“You don’t look like you’ve ever killed anybody.”
Horseman was still laughing.
I stood less than ten feet from the couch, my feet pinched into Fox’s heels, my face hidden behind her mask, my voice buried under her filter.
Those things could hide who I was.
They couldn’t tell me what Fox had posted on the board.
I glanced at Butcher.
He sat exactly where he’d been before. The handgun rested on the coffee table. His hands were loose on his knees.
No smile.
No impatience.
Just attention.
Horseman had accidentally asked the same question Butcher wanted answered.
If I dodged it, I was exposed.
If I invented some random murder, all they had to do was remember Fox’s old posts.
There was only one case I knew well enough to survive questions about it.
It was also the worst possible case to choose.
I sat where Fox had been sitting and kept my knees close together so no one would notice how unnatural the heels felt.
“Riverview Towers.”
Horseman’s laughter stopped.
“What?”
I looked straight at him.
“Lena Tran.”
Silence settled over the room.
The air-conditioning hummed above us.
Horseman leaned forward. “What did you just say?”
“I said I killed Lena Tran.”
He shot to his feet.
“You lying bitch-“
“Sit down,” Butcher said.
Horseman stopped.
“She’s stealing my story.”
“I heard her.”
“Then-“
“Sit.”
Butcher’s voice dropped half an inch and somehow got heavier.
Horseman looked at me, then at the gun.
He sat.
I couldn’t tell whether I’d bought myself five minutes or cut five minutes off my life.
Butcher said, “Tell it.”
I put both hands on my knees so they wouldn’t shake.
“I got into the condo after ten. Lights were off.”
Horseman scoffed. “Same time I gave? You can’t even make up a new hour?”
I ignored him.
“I went into the bedroom first.”
Butcher tilted his head. “Why?”
Too fast.
I lost half a beat.
“I thought the place was empty.”
“You were there to kill someone, but you needed to check whether she was home?”
I looked at him. “Do you want to hear this, or do you want to tell it for me?”
A pause.
Then a faint laugh.
“Go on.”
I took a breath.
What came next wasn’t entirely a lie.
That was what made it dangerous.
“There was a framed photo on the nightstand. Lena was barefoot on a beach, carrying her sandals in one hand. She was laughing crookedly toward the camera. A man had his arm around her.”
Nobody interrupted.
“The bottom drawer stuck. You had to lift it slightly before it would slide out. There was jewelry inside.”
Horseman had stopped smiling.
Butcher asked, “You take it?”
“I picked some up.”
“Then?”
“Put it back.”
“Why?”
“I heard something outside the room.”
I didn’t say what.
Less detail meant fewer places to fall through my own story.
“There was water on the floor when I came out.”
Horseman snapped, “Because I dragged her from the bathroom-“
I turned toward him.
“The water didn’t run straight from the bathroom to the balcony.”
He stopped.
“It broke in places. One section went back toward the living room.”
He pointed at me. “You’re using what I already told you.”
“Then explain the towel.”
“What towel?”
“You said you came back for one after moving the body. The towel was still in the bathroom.”
His foot shifted.
Small.
Enough.
I was winning.
Against him, anyway.
Butcher said nothing, which worried me more than anything Horseman could do.
Horseman leaned forward. “Maybe you showed up after I left. That proves nothing.”
“You just said you killed her.”
“I did.”
“Then when did you leave?”
He opened his mouth.
Closed it.
“You told us how you got in, how you killed her, how you moved her. You never said how you got out.”
“Why does that matter?”
“Because the person who was really there remembers the small things.”
I borrowed Butcher’s language on purpose.
Behind his mask, I couldn’t see a reaction.
One finger tapped his knee once.
Horseman said, “Fine. You say you did it. What did you kill her with?”
My turn to pause.
If I repeated his answer, I looked like a copycat.
If I gave a different answer, I created another lie to defend.
So I refused the premise.
“I don’t need to tell you everything.”
He barked a laugh.
“You’re asking me to prove you’re lying. I’m not asking you to believe me.”
“You’re dodging.”
“No. You are.”
Horseman stood again.
Butcher didn’t stop him this time.
He wanted to see what happened.
Horseman pointed at me. “You think I’m fake? Prove it.”
I’d been waiting for that.
“The writing on the glass.”
His hand lowered a little.
“What about it?”
“You said blood.”
“Yeah.”
“It wasn’t.”
He scoffed. “You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Then what was it?”
My pulse beat high in my throat.
The police had never released this detail.
Once I said it, Horseman wouldn’t be the only person listening.
Butcher would too.
I had already gone too far to back away.
“Lipstick.”
Horseman went still.
“Dark red. The tube was on the floor by the balcony door.”
“Bullshit.”
“You didn’t see it?”
“I wrote those words myself.”
“Then what brand?”
Nothing.
I smiled behind the mask.
“Don’t remember?”
“Why would I remember women’s makeup?”
“You remember using blood, but not the thing you supposedly held in your hand?”
“You-“
“I remember the shade.”
That part was a lie.
I remembered the tube, not the brand or color name.
Horseman didn’t know that.
“Want me to tell you?”
He stayed silent.
Butcher spoke.
“Horseman.”
His voice was calm.
“Was it blood?”
“Of course.”
“You’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
“No second thoughts?”
“No.”
Butcher leaned back.
“Keep going, Fox.”
I didn’t like the way he said the name.
Not belief.
Not suspicion.
More like he’d placed another piece on the board.
I pushed on.
“You said she scratched you.”
Horseman looked at me. “She did.”
“Where?”
“Arm.”
“You bleed?”
“Yeah.”
“Did she have a fresh cut on her hand?”
“I cut her finger. That’s how I got the blood for the glass.”
I waited one beat.
“Then why wasn’t there a fresh cut on her finger in the medical examiner’s findings?”
Horseman stared at me.
Longer this time.
“What findings?”
“Public case summary. Look it up.”
I glanced at Butcher. “You can check too.”
Butcher didn’t reach for a phone.
He didn’t need to.
Horseman did.
His eyes went to the handgun on the table.
Fast.
I saw it.
Butcher definitely saw it.
“You son of a bitch.”
Horseman lunged.
His hand closed around the gun.
I jumped up.
Butcher didn’t even reach for it.
He only slid his chair back.
Horseman pointed the weapon at me.
“You lying-“
He pulled the trigger.
Click.
No shot.
He stared at the gun and pulled again.
Click.
Nothing.
Butcher laughed once.
“Empty.”
Horseman whipped toward him. “Fuck you.”
“It’s been sitting in front of you all night.”
Butcher stood.
“I wanted to see what you’d do when you ran out of story.”
Horseman backed away, waving the useless gun between us.
“Stay back.”
Butcher took another step.
“I knew you’d grab it.”
Horseman threw the gun at him and bolted sideways.
He didn’t make it.
Butcher caught his wrist, twisted, and drove him chest-first over the coffee table.
No long fight.
There didn’t need to be one.
Within seconds it was obvious the two men did not belong in the same weight class or the same kind of life.
Horseman strained against him.
“Get off me.”
“Then tell the truth.”
“About what?”
“Lena Tran.”
“I told you-“
Butcher tightened the hold.
Horseman cried out.
“I’m running out of patience.”
“My story’s true.”
“Lipstick.”
Silence.
“Cord.”
Horseman’s breathing turned ragged.
“Timing.”
Still nothing.
Butcher bent closer.
“Give me one thing nobody outside that condo could know.”
Horseman went limp against the table.
I stood beside the couch with sweat collecting under the fox mask.
This was what Butcher had been doing from the start.
Not listening.
Verifying.
He knew enough about Lena’s murder to tell a memory from a performance.
Horseman finally said, “Fine.”
His voice shrank.
“Fine. I didn’t kill her.”
The room went dead quiet.
“I was never inside that condo that night.”
Butcher asked, “Then where did your details come from?”
“News.”
“And the rest?”
Horseman swallowed. “I knew her.”
“How?”
No answer.
Butcher applied pressure again.
“Okay. Jesus. I lived in the same complex.”
Butcher stopped.
“I noticed her.”
“Noticed?”
“I liked her.”
The word stripped something out of his voice. No swagger left. Just resentment.
“She acted like she was better than everyone. Husband gone all the time. I tried to talk to her. She treated me like garbage.”
“What happened?”
“She slapped me. Threatened to call the cops if I kept following her.”
Butcher said, “So you wanted her dead.”
Horseman didn’t answer.
“Say it.”
“When I heard she’d been killed…”
He gave a small, ugly laugh.
“I was glad.”
Nobody spoke.
“Then I found the board. Joined. Started saying it was me.”
“Why?” I asked.
Horseman looked at me.
For the first time, there was no bravado in him at all.
“I wanted to know what it felt like.”
“What what felt like?”
“People believing I did it.”
And suddenly I understood the worst thing about him.
Not that he had killed Lena.
He hadn’t.
It was that after she died, he still wanted to own her death.
Butcher released him.
Horseman collapsed onto the floor, clutching his wrist.
Butcher stood over him, then slowly turned toward me.
Cold moved down my spine.
Horseman had been stripped clean.
Fake killer.
Which meant a new question had taken his place.
If Horseman knew less about Lena’s murder than I did –
what exactly was I in Butcher’s eyes?
He came toward me and stopped close enough that I could see my reflection in the dark surface of his mask.
“All right,” he said.
One beat.
“Horseman has explained himself.”
He tilted his head.
“Now explain you.”
3 thoughts on “CHAPTER 4 – THE FAKE KILLER”