Death's Cold Hand, J.E. Mayhew [book club recommendations .txt] 📗

an obsession with Jeff’s brother, Will, and the Searchlight programme. He claimed that he had only committed the terrible murders to make Will Blake famous and it had, for a couple of weeks. Jeff’s own star as a novelist was waning fast and, when Gambles had invited him to write his biography, Jeff had jumped at the chance.

The agreement to write for the serial killer had angered Will and put their already creaking relationship under even more strain. At first, Jeff dismissed Will’s objections as morally pedestrian, but as time went on, he realised just how manipulative Gambles could be; dangerous, too. Even though he was locked up in prison, he had a number of twisted followers and old friends only too keen to gather information for him and keep him informed of what was going on in the outside world. Even as he settled himself in the chair opposite, Jeff could tell that Gambles had some news to impart, another game to play that would turn the screw on Will and make his life even more uncomfortable. Jeff often wondered if Gambles actually wanted his biography to be completed or if he just kept his regular meetings as a means to get at Will.

“Good afternoon, Jeffrey, I trust you’re well?” Gambles said an eager light in his eye. Much of the psychopath’s genius was imagined and his pompous greeting gave that away, Jeff thought.

“Fine, Josh, you look excited. Like you’ve got some news to share with me.”

Gambles’ face fell. “Really? Oh. I may have,” he said, his eyes sliding right and left as though checking for anyone listening. Nobody was, and Jeff was beginning to wonder just how long the killer’s currency would last outside prison. His infamy was still fresh at the moment but, from what Jeff could tell, his outrages hadn’t really caught the public imagination in the way the Yorkshire Ripper or some of the American serial killers had.

This weekly ritual of meeting up, Gambles relating some anecdote of his and Jeff dutifully writing down had become old very quickly. Gambles refused to talk about either his family life or the killings that had put him behind bars.

Writing up his notes at home, much of what Gambles told him was unpleasant but mundane. His early life in care, his misdemeanours in school, being put into secure units, none of it shone, whichever way Gambles presented it and Jeff polished it. The story came over as a litany of grievances made by a petulant monster against largely dull and petty people. Whenever Jeff did touch on something interesting such as family life or possible abuse at home, Gambles shut down. He didn’t want to be the flawed monster to be pitied, he wanted to be the evil mastermind to be feared.

Jeff sighed and got his pen and pad out. “Well, you can tell me now, or you don’t have to tell me anything. Sooner or later you’ll spill the beans. You can’t help yourself…”

“Can’t I?” Gambles steepled his fingers, as he always did, in a ridiculous ‘Bond villain’ manner.

Jeff began to wonder if taking another tack with Gambles might be interesting. Sliding his pen back into his jacket pocket, he shook his head. “I’ve had enough of this,” he muttered and closed his notepad. “I’m off.”

Gambles eyes widened. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“I’m going home. This is a waste of time. I could get more information on you by interviewing members of your family…”

“No.”

“There are probably journalists doing that right now, if they haven’t done so already. Plastering all the gory details over the weekend papers. The time you wet your pants in school, what your first pet was called. What an odd little boy you were… all of it. And I have to sit here watching you doing your impression of Dr Evil, every fucking week, writing down some pearl of half-baked internet wisdom you’ve thought up in that addled mind of yours. I’m sick of it. Even if your impending trial picks up the public interest, this book with be as dull as ditch water and less appetising. Goodbye, Josh.” Jeff stood up and extended his hand.

Gambles just stared at the hand, making Jeff wonder if he should pull it away before it was bitten. “Smidge.”

“What?”

“My first pet was called Smidge. He was a rabbit,” Josh said, staring off into some distant past hell. For the first time in Jeff’s short working relationship with Gambles, he saw the real human being underneath all the bravado and showmanship. He saw a vulnerable little boy, tossed around on a sea of upheaval and cruelty.

“What was he like?”

“Small, black and white. My dad came home with him from the pub and threw him in my lap. I kept him in my bedroom.”

“What happened to him?” Jeff hated to ask. He didn’t imagine much good would come of being looked after by a psychopath like Gambles. Many serial killers were reported to have been cruel to animals during their childhoods and Jeff couldn’t see why Gambles would be any different.

“Dunno,” Gambles said, glumly. “He just disappeared one day while I was at school. Dad kept making jokes about having stew for tea. I didn’t eat for weeks.”

“I see,” Jeff said, sitting down and slowly getting his pen out. “You were upset.”

Tears glittered in Gambles’ eyes. “Of course I was upset. Wouldn’t you be? That rabbit was my only friend. I fed it and nurtured it. From the day he vanished, I swore I’d never be tricked like that again…”

“Tricked?”

“Into feeling affection for something or someone. That was a watershed moment for me, Jeffrey. That was when I shut down.”

“I see,” Jeff looked hard at Gambles. Was he serious? It was hard to tell, sometimes. It had started off quite genuine but now was rapidly sliding into the melodramatic. Jeff wondered if some other fate had befallen poor Smidge all those years ago. Perhaps he would investigate further and actually seek out Gambles’ family. “What do you mean by shut