Hot Blooded

by Lake, Jessica

  "Well, if you can prove self-defense you might be alright," the old guy told me."But the smuggling, Mr. Cross, that's a very serious offence. We might be able to work something out in exchange for your testimony against Gary Wilson or his associates, but all of that remains to be seen."

  I looked up at the ceiling and rolled my eyes. "I want a solicitor. I'm not saying a damned thing until I get a solicitor."

  Lily suddenly leaned across the table. "Callum, can I ask why you wouldn't testify against Gazza - or anyone at the Streatham Club? I mean, you want revenge, right? You want to make Gazza pay for what he did to your mother - and to you. So why wouldn't you testify? Why wouldn't you help us?"

  She was right, of course. But I was still suspicious. I didn't want a single thing more than I wanted her, but she was a police officer and I was under arrest. I was also without a representative.

  "I want a solicitor. I'm not saying I'm not open to making some sort of deal, not at all, but I think you'll both agree that if you were in my position you'd ask for the same thing."

  Akin looked at Lily. "Well, let's get him a solicitor, then. How soon can we have someone down here?"

  Lily looked at her watch. "Probably not tonight."

  I did not mention the fact that I had a hundred and twenty thousand quid squirreled away in a hotel room in Wembley that probably would have made getting a solicitor at that time of night a lot more likely.

  "Right. Well then. Tomorrow it is," Akin said, getting ready to leave.

  Lily got up slowly and glanced at her boss. I could see she didn't want to go, but I also understood that she couldn't just ask to stay and chat with someone they had under arrest. She'd already been booted off the investigation, and I assumed her presence in the room was a favor of some sort. Fuck, I didn't want her to leave.

  David Akin left the room first and Lily followed him. She didn't look back at me or meet my eyes.

  "Oh, and one more thing, Lily!" I called out, just as she was about to close the door behind her.

  She opened the door again, just a little, and leaned back into the room. I could see her boss hovering in the hallway, waiting.

  "What?" She asked, softly. I could see in her expression that she didn't want to go any more than I wanted her to.

  I looked her right in the eyes and didn’t bother to keep my voice down."I love you," I told her.

  For a split second it looked like she was going to rush back into the room. I watched her face crumple slightly, for just a moment, and then she took a deep breath and gave me a small nod before she left, closing the door behind her.

  It didn't matter. She couldn't say anything anyway, not with her superintendent there. But as I sat there alone in a featureless interrogation room at the police station, I was suddenly filled with a kind of wild happiness. She knew, now. That's all I wanted - for her to know. Something about telling her, about saying it out loud, made everything else seem a lot less important. I loved Lily Morgan. And I had a feeling she might love me back, too.

  Chapter 22: Lily

  I knew my boss had heard what Callum said to me, but I didn't really care. I admit it - I floated down that hallway to Akin's office. Callum loved me. I really didn't have any idea, until that day, how much strength those words could give a person. In an instant my whole mindset changed and I was struck with a renewed optimism about the case, about my job and about my life in general. I'd always looked at love as a vulnerability, something that made you weaker. It was how I justified being alone and making my career into my sole resource of self-worth - if you don't love anyone, no one can hurt you. No one can distract you. No one can ask you to focus on things you don't want to focus on. But there's a flipside to all that. It means going through life without backup. Even when I was engaged, I'd never really felt like Thomas had my back. I'd never felt like anyone really had my back. But I believed Callum. I just did, automatically and completely. And there was nothing I wanted more than to finally be able to say it back to him. Not just to say it but to show it, to show him I loved him, too. Because I did love Callum, no matter how hard I'd been trying not to admit it to myself.

  As I followed Akin into his office, I felt a new confidence, a new sense that the task in front of me within reach. I could do it. Callum gave me that - Callum's love gave me that - and I was not a person who was used to drawing strength from others. It made it difficult to wipe the smile off my face. But it was also new territory and therefore a little scary, a little unstable.

  Akin politely didn't mention what Callum had said. Instead he sat down and gave me a look.

  "Well, Morgan? Tell me what we're going to do here. Tell me how we find Gazza Wilson."

  "Are you putting me back on the case?" I asked hopefully.

  He shook his head. "No, Morgan. You know I can't do that - not yet, anyway. It depends on how everything shakes out. If you end up solving this, as you seem to think you can, that's good. If you don't, or if the DNA doesn't match, well, I don't have to tell you that your actions over the past couple of days aren't going to do you any favors."

  He was right. I knew it. But I also knew he trusted my instincts, and his refusal to fire or arrest me was its own kind of green-light.

  He believed me. Well, maybe he didn't entirely believe me, but he was willing to see it out. "I'm telling you, Akin, Callum didn't kill Linda Trout. Gazza Wilson did. And if we find him, I think I can prove it," I told him, confident that I was right."Have there been any developments there? Any new information at all?"

  "No," Akin said, "I've got five people on it but so far, no. The lab has a few of his cigarette butts from the Streatham Club and we're waiting on those results, but even if they come back positive we still need to find the bastard."

  "What about Helen?" I wondered out loud. "I didn't ask her if she knew where Gazza might be. I think I'm going to call her again. It's a long shot, I know, but I might as well cover all my bases."

  I expected a bit of a fight from Akin on that, but he just held up his hands. "OK, Morgan. OK. But if you get anything, you have to bring it to me first. No going off on your own again. Any new information comes to me first and I decide what to do with it. You got that?"

  I smiled and nodded, already checking my watch and wondering if it was going to be possible to contact Helen Cross again that day.

  "And go back to the safe house first, will you?" Akin said, sternly."You look tired. Go have a shower and a decent meal."

  "Yes, Sir."

  I did what Akin advised and went back to the safe house, even though I was itching to call Helen Cross. It was late when I finally got there and I stood in the sitting room for a few minutes looking out over an unfamiliar view of London.

  Callum loved me. I rolled the thought around in my head, testing out how it felt to acknowledge it. Then I took a shower, ate a limp cucumber sandwich I'd picked up on the way home and climbed into the lumpy bed. I fell asleep almost immediately. I probably would have spent that time awake, pacing, going over various possible scenarios related to Gazza's whereabouts, if only Callum hadn't said what he'd said earlier. But he had said it, so something inside me was able to let go and sleep. Really sleep, for almost eleven solid hours. I woke up at almost two p.m. the next day feeling properly rested for the first time in months.

  I got dressed, made myself some bad instant coffee and lay down on the sofa, still slightly dazed from the length of time I'd slept. I thought about Callum. I thought of his voice and the way it changed slightly when he spoke to me, the way his shoulders tensed up under my hands when we were in bed, the way his eyes closed when I touched him in a certain way...Callum, Callum, Callum. I knew I was acting like a goddamned teenager, but I indulged it anyway. I was alone, and no one could see what I was thinking - why not finally allow myself a little bit of enjoyment? I spent a good twenty minutes fantasizing before I reached for my phone to check the time and saw, to my surprise, that there was a message from Helen Cross. It had been sent three hours previously.

 
"Lily - can you ring me?"

  I called her right away.

  "Helen? This is Lily Morgan. I'm just calling about your text."

  "Oh, yes, Lily. I was just worried about Callum. Is he alright? Can I see him?"

  Helen's voice sounded grumpy - the voice of a person who didn't necessarily want to be talking to me but who knew I was her best hope of getting her son out of the trouble he was currently in.

  "He's fine, Helen, I promise. Right now we're more focused on finding Gazza Wilson. In fact I was wondering if maybe you could give me some help with that."

  "Yes, well," Helen started hesitantly, "I'm not sure what help I can be there. I have no idea where Gazza is - I haven't spoken to the man for years."

  "Anything you can tell me would be helpful, Helen," I encouraged."You've known him since childhood. Do you know if he or his family had a holiday home outside London? Was there somewhere he used to go, maybe a relative he used to visit - anything like that you can think of?"

  "He used to go to St. Ives. As a kid, I mean. His family used to go there sometimes, during the summer holidays - I think they may have had a house there or something? Either way, it's the one place outside of London he ever went and he was always talking about moving there, buying a hotel and fixing it up, you know."

  "Mmm," I said, thinking. Until we actually found the fucker, info of the kind Helen had just given was useful, even if it was vague and likely to lead nowhere.

  "Do you think you'll find him?" Helen asked.

  "Well, I can't really talk about it, you understand. I've been taken off the investigation anyway, so all of this is unofficial."

  Helen made a surprised sound on the other end and I took the opportunity to hopefully build a little more trust.

  "I let Callum escape a few days ago, when he, uh, when he helped me out of a very sticky situation. The police were coming - in fact I called them - but I let him go before they got there."

  “Well Lily, I just want to say this to you - Callum didn't kill anyone. It's not who he is. I know you probably think I'm some idiot who has no idea what's going on, but I know my son. He wouldn't - not unless he didn't have a choice, and even then..."

  I thought about what had happened in France, but I didn't mention it to Helen. She wasn't wrong, though. Callum wasn't the type. Helen knew it, and so did I.

  "St. Ives, then?" I said, steering the conversation back to Gazza."You think he could be there?"

  "I really don't know, Lily. I just know it was that place for him - the place we all have in our minds when we think about getting away from it all. I haven't had anything to do with the man for ages, so I can't speak to whether or not it still is, but it was, back then."

  She asked if she could see her son and I told her, politely, that she'd have to contact the station to see about that. When the call was over I immediately dialed Akin.

  "Yes, Morgan?"

  I relayed the information Helen Cross had given me.

  "So, what are you asking?" He replied, although he knew perfectly well what it was.

  "I - I was thinking of going to St. Ives. Today. There's nothing else for me to do, anyway. What harm could it do to check it out? Can you send me a recent picture of Gazza - to my phone?"

  I heard Akin blow his breath out of his nose, another thing he did when he was thinking.

  "OK, Morgan. But you understand this is nothing more than checking things out, right? If you find him, or if you find anything at all, I don't want you doing anything other than calling me, is that clear?"

  "Yes, perfectly clear. He's probably not there anyway. But if he is or if I think he might be, I'll call you first thing, I promise."

  So I was going to St. Ives. I arrived at Paddington Station raring to go, with a few photos of Gazza on my phone and a list of hotels and bed and breakfasts located in the Cornish town. It was a wide net, but there was no other kind to cast in the situation. Akin had run a check to see if Gazza had family there and he didn't, or at least not that we could find on short notice, with basic checks. He also didn't own any property there. It was probably a wild goose chase, and I reminded myself not to get too excited.

  It took just under six hours on the train to get there, and I arrived feeling mildly nauseous - something about the smooth, rocking motions of UK trains always made me feel sick rather than sleepy. It was almost midnight, and I stood outside the train station for a few minutes rubbing my eyes and getting my bearings. I was struck very quickly by two things. One: St. Ives was painfully beautiful, even in the dark. And two: St. Ives was not the sort of place where Gazza Wilson would easily fit in. A long, sandy beach stretched out beside me, sandwiched between the dark Atlantic and the kind of picturesque English seaside buildings that made it onto postcards and tourist websites. I spotted a few smartly dressed tourists out on the town and people - locals - who looked vaguely artistic in that kind of tasteful, English way. I could see immediately that they weren't Gazza's crowd.

  I walked down the road that ran next to the beach, sighing slightly at the sight of hotel after hotel after hotel. A day was almost certainly not going to be long enough to check each one. Still, there was nothing to do but get on with it. I walked into a particularly pretty hotel and booked a room, then showed the receptionist a photo of Gazza and asked if she'd seen him. She had not, so I went up to my room to try and get a good night's sleep before the slog that I knew the next day - or the next few days - was going to be.

  Chapter 23: Lily

  I was up by eight the next morning and out on the street by nine.

  The staff at the hotels I went into were polite and helpful for the most part, the way people often are when you tell them you're looking for someone and show them a photo. But none of them had seen Gazza. I plodded along the narrow streets for hours until my legs ached and the soles of my feet burned. At about two in the afternoon I headed to a little restaurant overlooking the beach that advertised 'old-school' fish and chips. My father used to tell me stories about eating fish and chips by the seaside during childhood holidays, so I figured it was the thing to do. The waitress noticed my accent at once.

  "Are you on holiday?" She asked, writing down my order on a pad of paper.

  "Actually, no," I said," I'm looking for someone. But now that I've seen this place I think I will book a holiday - it's beautiful."

  She smiled. "You're looking for someone? Who?"

  I smiled back, a little surprised at her guileless helpfulness. I internally noted another way in which I was becoming a Londoner - helpful people were becoming a genuine surprise.

  "A man I know. He's missing, and a lot of people would like to find him. I have a photo."

  I brought the photo up on my phone and handed it to her. She looked down at it for longer than any of the hotel proprietors had.

  "Do you recognize him?"

  "Um," she replied, as if trying to call a memory to mind, "I'm not sure. Can I show this to the people in the back?"

  It crossed my mind that she was about to do a runner with my phone, but I reminded myself, once again, that I was no longer in London and told her it was fine. She disappeared into the kitchen and I sat tensely at my table, hoping I was wasn't wrong to trust her. I looked out over the water, which was aluminous pale aqua-grey under the midday sun, not unlike Callum's eyes. I liked St. Ives. I couldn't even entirely say why, because touristy seaside towns weren’t usually my thing. But there was something soft in the St. Ives air. Something that made me want to move slowly and spend more time looking at my surroundings. I thought it would be lovely to spend some time there with Callum, maybe holed up in one of those ridiculously quaint, overpriced hotels. We could take walks on the beach in between bouts of slow, Sunday-morning sex.

  Someone coughed and I looked up. The waitress was back, and she was with a man dressed in whites.

  "Jim says he saw this guy in here yesterday. I thought I did, too, but I wasn’t sure," she told me.

  A wisp of excitement curled in my belly. It couldn't
be. Surely I wasn't going to get this lucky? I looked up at Jim.

  "This man?" I asked him, pointing at the image of Gazza on my phone."You saw this man in here yesterday?"

  "Aye, pretty sure I did. He's down from London. I mean, he didn't tell me he was but he sure sounded like he was from London."

  Holy shit.

  "The accent, you mean?" I asked, keeping my voice casual.

  "Oh yeah, definitely from London. I think it was this guy. Maybe he looked a little older? Kicked up a right fuss over his order."

  That sounded like Gazza. That sounded exactly like Gazza.

  "And did he say anything?" I asked, trying to control my growing sense of excitement.“Did he mention where he was staying or how long he was here for?"

  The waitress piped up. "Oh I asked him if he was on holiday but he didn't want to talk. He just ate and left. Didn't leave a tip, either."

  No tip. Everything they said made it sound like Gazza. I tried not to get my hopes up, but I still managed to eat my fish and chips way too fast and leave in a big hurry so I could call Akin. I made sure to leave the waitress a decent tip, too.

  Akin answered his phone at once when I called.

  "Morgan. Any luck? None to report on this end - not in terms of finding Gazza. That Ian bloke seems more and more amenable to testifying against him though, if we can actually find the bastard."

  "He's here Akin - I mean, I am pretty damn sure he's here."

  "Did you see him?" Akin asked, sounding suddenly a lot more awake.

  "No, but I just ate at a restaurant and the staff said they saw a guy who looked like him in there yesterday. Said he was from London without any prompting, too. It's him. I'm sure it's him."

  "Are you?"

  "Yes. I showed them the photos. One of them seemed certain it was him."

  "Hmm. Well, Morgan, I can't say you're harming your chances of getting back into the Met's good graces here. I'll catch the train right away, and I'll call the St. Ives police. Where are you staying?"