As soon as he walked through the door, he made his way over to the coffee vending machine. While he waited for the thick viscous liquid to pour, he pulled out his phone, replaced the battery, and noticed two new voicemail messages waiting for him.
He reached over the counter for a napkin and a pen and hastily scribbled down the messages – one from the hospital and the other from DCI Lake.
As soon as he had finished, his paranoia still piqued by the events of the day, he ripped the battery from the phone once more, and then glanced around the café until he saw a sign for a payphone.
The coffee machine whirred, and the last of the brown liquid spluttered into the cardboard cup. Will grabbed a takeaway lid and hurried across to the telephone.
The policeman’s gruff tones answered within seconds.
‘Lake.’
‘It’s Will Fletcher.’
‘We’ve been trying to reach you, Will.’
‘Yeah, sorry – I had to leave town. My mother is ill. Have you found out who shot Amy?’
He heard the policeman cover the phone and talk to someone before he returned to the call.
‘Sorry about that, Will. I just had someone with me,’ he said. ‘We’re still pursuing enquiries at the moment, but I wanted to talk to you about something else. Have you been back to the apartment since we spoke?’
Will crossed his fingers. ‘No – I went back into work to sort some stuff out, then had to leave town.’
‘Ah, I see. Will, there’s no easy way to tell you this, but your apartment was broken into.’
Will remained quiet, letting the silence stretch a while before speaking. ‘What do you mean ‘broken into’? Has anything been taken?’
‘It doesn’t look like it at first glance,’ said the detective. ‘Any valuable goods that might have been seized, such as your television, are still there. Unfortunately, though, the place has been torn apart – as if someone was looking for something.’
‘Wow. When did that happen?’
‘We’ve narrowed down the time between eleven and one o’clock.’
Twelve forty-five actually, thought Will. I nearly walked in on the intruder.
He recalled the out-of-service elevator and the whirring of the machinery as it began its downward descent while he’d climbed the stairs.
‘What happens now?’
‘Well, forensics have finished – I tried to phone you as soon as we found out about it. Took uniform a while to get word to us, and then we put two and two together and realised it was yours and Amy’s apartment. Our team arrived at four o’clock.’
‘Sorry – my phone’s been switched off. Forgot my battery charger.’
Will bit his lip. He couldn’t think of anything to say to the detective that wouldn’t cause him problems.
Such as why he was standing next to a motorway in the middle of Surrey, trying to fathom why his girlfriend had been shot. Or why he was scared of a mystery man who phoned him on a regular basis demanding that he hand over Amy’s investigative notes.
He waited another heartbeat and then spoke. ‘What’s happening now? Is the apartment secure?’
The policeman sighed. ‘Yes, we got a locksmith in while forensics were there. Your neighbour, a Mrs Hegarty, has the keys. She was the one that dialled 999 when she discovered the break-in.’
Before Will wondered whether he should offer any more information, the detective spoke again.
‘Look, Will – the apartment’s secure now. If you’ve got things to sort out with family, I understand – but I do need you to check your messages more often. Where are you, anyway?’
Will swallowed. ‘I’m, um, I’m staying with a distant relative in Surrey at the moment, so I’m only a few hours’ away if you need me. My mother’s ill.’ He coughed. ‘How’s Mr Rossiter getting on?’
The detective lowered his voice. ‘He was discharged an hour ago, Will. At his own request.’
‘Lucky bastard.’ Will ran his hand over his eyes, then pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Was he able to tell you anything about the attack?’
‘I’m sorry. I’m not at liberty to discuss that with you, Will. You know that.’ The detective sighed. ‘I’ll keep you up to date on progress as much as I can, but there’s a lot of information we’re working through at the moment, as you can understand.’
Will cleared his throat. ‘I understand. Sorry, but I have to go.’
‘Right, well, let me know as soon as you’re back in town. I’d prefer it if you came to the station first before going to the apartment, just so I can go through some paperwork with you, all right?’
‘Okay.’
Will disconnected the call, his heart thumping. He chewed his thumbnail and wondered what his next steps were.
First of all, he had to find somewhere to stay. He plucked a booklet from a display next to the payphone, its cover advertising a motel chain prevalent in the area, and hurried back out to the car clutching his coffee.
As he pulled away into the traffic driving north, he looked at the shopping bag on the passenger seat. His next task would be to read through the rest of Amy’s notes on the hard drive.
Some twenty miles farther down the road, he pulled into the car park of one of the motel chain’s premises, switched off the engine, and stared across at the reception area.
The sky was beginning to darken and an earlier weather report had suggested rain.
As he looked towards the reception area, he saw a sign next to the front door.
No cash accepted.
He realised he wouldn’t be able to use his credit card here, either.
‘Shit.’
He rummaged in his backpack, until he found Amy’s phone and switched it on, typing in the familiar phone number.
‘Russ? It’s me. Can you do me a favour?’
Five minutes later, Will climbed out the vehicle, pulled the laptop and his backpack from the seat next to him, and locked the car.
He hurried across the car park as the first drops of rain began to splash on the asphalt at his feet and reached the portico of the motel’s entrance. He took a deep breath and pushed against the glass front door.
A female receptionist looked up from her computer screen as he entered.
‘Good afternoon, sir.’
‘Hi,’ said Will and approached the desk. He lowered his backpack to his feet. ‘I believe my research assistant just phoned through with a reservation for me? My name’s Will Fletcher.’
A smile crossed the woman’s face. ‘He certainly did. Some sort of mix-up with your other hotel, is that right?’
‘Yes. Last time we use them.’ He grinned. ‘I guess we should’ve thought of coming here in the first place.’
The receptionist smiled politely as she typed at her keyboard. ‘You’ll just have to bear us in mind in future,’ she said. ‘Now, your assistant’s paid for the room and has left credit card details as a guarantee for any purchases while you’re here, so all I need from you today is your driver’s licence.’
Will extracted his wallet and handed over his licence. After discussing it with Russell, they’d agreed that it was probably safe to do so, given that Russell’s credit card was being used for the actual room purchase.
He waited while the receptionist disappeared into a back office to photocopy his licence and tried not to let his impatience show before she returned and gave him instructions on where to park his car while he was staying at the motel.
After moving the car to the back of the complex, he hurried across the car park to the smaller guest entrance and followed the signs on the walls to his room.
The passageway meandered through twists and turns, and he had almost convinced himself he was walking in the wrong direction when he spotted the door to his allocated room.
Swiping his card, he entered the room, locked the door behind him, and dumped his backpack on the double bed.
The window faced out onto the front entrance and the main road, a net curtain providing privacy fr
om the gloomy afternoon outside.
He switched on the small plastic kettle, then pulled out the hard drive and new laptop and began to set everything up on the small desk.
Once he could delay no longer, he took some calming breaths before picking up the room phone and dialling the number for the hospital.
‘Hi – it’s Will Fletcher here. I was wondering if I could speak to Mr Hathaway please. I’m returning his call.’
He drummed his fingers on the desk while he waited for the surgeon to come to the phone and was surprised when a female voice carried down the line.
‘Hello, Will. This is Susan Phillips – I’m the charge nurse on the ward tonight. Thanks for calling back.’
‘How is she?’
‘No change at the moment – we just wanted to give you an update and let you know that Mr Hathaway has reviewed the CT scans we ran after the surgery,’ the nurse continued. ‘He’s pleased with how the operation went, but wanted me to impress upon you that it’s still early days.’
Will heard another voice in the background and changed tack. ‘Okay, well, I’ll be checking my messages regularly, so please, as soon as you can tell me anything, let me know.’
‘Of course, Will,’ the nurse said. ‘Just remember that the next forty-eight hours are going to be critical.’
‘They sure are,’ said Will and replaced the phone in its cradle.
12
Will sat up in bed, flicked absently through the television channels with the remote control, and watched the dawn light begin to prise its fingers through the faded material of the closed curtains at the window.
He’d fallen into an exhausted sleep within moments of ending the call to the hospital, drained emotionally from the events of the past day.
At two o’clock in the morning, he’d awoken suddenly, jolted out of a nightmare in which he’d been running towards a black sedan parked skewed in the middle of a busy street. As people had walked past its opened doors, he’d run to the car and bent down to the back seat to see Amy staring at him, the small scar on her forehead now bloody and raw. She’d been holding the hard drive out to him, her eyes desperate, her mouth working soundlessly.
He’d rolled over, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and pushed back the blankets, before switching on the television and muting the sound. Sleep would not return that night.
Rolling reports on the twenty-four hour television news channel repeated every half hour, and Will lost count how many times he’d seen the footage of Rossiter’s car. He’d turned the volume up half an hour ago when he’d heard the person in the neighbouring room get into the shower.
He pulled the blankets up closer round his shoulders and swapped the remote control to his left hand so he could warm up the fingers of his right.
His gaze flickered back to the screen as the newsreader perked up and stated that an immediate announcement would be made by Ian Rossiter’s office.
The picture on the television changed to show a woman standing outside the House of Commons. Despite the hour, the reporter’s shoulder-length brown hair was perfectly styled, her make-up precise, and her business suit expensive.
The in-studio newsreader spoke first. ‘So, Stacey, Mr Rossiter’s office has just released a statement, is that correct?’
Stacey squinted slightly in the bright lights of the television cameras before speaking.
‘That’s right, Hannah,’ she said. ‘Mr Rossiter’s press secretary has issued a brief press release stating that the political candidate will be holding a press conference at his home later today, where he is currently recovering from his wounds.’
Will snorted.
‘Do you think Mr Rossiter will use the press conference to give us some idea as to why he was attacked?’
Will frowned as the newsreader tried, and failed, to hide her glee at the prospect, before the reporter spoke once more.
‘At this time, it’s unknown what the exact content of his press conference will be,’ she said, ‘However, there is a lot of speculation here at his candidacy office that he will tell us some more about what happened yesterday morning and what the police are doing to trace the perpetrators of this vicious crime.’
‘Indeed, thank you,’ said the newsreader, before the outside broadcast feed disappeared. ‘Stacey Greaves there with that report,’ she continued. ‘Of course, as soon as we have more details about that press conference, we’ll let you know. Now, onto other news…’
Will turned the volume off and rubbed his hands over his eyes, before kicking back the blankets.
He switched on the air-conditioning and adjusted the temperature controls, then hurried to the shower to stand under the warm water.
When he returned to the bedroom rubbing a towel over his damp hair, the room was warmer and he dressed in the jeans and sweatshirt he’d purchased the previous afternoon, along with the toiletries that now lay strewn around the small bathroom.
He switched on the new laptop and made a mug of tea while he waited for it to complete its start-up activities.
He raised the mug to his lips and paused.
‘Genius,’ he murmured.
He switched on Amy’s mobile phone and scrolled through her contacts list until he found the number he sought. He switched the mobile back off, and then using the motel’s landline, he dialled the number and waited, the ring tone beating a rhythm to the idea going round in his mind.
When the call was answered, he took a deep breath before speaking. ‘Kirby? It’s Will Fletcher. Hi. No – no news yet. She’s out of surgery and in intensive care. I’m waiting for them to phone with an update.’
He paused while Amy’s editor made small talk about his protégé’s condition, before pushing ahead with his idea. ‘Kirby? Ian Rossiter’s having a press conference this afternoon. Yes – at his house. I was wondering, hope you don’t mind my asking, would you be able to get me on the press list for it?’
Will held his breath as the silence at the other end of the line drew out a little longer than he would have liked, before Amy’s boss responded.
‘No – I won’t be asking any questions or making a nuisance of myself. I’d just like to hear first-hand what happened.’ He sniffled and wiped his eyes. ‘I’m having trouble making sense of it all, to be honest.’
He waited, his heart hammering against his ribs.
‘Really? That’s great – thanks very much. Yes, I’ll stay out of the way of your reporter. Of course – if I hear anything, I’ll be sure to give you a call. Thanks again. Bye.’
He ended the call and punched the air.
He hadn’t lied about his reasons for wanting to attend the press conference, but there was a niggling thought he couldn’t shake. Something to do with Amy’s research and the timing of the attack.
He exhaled, tipped the rest of the tea down his throat, and pulled out a chair to begin going through the files on the external hard drive once more.
Will opened the first of the folders saved to the hard drive. Each had been saved with a date as the file name, making it easy to read through the documents in chronological order.
Next, Will opened up a second folder of documents. This time, three video clips were saved, again by date in chronological order. He pulled out a set of headphones from his backpack, cursed as he tried to untangle the coiled lead, then put them in his ears and hit ‘play’ on the first file.
A new report from a few months ago started. Will sat up straight. He remembered this – he and Amy had seen it at the apartment. Ian Rossiter had announced his intention to run for the leadership of his political party after the previous incumbent had died suddenly of a heart attack, and the media had gone wild. Amy had scooted her butt across the sofa, snatched the television remote out of Will’s hand, turned up the volume and had sat, transfixed at the screen while the report played out.
So why was she so interested? And why was there a copy of the report here?
Will rubbed his chin, ignoring the stubble that scratched his fing
ers. After the news report ended, he stared at the blank screen, trying to remember. Did Amy begin her investigation into Ian Rossiter before his announcement, or did his announcement trigger her interest?
Prior to the announcement, the majority of the general public had never heard of Ian Rossiter – he’d been a minor player in a majority party, hidden somewhere on the back-bench of the government and tucked away at weekends in his small Surrey constituency.
With the death of a fellow party member who had been tipped to win at the next General Election only months away, Rossiter was seemingly plucked from obscurity to lead the party to victory.
His peers had made no secret of the fact that Rossiter’s background as an accomplished businessman within the construction industry led to their choice, citing that his business success would effortlessly translate to leading a country still struggling to find its way out of a recession.
Will leaned forward, checked the date on the file, and exhaled.
Amy’s interest in Ian Rossiter had been piqued right after the announcement.
He remembered now. Her excitement at going into the office the next day. Her assertion that she finally had a story that Kirby would let her run with. On her own. Except there was still a part of her which was unsure – which was why she hadn’t told Will exactly what she was up to.
He hit the ‘play’ button on the next two video files, one after the other, but they only contained similar coverage from different television stations.
He sighed and opened up the final folder.
The last files were copies of newspaper clippings that had been scanned. One included a blurred photograph of a man bending down next to a white car, talking through the driver’s window to someone unidentified, the person’s features shielded by the sun’s reflection on the windscreen.
Will opened up the file for the photograph he and Russell had found yesterday. Sure enough, the man in the first photograph bending down to the white car was also in the picture of the group of men in army fatigues.
He pulled back up the photo of the man standing next to the white car, and then frowned.
Look Closer Page 6
