by Nic Roberts
“Great plan,” Clara responded, enthusiasm thick in her voice. “I’ll do some more digging later, see if there are any other indicators as to who his victim may have been or if there’s anything else that would cause someone to become homicidal in his presence.”
Her colleague was right. There had to be a piece to this puzzle that they were missing.
“Thank you so much, Clara,” Olivia replied, already revving up her computer. “Oh, and before—”
“Already sent the love letters to your work email,” the tech analyst replied before she could finish her sentence.
“Adding ‘mind reader’ to your list of skills,” Olivia muttered with a smile. “You’re going to get that drink sooner than you think if you keep up that quick analysis.”
Clara laughed heartily.
“On that note, I’m off,” she declared. “I’m supposed to be having a day off at the races. Talk to you later, perhaps? Good luck!”
After the call ended, Olivia stared at her phone, dread building in her stomach. She knew that despite his request, she should call Lawrence to discuss the break in the case. Don’t call me. His words echoed in her mind, a sinister repetition that had been in the periphery of her awareness since Monday afternoon.
Her finger hovered above Lawrence’s name, his smile in her phone’s profile for him staring back up at her. Just do it, she urged herself. The case is more important.
Before she could press the button to ring him, their incident room-cum-office door swept open.
“Lawrence,” she exhaled, looking up to see her partner walking into the office as though nothing had happened. He refused to meet her gaze.
“Detective Austin,” he replied, setting his bag down at his desk.
Olivia’s heart fell. He never called her by her last name. She stood frozen for a moment, unsure what to do as he quietly unpacked his things.
“Clara just called with a break in the case,” she blurted out, jumping straight into their work. Their friendship might need some repairing after Monday, but it was time to solve the case, not worry about how they operated together after hours.
“She’s a quick one, Clara is,” he responded. “What’d she figure out?” Lawrence finally looked at Olivia. She never thought she’d be so grateful to meet the steady stare from his brown eyes. It filled her with hope. Thank you for coming back, she wanted to say. I’ve needed you here.
“She hacked into Mr. Fisher’s computer,” Olivia explained instead, returning to the case at hand. “Found loads of love letters between him and his victim.”
Her emails loaded, and she clicked on the top one from Clara. Each note that was written had been attached.
“Do we know who it is?” Lawrence asked, curiosity obviously piqued. He moved over to Olivia’s side to look at her screen, the scent of his cologne moving with him.
Olivia let her eyes close briefly as she welcomed in the essence of him. I missed you.
“No,” she answered, “Only that he called her Bright Star. Does that mean anything to you?” She looked up at Lawrence, who hovered above her shoulder, and he looked her back, dead in the eye.
“It’s Keats,” he replied.
She could almost see the cogs turning behind his eyes, connections being made with every blink. She silently thanked the universe for bringing Lawrence back to her; this would have taken so much more time if she were on her own.
“The poet?” Olivia asked, studying her partner’s features. She was without a doubt, impressed.
“Indeed. It’s one of his most famous poems, written for his true love.” He was poring over Clara’s attachment of letters with Olivia as he spoke. “Their story was tragic. He died of tuberculosis after their secret engagement at the age of twenty-five. She wore his engagement ring until she herself died.” He paused as he clicked on one and opened it bigger. “Yes, see, right here. ‘I have been astonished that Men could die Martyrs for religion – I have shudder’d at it – I shudder no more – I could be martyr’d for my Religion – Love is my religion – I could die for that – I could die for you.’” Lawrence read an excerpt from the email aloud. “That’s Keats to Fanny Brawne.”
Realisation hit Olivia and Dean at the same time.
“Francesca,” they both exhaled.
17
“We can’t be sure that it’s Francesca just because her name is close to Fanny’s,” Olivia reasoned as they raced across town to the school. Lawrence had called Mr. Hargraves immediately after the duo had realised who the letters could be addressing. They were going to meet with Francesca once they arrived.
“Agreed,” Lawrence replied. “Still, it would be an incredible coincidence if it was someone else. He’s an English teacher, after all.”
“True,” Olivia responded. “Let’s just make sure we keep an open mind. Just in case.”
Lawrence hummed in agreement. The pair had gotten so caught up in the whirlwind of discovery that they hadn’t had any time to process his absence the past day and a half, and as the silence crept into the car, so too did the knowledge that eventually they would have to address it.
“So,” Lawrence started, gently glancing over to Olivia before returning his gaze to the road. “What else did I miss?”
We’re going to keep on ignoring it, then, Olivia thought dejectedly to herself. She wasn’t sure why she expected anything more, but that didn’t lessen the sting she felt.
“Mostly just checking facts and confirming records,” she replied, choosing not to look at Lawrence as she spoke. “I spoke with Lydia Fisher’s sister, Margaret Anderson. She confirmed that Lydia went to bed around 9pm on the night of the murder, although I’m not sure how much I trust her. She seems like she’d lie for Lydia in a heartbeat. Plus, Our Lyds could have always snuck out.”
Lawrence nodded at that explanation, eyes firmly on the road as he came to a junction.
“I recorded it in case you’d like to listen to it,” she offered, aware she was probably talking too much. “My guess is that Lydia didn’t kill Simon, but I don’t think Margaret’s corroboration makes her alibi rock solid. If this case has proven anything, it’s that people will do wild things for love.”
“Indeed,” Lawrence agreed. “Simon’s life was full of secrets, after all.”
“You can say that again,” Olivia sighed. “Also, Dr. James finalised the autopsy report. It was intense overkill, possibly with a blunt object. The body was surprisingly clean of evidence from the killer, which he made sure to note. It doesn’t usually fit with a passionate murder like this one. Still, it’ll help prove that this was premeditated. Dr. James did find a long blonde hair, though.”
“And Francesca’s a brunette,” Lawrence added.
His comment hung in the car for a moment.
“You really think a small fifteen-year-old girl is capable of heaving a man as large as Simon Fisher off of a balcony?” Olivia asked, incredulously turning to her partner.
“Not necessarily,” he replied. “But do I think we should rule out her involvement right away? No.” He met Olivia’s stare briefly. “And it’s possible that at the end of the brutal attack, something made Simon jump.”
Olivia settled back into her seat.
“I highly doubt that,” she answered.
“I didn’t say probable. Just possible,” Lawrence bristled.
Olivia debated responding but couldn’t think of anything adequate to say.
The knowledge that they were eventually going to have to settle their fight from Monday once again seeped into the car, becoming more and more obvious with each passing second.
“So,” Lawrence exhaled, eyes locked on the road. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Do I want to talk about it?” Olivia demanded, whirling to face her partner. “Funny of you to just walk in after almost two days and act like nothing’s wrong and then ask if I want to talk about it.”
Annoyance coated Olivia’s voice with each new word. She hadn’t planned for things to get
so heated, but it was getting ridiculous now. The real elephant in the room was the fact that her partner had buggered off at something so trivial. He’d heard what Francesca had said. He’d heard her words that were dipped in poison, and Olivia had apologised profusely. Dragging it on any longer than necessary was bordering on childish.
She took a deep breath and mentally counted to ten.
“It’s a simple question, Liv,” Lawrence replied evenly. His calm attitude made Olivia’s blood boil even more.
“You can be so infuriating sometimes, you know that?” she groaned. She hadn’t thought this far ahead in all of her ponderings about this moment. She’d been focused on getting Lawrence back, not on the hard conversations they would need to have after. Or how difficult he could make things.
Lawrence flexed his arms against the steering wheel.
“I know,” he replied, voice quiet.
Olivia turned out toward the window, watching the houses and people as they drove past. The pause in their conversation gave her a moment to gather her thoughts and process everything slowly.
“Listen, Lawrence,” she started, after feeling the annoyance dissolve slightly. “I understand why you were upset with me. I went too far. I get it. Why I’m upset is that you left me out to dry. And even if you’re mad at me, we,” she gestured between them, “are still a team. And I need to know that you’ve still got my back. You can’t just abandon me in the middle of a case!” Her rant sat in the air, hanging over the two detectives like a storm cloud.
She heard him take a long slow breath.
“I’ve got your back,” Lawrence replied after a moment of silence. “I waited to come back until I knew that I could do it. I didn’t want to pretend like I was okay with everything when I wasn’t. And I’ll be better about not dropping everything in our professional life if we have an argument again.”
Olivia nodded.
“I guess I just want to understand why it came to this,” she said. “Why did it affect you so much that you had to lie about being sick just to avoid me?”
Lawrence shook his head, and for a moment she thought he wasn’t going to answer. Instead, he pulled the car over to the side of the road and turned to her. His brows were furrowed in an expression she hadn’t seen before.
“What is it,” Olivia asked.
He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled deeply.
“Five years ago,” he started, “as a DC, I was with my DI out talking to a young woman. She thought her stalker was the same guy suspected of murder. She was a little bitch, there’s no denying it, but we had a job to do and a duty to her. Honestly, she was vile, but I understood that behind it all, she was damaged. My DI laid into her. Really gave it all out. Everything got...” He paused, and Olivia reached out to touch his arm.
“Go on...” she encouraged.
He nodded slowly.
“Ah... I still remember it fresh on my mind,” he responded. “This DI, you might remember him... His family died in that fire. DI Wayne. Well, this girl said some shit about how he should have died in the fire too, and he fucking lost it. Grabbed her, I mean. It just went bad, and I had to break him away…and he lost his job, of course. But the worst part? The girl killed herself that night. Thought that if the police couldn’t help her, no one could.”
“God...” Olivia sighed. “I mean, that’s just bloody awful.”
Lawrence hummed.
“It is...was,” he agreed. “So, when I saw what happened with you, it brought it all back, and then the tension and the thinking... I got this migraine, and I know it sounds stupid, but I just couldn’t do that again. It can’t happen.”
Olivia watched the expression on his face.
“Dean, I’m...” She tried to think of a better thing to say but came up short. “I’m so sorry. Really sorry. Honestly, I am. I had no idea...”
She could understand it now and see why her reaction had thrown him over the edge and why he needed space.
She squeezed his arm.
“I promise this won’t happen again,” Olivia reassured him. She let out a shallow breath as Francesca's words entered her mind, reminding her of just how cutting they had been. “And even if I do get angry again, I’ll walk out. I won’t lash out on a victim, let alone a child.”
“Good,” Lawrence replied. He let his eyes meet with hers for the first time since he’d pulled over. “Because if you do it again, I may be out of this partnership for good.”
I may be out of this partnership for good. The words lurked in Olivia’s mind as she followed Mr. Hargraves to the meeting room. She knew he’d meant it, too and it shocked her that Lawrence was so ready to cut and run.
I’ve got this, she told herself. You’re cool, calm, and collected. And no teenager is going to change that, she promised herself. She glanced at Lawrence, who strode down the halls with a quiet confidence, no hint of their earlier argument present in his body language. Does it hurt you like it hurts me? she wanted to ask him, but she couldn’t bring herself to rouse up that scar tissue. They needed to focus on the case, not on their squabble, even if she thought they may need a bit more of a resolution.
“Miss Atkinson will be in shortly,” Mr. Hargraves told the detectives before closing the door to the room.
Despite everything that had happened the last time, Francesca had insisted ‘no snoops like Bev’ were allowed in to listen to her conversation. The head had been adamant on that fact, telling them the teen said she wouldn’t see them if that were the case. After some toing and froing, they’d agreed the AA would stay in the corridor, and now, as they settled down at the end of a long table, Liv wondered what the girl was so afraid of revealing in front of someone.
“So, we know what we’re doing?” Lawrence confirmed, looking to his partner.
She gave him a quick reassuring smile.
“Brilliant,” he declared, settling into his chair with the gentle clearing of his throat. “As she won’t have anyone in with her, we have to make sure we get enough written down to compare later.”
Olivia nodded, folding herself into her own one.
The duo spent the next couple of minutes looking at their notes as they waited for Francesca to arrive. The silence, though slightly tense, was more comfortable this time. So much so that they barely noticed the figure of the teen as she appeared in the doorway, her arms crossed in silhouette.
“Francesca,” Lawrence called out, standing. “Please, come in.”
Liv stood also, joining her partner.
“What is she doing here?” Francesca demanded as she walked into the room, stopping as soon as she noticed Olivia.
“She’s my partner, Francesca. She needs to be here,” Lawrence encouraged, giving Olivia a look. “It’s the rules. But you only have to talk to me,”
Liv bit her lip to stop herself from saying anything. Francesca still looked wary.
“She can apologise if you’d like,” Lawrence offered. “Or just sit in the back of the room and observe. You can pretend like she’s not even here.”
The teen looked between the two detectives, indecision playing across her features.
“I want you to apologise,” she declared finally, crossing her arms again. Her eyebrows raised and lowered quickly in a challenge.
Olivia took a deep breath. It was harder than she thought to swallow down everything the young girl had said and apologise. She could feel Dean’s eyes on her. The weight of his past experiences hanging on her shoulders.
“I’m sorry for yelling at you, Francesca,” Olivia spoke, keeping her words slow and her voice quiet. “It was unprofessional and inappropriate, and I promise it won’t happen again. As soon as I realised what happened, I regretted it, and I hope you accept my apology.”
That seemed to do the trick, as Miss Atkinson flounced into a chair after giving Olivia another look. It was very much on the smug side, but at least it was behind them for now.
“Good!” Lawrence said, pleased that nothing more had come from the mini i
ncident. “Mind if we start?”
“Whatever.” She sighed, playing with her nails.
“Okay, right,” he did his best to keep his voice calm, almost sweet, and Olivia admired that. It took some strength to rise above a brat. “We really appreciate you meeting with us again and understand that you didn’t want to have your parents or any adults present. Partially because of that, we think you know some things that may be very helpful in the investigation into Mr. Fisher’s murder.”
Francesca seemed to freeze at that, her attempt at ambivalence evaporating. It was a clever smokescreen while it lasted, but she wasn’t terribly good at maintaining it.
“You...you didn’t say murder at the assembly,” she commented, voice a bit shaky.
Lawrence nodded.
“We didn’t want to alarm the whole school,” he offered. “Plus, we didn’t have confirmation back from the medical examiner. But now that we do, it’s even more important we understand what Mr. Fisher was like. Who disliked him? If he had any enemies...” Lawrence paused for dramatic effect between each sentence. Francesca huffed at the enemies comment, prompting Dean to lean in closer, hands folded in front of him.
“Do you know if he had any enemies, Francesca?” he asked, attempting to meet her gaze.
She shifted awkwardly.
“How should I know?” The tone of her question fell flat, and Lawrence raised an eyebrow at her. “No, no enemies,” she added with a deep breath, her leg bouncing quickly as she lifted and lowered her heel against the ground.
Nervous tick, Olivia wanted to say, but she kept her mouth shut. They had agreed that she wouldn’t speak unless Francesca directly addressed her.
“Understood,” Lawrence commented, making a point to write in his notepad.
“Except for maybe his wife,” Francesca piped up, unable to refrain from elaborating.
“His wife?” Lawrence asked, quirking his head.
The girl nodded.
“Yeah, he hated her,” she answered. “They’d stopped living together.” A daring smile accompanied her commentary.
