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The conference had a later start on Thursday, and after spending another platonic night in Adele’s bed, Nick was finishing breakfast in her room again, when his phone rang.
Adele picked it up. “Hi, it’s Adele.”
The look of horror on her face was almost comical.
“Yeah,” she said. “We’re on our way out, and I picked up Nick’s phone by mistake. Same ringtone. Sorry about the confusion.” She listened and said, “He’s just here somewhere. One moment.” Covering the mouthpiece with her hand, she called Nick’s name loudly.
He grinned at the pantomime and took the phone she thrust in his hand. “Hi. Nick speaking.”
“Hey. It’s me.” Lara sounded desolate, and guilt swamped him.
“What’s up?” He struggled to keep his voice normal.
“Did you hear the police opened a murder enquiry? They think Jason was pushed, instead of jumping.”
What? Did he hear her correctly? “No. Seriously?”
“I had a catch-up first thing, with Jordan and his consultant, Aiden.” She hesitated. “I had to tell them everything I knew.”
“You told them what we thought Jason did to Adele?” Nick watched Adele lift her head, her gaze focused on his face.
“Yes,” said Lara. “I had to. I’ll probably be interviewed by the police, too. They’ll want to talk to you as well, and Adele of course.”
Poor Adele. She wanted to keep this private, but if there was a murder enquiry, there could be no secrets.
“Do they know we’re not back until tomorrow evening?”
“I guess. You must tell her I’m sorry. I’m sure she didn’t want it to come out this way.” She sighed. “And Nick, I stressed to Jordan how honest you are.”
It was an odd thing to say. What was she implying? While Nick tried to form a suitable response, Lara said goodbye, blew him a kiss, and disconnected. He was left with the unpleasant task of updating Adele.
Her eyes were wide and scared, and her voice came out as a whisper. “So Jordan knows? My boss knows I was raped?”
Nick nodded.
“Fucking brilliant. How hideously embarrassing. I don’t suppose Lara could have kept quiet?”
“Adele, the police are investigating a murder. They need to know about this.”
“I know,” she cried, “but why did Lara have to tell Jordan, of all people.” She subsided and wrapped her arms around herself. She was trembling like a sapling in a strong breeze.
It was another step across a blurred line, but Nick took her in his arms and held her until she calmed down. He dropped little kisses to her hair and couldn’t help wondering what she’d do if he kissed her for real. He wouldn’t, but that didn’t stop him from remembering the one time they had sex—how good it was, how perfect Adele was for him.
No matter how he tried to justify his actions to himself, he couldn’t. It was wrong to behave like this, and he hated himself for it. Everything he’d done with Adele had to stay a secret, or Lara would never trust him again.
****
Jordan called an emergency meeting to brief his senior managers. Since Nick and Adele were still in Paris, they joined via a conference call.
He outlined the news about Jason’s death, and asked for everyone’s cooperation. Maybe some people knew Jason outside of work, through the gym or other sports, drinking haunts, girlfriends, and so on. Any information might be relevant.
The team filed out of the room in silence. This sordid affair was casting a dark cloud over the company, at a time when they didn’t need it. Thaddeus was pushing hard to get quick results to the investigation, and Jordan shared his concerns about their reputation. TM-Tech was bidding for a significant piece of business with the Ministry of Defence, with a contract that would guarantee their return to profitability. It was taking every part of Jordan’s concentration to keep a steady hand on the negotiations.
He didn’t need a follow-up visit from the police, later that morning.
They thanked him for his assistance, but had more requests. They wanted access to Jason’s office and desk, to go through his belongings. To the best of Jordan’s knowledge, nobody’d used Jason’s office since it was last used on Tuesday, two days ago.
Then the police mentioned inconsistencies about the body.
“What do you mean?”
The first detective, Sergeant Cooper, flicked through his notebook. “Granted, there wasn’t much left of the body. It was only identified by the belongings he was carrying—his wallet and driving licence. He didn’t appear to have a mobile phone, which is unusual these days, or any keys. We did a thorough search of the accident site and could find neither.”
“Could they be in his desk? But how would he get home without keys?”
“Precisely. And the phone is a strange thing to go missing, unless it was stolen. It would be a curious coincidence.”
Jordan didn’t know what they expected him to say.
The second officer, Constable Moore, said, “We did a search of his apartment, and we found a suicide note.”
Huh? “You said you’re investigating this as a murder. Why would you, if he left a suicide note?”
“It’s a puzzle, isn’t it? Would you like to see a copy?” Constable Moore handed Jordan a typed sheet of paper.
To whom it may concern.
I can’t take the stress any longer. I’m sorry to do this.
Jason
Jordan shook his head, baffled. “I don’t understand. Does this mean you’re looking at it as a suicide again?”
Sergeant Cooper shrugged, his face impassive. “We have no idea, Sir. It certainly adds another complication to an already complicated picture.”
****
Thanks to Frankie’s little pills, Sylvie slept all night, but at a cost. Her mouth was dry, and had a metallic taste, her limbs felt heavy, and her head buzzed. On the good side, there’d been no dreams. It was as though she blacked out the moment her head hit the pillow. She never experienced such deep, dark sleep before.
She drifted downstairs and into the kitchen, where she made and drank a strong coffee, then waited for the caffeine buzz to lift her, before heading into the studio to find Alex.
He was in a brilliant mood and greeted her with a hug that swept her off her feet. “Great news,” he cried. “Social Services approved us to be foster carers for Callum. We can collect him next weekend.”
It was all becoming real. Talking about adopting Callum, even interviewing the nannies, had been an abstract concept until now. He’d be here in a week or so. Instead of the intense surge of anxiety she expected, Sylvie felt strangely detached. Was this another side effect of Frankie’s pills?
Alex looked happy, so Sylvie dug deep to manage a smile. She tried to seem enthusiastic, but it was beyond her.
Holding her close, Alex spoke quietly into her ear. “You won’t regret this. I promise. I love you so much, Syl. I’d be nothing without you.”
“I love you too,” she whispered back and squeezed him tight. They’d celebrate properly later, when she was more awake.
She felt sluggish all day but managed the rehearsal reasonably well, aided by more coffee. When Alex joked that she’d be taking it intravenously soon, she laughed with him and shrugged it off. She’d be fine.
After lunch, she needed some fresh air and persuaded Alex to go with her for a short walk on the beach. When they came back, she sat down in the quiet of the lounge. The armchair was comfortable, and she was tired.
She didn’t realise she was asleep at first. She heard someone calling her from upstairs, and she followed the voice. It sounded like Rico.
When she saw him standing in the doorway of the master bedroom, she halted. It had to be a dream. He beckoned her forwards, and she followed him into the massive walk-in closet they used for storage.
“Hey, Silverwood.” Rico slipped an arm around her shoulder and led her to a shelf at the back. It was empty, apart from a small cardboard box with the lid taped shut. Rico picked it up and tugged the tape apart.
Sylvie leaned forwards, to see what was inside, and the world changed again.
For a second, she was beyond disoriented. It felt as though she’d been tugged out of her body and dumped somewhere else.
She lurched awake and found herself sitting bolt upright in the armchair, her heart racing. She squeezed her eyes closed and thought back through the details. It was so real.
The sleeping pills ensured she had no dream to disturb her night, and she dreamed during the day instead. Was she losing her sanity?
Sylvie glanced at her watch, to find she’d been asleep a few minutes. Now she was wide awake, and curiosity burned inside her. There was no sign of Alex or anyone, so she headed upstairs to their bedroom. The box was there on the same shelf as she dreamed, although now it was surrounded by a pile of T-shirts.
There was a simple and rational explanation. She put it there, months ago. Maybe she saw it recently, when she was putting laundry away?
Sylvie wouldn’t be disturbed in their bedroom, and she wouldn’t be missed for a while if Alex thought she was sleeping. She carried the box to bed. It was small—about the size of a bag of sugar, but not as heavy. The contents moved around as she carried it. She pulled back the tape strips, lifted the flaps, and looked inside. She’d forgotten what was in it, apart from one thing. The flick knife Rico gave her.
He taught her how to defend herself. How to kill a man.
She picked it out of the box, weighed it in her hand, and pressed the little catch. The spring-loaded blade sprang out, as shiny and deathly sharp as ever. Sylvie gazed at it. Rico taught her how to use it and look after it. The knife was illegal in the UK, but she’d kept it.
The other things in the box were smaller. A couple of ticket stubs from a club they’d been to and a receipt from a long-ago pub lunch. Shells they found together on the beach. She had no photograph of him, but she wore his tiny St Christopher medal around her neck. She never took that off.
Sylvie lay back on the bed and curled her bare feet beneath her. Why was she dreaming about the flick knife? Alex would be horrified if he knew she had it. On an impulse, she pushed it deep into the back pocket of her jeans, and then taped up the box and replaced it on the shelf. The knife was a reassuring weight, as though anchoring her.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of activity and caffeine. She struggled to focus on the songs they were practising. Alex called a halt at one point, after she fluffed the same number three times in a row. The guys were patient—they all had off days—and after a short break she managed to get it right. Or near enough.
Frankie caught her eye late in the evening. He slipped her another two of his little white pills, and she stashed them in her pocket, and gulped them down in the bathroom. She needed some more quality sleep; that was all.
****
Cassie notified Jordan that Karl and Lara had been formally interviewed at the police station. He asked her to get Lara to come see him as soon as she was back. He didn’t know Karl. Since returning to head up the TM-Tech Europe office, many of the people were strangers to him. It wasn’t always like that. In the past, he tried to meet all of his employees. Now there weren’t enough hours in the day.
Lara walked in, her face pale and tight. She perched on her chair, as though she was ready to run out of his office.
“Are you okay?” Jordan asked.
She nodded. “I think so. Shocked I guess. They kept asking me about Karl—if I’d seen him get angry, and what time he’d been at the station.” She paused and took a sip of water. “I heard through the grapevine that he’s been arrested. Is that true?”
“No. It’s probably because he had to go to the station, like you. Did they mention Sylvie?”
“Yes. They want to talk to her as well. I left a message, to warn her.”
Jordan nodded. “I’ll catch up with her and Alex tonight, and they’ll be in London again next weekend.”
Lara picked at the ragged edge of one of her fingernails. She looked close to tears.
Jordan leaned forwards and touched her arm. “Why don’t you go home? Isn’t Nick back tonight?”
She nodded.
“It’ll be fine, don’t worry,” he said.
It was almost four in the afternoon, and Jordan wanted to get away too. It was his weekend for Rhosneigr. Kate had everything ready, the car was loaded up, and an hour later, they set off. He normally tried to leave earlier, and the late departure meant they were stuck in slow traffic.
It was after ten before they arrived at home. His head was pounding, and Kate was unusually grumpy. Poppy slept most of the way, and Billy, the cat, secure in his basket, was docile. Jordan had planned to go see Alex, but right now he wanted to flop on the sofa.
They hadn’t been in long, when Alex called. “Hey,” he said. “I’m sorry it’s late. I thought you ought to know we’ve had the police phone Sylvie this evening. They want her to go make a statement. She told them it’ll have to wait until next weekend, but they’re not happy with that, and they’re coming up tomorrow. It’s crazy.”
Jordan took a sip of wine. “They had Lara at the station most of the afternoon, so they probably wanna make sure her story is sound. They’ve also been questioning Karl, the guy that was there. It sounds like they’re trying to get enough evidence to charge him.”
“Jeez.” Alex sounded shocked. “Do you think he did it?”
“I have no idea. I don’t even know him. Lara seems convinced he’s innocent.”
“Hang on.”
Jordan heard muttering in the background and waited a moment, taking a welcome sip of his drink.
“Sylvie had Lara on the phone,” said Alex. “Lara says Nick had only arrived home when he was taken to the police station, to make a statement. It’s almost ten-thirty, for fuck’s sake, and Lara is in tears. I mean, the guy was in Paris when it happened.”
“That sucks, but I guess they think it’s important.”
“I’ll keep you posted, but don’t worry—I won’t ring you again tonight. You sound knackered, mate.”
Jordan managed a smile. Alex had a way of cutting straight to the point. “It was a long drive home.”
It was tempting to go to bed early, but Jordan needed to check his email first and see if any more issues arose during the last few hours. He had to brief Thaddeus in the morning, and being tired was no excuse.
****
Nick shared a cab from the airport with Adele and dropped her at the TM-Tech apartments before going home. He was anxious and convinced Lara would somehow recognise how intimate he’d been with Adele for the past few nights.
No sooner had he walked in, than two detectives knocked on the door. Were they waiting for him to arrive? Unreal. It became even more so when they hustled him into the back of an unmarked car and took him to the police station, to help with their inquiries. He wasn’t being charged with anything, which was good to know, but they wanted to ask him some questions, mainly around his contact with Jason and Saturday’s events. There was also a lot of quizzing on the nature of his relationship with Adele, and that made him sweat. He tried to stay polite, focusing on the interplay as though it was a tricky business negotiation, but he was tired. The cops looked fresh, and they held all the cards.
The same questions came at him from several angles. It was a struggle to give the exact same answer every time.
The police honed in on Nick’s reaction when Jason arrived at Adele’s apartment and on how he reacted to seeing him afterwards. That was easier. Nick hadn’t seen Jason again after the weekend. He and Adele went to Paris on Sunday afternoon. The police were also keen to know about Jason’s drug use. Nick admitted to smoking some of his dope but said he didn’t think Jason was a dealer—more of a small-time user.
The interview went around and around in circles. Nick was exhausted and longed for sleep. They left him alone for a while, and he took the chance to doze. When they came back, it was with another set of questions.
“Did you have access to Jason’s apartment?”
“His apartment? No. I wasn’t even sure which he lived in; I knew it was the same block as Adele.”
“What about Karl Gordon? Did he have access to Jason’s apartment?”
Nick had no idea. He wanted to go home, but every time he said so, they asked if he’d stay a little longer.
****
Lara wouldn’t go to bed until Nick came home. Whatever time that was. Why was it so urgent to interview him tonight? He couldn’t be a suspect.
By midnight, her eyelids were heavy, but she was determined to stay awake. She made some herbal tea, and then splashed cold water on her face, but it didn’t help.
A crunch of gravel outside snagged her attention, and she peeked through the kitchen blinds. Was Nick home? The house next door also had gravel at the front, but it was late for her neighbours to be out.
She squinted into the darkness. A guy stood under the lamppost on the street, his back to her. He wore a long trench coat, the collar turned up, and one hand tucked into the pocket. She saw the glowing end of a cigarette in his other hand.
Not Nick, after all. Disappointment sliced through her, followed by worry. What the hell were they doing with him?
When she heard the familiar rumble of a diesel taxi, she shot to the window again, but it wasn’t Nick. The guy outside opened the cab door, but then paused to glance over his shoulder.
Christ. It was a symptom of how stressed she was, but he looked like Jason Farnley.