Page 55 of Inbetweeners
He supposed he had been boring to a guy who ran a recording studio. David’s life was fast-moving and exciting. He met glamorous famous people all the time. Emmett met virtually no one. He’d spent his days using statistical techniques to assess the probability of an event and its financial consequences, and if he’d ever even said as little as that to anyone who’d asked what he did, their eyes had glazed over before he’d finished the sentence.I liked my job.
But he still didn’t remember how he’d died. He could find out more about himself if he googled actuaries in London. Possibly. Though he still had no idea of his surname or David’s come to that. Or the name of the firm he’d worked for or that of David’s recording studio. He wondered if Azrael and Hadraniel had known his memory might start to return if he died back on Earth. Tar had said something about memories returning. But maybe there were things in place to prevent total recall. And when he went back, what would he remember of this?
Would he remember Phoenix?
He must have slept because he woke with a jolt. When he carried his bloodstained belongings out to dump in the bin in the kitchen, Harry and Phoenix were on the couch watching football. Phoenix had his feet on the coffee table. Emmett bit back his irritation.
“Are you okay?” Phoenix asked.
Emmett nodded.
“I wondered if I was going to have to ask Tar for a new partner.”
And that moment of concern shown by Phoenix, that had warmed Emmett’s heart, evaporated.
Emmett sat at the table and opened the laptop. Maybe there was some link they were missing. He googled Charlie Rose first. Nothing apart from the report of his death. Then he looked for the guy Charlie said might have pushed him, to find Barry Monahan had been arrested for assault five days earlier, and was still in custody. So, Charlie had been wrong about who’d killed him. He’d just thought Monahan had reason and blamed him. Emmett felt a pang of anxiety that he wasn’t able to give Charlie’s family his message.
There was only a little online about Jamie Neeson; a paper had a statement from his parents. His father was a judge and his mother a magistrate. His father said that they’d done all they could to help Jamie escape his addiction, and had been saddened but not surprised to hear their son had been stabbed while under the influence of drugs. Something in the tone of that sounded detached. They had voices similar to Emmett’s parents.
Malcolm Patrick had worked at the British Museum. There was nothing online yet about his death. Emmett found nothing about Albert Jenkins either. Probably too soon. He typed in Harry Rivers and discovered a profile on Facebook. There were several posts from friends shocked by his murder. Emmett found Jamie Neeson on Facebook too, and Malcolm Patrick, but not the other two. Only Harry had a Twitter account as far as he could tell. He read some of his tweets.He’s funny.Wasfunny. Even about living rough.Life isn’t fair.Yeah, well, Emmett wondered why he’d ever thought it might be. That ought to be the first lesson you taught your kid once they were old enough to cope with the truth about Santa Claus. Life wasn’t bloody fair.
Searching for a clue was like looking for one particular grain of sand on a beach. There might not even be a link between these guys. That they were all male, all below the age of thirty, and all had died within a few square miles of each other seemed to be the only connections.
A sandwich and a drink appeared in front of him. Emmett looked up in surprise. “Thanks.”
“Try not to die again.”
“Right.”
“Or at least don’t get stabbed. I don’t think the car will ever be the same. I had to pay double at the valeting place. Even telling him my friend might not make it didn’t get me a discount.” Phoenix pulled the other chair round to sit next to him. “What are you up to?”
“Looking for a link between the people who’ve died. I wondered if there was a reason why the grey-haired guy and the woman are after their particular bodies.”
“And is there a link?”
“All male. All in their early or late twenties. Harry’s the youngest. Malcolm Patrick the oldest. Three had Facebook profiles. Only Harry was on Twitter. Not sure if there’s a connection as far as funeral directors are concerned, but in suspicious deaths there’s always an autopsy so the bodies take a while to get to the funeral directors. Walters and Sons are a chain.” He tapped the keyboard. “They have a branch in Islington. That’s interesting. Maybe.” He looked over at Harry. “Who identified your body? Do you have any idea which funeral home you’ll go to?”
“My parents didn’t come,” Harry whispered.
Emmett winced. “Maybe you didn’t give them a chance.”
“I heard the police make the call. They refused to come to identify me. They said I was already dead to them. My ex came in the end. His number was on my phone. He didn’t cry. He acted like it was a huge inconvenience. No one cared. No one cried for me.”
Emmett pushed to his feet, went across to the couch and sat down. He pulled Harry into his arms. “Shit, Harry. Hey, I’m crying.”
He was and there wasn’t much that made Emmett cry. He put his chin on the top of Harry’s head as Harry sobbed, and when Nix sat on Harry’s other side and took hold of the young guy’s hand, Emmett shot him a little smile over Harry’s head.
“We’re going to get this fucker,” Phoenix whispered. “Him and the woman.”
Except then their job was done and they’d both be sent back and they’d never see each other again and Emmett didn’t like the sound of that. The irony didn’t escape him.
Harry fell asleep in their arms. Emmett and Phoenix moved off the couch without waking him and Cat jumped up to snuggle into the curl of Harry’s body.
“Did you manage to send Albert back?” Phoenix asked.
“Yes. The grey-haired guy was trying to persuade him to go with him, but me getting stabbed made Albert’s decision easier. We’re not going to catch these people by doing what we’re doing. They’re one step ahead of us.”
“They know who’s newly dead because they’re the killers. We need a better plan.”
