Love & Hate Series Box Set 2 (3-4) - In Too Deep - Skimming the Surface

by Joanna Mazurkiewicz

  Rogers looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.

  “This is bullshit, Micah. Complete and utter delusion. We have some lousy facts, witnesses that aren’t credible, and you’re telling me that Tahlia Sanderson broke into her flatmate’s room in the middle of the night and slashed her throat with no apparent motive.”

  He doesn’t get it, doesn’t know what she is capable of. The stuff with the press, her past and her lies about the night of the murder are making sense to me now. Maybe Rogers can’t see it, but I’m further in this than he thinks. On top of that the guy that came forward just vanished. This isn’t fucking normal.

  “You can believe what you want, but in two days I’ll have what we both need.”

  Rogers drags his hand through his hair, twisting his fingers with frustration.

  “There is something going on between you and that girl. A porter and some students have been talking to the patrolling officers on the grounds. Apparently you’ve been seen in her flat a dozen times, and this doesn’t look good on us. Even if you find the proof, this case might be dismissed.”

  I tense my muscles, imagining my life without her, seeing her behind bars. It’s fucking painful, and it doesn’t feel right. Rogers might be right, but I have to keep going, regardless of the consequences.

  I don’t know why I’m so certain that she is guilty. My heart starts pounding in my chest when I think about last night. I can’t love her; it’s too soon. We barely know each other. There is no way that I could be that weak, that stupid, but my body is betraying me, sending alarm signals to my brain, letting me know that I’m happy when we’re together, like I used to be when Steph was in my life.

  “You know that I’m fucking her, Rogers,” I admit, shifting on the chair, “but it’s all good, all under control.”

  “Nothing like that is ever under control, Micah. Fine, let’s do this your way, but don’t come crying when you are ordered to give back your badge. Clarke will tear you apart once he finds out.”

  I don’t say anything to that, but Rogers carries on, trying to convince me to stop burying myself further and just concentrate on the case. Steph has been waiting years to get some sort of justice and I’m closer than I’ve ever been before. I tell him that I have everything under control and he needs to chill out. In the end he storms out of the office, leaving me alone.

  After lunch I catch up with Clarke. Tomorrow morning, I’m driving back to London, to main headquarters to re-open Steph’s murder investigation. Clarke wants me to close this case as soon as possible, to get the press on our side. He has been getting pressure from upstairs. No one is happy. The public needs reassurance, and the murderer needs to be brought to justice.

  I have a headache when I leave Clarke’s office. If I find damaging evidence against Tahlia, we probably will never see each other again. I’m not planning to visit her in prison. This could never work. Whatever feelings I have for her won’t matter. She will be just another criminal.

  My heart is burning deep in my chest when I get home later that evening. I think about T briefly, wondering if he’s all right. I look at my phone and my finger scrolls through the contacts. Sighing loudly, I finally dial, feeling my heart tightening in my chest. Her soft voice rings in my ears.

  “Hello, Micah?”

  “You okay?” I answer with the question as my muscles relax instantly. Even the sound of her voice lifts my mood up.

  “Fine. I thought you’re coming over tonight?” she asks, with a hint of hope.

  All I can think of right now is her smooth skin and her hands all over my back and arms. I shift on the chair, trying to push away the flaming desire that keeps burning in my loins.

  “Something came up. I need to leave for a couple of days,” I tell her, wondering if she is going to miss me. I doubt it. On the other hand, maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.

  Who the fuck knows what she is going to do next?

  “Where are you going?”

  “London, for work. I have to look into another case,” I lie, feeling like a coward again.

  “That’s why you should come over. I need a proper goodbye,” she says quietly, almost whispering. “I’m going to miss you.”

  “You liked it when I made you come like that, baby, when you screamed and moaned?” I tease her, recalling how wet she was for me then.

  “Phone sex isn’t working out for me, Detective. I need you here with me.”

  “I can’t. There’s other stuff going on. I need to work tonight. I’ll see you on the weekend, right?”

  “You’re going to see your parents, aren’t you?” she asks with some sort of resentment in her voice. I clench my jaw, wondering where the hell this came from. I don’t think about my parents, especially after the interviews that my mother got money for. The voices in my head are quiet, muted. The other Micah is gone. I’m back on the case, knowing that it’s time to start working harder and smarter. She trusts me, but this trip could change everything. Fuck, why did I even think that it was okay for me to pretend that my intentions were real?

  “No, Tahlia, I won’t see them. My parents are like leeches. After the recent articles I don’t want to associate myself with them,” I tell her more aggressively than I want. “I’ll see you when I come back. Stay out of trouble, Pinky Head.”

  I don’t give her a chance to say anymore. The crashing guilt is making me uncomfortable and uneasy. I get back to the flat and get on with packing. Then I try to get some sleep, but I end up tossing and turning for good few hours.

  I finally drift away early in the morning. My alarm wakes me up at five a.m. It’s still dark when I throw my bag into the back of the boot and drive off, leaving Braxton behind for the first time since I ended up here.

  The stories about me and my estranged parents are still in the papers. Thoughts about Tahlia and our time together in the manor filter through my head all the way to London. I can’t seem to concentrate on the stuff that is important. My stomach is in knots, and I’m restless. For no apparent reason I’m feeling slightly on edge. I force myself to make a few stops on the way and have something to eat. Several hours later, when I finally reach London, my mind seem much sharper. I need to stay on top of the game.

  It’s just before lunchtime when I check in at the hotel. I arrive at the main headquarters in early afternoon. The main reception is busy, and once I’m done with registration, I’m directed to the archive room. The guy that is showing me everything is over-enthusiastic about his job.

  It takes him ages to find the right alley. He bores me with some facts about the most recent murder cases that the guys upstairs are currently working on. I try to act as if I’m not excited when he finally gives me access to the files for the case I need. All the paperwork is dusty. The files have been buried here for a long eight years. For a moment I imagine that I’m back in the manor house, in the library. I inhale the smell of old paper and dust, getting stuck into the paperwork straight away.

  The information and evidence that I manage to pull off Steph’s old case a couple of years ago helped me to establish that both crimes are linked. The detective who ran the case was an arsehole, but I’m hoping that he did a good job with cataloging all the evidence. There is a lot of it to go through: the witnesses’ statements, the old footage, and stacks and stacks of paperwork and detailed forensic reports from the crime scene.

  I don’t think about Tahlia, but I’m slightly disappointed when her name doesn’t appear on any list. I make some notes as I go along and then move to the CCTV footage. My blood rises when I see the familiar streets, the faces that I knew in the past. Steph’s parents sent her to a private college, but that night she was staying with some friends, studying for upcoming exams.

  I cover my head with my palms, trying to slow down my erratic breathing. Overwhelming anxiety pushes its way through my system, trying to get hold of me. I’m in charge right now, and sooner or later something will come up. In the end I take a break in order to recharge my battery. I have been b
uried in the basement for a good few hours.

  I feel like the past has its hands wrapped around my neck and it keeps squeezing. Someone either planned to kill her or she was a random victim, like Suranne.

  A couple of uniforms stare at me when I show up in the canteen. They probably know me from the papers. Word gets passed around and certain people are aware of what’s going on around the country. The headquarters building is ten times the size of the station, and I feel out of place here. I never liked living in the city; even now I know that I wouldn’t fit in. I finish my food and get back to the archives. On the way down I get a text message from Tahlia.

  I’m thinking about you.

  I smile, then save the text. I still have no real evidence that she murdered her roommate. Deep down I know that if I fail to find anything that links her to that case, I have to come clean, tell her everything. Maybe I never should have doubted her innocence. She had no real motive to kill that girl. Our relationship was honest, and she fixed me, made me a human being.

  I switch off my personal phone and get back to the files that are spread over the table. I go through statements, searching through the life database and other additional documents. The homeless guy that was seen around the area was quickly dismissed as a suspect. The detective that investigated Steph’s murder case interrogated Steph’s best friends for days.

  I keep watching the footage from around the college grounds, but I don’t get anything from the other side of the street. Eight years ago, the college claimed that one of the cameras on that side of the street was down. That seems too familiar, because the exact same thing happened in Braxton.

  I drag my hand through my hair and glance at my watch. It’s late and I need to get some sleep. I decide to head back to the hotel early as planned. The drive through traffic takes ages and by the time I get back to my hotel room it’s after eight. It’s frustrating that I can’t find any substantial information about Tahlia, even in the life database.

  The names in the files that I take with me seem useless. After ordering room service, I pace around the room, thinking, doubting. It looks like I’m wrong. Tahlia is simply a lost girl with a rocky past. Instead of getting more obsessed with this case, I dismiss my empty stomach and leave again.

  There is only one place in London that might calm me down, the place that I have to visit again. I start the car and drive out of the hotel parking lot, knowing that I might at least take a look at the street where I grew up, where the people that gave birth to me still live.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight.

  Once upon a time, there was a girl.

  Gripping apprehension takes hold of me as I drive through the busy streets of the city that I used to love so much. My life wasn’t perfect when I was growing up. I learnt how to live with an alcoholic father and a mother that cared only for herself. As a child I was obsessively scared of darkness. My mother liked locking me away in the shed, so she didn’t have to deal with me. From an early age I realised my family was toxic.

  It’s just after eight o’clock at night now as I turn onto my street. Everything seems the same, only the houses and roads are in need of repair. When I get closer, my heart skips a fucking beat. It’s strange being here, thinking that I have the option to come back here at any time.

  Panic is punching a hole in my chest. I’m not like them, I never have been and I never will be. They disgust me now, still taking money from the state, money that they are not entitled to. For years I had to listen to my mother talking about her ways of saving and cheating the system. I should have reported them when I had a chance, ending it once and for all, but no. I was too scared to become the bad guy, the person that turned against his own family, his people.

  The night is still young and traffic is building up. I’m five minutes away from the place that turned me into a sad, isolated cop, the person that I am today. My breath is laboured, and I still see their twisted faces, the greedy smiles. I hear my mother begging me to keep the secret, telling me that I could forget about my dreams if I made that phone call. There is no point feeling nostalgic about them. I left that life behind to be a better man. It’s my last time. I’m here to shut down the voices from the past, to convince myself that I made the right decision.

  After some time, I drive into my estate. My heart slams against my ribs when I pass the houses, people, things that impacted my future. Now and then, grim-looking residents, junkies, and drunks sneak down the dirty streets, glancing around. I slow down and hear arguments between a young mother and some guy who is standing at the door of one of the houses. People are staring, but it’s already dark. No one knows me here anymore.

  The car rolls until it stops by the edge of the street, right in front of a semidetached council house. The street lamps seem broken. Right opposite me is the house where I grew up. The lights inside are on, but I have no idea if the scumbags are in or not. I kill the engine, switch off the light and just sit there waiting. This silence raises my blood pressure. I shouldn’t even be here right now.

  The old washing machine is outside. My mother always talked about getting a newer model. She probably finally managed to get it on credit.

  The fence around the house is falling apart, the roof needs repairing. This is not how I imagined this house would look. All of a sudden someone appears in the window. It’s my obese father. He looks like he can barely move. Eight years ago he was drinking a few litres of cheap cider every single day, and his health wasn’t great then. Looking at him now, I’m amazed that he is still alive.

  Then I wonder what the hell I’m doing here.

  I take a deep breath and start the engine. The recent articles in the paper only proved that I shouldn’t be thinking about them at all. Sitting outside their house and spying won’t fix anything. I was probably the only person from the estate that managed to get somewhere in life. I know that after Steph was murdered, Josh got into trouble a lot. I was too overwhelmed with anger to care about him. I assumed that he moved away to another part of London with that girl that he used to hang around with a lot. I never thought about her after I left for uni, but I do have one memory of her. Maybe it was the only time we actually spoke. She came to visit me a few days after I found Steph.

  “What do you think happened to her then?” my mother asks for the fifth time, drinking her tea and eating digestive biscuits.

  I can’t take being around her today, especially after spending half the day at the police station. That guy, the detective, asked me a lot of pointless questions and I was getting frustrated. He took lots of notes, acting like he didn’t believe in anything I was saying. He promised to keep my name out of the files if I revealed what I knew.

  I found Steph almost twenty-four hours ago, in that room, with her throat open. I haven’t spoken to anyone else since then. I feel numb, unable to comprehend that she’s gone.

  I finally look at my mother. She is forcing more biscuits into her mouth, staring at me with that typical lazy look on her face. I used to look at her with admiration and respect when I was young. Then she left me with one of the neighbours in the estate and went out for a drunken ramble with my father. She was gone for about a week, and the guy used to lock me up in his room for most of the day. I hated her after that.

  “She was murdered. Someone slashed her throat,” I say, probably for the third time.

  “Do the police know that you were her boyfriend?” she asks with her mouth full.

  “Why are you suddenly so interested in Steph? You didn’t give a damn when I brought her here a couple of weeks ago,” I shout, losing control, shaking. My mother licks her fingers, ignoring me.

  “Her parents had money. Maybe you will be entitled to some insurance,” she suggests, and her eyes glow with the sudden possibility of making a profit on someone’s misery.

  I get up and leave the room because I’m so close to hitting her, smashing her face against the wall. My drunken father isn’t at home and maybe that’s a good thing, because I would have killed him
too.

  My mother’s brain doesn’t function like other people’s. I have never been aggressive, but right now I can’t seem to catch my breath. The rage and anger are rippling through me like a storm and I’m ready to explode. It’s been twenty-four hours, the longest day in my life. I never thought that I could be in so much pain. It’s like my world has ended, and no one is able to fix it. Steph is gone.

  I grab my jacket and storm out, walking straight into someone.

  “Micah… hi. I wasn’t sure if you were in.”

  I stop abruptly, taking short breaths, and look at Josh’s girlfriend. He used to call her Rose, but I never knew if that was her real name. We barely knew each other, maybe spoke once or twice. I stopped hanging out with Josh when I started dating Steph. For some reason she didn’t like him and after the incident with her dog, we were careful not to bump into him again.

  “Rose, right? What are you doing here?” I ask her, trying to push the anger away. I need to calm down.

  I look at her to distract myself from daunting thoughts. Rose looks nervous. She is wearing baggy trousers and a two-sizes-too-big hoodie. When Josh introduced her to me for the first time, I thought that she was pretty, but now she has that haunted look on her face.

  “I need to talk to you about something,” she says, looking anxiously around and pulling her sleeves down, trying to hide her hands. A dog barks and she flinches, jumping on the spot. Then, for some unknown reason, I’m not angry anymore. There is just pain and grief.

  “Talk then, I’m listening. It’s better here than inside, trust me. You don’t want to meet my mother,” I say with a heavy sigh.

  She takes a step towards me. “I heard about your girlfriend and I wanted to tell you how sorry I am,” she says quietly, looking at me with tears in her eyes. She seems truly upset. Rose must be the first person today that understands how I’m feeling right now. Everyone else is just asking stupid, pointless questions. Maybe I should tell her that I haven’t cried yet.