The Facebook Killer (7 page)

The builder’s pickup turned up about fifteen
minutes later. They had everything that he had ordered.

“Funny time of night for a delivery,”
remarked the driver.

“The men are starting at six in the morning,”
replied Albert.

“Where do you want it then?”

“Just put it up the side of that house
there.”

The driver reversed into the driveway, where
he and his sidekick offloaded the breezeblocks, sand, cement,
ladder and tools into the side garden by the ground floor flat, out
of sight. Albert gave them a twenty quid tip explaining that this
was all part of a surprise for his grandson, for whom he had bought
the flat. The builders drove off not caring about his heartwarming
story, even if it had indeed been true.

It only took Albert an hour to finish the
job, after which he returned to his shadows and had a celebratory
drink of vodka.

He had used the crowbar to prise open the
door on the bottom of the lamppost before ripping out the wires.
Khan and his bitch didn’t even notice how much darker it was when
they returned two hours later. Albert could hear their drunken
laughs as they staggered up the street. Another twenty minutes and
the flat was in darkness. Both apples tucked up in bed
together.

When Albert checked the time on Kalif’s phone
it was almost midnight. Another hour and it would be set. He sipped
his vodka to help pass the time.

At 1:00 am he knew it was time to make his
move. He pressed the call button for 46b. A sleepy voice
answered.

“Who the fuck is this? Do you know what time
it is man?”

“Hey sorry dude. It’s Khan from down the
hall. I forgot my key, can you just buzz me in, please?”

The petrol can was concealed in Albert’s
shopping bag. This was going to be his second kill. He was feeling
the buzz. The adrenalin coursing through his veins, his cheek
throbbing. He creeped up the stairs and turned left, emptying all
five litres under the door. Luckily the floor sloped to his
advantage, he didn’t want to kill any more innocents.

The petrol fumes mixed with the vodka gave
him a serious high, a feeling of total invincibility. He took the
phone out of his pocket again and dialed Khan’s number. He hoped he
would have a bedside phone like the flat downstairs.

“Hello,” answered a groggy voice.

“Nazim Khan?”

“Yeah. Who’s this?”

“This is Detective Inspector Robert Niles. I
am standing outside your front door. I need you to let us in. We
have some questions to ask you.”

The phone went dead. Albert could hear some
movement, some mutterings then a yell of “what the fuck!” followed
by a thud as Khan slipped on the fluid. The match touched the edge
of the flood; the suction was amazing, the screams, which followed,
were even better as Khan’s nylon pyjamas melted to his skin.
Katherine Bell’s screams followed. This wasn’t enough to kill Khan,
he knew that he would rise and head for the window, albeit in
agonising pain. As Albert headed downstairs to witness the finale
he banged on the other doors.

“FIRE!” he cried, “everyone get out now.”

He had left the ladder in place; he climbed
up on to the flat roof of the bay window beneath Khan’s flat. He
pushed against the block wall he had built in front of the windows.
It was rock solid. Painted black so that Khan and his bitch
wouldn’t notice it on their return, he had left a gap in the blocks
so he could watch them suffer. As Albert stood there he could feel
the heat increasing. The window broke, a chair leg stabbed through
the gap in the barricade. A sharp intake of air and the flat lit up
even more. Katherine Bell screamed for her life. The window glass
continued to be smashed away then the gap was filled. Khan’s head
trying to squeeze through the space of one missing breezeblock.

“Good Morning,” Albert said.

“Help me! For God’s sake you have to help
me,” Khan begged.

Katherine had fallen silent.

Albert took a moment to savour the suffering,
Khan’s head wedged between the blocks, smoke billowing out from the
small gaps around his face, obviously in pain but breathing fresh
air.

“You’ve gotta help me man,” he begged.

“And why is that?” Albert asked.

“I’m hurt man, I’m hurt bad.”

Albert waved the phone in front of Khan’s
face.

“Here you are. Call for help,” he laughed,
“oh sorry I forgot you can’t unless you can dial with your tongue
that is. In that case I suppose I’m just going to have to leave you
here to die.”

“Why are you doing this?” Khan pleaded.

“Ask your friend Hamid….when you meet him in
hell.”

Albert picked up the crowbar from the roof
and hit Khan with all his might, as he fell backwards into the
flames Albert picked up the last breezeblock and hammered into
place. A perfect fit.

Albert put the crowbar, fuel can and any
other evidence he could find back into his shopping bag and
wandered off.

Chapter 9

“Good morning. It’s eight o’clock and this is
the news from BBC London. I’m Richard Noble.

Police are this morning investigating the
possible murder of two people found dead in a burning property on
Worcester Road in the east of the city. Early reports indicate that
the windows to the first floor flat were actually bricked up before
the fire was started. Fire investigators have confirmed that an
incendiary was used to start the blaze and haven’t ruled out the
use of petrol but say they are still awaiting test results. The
blaze at the property, which has a total of twenty-four residents,
was brought under control at around two o’clock this morning. A
police spokesman confirmed that no one else was hurt in the fire.
We’ll have more on this as news comes in. Meanwhile in the rest of
today’s headlines…”

I was pissed off with Albert for rushing into
things but at the same time I was also quite proud that he had
picked two apples together, although I wasn’t about to tell him so.
Nevertheless it had saved us all some time. My God I hoped that
bastard Khan suffered.

Of course this was going to shift the
gameplay slightly. The police would be onto this but I doubt if
they would link Khan’s death with Hamid. I hope not anyway because
that would ruin the game.

After breakfast I decided to take a long, hot
bath. Something I hadn’t indulged in for many months but I was
feeling good about things. We had collectively picked five and the
farmer was still asleep.

I felt a little conscientiousness as I lay in
the tub, knowing that the other three were under the floorboards.
At one point I must have dozed off and I swear I could hear them
talking about me.

A couple of days earlier I had asked Kalif to
buy me an electric razor, I was aware that my beard and hair on the
undamaged side were getting out of control. The last thing I needed
was to start leaving DNA all over the place. After a quick shave I
got dressed and returned to my dressing table to begin the day’s
work.

In the light of recent events I was in two
minds whether to continue with the remaining eleven friends of
Hamid or to target one of the group who hadn’t replied to my poll.
If I kept picking his closest friends the cops would soon work out
the pattern, but only if they died. Maybe it was time to change the
strategy slightly. I could still cause untold suffering without
them actually having to die. Couldn’t I?

It was time for Kalif to go shopping. I
didn’t like the fact that he was going to see the Russians so
often. What if they were being watched? So I spent most of the
morning composing a shopping list for everything we could possibly
need and sent him off to Kentish Town with a large amount of
cash.

“Welcome back my friend,” Serge said reaching
for the vodka bottle.

“Not today thanks, Serge,” Kalif said with a
wave of his hand.

“Remember what I told you last time?” he
asked with raised eyebrows, “it looks suspicious if do not take the
drink.”

“Can you just give me a juice then
please?”

“Juice? This is a Russian bar my friend.
Russians don’t drink that shit.”

Before any further argument could take place,
Kalif had a large vodka slammed down on the bar in front of
him.

“And how can be of service to you this day?”
Serge asked.

“I’ve brought that shopping list I told you
my boss was writing,” Kalif replied.

He slid it over the bar, still in it’s
envelope. Serge glanced cautiously at the door before opening it.
He read silently for a moment.

“Your boss must be a very rich man,” he
said.

“I told you before, money’s no problem dude,”
replied Kalif.

“Obviously,” he continued to read the list,
“some of these things may take some time to get,” warned Serge.

“We need them all within two weeks and we
also need somewhere safe to keep them.”

“This is going to be very, very expensive my
young friend. What are you planning to do? Start a fucking
war?”

“It’s already begun I’m afraid,” Kalif
replied.

“Do you have a contact number?” Serge
asked.

“No. I’ll come back. How much is all that
going to cost?”

“It will take me a day or two to get all the
prices together. Come back to see me on Friday. Bring your boss if
you like, we can all have a drink together,” he smiled.

“He’s not really the social type but I can
ask him.”

“I’m going to need quite a big deposit for
some of these items,” Serge said.

“How much?”

“Oh, around thirty thousand,” he replied
without batting an eyelid.

Kalif had the money in separate envelopes,
£10,000 in each. He handed three over to Serge.

“Thank you my friend. I will do my best to
get it all as quick as possible. Some of these smaller things you
will have on Friday.”

Serge and Kalif downed their vodkas, slammed
the glasses on the bar and said their farewells.

I must admit, when Kalif told me of the delay
I was more than a little pissed off. I had planned to send Norman
out the next day for his dose of fruit. An apple a day keeps the
rage at bay, or even every two days for that matter.

I decided that I would send Norman out anyway
but I told him of the change of plan. He seemed quite happy. I
don’t think he was all together happy with killing people.

Chapter 10

Asif Hussain

Hussain was number eleven
on my list. Age: 31. Status: Married. Likes: Nights in with the
family. Dislikes: Going to work. Favourite Film: Titanic. Favourite
Music:
Ahmed
Rushdi.

The secret life
of Asif Hussain. On the surface he appeared quite the family man.
Devout mosque-goer. Married for eleven years to Hamid’s elder
sister with four kids. Nine to five job at his brothers “fashion
factory.” In fact his page made him look like a very upstanding
member of the community. Thirty-six photos, mainly of him, the wife
and kids, yet one picture looked out of place. I couldn’t quite put
my finger on it. Hussain was sitting in a garden, an old stone wall
with trails of ivy behind him. He was off centre, too far to the
right of the frame. It was the only picture of him alone, without
family or friends all around. Probably taken in a pub beer garden
by the looks of table and umbrella.

I knew that wall. I mean I didn’t
know
it but I had seen it somewhere before. It
must have been on someone else’s page. After all for nigh on a year
that’s all I had looked at, that and BBC news. I hadn’t looked at
or done anything else. I hadn’t watched movies or read a book.
Maybe I should send one of the boys out to a fine restaurant one
night or the theatre perhaps? On second thoughts perhaps not. We
have a job to do. When it’s complete there’ll be plenty of time to
relax.

I opened up my
“apples” folder. I didn’t have to go onto Facebook anymore I had
all of their details in a nice hidden file.

I searched
through all of Hamid’s friends’ photographs. After almost an hour I
was about to give up when I spotted it. Alicia Bell. Status:
Single. Age: 24. Sitting in front of the same stone wall, the same
ivy trails and the same table.

I copied both
pictures and pasted them next to each other. It was the same
photograph. That’s why Hussain was so far over to the right; he had
his arm around Alicia Bell. They had split the picture before
posting it on their pages. Obviously Mr. Hussain didn’t want his
wife seeing them together.

I went live to
Alicia’s page. Lo and behold she had included a link to Katherine
Bell’s tribute page. “My irreplaceable sister,” she called her,
“killed before her life had even started.” Tell me about it, I
thought. Fuck! If I’d known these four were linked I would have
organised a fucking dinner party.

It was still
only two in the afternoon. Another five hours until Norman was due
to leave. I was sorely tempted to leave a message on Katherine
Bell’s tribute page but I thought better of it. I wouldn’t feel so
smug sitting in a police cell. There would be plenty of time for
gloating later.

I checked the
news reports. Albert’s job was now officially a double murder
enquiry. It looked like the cops were grasping at straws. None of
the residents had spotted Albert on the roof. The builders hadn’t
come forward yet; they probably believed the old bastard’s story.
The police likened it to a gangland killing, which I found a little
strange unless Mr. Khan had had something to hide. Katherine Bell
was a nurse at St. James’s, which I knew already. The rest of the
reports didn’t tell me anything new either. They were still begging
for information.

I couldn’t pin
down Alicia Bell’s place of work. I had her address and phone
number, I even found out her parents details but I needed to know
where she worked. If some smart arse cop started putting the pieces
together it’s possible, yet highly unlikely that they would see the
pattern forming. We had to try and stay away from the apples’ homes
as much as possible. They had to be lured out into the open.