Page 12 of Beyond the Darkness (Basic Instincts #3)

At the Beach House

Hudson’s first impressions of Detective Sergent Benito Coppola were favourable.

He arrived at Luke’s house less than an hour after they’d made the call.

He was a very attractive man in his mid-to-late thirties, his dark hair greying at the temples and deep lines adding character to an otherwise too handsome face.

Despite the heat, he was well dressed in a navy pinstriped suit with a blue silk tie.

That was as good as it got. Within minutes of coming inside, he revealed himself to be an arrogant, narrow-minded prick.

“I don’t know where you’re getting your information from”—he shot Luke a withering glance as he spoke—“but we could do without amateur sleuthing hindering our investigation.”

“I understood that anything relevant to the investigation was important,” Hudson said.

“I’m not sure a twenty-year-old B-movie qualifies on that front.” Coppola stood in the centre of the kitchen, taking it in with an owl-like one-eighty-degree turn of his head. “How come you’re here? I thought you were staying in the city.”

“I am, but I’ve been a prisoner in my apartment. Luke invited me over to clear my head.”

The detective eyes swivelled back to Luke. “Did he now? And why is that?”

“What has that got to do with anything?” Luke asked.

Coppola shrugged. “I know what reporters are like. How far you’re prepared to go for the sake of a story.”

“I could say the same thing about cops,” Luke shot back. “Or, in the case of Blyham police, how little they’re prepared to do to reach an easy conclusion.”

Hudson was shocked at how quickly the atmosphere had soured. “Do you want my statement or not?”

After a long beat, the detective nodded and pulled out a seat at the table.

“I’m going to shower and change,” Luke said. “I’ll leave you to it.”

He had barely left the room when Coppola asked, “How well do you know him?”

“As well as anyone around here. We met through work.”

His face was blank as he took out a pad of proforma sheets. “And he knew Julian King too?”

“Of course he did. He knows everyone involved in the play.” Hudson topped up his vodka and sat down. “Do you two know each other? You and Luke? I’m sensing an atmosphere.”

“I don’t have a lot of time for journalists. But yes, I know him. Now, what’s this all about?”

Coppola refused to confirm or deny what Luke had told him about the way Julian’s body had been placed in the alley, but his brow furrowed with interest when Hudson used Luke’s iPad to pull up a series of still images from the film, namely his death scene.

Hudson went further and found a clip of the movie on YouTube.

He passed the screen to DS Coppola. He had no interest in watching it ever again, as his character, dressed in nothing but skimpy white underwear, was stalked and murdered by the killer in a creepy baby mask.

“Actually, I have seen this film,” Coppola said, sounding surprised before hitting replay on the clip. “God, I’d forgotten all about it. That mask scared the shit out of me. I had nightmares about it afterwards.”

Hudson grimaced. Baby Face, as the killer had since been labelled by horror movie fans, was truly a fucked-up sight.

The actor behind the mask, Steven Stone, was a pure sweetheart.

Apart from some serious behind-the-scenes tensions with the director, the shoot had been unremarkable.

Hudson had only been on set for three of the five weeks of production.

It was everything that had happened afterwards, and how it had tainted his career, that left a sour taste.

The Baby Face mask had become a staple of Halloween, and Hudson avoided social media even more than normal throughout October as his timeline became polluted with images of the movie killer.

When the clip finished a second time, Coppola put down the tablet.

“So, someone has been sending you mail relating to the movie?”

He nodded. “There’s one guy in particular who is obsessed with the film. Robbie Wiseman. When I was previously over here, I had to take out a Stalking Prevention Order against him when his behaviour got out of hand. He used to send me letters and images related to the film all the time.”

“And you think he’s at it again?”

“It seems likely. I can’t imagine there are too many people who are hung up on that old piece of shit.”

“And you think it might be connected to Julian’s death?”

“I have no idea. But from what Luke has told me about the way Julian’s body was staged, it sounds like a huge coincidence.”

Coppola tutted. “Your friend has a big mouth.”

“You haven’t denied that what he’s told me is true, though.”

Coppola ignored the remark. “Where is this fella Robbie Wiseman now?”

“Again, I have no idea.”

“Did Julian receive any of these weird letters?”

“I don’t think so. When I told him about them, he never mentioned it.” Hudson took a drink. “But Julian wasn’t in that film, so why would he?”

“And why would anyone who is a fan of the film think it was a good idea to kill him and stage it to look like your death scene? You realise how insane all of this sounds?”

“Of course I do, but surely it’s worth your time to look into it. Just in case the two things are connected.”

The detective rattled his pen on the tabletop. “Where are all these letters you received? Do you have them?”

“No. They’re with Rav Millard, the producer. He was going to see if he could find out where they came from.”

Coppola shook his head. “Another amateur sleuth,” he muttered. “All right, I’ll look into it. But first I need to take all of this down in a statement.” He pulled the pad in front of him and clicked on his pen. “Let’s go through this all again from the beginning.”

It took over an hour for Coppola to write down everything that Hudson told him.

Luke came back down in baggy shorts and T-shirt, with wet hair.

When he realised they were still busy, he grabbed a beer and disappeared into another room.

Hudson watched with envy, wishing he could be with him rather than with this obtrusive police officer.

When Coppola finished his paperwork, Hudson called Rav and told him to get all the letters and photographs together and someone from the police department would call to collect them.

Rav sounded distracted and pissed off and didn’t stay on the call for long.

Hudson didn’t think it was the best time to bring up the subject of the podcasters Rav had arranged to join the already-fraught rehearsals from next week.

That argument could keep for another day.

Finally, the detective was done. “We’ll start by tracing the whereabouts of this guy Robbie Wiseman. You’re sure the stalking order is still in place?”

“I checked with my lawyer. It was made indefinitely, and I haven’t applied to have it revoked, so yes.”

“Then it should be straightforward enough.” He gathered his things together. “Are you staying here now?” There was a sly quality to the question.

“For a few hours, yes. Then I’ll be back in the city. But you can reach me on my cell wherever I am.”

It was a relief when he finally left. Hudson couldn’t put his finger on it, but there just seemed like there was something very off about the guy.

Good-looking shit.

He found Luke sitting in the front garden, enjoying the evening sun as the detective drove away. He looked stunning with the low, golden rays reflecting on his light brown skin. He’d kicked off his shoes and his bare, toned legs were stretched out in front of him.

“All good?” Luke asked.

“I think so. He’s written down all the details, though I’m not sure how seriously he’s actually taking it. Strange guy.”

“Yep, I’ve always thought so too.”

“I got the impression you two have history.”

Luke laughed. “Not in the way you’re thinking.

Benito is one of the few openly gay officers in the Blyham force, not that you would ever know it.

He’s done very little to support the community.

All through the Blyham Strangler months, he kept his head down to avoid any of the controversy.

People were pissed at the police back then.

Rightly so. Their efforts to protect the local men who were being targeted were negligent.

Even now that the Strangler is behind bars, hate crime is still raging all over the city.

Not just homophobia, but racism, anti-Semitism, disability abuse, transphobia.

They have weaponised the word woke and use it as blanket term to attack anything they don’t like.

I’m not saying that’s Benito’s responsibility—just because he’s gay, he doesn’t owe us something extra—I just think he could do better.

A hell of a lot better. But he’s not the only gay cop on the force I know, and they’re all as career-focused as he is. ”

Hudson took the chair beside him, raising his face towards the sun, which was still warm. He drew the fresh sea air deep into this chest and sighed.

“Do you feel better for reporting it?” Luke asked.

“Hard to say. I’d rather none of this was happening, but the more the cops know, the quicker they can find Robbie. Or whoever else is behind all this.” He inhaled again and ran his hands across his face, trying to draw away the tension. “This is an incredible place you have here.”

“Isn’t it? I couldn’t believe my luck when it came on the market.

The previous owners were an elderly couple who had to sell up when they moved into sheltered accommodation.

It was very old-fashioned when I bought it.

But over a few years, one room at a time, I’ve gotten the house just how I want it.

” He sipped his drink. “Thankfully, I managed to hang onto it after the divorce. Kris hated living out here. He hated the house too.”

“How long were you married?”