"Hi, Blake," said Sam, his earlier cheerful mood returning thanks to the coffee.
"Oh hi, Sam," replied Blake, rubbing his eyes awake.
"I was just telling these guys about how you can trace the message Alex was sent," explained Matt.
"Oh yeah, sure." Blake ran his hands through his hair, causing it to almost stand on end. "Do you have the phone?"
I reached into my bag and pulled my phone from its little pocket, handing it to Blake. As I did so, Blake's hand grabbed on to mine for a second longer than necessary. His eyes shot open, and a sleazy smile spread across his lips.
I snatched my hand away and smiled politely, attempting to cover the shiver that ran down my spine. "Hi," I said, wanting to wipe my hand on my jeans. I didn't want to insult the man who was about to help us, so I waited until he wasn't looking and then did it.
"Matt never told me how pretty you were," said Blake, awkwardly. I figured this guy needed to put his glasses on.
Sam moved next to me. "The phone, Blake," he snapped. Maybe Sam needed another cup of coffee. One wasn't having a lasting effect.
Blake jumped at Sam's tone and glared at him, but he did take the phone and turn back to his computer, picked up his glasses, and put them on. He then wiggled his mouse, clicked a few keys on the keyboard, and his computer sprung to life. He swiped at my phone, did some nosing around, and installed an app.
"This app will tell us who sent the message. Well, it will tell me the number, anyway. I can then reverse-check who it belongs to." It was that easy.
I moved to sit in a chair opposite him. I put my head in my hands and sighed. Why did I feel like my privacy was being invaded? And was there anything on that phone Blake shouldn't see?
Damn it! Yes, there was. It wasn't incriminating or anything, but judging from the way he looked at me before, I probably didn't want him seeing that photo I took in the change room the other day when I was trying on that new bra. I was really unsure whether I liked it or not and wanted Georgie's opinion, so I took a selfie in the mirror and texted it to her with the message, What do you think? Too slutty? But maybe he wouldn't see that. He was only tracing a message from an unknown texter. He shouldn't be looking at anything else, should he?
After a few minutes, Blake looked up at me and smiled. "Well, your anonymous tip off came from Tiffany Jones."
"Really?" I wondered why Tiffany would want to help me in this game. I didn't even know her. And how did she get my number?
"Really," he replied. I stood and took the outstretched phone from him, grateful for his help.
"Oh, and in my personal opinion—not too slutty," he said, cupping my hand as he spoke.
I blushed and snatched my hand away. Matt and Sam looked at him quizzically, but he grinned back, looking like all his Christmases had come at once. They probably just had.
Sam looked like he was about to ask Blake what he was talking about, so I quickly interjected.
"Let's find Tiffany."
* * *
"What was he talking about?" asked Sam in my ear as we walked through my old office space, following Matt back to the studio. I ignored him and studied Matt's backside as he walked ahead of me. I shook my head and wondered what the hell was wrong with me that every time a guy was in front of me, I was checking out his backside.
There was nothing wrong with me. This was not my usual behavior. I didn't know what it was about tonight, whether the storm had messed up my emotions or whether it was being back here that was stirring everything up.
Seeing Jake again initially didn't have the effect I thought it would, but after hearing about Faith's pregnancy, I definitely felt unrest.
Wes dying had thrown me. I hadn't had anything to do with him for a long time, but anyone dying upset me.
Then there was finding out Georgie had hidden things from me, old photos of me turning up in weird books, Stuart missing, Faith telling me she thought Jake was still in love with me, and to top everything off, there was Sam. He was the biggest thing affecting me tonight.
Guilt swept me as I thought how selfish and self-indulgent that seemed. A man had died here tonight, and the thing that affected me the most was a good looking man who influenced my hormones. I'm a bad, bad person.
"Alex," said Sam, leaning in way too close to my ear. "What was he talking about?"
My stomach flipped, and the guilt switched up another notch.
"It doesn't matter," I croaked in response.
"Yes, it does. He talked about you being slutty. Do I need to go back and have a severe word with him?"
Sam sounded in good humor. I just couldn't share that emotion. I had this awful feeling that the events of this evening were all my fault. Remember how I had mentioned my gypsy-like intuition? Well, this was one of those times I just knew something to be so. I had no idea how or why, but tonight was connected to me.
Entering the studio, we spotted Tiffany asleep in front of the news desk, right alongside Arthur. She'd found an old blanket and had used it as a pillow, and she looked as uncomfortable as a girl could get. I remembered Georgie telling me Faith was asleep near Tiffany. Funny thing was, I couldn't see her.
We quietly approached her.
"Tiffany," whispered Matt, tapping her on the shoulder. "Tiff."
She stirred and blinked up at him. "Huh?" she asked, rubbing her eyes and sitting up. "Is everything okay? What's wrong?" I could hear the urgency in her voice and needed to dispel her anxiety quickly.
"Nothing's wrong," I said. "Everything's okay. We just wanted to ask you a question."
She looked wearily back at us and nodded.
"We found out you sent the message to Alex earlier, telling her to meet you under the stairs. You had a clue for her," explained Matt.
Fear took the place of sleep in her eyes. "Shhh!" she said, louder than she probably should as Arthur stirred next to her. "Don't let Rachel hear you!"
I looked around me and couldn't see Rachel anywhere in sight. I wondered where she was.
"She's not here," I whispered, as Arthur rolled to his back and gently started to snore.
"Oh, okay. How did you find out I sent it anyway?"
"Blake," said Sam.
That was all the explanation she needed. He was obviously a wiz when it came to technology.
"What did you have to tell me?" I asked.
"I didn't send you a message," she said.
"Yes, you did. You said to meet you under the stairs and that you had a clue for me."
Understanding flashed in Tiffany's eyes. "Oooh, now I get it. I meant to send the message to Georgie but must have put in the wrong number. I wondered why she never turned up."
That was an easy mistake. Georgie and I had both signed up for our phones at the same time and thought it would be fun to choose phone numbers that were only one number apart. This wasn't the first time I'd received a message for her.
"I just wanted to give her a clue," continued Tiffany. "I was going to tell her to look closer at Brent."
Well, that didn't help us at all.
"Did you wait under the stairs closest to the toilets?" asked Matt, undeterred.
"Yes."
"Did you see anyone going in or out of the toilets?"
"Well, yes. Alex. I was waiting for Georgie to arrive when I saw Alex go into the toilet. She was in there for ages, and I did wonder what she was doing that took so long. I wondered if she was unwell, but then I saw her go in again."
"You didn't think that was strange? Me going in twice?"
"Well, yes, but I figured you must have walked out without me seeing you."
"Did you stop watching the toilets at any point?" asked Matt, who now had his handy-dandy notebook back out and was scribbling away.
"No, but there was no other way to explain it."
"How long was it between seeing Alex go in the first time and seeing her the second time?"
Tiffany thought carefully before answering. "Ummm…more than five minutes but less than ten. I remember
the second time she went in because she made a lot of noise. Her handbag got caught in the door, and I laughed at the curse she let out."
I blushed at the memory.
"Anyway, that's when Rachel walked past and saw me. She started yelling at me because she said I was up to something and asked if I was cheating."
"So you never went into the toilets?"
"No, I left with Rachel yelling at me. I was supposed to be sabotaging my opposition, not helping them. She's a sick woman," Tiffany finished, whispering behind her hand.
I had to agree with her.
"And you never saw anyone leaving," finished Matt.
She shook her head. "Sorry."
"That's okay. Thanks anyway," I said, stepping away from her. "Well, that was a waste of time," I said, wondering what we should do next.
"No, it wasn't," said Matt. "We found out that Faith was telling the truth. You hit her."
I stared at him, unsure if I'd just heard him correctly. "No, I didn't. I never went into the toilets twice. I only went in once," I whispered in harsh tones.
"I know. Which means that someone who looked like you went in the first time and hit Faith. She wasn't lying."
"But the toilets were empty when I went in there."
Matt put his pen tip in his mouth and thought. He flipped backward through pages in his notebook. "When I checked the area after you told us about Faith, I couldn't find anything that suggested a struggle. The area was clean. A little bit too clean for my liking, actually."
He was just mentioning this now?
Sam grabbed my arm and said, "Let's go to the newsroom and talk. People are trying to sleep here."
Matt looked around and nodded.
Once in the newsroom, though, Matt moved to his whiteboard and cleaned an area. It was only a small area as he seemed to have a lot of information on that board, but I guessed it was big enough for this purpose.
He started writing names and places and notes. I saw Faith, toilets, polystyrene, clean, Wes, bush…the list went on. When he'd finished, he rubbed a few things out and put them in a different order. Personally, I was going cross-eyed already.
"What's the polystyrene note?" asked Sam.
"It was the only thing I found on the floor in the toilets," commented Matt as he continued to write.
"What was that doing on the floor?" I asked.
"I had no idea at first," said Matt. "It was small and looked like it came from a ceiling tile, but all the tiles were in place when I checked."
My heart stuttered. "A ceiling tile?"
"Yeah," said Matt, pointing upward. "Like those." I looked to where he was pointing. The ceiling in the newsroom was the same as all the others in the downstairs area of the station. They were falsely low, allowing for the air-conditioning ducts to run from one place to another, and were covered in polystyrene tiles about six hundred centimeters square.
"But they weren't," I continued, distinctly remembering sitting on the toilet and feeling like I was being watched. "One of the tiles was askew. I remember being creeped out by it."
Sam and Matt turned to look at one another.
"Maybe we should have another look," said Sam.
"What will it tell us?" I asked, standing quickly as they both turned to walk out of the room and back down the hall toward the toilets.
"I'm hoping it will give us a clue as to who has been dressing as you. If we can prove someone else hit Faith, it will throw suspicion on them for hitting Wes."
"How do you know the same person hit both people?" I asked, almost running to keep up with them.
"We don't for sure. At this stage anyway. But remember, I don't believe in coincidences. Two people were both hit the same way. The same way that both Stacey and Dean died."
Okay, that made chills run up my spine, but maybe that was the creepy feeling I was being watched again. "Does anyone else feel like they are being watched?" I asked.
Both men turned to look at me, shaking their heads. Sam stepped away from me and had a look around. "I can't see anyone, but stay close," he said, guiding me in front of him.
Matt opened the outside door to the toilets and then banged on the ladies. Turning to me, he said, "Maybe you should go ahead of us in case a lady is in there. I'll be right behind you." Pushing his body against the wall, I moved past him and opened the door. Matt held the door open whilst I checked the cubicle situation.
"All clear."
Matt and Sam entered the small room.
"Which tile was askew?" asked Sam, looking up at the now-perfect ceiling.
I thought about what he'd asked. "I think it's that one," I said, pointing to the one above his head. "Hang on, though." Moving into the cubicle I had earlier occupied, I took up the correct position and looked up. It was definitely the one above Sam's head.
I moved back out as Sam jumped up on the counter. He then pushed the ceiling tile up, flipped his phone to flashlight, and used his incredible arms to lift himself up into the ceiling space. Now that was something I would never be able to do. My arms were barely strong enough to carry the grocery bags, let alone my own body weight.
"Be careful, Sam," called Matt. "Not all of those beams are strong enough to hold you."
"And that's why I'm the one going up," said Sam. "I'll make sure I don't fall through." Matt's ears turned a little bit pink, but he was probably used to Sam teasing him about how clumsy he was.
"Can you see anything?" I asked.
"Yeah, I can," said Sam, sticking his head back down to us.
"What?"
"A blood-covered glass vase and a partial bloody handprint on the beam next to me."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Sam took lots of photos using his smartphone and then lowered himself back down to us. Personally, I was already sitting on the floor, hugging my knees to my chest.
Sam crouched down in front of me.
"This is good, Alex. We can now prove that someone else did it as we have a fingerprint in blood."
I nodded. I knew that, yet my body seemed to have started to shake and didn't want to stop, probably because it was creeped out as hell that someone had been watching me while I peed. I'd never trust another public toilet again. Ever.
"I want to phone Sergeant Helms again," said Matt. "Give him an update on what we've found and ask how long until the helicopter will be here."
"Okay," said Sam. "While you do that, I want to take another look at the footage. I want to watch the crowd to see if we can see anybody who looks like Alex in it. If we can zoom close enough, we'll maybe see who it is. Give the police as much information as we can."
"Okay, but only because I want this to be over," I said. "I really want to go to the studio and sleep. I don't want to be traipsing back and forth trying to figure out who did this. I live in a happy world! Not one where people dress up as me and go around hitting and maybe killing people!" I was close to hysteria. I knew that. But I couldn't seem to stop it.
Sam pulled me in close and held me tight. I only moved once his warmth had replaced the cold feeling in the pit of my stomach. I dried my tears, swallowed my pride, and took some deep breaths. Then I followed him to the studio to retrieve his camera. Once he'd done that, we went back to the production booth. Sam plugged the camera in, and we sat and watched this evening all over again.
This time, however, I was more focused on the crowd. It appeared everybody was having a great time, and if Wes hadn't died, it would have seemed that tonight was a success. Sam fast-forwarded to the point where Faith reappeared. I looked for the similarities in the two of us. Faith had blonde hair, I had blonde hair. She had green-blue eyes, I had green eyes. Tonight she wore a black top, but I'd worn a white one. It was only as she smiled that I saw what Sam was talking about. We didn't look identical, but we definitely could pass as sisters. Shit. Maybe Sam was right. Maybe this was more than a type.
I was just contemplating the implications of that when Matt entered the room.
"How did it go with the poli
ce?" I asked.
"I filled Ed in on what we'd found, and he said to sit tight and keep everyone in one place. The helicopter is on its way back from the south coast and is stopping in Westport to pick him up. They should be here in an hour or so."
I felt reassured at those words. Matt sat and looked at the screen.
"Who's that there?" he asked, pointing to the screen.
Sam stopped the footage, rewinding it slightly until Matt said, "Stop".
It was a point where Sam and I were checking the reception for the phone cables or radio handsets. Sam had placed the camera on Tiffany's desk, but he'd left it recording. Standing in the hallway, peeking around at the corner at us, was Faith.
Sam pressed the play button and sped the video up, stopping whenever we could see someone hiding and watching us. We saw her three times. I knew someone had been following us.
"I thought she was supposed to be in the studio," said Matt.
I thought I'd asked Georgie to keep her with them.
"We need to ask her why she's been following us," I said, irritated.
Both men agreed, so we stood, ready to make our way back down the stairs to where Faith was supposed to be sleeping. Only we didn't need to go that far because, as we turned, we found Faith sneakily pulling her head back around the doorframe on the other side of the booth. She moved fast but not fast enough. Sam sprinted ahead of us and caught up with her, gently grabbing her arm and stopping her in her tracks.
"Why are you following me?" I demanded, catching up with them.
"Because you know where Jake is!" Hysteria shone in her eyes.
"No, I don't." I sighed. I really didn't want to go over this again.
"You have to know," said Faith, her shoulders slumping. "You're my only hope of finding him," she added quietly.
I looked at her expression. Her huge eyes were ringed with dark circles. Her makeup was now nonexistent, and her hair was messed. She'd lost her shoes somewhere along the way, and to me, she looked younger—almost childlike. I wondered about her grip on reality and if she was getting some sort of medical advice. I should have hated her for what she did to Jake and me all those years ago, but right now, that would be like hating a lost puppy. No one could do that. But I did make a mental note to talk to Jake when we found him and make sure he had her mental health assessed. That would be a fun conversation.
Invitation to Murder Page 16
