Cosplay Killer Read online

  Blurb

  What happens when an autistic firefighter and his paramedic boyfriend share a thirst for true crime?

  * * *

  Osian Garey and Dannel Ortea live together in a colourful flat in Covent Garden. They run a podcast and throw themselves wholeheartedly into Cosplay, video games, and musical theatre. This year, they’re all fired up to attend their annual convention with a group of first responders.

  * * *

  When Osian finds a paramedic friend murdered in the middle of the crowded venue, the police immediately turn their attention to him.

  * * *

  They have one question on their mind.

  * * *

  Is he the first witness on the scene or the killer?

  * * *

  As the mystery unfolds, Osian has to face the trauma of his last job as a paramedic. Somewhere in those memories, a killer waits to exact revenge. They’ll have to prove Osian’s innocence and fight for their own survival when the killer puts them both in their sights.

  Cosplay Killer

  London Podcast Mystery Series Book 1

  Dahlia Donovan

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Dahlia Donovan

  About the Publisher

  More From Hot Tree Publishing

  Cosplay Killer © 2020 by Dahlia Donovan

  * * *

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any written, electronic, recorded, or photocopied format without the express permission from the author or publisher as allowed under the terms and conditions with which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution, circulation or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

  Cosplay Killer is a work of fiction. All names, characters, events and places found therein are either from the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to persons alive or dead, actual events, locations, or organizations is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  For information, contact the publisher, Hot Tree Publishing.

  www.hottreepublishing.com

  Editing: Hot Tree Editing

  Cover Designer: BooksSmith Design

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-922359-33-9

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-922359-34-6

  For my husband, who lost the bet and owes me a hundred bucks.

  1

  Osian

  “I’m Oz. He’s D. And we’ll be back for another rundown of murder and mayhem next week. Stay tuned for Osian and Danny’s London Crime Podcast.” He checked his watch, counting down a few seconds before signalling to Dannel to pause the recording. “Another one bites the dust.”

  “Oz and D?”

  Osian grinned over the top of his laptop at his boyfriend of fourteen years. They’d been best friends practically from infancy and started dating in their teens. “We’re hip with the kids.”

  “I am not hip. I have two.” Dannel swivelled in his chair before pushing himself across their living room floor. “And thirty isn’t old age. Besides, how many teenagers are listening to true crime podcasts?”

  “Let me have my dream.” Osian followed him down the hall into their bedroom. He stretched out on the bed to watch Dannel prepare for his shift. “Ready to go for twelve hours?”

  Dannel glared over his shoulder; his dark brown eyes always seemed to pierce into Osian. “What do you think?”

  Truthfully, Osian didn’t know for sure what Dannel thought about being a firefighter. Dannel had followed in his father’s footstep, yet he didn’t quite fit the mould. Osian worried it might come crashing down eventually.

  Am I borrowing trouble from the future? Maybe it’ll all work out on its own. Although, when does it ever?

  Watching Dannel comb his short black curls trimmed into a high fade before spritzing his hair with argan oil, Osian couldn’t help dragging his fingers through his own untidy brown mane. Though they had much in common, they were polar opposites in other ways. Their differences made their relationship stronger, in Osian’s opinion.

  Dannel always made him think of a buffer version of Richard Ayoade. Osian had a striking resemblance to the actor Matt Ryan. He’d even cosplayed as John Constantine and Edward Kenway because of it.

  “Meeting me after shift for an early breakfast?”

  “Go on, then.” Osian leaned up on his elbows for a kiss. He smiled when Dannel brushed his lips quickly, then bolted from the room. “Bye.”

  Since they’d grown up together, Osian knew the ins and outs of Dannel’s personality probably better than his own family did. They’d been inseparable from the time they could toddle across the hall to each other’s homes. He’d been the first one Dannel told about his autism diagnosis.

  With Dannel gone for his shift, Osian faced the silence in their two-bedroom flat with a sense of dread. He hated the quiet. It allowed his thoughts to stray to things better left forgotten.

  Rolling off the bed, he headed into the en suite to stare glumly into his own blue eyes in the mirror. He shook his head. I’m not old enough to feel so bloody tired all the time. His thoughts seemed to drain every ounce of energy out of him.

  Tired and drained.

  Drained and tired.

  Guilt weighed him down, as though the entire Tottenham Hotspur team had climbed on his shoulders. Time heals all wounds is such bollocks. A year hadn’t brought him much relief.

  When Osian closed his eyes, he remembered with agonising clarity every second of the night that changed his life. He’d been on shift with Gemma, driving their ambulance toward an accident not far from Stamford Bridge. They’d arrived to find the worst scene of their careers as paramedics. Abra had been there as well, partnered with Archie.

  A Mini hatchback had tangled with a lorry; the latter had definitely come out the winner. The air ambulance had been unable to fly because of bad weather in South London. They’d bustled one of the two critical patients into their vehicle and taken off for the hospital.

  Despite deft driving and fevered prayers, Osian hadn’t held out much hope. He’d desperately weaved his way through the heavy traffic while Gemma did her best with the young woman. The crash victim had been barely clinging to life.

  She’d coded two miles from the hospital, and Osian had pulled over immediately. He and Gemma had gone above and beyond to revive her. They’d succeeded, initially.

  Once she’d begun to breathe again, Osian dove for the front seat. He made record time to the hospital. All their efforts had been fruitless; the young woman had died in surgery less than an hour later.

  Osian had walked away from his dream job and never looked back. He hadn’t handled the loss well. I failed her. We did.

&n
bsp; No matter how many times his counsellor told him that he’d done his best and circumstances had been out of his control, Osian knew it hadn’t been enough. A young woman had died in his care.

  His paramedic colleagues had all understood. They’d faced similar moments of crisis within themselves when the weight of the job became too much to bear. His family and friends had, for the most part, been confused by his decision.

  Don’t you love the work? You spent so much time studying to be a paramedic; why waste it? What are you going to do now? Even a year later, Osian didn’t have answers to their questions.

  The emails weren’t helping, either. Not long after starting his podcast, anonymous messages accusing him of being a murderer had shown up. Osian saved them in a folder, trying not to let them affect him too much.

  Needing to throw himself into something—anything—else, Osian had worked on his podcast. He and Dannel were obsessed with true crime shows. It hadn’t seemed like a massive leap to talk about them online.

  His mum and dad thought he’d thrown his education away. Osian knew they’d come around eventually. He’d already begun to make money with ad revenue and sponsors, plus the podcast kept his mind away from his failures.

  The heat from the radiator drove him to shove his head out of the living room window. Osian breathed in deeply, allowing the crisp February breeze to wash over him. A shout from below caught his attention.

  “Off for an adventure?” Osian waved at the familiar grey-haired couple and their tiny Yorkie, Thames. “How’s the little beast doing?”

  “We’re going to Nordic Bakery. Fancy a bun?” Stanley asked, while Adelle, his wife, lifted Thames to wave his wee paw up at Osian.

  “I wouldn’t want to be a bother.”

  “We’ll take that as a yes, duckie. We’ll pop in when we return.” She ignored his protests as he knew she would. “A Tosca cake and a hot chocolate with a shot of espresso coming right up for you.”

  Days like this, Osian adored living in Covent Garden. Their eclectic, colourful building matched the off-the-wall neighbours inhabiting it. He did occasionally wish they’d picked a newer place instead of one built right after the Second World War—mostly when repairs were needed.

  It was also the only place Osian had lived, outside of his flat in university. His family had lived across the hall from Dannel’s. When his folks and later Dannel’s mum had moved away from London, they’d taken over one of the four apartments in the building.

  The flats and the shop on the ground floor were owned by Dannel’s uncle Danny and his auntie Myriam. They continued to refuse any offer of rent. “Not from you lads, we couldn’t” was the familiar refrain from the two.

  Myriam and Danny had always been supportive of Dannel. When his dad had left, his uncle had stepped in to be there for his namesake—Myron Dannel York. It had still been rough on the twelve-year-old, who hadn’t understood adult relationships.

  With his strained relationship with his dad at the time, Dannel had chosen to go by his middle name instead of his dad’s. He had more or less reconciled with Myron, the elder, in his twenties. The name had stuck.

  “Ring a ding ding.”

  Osian shook his head at the call that followed the knocking on the door. He went over to greet Stanley, who handed over a paper bag and his coffee. “Let me—”

  “Don’t be silly.” Stanley cut him off before he could even offer a tenner. “Will you be coming by for the communal curry night? It’s at Ian’s, since young Evie and Dannel are both on duty at the fire brigade.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” he promised.

  Once a week, they had a themed meal night in the flats. Evie Smith lived in the apartment across the hall that had once held the York family. She was Dannel’s best friend, and his uncle had cut her a deal on the rent. They worked together as firefighters.

  The last of the tenants, Ian Barrett, was the eldest in age and had also lived in the building the longest. He’d been there before the Orteas had taken over management. A bit of a hermit while at home, he still came to the meal each week and flourished into a dramatic social butterfly when in a group.

  “What am I even doing with myself?” Osian fished out the sweet almond Tosca cake. He wasn’t surprised to see a berry bun underneath it. Adelle always spoiled him and Dannel as though they were her grandchildren. “Is a podcast really a career? Why am I talking out loud? We need a pet, so at least I can use them as an excuse.”

  At the age of thirty, Osian hadn’t expected to have a mid-life crisis. His best friend and former paramedic partner, Abra, had told him all he needed was a reset. He hadn’t found an on-off switch yet.

  He returned to stand by the window and watched people strolling down the sidewalk. Chin up. Maybe something interesting will happen. But you can’t hang around all day waiting for it to happen.

  Making a quick decision, Osian grabbed his mobile before he could change his mind. He phoned Abra while shoving his laptop into a bag. She readily accepted his invite.

  The weather was deceptively beautiful outside; he might as well get some work done while enjoying the fresh air. Abra promised to bring a picnic. Osian shoved a mini bottle of wine into his bag and headed out to the gardens of a nearby church.

  Of all the available open spaces, Osian loved the church gardens. They were quiet. No one ever bothered him there, not even the priests.

  It probably helped that he and Abra had once been called out to help one of the elderly priests who’d suffered a stroke.

  “Ciao.” Abra hopped over the bench to sit beside him. She waved a container. “I brought snacks.”

  “Ciao? Really?” Osian shook his head, brushing her wild mane of curly hair out of his face. “I know you’re Italian, but you don’t speak a word of it. Who are you showing off for?”

  “Spaghetti. Latte. Grande.”

  “Is latte Italian? I’m not sure food counts, or made-up Starbucks words.” He grabbed the container and pulled the lid off to find mini potato pizzas. He couldn’t remember what they were called, but she’d made them before. “Yum.”

  “Yes, latte’s Italian, you numpty. I promised my nan I’d learn.”

  “Shouldn’t that be your nonna, then?” Osian snagged one of the pizzas. “How’s work?”

  “Oz.”

  He held up a hand in surrender. “Just asking.”

  She narrowed her hazel eyes on him. “It’s not the same without you. They keep having me train noobs. Think they’re hoping you’ll come back.”

  Osian clenched his fingers around the pizza. He forced himself to breathe. “Can’t.”

  “Bene. Fine.”

  “So how much time are you spending on Duolingo?” Osian teased.

  “It’s like my judgemental mother. Messaging me at least once a day to ask if I’ve done what I promised to do.” She accepted the paper bag he offered. “Oh! Tosca. You wicked man.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Read this.” Osian twisted his laptop around so she could see the email. “Got this in the podcast inbox.”

  “Why don’t you investigate the crimes of a paramedic murdering a patient?” Abra read the single line of the email. “What the…?”

  Osian glanced up when she didn’t finish her sentence. “Weird, right?”

  “Distinctly odd.”

  2

  Dannel

  Stepping out of the station after his twelve-hour shift, Dannel wanted nothing more than to slip into a warm bed and have Osian’s arms wrapped around him. Is one in the morning late or early? London had turned cold, windy, and drizzly overnight.

  Dannel waited outside for Evie. He leaned against one of the red metal shutter doors of the station. His patience started to run out just when she finally appeared. “Took you long enough.”

  Despite not technically being related to him, Evie’s family came from the same neighbourhood in Jamaica as his dad’s. They were practically cousins. They’d become fast friends during their firefighter training.

  “Prat.” Evie
dragged a hat over her short black hair. She adjusted her green eyeglasses that always made him think of a cat’s eyes. “Are we walking in this soggy mess?”

  “Comic Con,” Dannel shouted, drawing looks from a group walking across the street.

  “Inside voice, Dan. Inside voice.” Evie, like Osian, always did a great job of helping him regulate his volume. He rarely realised how loud he was getting and had asked them in the past to give him a heads-up. “And yes, I’m aware Comic Con is tomorrow. Is your costume ready?”

  “Finished fabricating the last piece of my armour last weekend. Thought about growing my hair out a bit, but I’ll just wear a helmet.” Dannel hadn’t wanted to deal with the fuss. He’d found having any length to his hair gave him massive anxiety. “My Liam cosplay might be the best I’ve done yet.”

  “Well, you look a bit like him.” Evie had been as much of a fan of Liam from Mass Effect: Andromeda as Dannel. “What’s the Oz-man going as?”

  “Nathan Drake.”

  “Fitting. I’ve got the day off and my Commander Shepard outfit from last year. Might join you. Think there will be tickets to spare?” Evie strode down the pavement, forcing him to keep up with her. “What do you think?”