“From all of that circus we have possibly one lead. Your hot pinky head and her magician’s skills of opening the victim’s room without a key,” Rogers says.
“So now you fucking believe me?”
“Sort of, but we have nothing else to go on to,” he says, picking up all the notes and leaving the room. Tomorrow morning, just before the weekend, we have a meeting with Clarke. I don’t want to know how it will end.
Instead of going home I head to the gym, killing myself on the treadmill. Then by the time I drive home, I can barely catch my breath. The training is supposed to distract me from thoughts that keep slipping through, thoughts about Tahlia, but it’s not working.
She is in my head constantly and I know that I have to do something about it. Around eight I order Chinese for the first time since I moved to Braxton. The food tastes all right. I stare at the TV, enjoying my food, letting myself off the hook for at least one night.
Maybe I have been doing all the wrong things. I have to gain her trust, show her that I want to help her, that I believe that she is innocent. The problem is that I already ruined that one good moment between us, accusing her of murdering Suranne Wallace.
I go to bed with that thought and drift off pretty much straight away. This time I sleep through the whole night, without disturbing dreams and nightmares.
***
My legs are shaking and my heart is pounding between my ribs. I stare at my own picture on the front cover of this morning’s paper.
Recent murder at Braxton University – the young detective fails to deliver.
I start reading it outside the off-licence shop, then glance at the paper stand. This is not the only article about me that is out there. Other papers have similar titles. Obviously someone must have talked to the press, given them details about the investigation.
This article clearly proves that the press knows about our recent setback, the lack of a real lead. No one mentions any key names, but I can read between the lines. Someone is selling key information to the wolves.
I squeeze the paper, trying to breathe, my pulse speeding. I guess that it might be Kerry. I stopped sleeping with her and now she is determined to ruin my career. She would know how to ruin everything I ever worked for.
I pick up some stuff from the off-licence and head to the car. It’s just after eight o’clock in the morning. My phone hasn’t started ringing yet, which means that Rogers doesn’t know how fucked we really are. People are staring at me when I put my foot down and drive off.
My whole body is tense as I try to figure out what to tell Clarke, how to handle this whole thing. The press keeps insisting that I’m the problem, that my methods aren’t bringing any results. They’re insinuating that I have no idea what I’m doing.
It’s Thursday and the station is busy. I hear the snickers and some laughs when I show up. Yep, everyone has heard about the news.
“Thomson and Rogers, in my office now!”
Clarke is pissed. He must have read all the articles already. I don’t have time to prepare, and what the hell is he doing in the station so early?
My boss shoots me an angry look when I show up. Rogers strolls through the door a few seconds later. Clarke’s eyes move between us quickly. He finally picks up the paper and throws it right in front of us.
“I really didn’t want to see this crap so early in the morning,” he says, standing up and leaning over his desk.
I clear my throat, attempting to at least save my and Rogers’s arse. “There’s been a setback. One of the witnesses lied to us. The victim had never been involved with any guy,” I explain, knowing that won’t change anything. Clarke wants to see results.
“Thomson! Don’t make me regret putting you in charge of this,” he shouts, waving his hands in front of my face. “Use your resources, liaise with other departments. I have Wallace’s parents on my case, asking me about the progress. How long do you think this will go on? People want justice. The girl was innocent.”
“I believe that the victim’s housemate was somehow involved,” I blurt out, not even knowing what I’m saying. I know for a fact that she wouldn’t be capable of murder. This is absurd, I should resign, because I’m aware that she is slowly pulling me back to the living world.
“Is that your real lead, or someone that fits the cliché profile?” he asks.
“I don’t have anything solid, but I have my own th—”
“Get out of here, before I fire you. Find me the lead and then start playing with the press. Use them for your advantage, for christsake!”
Clarke keeps shouting and I know that the whole station is hearing this. When we finally leave, Kerry is smirking at her desk, letting me know that she has enjoyed my humiliation. Rogers doesn’t say a word, but I know what he is thinking. We need to turn this whole case around, fast.
Chapter Sixteen
New evidence.
We get back to the office, and I try to ignore the heavy weight that hangs on my shoulders and the funny stares from other staff members. I had always strived to succeed, but this case is slipping through my fingers. At some point the trip to London will be unavoidable, but there is also a strong possibility that Steph will never get her justice. I’m struggling to connect threads together, struggling to feel anything other than anger. And at this point Rogers and I need a miracle.
“We have to show him the file, Micah. We can’t pretend that we have no leads, no connections. Clarke is already losing his patience with us,” Rogers says, looking anxious. I get it, he is worried about his job, but Clarke is pulling our strings, trying to scare us. He won’t take the case away from us.
A sudden knock interrupts our conversation. Kerry walks in, looking displeased, probably because she has to speak to me again.
“What do you want, Kerr?” I snap at her, wanting to get this over with. She gives me a middle finger and turns to look at Rogers.
“There’s a guy that wants to talk to you.”
“A guy?”
“He says it’s about the murder on campus,” she adds.
“Thanks, Kerry, we should be right out,” Roger tells her. She turns around, ignoring me, and shuts the door.
“Really? Don’t you think that’s strange that some random guy from the street wants to talk to us about this case?” I ask, knowing that things like this don’t happen to people like me.
“We can’t ignore him. Get your ass to the boardroom. Let’s see who the hell he is.”
As it turns out, the man’s name is John Darrlows. I join Rogers and then take a good look at him. The first impression is good. The guy doesn’t look like someone who wants to earn five minutes of fame. For a split second I sense that I have seen him before, but then ignore the thought. Sometimes I get caught up with my paranoia.
“My name is Detective Micah Thomson and this is my partner, Brandon Rogers. You asked to see us?” I begin.
The guy has a long face with a square jaw, and it looks like he hasn’t shaved for good few days. He seems tense, or maybe I’m reading too much from his body language.
“I have information for you about that girl who lived with the woman that was killed,” he says, getting straight to the point. Rogers and I exchange startled glances. The guy wants to talk; that’s a first.
“What kind of information are we talking about here?” I ask, wondering who this slimy fucker in front of me is. Tahlia has never said anything about a third person. I don’t like that superior look on his face.
The man scratches his head and then exhales. Rogers is quiet, probably already thinking about running checks on him.
“I have been following the stories in the papers for some time now. It’s something that I’m interested in,” he says. “I had a date with Tahlia the same night that this girl was killed.”
My stomach contracts and a sudden rage of jealousy rips through my whole body unexpectedly. Who the fuck does this asshole think he is? A date? Tahlia told me straight that she doesn’t do dating or socialising.<
br />
“According to Miss Sanderson, that day she was supposed to have a shift in the local restaurant. She never mentioned that she had a date,” I tell him, folding my arms over my chest.
John, or whatever his name is, smiles stupidly and looks like he is just about to tell me something very important.
“She told me that she didn’t want anyone to know. Apparently her roommate set us up on a blind date. One of my mates was a good friend of that girl who was murdered. He asked me to call her, so I did. We arranged to meet in one of the bars near Broomly Street at eight p.m.”
Rogers gives the man a funny look. Maybe he finally starts to get it that Tahlia is full of shit. On the other hand, I just don’t want to believe this guy. He appears out of nowhere and drops a bomb like that. I don’t trust him and I don’t want to believe that Tahlia would have any interest in him.
“And why are you telling this now? What business do you have in this whole thing?”
“I thought that you would be interested to hear what I had to say.”
“Tell us what you know,” I demand.
“Well, the date turned out to be a disaster. That girl was obnoxious and arrogant. She kept saying that she was going to kill her roommate. I thought that she was joking. You can believe me or not—next thing I know, the girl is dead. I didn’t really understand why her roommate arranged this whole thing; it obviously wasn’t going to work. I recognised her in the papers and decided to play good citizen.”
I don’t know, but for some reason I don’t want to take him too seriously. None of this makes much sense. Tahlia mentioned that she wasn’t very close with Suranne, so why would she agree to go on a blind date in the first place? I don’t get why I’m suddenly unhappy that we finally have a breakthrough. This is what I have been waiting for all along.
“Can you make a full statement, Mr. Darrlows? We need to have this in writing. Also, are you willing to testify against Miss Sanderson?” Rogers keeps pressing him, while I think about all the logistics.
“Of course. I hope I was helpful enough,” he says. “This girl, she seems lost in her own world. I’m not saying that she was speaking literally, but something seemed off about her that night.”
Rogers quickly wraps up the conversation and the guy leaves. For a long moment, neither of us says anything.
“So, what do you think? Do you believe this guy?” Rogers finally asks, looking at me intensely.
“I’m not convinced. I do believe that Tahlia Sanderson is hiding something. Johnson said that he had seen her before somewhere, apparently in London,” I say, thinking out loud.
“All right, but you have gone through her records, right? And she came out clean.”
“Yes, and this is the problem. Some of her records are missing. It’s like someone gave her a new identity.”
“Check Irish and Scottish databases. You never know what you can find. In the meantime, I’ll look into this guy and see if he is genuine.”
Rogers leaves to hunt for information and I stay in the office wondering what the hell is wrong with Tahlia. She was out on the streets when it was raining and gave us some excuse about riding in the rain. Clarke doesn’t know that I’m a mess, but I won’t disappoint him and myself.
I stay in my office for the rest of the day, searching through information about Tahlia Sanderson. There is nothing in Irish or Scottish files; everything seems in order. Her name doesn’t pop up in any cases. There is another possibility. She must have changed her name years ago because something happened. I can’t get my head around the fact that she lied to me about other things, about that night when we crashed.
I leave the station late, probably after nine. There are a few reporters outside, still trying hard to get me to comment on the articles. I manage to get into my car without speaking to them. I can’t afford to lose my temper with them. After a quick snack, I fall asleep on the sofa. The exhaustion hits me hard and I’m drifting away.
Tahlia
I have tried hard to pretend that my life is fixed, but somehow I think that I’m no longer safe. Something is wrong. Suranne’s death couldn’t have been a coincidence, but the problem is that this time I can’t count on anyone. The police have washed their hands. They killed the bastard, so my case isn’t as important as it used to be.
Maybe he found a way to trick everyone. My abuser has never been afraid of death.
Micah’s interrogation nearly broke me, pushed me back into the dark place. He scoped through all the layers of my confidence. I was so close to the breaking point.
After I leave the station I head home, trying to calm down, but I am already falling into oblivion, feeling trapped and lost. It takes me half a minute to unlock and get inside the flat, my hands are shaking so badly, and my whole body feels numb. History is going to repeat itself.
When I make sure that everything is locked, I slide down on the floor, seeing myself in the dark damp room, and then I hear heavy steps.
I cover my ears with my hands, telling myself that this time he is not here for me, but the fear grips me tightly and all of a sudden I can’t breathe. The oxygen is not getting in.
It’s just a panic attack—he is dead, gone, forgotten. My imagination is fucking with my head. Then I hear the voice, the deep soft voice that sends chills down my spine, turning my blood into ice.
“Little mouse, little mouse, the cat is here. We are going to play. Come out, come out wherever you are.”
I press my hands to my ears tighter, as blood pounds in my head.
When I first met him I thought that he came to save me, to finally pull me away from the shitty life, the dungeon. Mum had three other kids and she kept dumping them on me, disappearing for weeks without a word, leaving us hungry without any money. She was a crack addict.
“You will turn into a whore, sugar, just like me and grandmother. There is nothing you can do, nothing will change that. You always will be a little whore,” my mother used to say to me, smiling and showing me her rotten teeth. Sometimes I hoped that my siblings and I would be rescued. People talked about Social Services, said that they were helpful, but no one ever came for us.
The fear grips me tighter and I feel my heart pounding like crazy, sweat dripping down my back. It doesn’t matter that I’m safe here in this new city. No one here knows who I was or what happened in the past, but I can still see him, knowing that he will hunt me for the rest of my life, even from the grave.
The door opens and he is standing in the threshold staring at me. The smell of tobacco and buzz makes me nauseous. I know exactly what he is going to do before he hands me over to someone else, one of his mates. In a moment like that I begin to wonder why I keep existing. No one cares, no one.
“What’s the matter, mouse, aren’t you happy to see me?” he says, grabbing my head, so I can look at his eyes.
“Please don’t make me do this. Please let me get back home,” I beg, telling myself that this is just another dream. I am in my flat in Braxton. This can’t be real. I have already been saved.
He laughs hard and then moves his hand down to find out if I am ready. I tense my body while he violates me in the worst possible way. Warm tears are streaming down my cheeks.
“You’re a little liar, a whore that enjoys being fucked over and over. The whore that needs cock,” he says and then he backs off.
“Connor, she’s all yours. Just don’t break her, because I have to use her again tonight,” the monster shouts to someone else at the door.
“Nooo,” I scream, opening my eyes and realising that I’m back in the flat, that this was just a bad memory. No one is going to hurt me, because no one knows who I was or who I became.
Chapter Seventeen
Moments that I live for.
This morning when I open my eyes I don’t want to get out of bed. I rub my face with my palms, feeling exhausted, mentally and physically. We finally have a lead, but that doesn’t make me happy; on the contrary, I’m pissed off. I’ve made these absurd accusations a
gainst her and now she thinks that I’m just a piece of shit. I tangle my hair, feeling guilty. She let me in and I threw mud at her. Wanting her and pushing this case has its limits.
I fling the covers away and kick open the bedroom door, letting it slam against the wall. My breathing is hard and laboured. I’m ready to smash my phone, toss it against the floor. Tahlia could heal me, so I have to stop treating her like a suspect and just ask her out, forget about the case. She is fucking innocent. I can feel that in my bones and I care about her—more than I want to admit—and that’s the reason I can’t control my anger right now.
Somehow I manage to have a shower and get to work on time. When I see Rogers in the morning, I already know that he had a rough night. Dark circles under his eyes indicate that I should let him take it easy today.
“Morning, sunshine, how are we today?” I ask.
“I’m knackered. The baby didn’t sleep at all. I stopped counting how many times I got up. It must have been more than ten, and Lisa was freaking out,” he moans, drinking coffee. That’s why I don’t want to have kids. I can’t see myself being a father.
Especially since the dreams keep coming back. I keep seeing the crime scene from eight years ago—Steph covered with blood, her decomposed body, hollow eyes and scars. I wake up, petrified, covered with sweat. I need to start taking sleeping pills, and maybe then the dreams will stop.
“Sorry to hear that,” I say. “I know that it’s probably too early to ask, but have you thought about our unexpected witness at all this morning?”
“I ran some checks yesterday and his story is accurate. He works for a local bank as a mortgage advisor. Commutes from Donver, down the road. I’m going to question the barman in Broomly, see if I can confirm his story, then I’ll question our girl. Our suspect probably didn’t like the look of pinky head and bailed through the back door. I bet his ego was crushed, and now he wants to get a little revenge,” Rogers says, then picks up all the files and leaves.
Love & Hate Series Box Set 2 (Love & Hate #3-4) Page 13
