Page 24 of Sullied Saints

I sigh. "Fine."

"Not eventually either. Next month."

"You do have high standards," I say, lips curving.

He smiles. "That I do."

***

Howie calls before the day is out.

"We caught the laundromat killer," he informs me without preamble.

"Already?"

"Already."

"Was it…"

"It's not Cassandra," he says flatly, but I hear the tightness in his voice.

I let out a breath. "Who is it?"

"Just a man. Just another madman."

Chapter four

DirkandIdrivein together, him behind the wheel, dodging the protests and marches that are now a staple of the city.

We’re nearing the station when I see the first placard with my own face. Its an unflattering, blown-up photo with a big redxpainted in what could easily be lipstick. My heart jumps into my throat as I spot it, being hoisted and waved around amid the other usual slogans. Above my face, in a white blank space, are the words,Enemy of Needler, enemy of the people. My throat feels suddenly dry. Maybe I should have seen this coming, being the face of the Needler case for so long, and now they’re looking for someone closer than Cocooner to blame.

“Fucking hell,” Dirk’s curse tells me he’s seen it too.

I shake my head, looking away as we pull out of sight. “They’re desperate for someone to be mad at.”

“Cocooner seems like a damn good option to me.”

I’m about to console myself that at least it’s just that one when we round the corner to the street in front of the station, and I see the next one. It’s not a picture this time. But somehow, it’s still worse. Drawn in the style of a single comic book tile. A character that’s clearly supposed to be me, in tight black clothing shiny enough to be suggestive of leather, with a badge stuck to one boob, is crooking a finger at a man in a silver mask, luring him towards a door and a handful of fat police caricatures with their batons ready.

“What the hell?” I say before I can stop myself.That’swhat they think happened? That I somehowseducedNeedler into prison?

“Jesus, fuck,” Dirk grumbles, ducking his head to see out the windscreen as we pass the banner. We’re close enough now to see other little details, like my nipples poking through the overly tight suit which I would never be caught dead in, and the drool coming from the mouths of the police officers while they wait to assault Needler. There’s even a hint of cocooned bodies hanging from the backdrop buildings.

“Those assholes.”

I bite my lip, taking a calming breath. They’re wrong, that’s all that matters. “Don’t worry about it,” I murmur, shunting a little lower in my seat.

“Don’t worry about it?” Dirk yells, “How the hell did you get turned into some kind of succubus while I’m the revered survivor? It’s bullshit.”

“I don’t know.”

The muscle in his jaw twitching, Dirk glances at me, recognising his anger isn’t helping. He lowers his voice. “It’s wrong.” Reaching over, he squeezes my thigh, managing a smile for me. “It’s wrong. They don’t know shit.”

Apparently, they don’t need to know anything. I’m the chosen villain of this story now.

***

Our madman turns out to be nothing special. If anything, quite the opposite. Overweight, oily, with the smell of someone wearing clothes that haven't been washed for weeks.

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