot but I had
nothing to lose. In fact quite the opposite, anyone who responded
would allow me access to their pages as well.

I went to bed at 10:00 pm. I had firmly
decided not to do anything for thirty-six hours. Then I would check
the poll and make a decision after that.

I fell asleep to the sound of Renee’s laugh.
It had sounded just like Anna’s.

Chapter 7

The laptop remained under the floorboards for
almost two days. The television remained turned off for the same
period. I just ate, slept, thought and at one point started
counting my money. I gave up after five hours.

It was time. Time to see if
anyone had unknowingly just saved their own lives by the single
click of a mouse. It may sound like a profound statement but
believe me it is not. If you haven’t yet worked it out, it is my
plan to get rid of every single person that Abdul Hamid cares about
and where is the only place I can find that information? On his
Facebook page, of course. It is my solemn intention to alleviate
him of his entire “network”. His friends will go first, then Kalif,
Norman, Albert and I will start with his family. He will suffer
like I did only a thousand times worse. When my story finishes he
will pray to his God that he had never been born, the only problem
is that by
that
time, I will be his God.

I was surprised to see that
ninety people had accepted me as their friend. Fuck, wasn’t I the
privileged one! I now had to recalculate. 105 minus the 89 who had
now washed their hands of Hamid
since they
thought the law were sniffing around. That left 13 plus his family
members. Divided by £1,749,000 equaled just over £87,500 each. I
knew
that we would have to go to Pakistan,
which would prove expensive so let’s say I had £80,000 to spend on
each apple. That was just bloody ridiculous. It could never be
done. But it had to be. That was the plan. The money had to be gone
when I crucified Hamid. I had to readjust. Having said that; I was
still waiting for fifteen more replies. I would give them
twenty-four hours to reply and if not, they would be deemed
guilty.

By God this was getting complicated. I
started a spreadsheet. Copying and pasting photographs and details.
The thirteen friends who were currently sticking by Hamid were now
top of my list. Some of the comments they left me were disgusting.
Not something even a serial killer would repeat.

I sent Albert out to the
off license around the corner from the hotel to buy a bottle of
vodka, by the time he came back the old bastard had drunk a good
mouthful or two. I’ll send Norman next time. He tends not to drink
as much.
As I mentioned earlier, I never
used to drink, but that was back then. Now I find it helps quell
the rage, which seems to be surfacing more often nowadays. We still
have a long road to walk and we must do whatever it takes to remain
in control.

Chapter 8

Nazim Khan

Friends Reunited enlightened me to the fact
that Khan and Hamid had gone to school together for four years.
Their paths had obviously forked at some point as Khan went gone on
to pursue a career in dentistry. While his scumbag friend hides out
as one of the country’s luckiest murderers, Khan is studying hard
at Bart’s School of Dentistry in Tower Hamlets, and I know just the
man to wipe the smile of his face.

When he filled in my online poll, he
basically pledged his allegiance to Hamid. His comments were
hurtful and echoed those made by the other twelve in the fact that
they all were of the opinion that Laura had deserved what she
got.

This apple was going to be my first direct
assault on Hamid’s immediate circle of friends. This apple was
going to suffer for what he said about my dear little Laura.

Nazim Khan. Age: 21. Religion: Muslim.
Status: In a relationship. Likes: Hip Hop & RnB. Dislikes:
Politics, Heavy Metal & English Food.

Obviously doesn’t mind the British women
though, judging by his photographs. Seems quite the lady’s man by
all accounts. That was a possible weakness. But it was Old Albert’s
turn and at seventy odd he couldn’t turn that to his advantage.

It was almost two weeks now and we had only
managed to pick three apples. One suicide, one accidental car crash
and an unfortunate case of food poisoning. No outright murder yet.
No links between the apples. That was good. But we still had at
least thirty-one to go, at this rate it would take us just over
four months, if we weren’t caught beforehand. Things had to be
speeded up. To finish our job in two months we would have to revert
to one apple every two days without getting sloppy. Kalif would
have to take my shopping list to the White Russian. We needed to
stock up on supplies to get this thing done.

Albert’s drinking was starting to concern me
but it was something I could discuss with him at a later date. For
now he had to get on with his appointed task.

Sitting on the bench opposite the dentistry
school, Albert looked like any one of the thousands of homeless
drunks in London. He knew he had only two days to do this. The
first day for reconnaissance, the second to pick the fruit. Khan’s
face was burned into his memory.

The cheap bottle of vodka in the brown paper
bag had originally been part of his disguise, but Albert had felt
the urge too strong to resist and he was now a quarter of the way
through it when he spotted Khan coming out of the main entrance.
Albert thought he recognised the blonde girl who had been waiting
outside for him but he couldn’t be certain. Two apples for the
price of one would be nice.

It took those two pathetic lovers over four
hours to eventually lead him to their flat. He felt the rage rising
as he was forced to watch them wander through the park, arm in arm,
laughing and messing around. Probably discussing having a family of
their own one day. They stopped for drinks at a bar called the
Flagstaff. He had to wait outside just over an hour for them to
leave. Meanwhile the rain had started, it was getting dark now and
cold. Albert felt an overwhelming urge to run up to Khan and just
kill him there and then, he knew he could easily overpower him. He
could break the vodka bottle and gash his neck. It would be over in
seconds and he could retreat back through the park. It had been
quiet before and now with the rain and the fall of dusk it was
guaranteed to be empty.

He took another swig of vodka. He felt the
rage subside a little and continued on his journey. Khan and his
little bitch leading the way.

46c Worcester Road. That was his address. A
big old Victorian property subdivided into flats and bedsits. A For
Sale sign outside. The buzzer system by the front door had sixteen
buttons. Access wasn’t going to be a problem. Albert retreated
across the street, hiding in the shadows he waited to see which
light would come on then he would know exactly which flat was
Khan’s.

Khan didn’t let him down.
First floor flat, front left, just above the bay window of the
ground floor flat. The girl was still playing on Albert’s mind. If
she was another apple, did she live with Khan? If not she would
probably head home later. Probably in a taxi where he couldn’t get
to her. If she
was
another one, this would have to be done tonight.

Albert contemplated going to an Internet café
but he knew that was an unnecessary risk. Instead he took the Tube
back to his King’s Cross hotel suite and back to the security of
their nest.

Katherine Bell. Status: In a relationship.
“For the next few hours.” thought Albert. She was another one who
had pledged allegiance. She was another one who had to die.

Albert spent an hour Googling Khan’s address.
The flats and bedsits turned out to be owned and not rented as he
had first assumed. Kenton & Rogers Estate Agency were handling
the sale of the ground floor flat below Khan. Vacant possession.
Albert looked at the floorplan and interior photographs. It would
almost certainly be a carbon copy layout of Khan’s flat.

192.com confirmed Khan’s address and gave
Albert the phone number as well. He took Kalif’s mobile phone and
his own shopping bag from beneath the floorboards, slipped out
through the rear car park and hailed a cab. On his way back to
Worcester Road, he asked the driver to drop him off outside a
builder’s yard he had walked past on his way to the Tube station
earlier. Albert paid the cab fair, went into the builder’s yard and
then walked back to Khan’s flat stopping in at a petrol station on
the way.

It was now eight o’clock. Albert was back in
the shadows on the opposite side of the road. He watched the
silhouettes against the net curtains. He watched Khan drying
himself after his shower and start to dress. He watched Katherine
Bell apply her make up. He watched them close the curtains. He
watched them leave the building and wander down the street
laughing, discussing whether it should be Indian or Chinese
tonight. They never saw Albert in the shadows as they headed off
for their last supper together.