Cold Hearts

by Malcolm Richards

  “I don’t know why I do the things I do,” Emily said, dropping her gaze. “Perhaps it’s atonement for what happened with Phillip. Perhaps it’s because I just can’t help myself. Sometimes I wonder if it’s because I like it. But it does affect me, Jerome. The only difference between you and me is that I have medication and therapy to help cushion it all.”

  “That’s not the only difference,” said Jerome. “You want to help all those people.”

  “Don’t you?”

  He was quiet for a long time, his eyes shifting back and forth.

  “When those doctors and their men had me cornered at Ever After, it was you who took the photos to the police,” Emily said. “If you hadn’t done that I’d be dead, along with all those other patients you helped save. At Meadow Pines, you could have gone with Daniel to get help, but you chose to stay. And you risked your own life to save mine. To save Helen’s. Don’t you see, Jerome? You may not think you want to help, that I’m dangerous to be around—and maybe I am—but the point is, you keep coming back for more. And if it’s not to help, then why is it?”

  For a long time, Jerome stared at the wall. A tear slipped from his right eye and splashed on the tiles.

  “Every day, I feel scared. Scared that I’ll never make it as an actor, that I’ll still be waiting tables when I’m seventy. Scared to hold Daniel’s hand in the street because some shining example of society deems it acceptable to scream abuse at us, or worse. Scared that you’re going to get yourself killed. Scared to go to bloody sleep. Where does it end?”

  Emily moved up beside him and threw her arm around his shoulders. “I have no idea. But if you find out, feel free to share. In the meantime, I suggest we use our friends as emotional crutches, and attempt to muddle on through.”

  An impatient knocking broke through the quiet.

  “Oh please, just kiss already,” Helen called through the door. “Some of us need to pee!”

  Emily rolled her eyes. “Of course, some friends shouldn’t be allowed within a hundred feet of your emotions.”

  Jerome smiled and rested his head on her shoulder.

  ***

  Shadows twitched and shuddered as an old black and white gangster film played noiselessly on the television screen. It was just after two in the morning. Daniel had said goodnight an hour ago, leaving Emily, Jerome, and Helen curled up on the sofa. None of them wanted to sleep. Helen hadn’t even wanted to stay, but Jerome had insisted, just in case the men returned.

  Emily’s head ached. Her body was heavy with exhaustion. Her mind, however, was wide awake and busy replaying the events of the past week. So much had happened that she’d barely had time to process it all. And what about her vandalised apartment? Her insurance would cover most of the damage, but how long would the money take to come through? It wasn’t just the money, though. Her home had been violated. Her sanctuary stolen. Right now, she didn’t feel like returning to The Holmeswood ever again.

  Helen’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

  “You know, the fact that they went to the trouble of finding out where we both live tells me something.”

  “That they wanted to intimidate you?” Jerome said. “Because, you know, job done.”

  Helen sat up, prompting Emily to do the same.

  “It tells me that we’ve intimidated them. Whatever it is that Max Edwards found has to be big.”

  Emily frowned. “You mean besides the manufacture and exportation of TEL?”

  “More than that. Think about it—breaking into both our homes is like waving their hands in the air and admitting they’re guilty. But the question is, guilty of what? We know what they’re up to with TEL, and they know that, despite them being within the law, a media scandal is going to hurt. But it’s not going to come close to destroying them.”

  Emily raised an eyebrow. “You’ve changed your tune. Just the other day you were arguing with Evan until you were blue in the face that the TEL scandal was enough to take them down.”

  “Yes, well, call that a knee-jerk reaction. Let’s keep focused, shall we? So, Valence know that a media furore is inevitable and there’s nothing they can do to stop it. At the same time, they also know it’s not going to ruin them. Agreed?”

  Emily nodded. Jerome blinked tiredly at the television screen. The detective was trapped inside a warehouse, getting shot at by men in suits and trilbies.

  “So, why go to the trouble of trashing our homes?” Helen said.

  Jerome stifled a yawn. “I already told you—because they want to scare you. If they deter you from running the story, it buys them time to rake in the money.”

  “Or,” Helen said, “Max’s evidence is still out there somewhere and Valence Industries have no idea where.”

  A memory triggered in Emily’s mind. “The envelope! Max must have known Valence were onto him, so he sent the evidence to someone for safekeeping. The question is, who did he send it to?”

  “He must have been working with someone else. A third person,” Helen said.

  “It has to be Anya Copeland. But then why hasn’t she done anything with the evidence?”

  “Maybe they killed her too.”

  “I don’t think so. They’d already have whatever it is back in their hands, so why break into our homes?” Emily leaned forward and tucked a hand under her chin. “They’re probably wondering where we’re getting our information.”

  Helen said, “I doubt they know about Evan, so they’re probably thinking Anya Copeland is our source.”

  “Which means we need to find her fast. Before Valence do.”

  On the TV, the gun fight was building to a crescendo. Bodies littered the floor. The detective fired his final bullet, just as more bad guys showed up.

  “Evan is due back tomorrow,” Helen said. “Maybe he’ll have a lead on where Anya’s hiding.”

  Emily sat back and pulled her knees up to her chest. “Evan’s name is in Max’s diary. How long before Valence work out who he is?”

  “He’ll be safe for a while. Even if they recognise his name, they’d still have to find him.”

  “Okay, so we’ll warn him tomorrow. I’m sure he’ll have plenty of places where he can lay low for a while.”

  Helen agreed. Jerome announced he was going to bed. He squeezed Emily’s hand. She squeezed back. Helen sprawled on the sofa, while Emily lay down on an inflatable mattress.

  An hour later, Emily was still awake. It hurt her head to lie on her back, so she curled up on her side, listening for movement outside the windows, and worrying about what the morning would bring. She hoped that Evan would return tomorrow with something useful because as of now, she had reached a dead end. Agreeing to help Diane Edwards had seemed like such a simple task, but here she was, injured, afraid, and in hiding. And yet, there was part of her that crackled like electricity. Perhaps Jerome was right to be scared for her. Perhaps she really did like the danger.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The front door was still locked, which hopefully meant that Emily’s intruder had not returned. Entering the flat with Jerome and Helen close behind, she moved from room to room, making sure there were no more unwelcome guests waiting to pounce. As Jerome surveyed the destruction, his expression grew graver, especially when he saw his belongings spread across the living room.

  Helen whistled. “Wow, I got off lightly in comparison.”

  In the morning light, the damage looked much worse. Emily had yet to call the police, but she would need to if she wanted to claim on her insurance. The police would want to know why she hadn’t reported the break in last night. But last night, she’d been too busy getting knocked off her feet and making amends with Jerome. Also, she wasn’t entirely sure what to report. She had no proof that Valence were responsible.

  After further deliberation, Emily called the local police station. After a brief interview, she was told an officer would be sent out later that day. In the meantime, she should expect a forensics team within the next four hours. Nothing should be to
uched. When she complained about how long she would have to wait, the officer grumbled something about budget cuts then hung up.

  “Four hours? Screw that, I’ve got better things to do with my time,” Helen said, when it was her turn to call.

  “What about insurance?” Jerome asked.

  “What insurance? Besides, we know who did it, so what other reason is there to involve the police?”

  Emily thought that Helen was behaving nonchalantly for someone who’s home had just been broken into, though perhaps her apathy was a mask to hide her true feelings—if Helen had any true feelings.

  Helen looked around at the mess. “I’d love to stay and help, but I have to go to work.”

  “Will you be safe?” Emily asked. “What if they’re watching us right now?”

  Helen waved her away. “What are they going to do? Jump on me in broad daylight? I’ll be fine. If you hear from Evan first, call me.”

  Once she was gone, Jerome cast another look at the destruction and shook his head. “I’ll stay with you if you like, until the police come.”

  Emily glanced at him, then looked away. There was still an awkward shadow hanging over them, but it was beginning to fade. “You don’t have to.”

  “Actually, I do. I’ve run out of clean underwear.”

  Emily called LOST to inform them why she wouldn’t be in today. Then, after twenty minutes of hanging around, she and Jerome invited themselves across the hall for tea. Harriet scolded Emily for not having called last night as she’d promised, then proceeded to interrogate her about the break in. When she was done with Emily, she moved onto Jerome, demanding to know the intricate details of his imminent departure.

  The forensic team showed up two hours later and went to work, taking photographs and dusting for fingerprints. When they were gone, Emily and Jerome went to work themselves, restoring order to the apartment. By the time police Constable Taylor arrived to take Emily’s statement ninety minutes later, they’d filled three refuse sacks, and the only room they’d yet to tackle was Emily’s bedroom. The police officer took Emily’s statement. When he asked why it had taken so long for her to report the crime, she shrugged a shoulder and said that she’d been in shock. Constable Taylor voiced his concern that nothing had actually been stolen from the apartment.

  “Do you know anyone who might have a personal grudge against you?”

  “No, I don’t. But there was a man, coming out of the lift.”

  When Constable Taylor was finished with his questions, he told Emily that the Burglary Unit would be in touch. He then headed across the hall to speak to Harriet. It was now four p.m.

  “You neglected to mention how you got that bump on your head,” Jerome said, his hands dug deep into his pockets. “Or that certain items actually were taken.”

  Emily retuned his stare. “Minor details.”

  Jerome picked up his jacket and a bag filled with clean clothes. “I have to go to work. Will you be okay?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “You can stay at Daniel’s again tonight. I’ll be back by ten.”

  “Will he mind?”

  “As if he has a choice.” He moved towards Emily, gave her a brief hug, then handed her a key.

  When she was alone, Emily stood in the centre of the living room and looked around. The sofa had tears in it. The dining table was missing two chairs. Except for a print of a lake in a cracked frame, the walls were now bare.

  She didn’t feel safe here. That man had been able to enter her home without forcing the lock. He could come back at any time.

  A chill ran down the back of Emily’s neck. Pocketing Jerome’s key, she left the living room, bolted the front door, and moved to the bedroom to continue the tidy up.

  The memory box she kept at the back of the wardrobe was lying on its side, its contents spilled on the carpet. Until now, Emily had kept her emotions under control, but seeing the bottle of her mother’s favourite perfume, the charm bracelet she’d given Emily for her sixteenth birthday, and all of those old photographs—a tidal wave of memories slammed into her. Tears spilled down Emily’s cheeks. She gathered the items up and carefully placed them back inside the box. The bracelet was missing a charm. A lucky horseshoe. Her tears became angry. Emily scoured the room but the charm was gone. Jonathan Hunt would answer for this, she seethed. Along with every other heinous crime he and Valence Industries had committed.

  Her phone was ringing. She checked the caller ID to see it was Carter. No doubt news of the burglary had spread through the volunteers at LOST. Emily let the phone ring out. As nice as it was of him to check on her, she was not in the mood to talk. Nor was she in the mood to listen to the voicemail Carter had just left. Instead, she finished picking up her clothes and replacing her torn bedsheets. Her phone started to ring again. But this time, it was Evan Holt.

  “Emily? I’m on my way back from the airport. Listen, why don’t you grab Helen and meet me at my place at eight? I have news.”

  His words crackled with excitement.

  “I have news too,” Emily said, her voice grave. “They know about us, Evan. They broke into my apartment. Helen’s too. They took Max’s diary.”

  Evan was quiet for a moment. “Were you there? Are you okay?”

  “We’re fine. But I’m worried. Your name was in that diary. What if they figure out who you are?”

  “Let’s not worry about that now. Besides, with what I’ve found out, they might want to get their skates on.”

  “Your contact got back to you?”

  “Not on the phone. Eight o’clock, my place. And Emily?”

  “Yes?”

  “Try not to worry. I have a feeling this will all be over very soon.”

  Emily could hear the smile in his voice, attempting to soothe her worries. She hoped it was justified.

  They said goodbye. Emily debated whether or not to call Helen. On one hand, she was a liability—if she had kept tight-lipped about TEL, then Emily’s apartment would still be intact and Valence Industries would still be unaware that they were being investigated. But on the other hand, leaving Helen in the dark would make her vulnerable. And who had brought Helen on board in the first place, knowing full well that she was a potential risk? Emily stared at her reflection in the wardrobe mirror. Then, turning away, she dialled Helen’s number.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  The blue Renault pulled into the multi-storey car park just before eight p.m. On Emily’s insistence, Helen parked on the ground floor. The level was half-empty and poorly-lit, but the car would be immediately accessible if they needed it.

  “You could have parked outside of Evan’s. It’s closer,” Emily said. The sound of the passenger door closing was like a sonic boom, startling her.

  “Are you kidding me? The last time I did that, I was lucky some little shit didn’t slash my tyres.”

  Evan lived two streets away. They headed towards his home at a brisk pace, both checking over their shoulders. It wasn’t completely dark yet, but the streetlamps had come on, creating comforting, tiny islands of light. There were just a handful of people around, moving quickly along the pavements with their heads down and their bags clutched to their sides.

  Emily and Helen took a right onto the next street and were greeted by tower blocks and derelict buildings. Some parts of the city were deliberately forgotten about, Emily thought, unnerved by the deprivation. And so were the people who lived within them. But her understanding did not stop her from feeling afraid.

  As they reached Evan’s building, they saw a group of teenaged boys hanging around outside. The smell of marijuana hung in the air.

  “See what I mean?” Helen whispered, as she gripped Emily’s arm.

  They reached the building and went inside. One of the boys catcalled behind them. Hurrying into the lift, the stench of stale urine burned their nostrils.

  Helen was unusually quiet. Perhaps even she was feeling afraid, Emily thought. She wondered what information Evan was about to share with
them. He’d sounded confident on the phone, going as far to say that the investigation would be over soon. Emily hoped so. Her paranoia was becoming overwhelming. Every person on the street had become a potential danger, every creak in her apartment a sign that her intruder had returned. This was not what she had expected when she’d agreed to help Diane Edwards, but here she was yet again, staring danger in the face.

  The lift reached the thirteenth floor and the doors slid open. Evan’s flat was directly opposite. Emily crossed the hall and knocked on the door. As she waited for him to answer, she shot a nervous glance at Helen. When Evan didn’t answer on the second knock, Helen said, “Maybe he went out.”

  She took out her phone and dialled Evan’s number. Emily pressed an ear to the door. Tinny music began to play from somewhere inside the flat. They waited. Emily held her breath. Helen tightened her grip on the phone. The phone rang off. They stared at each other with wide, dilated eyes. Then, without another thought, Emily tried the handle.

  The door was unlocked. Emily pushed it open and was greeted by silence. Then, with Helen trailing behind, she entered Evan’s flat and headed into the living room.

  “Evan? It’s Emily and Helen. The door was open...”

  Something crunched under her foot. A trail of broken glass glinted on the carpet. The rest of the room was intact. But there were tell-tale signs. An armchair had been recently moved, the grooves in the carpet still visible from where it had previously sat. A large framed print on the wall hung at a lopsided angle.

  Emily chose her footing with quiet care, moving through the living room and into the cramped kitchen. It was clean, undisturbed, except for a shot glass sitting in the sink. She moved on to Evan’s bedroom, which was dark and stuffy, then tried his office. It was a tiny room, made smaller by the notes, press cuttings, photographs, and maps that were plastered to the walls. His desk was a cluttered mess. Reference books and journals filled shelves and lay in piles on the floor. Emily was momentarily entranced by the room; it was like taking a look inside Evan’s brain. Helen tugged on her arm. There was only the bathroom left to check.