Chapter Five

“I told you already,” Rick said. The stale air of the police interview room was making him feel nauseous. His shoulders ached and his eyes stung. His throat was tight with thirst and his heart pounded with anxiety, but he fought hard to make sure none of it showed on his face. “I came home. I saw the blood. I was worried someone might still be in the flat…”

“That’s why you had the knife?”

“A knife,” Rick insisted. “Another one. I never touched the one on the floor.”

“Your fingerprints are on it.”

“It’s my knife.”

Detective Nayar was in her late forties, stern-faced with greying hair cut severely short. Her eyes, blacker than obsidian, were sharp behind narrow-lensed glasses. Rick kept his hands in his lap rather than wrapped round the mug of instant coffee on the table so she could not see that they were trembling.

She examined him for another long, quiet moment. Her constable, DC Walsh—a thin-faced, prematurely balding man with a sparse ginger beard—made conspicuous shorthand notes in his notepad, even when no one was speaking. Rick was beginning to suspect it was an intimidation technique. It was working.

“The remains of Edgar Ropeman were found in the carpark directly under your balcony, Mr Bennett. A great deal of his blood and the knife that killed him were found in your kitchen.”

“I can’t explain it.”

“That’s your final statement?”

“It’s the truth.” Rick tightened his hands in his lap but kept his back straight. “I left work, I came home, I found the blood—”

“Why didn’t you call the police, Mr Bennett?”

“I was about to when your officer showed up.”

“You rang your sister before the police?”

“She lives in the same building. I was worried.”

“You stated you got home at six-thirty p.m. Is that the time you usually arrive home?”

“No. I normally get home later.”

“Then why so early tonight?”

“I took an early finish.”

“How early?”

He sighed. “I don’t know, exactly. Around half four?”

“Why finish early today, specifically?”

Rick shut his eyes, clutching onto the ends of his fraying temper. “My boss said I could.”

“Your boss being Cecily Swanson of Swanson and Gerrard, yes?”

“Yes.”

Nayar flicked through her notes. “The victim was, until recently, a junior analyst at Swanson and Gerrard. Did you know that?”

Rick stared. It took several moments to find his voice. “No.”

“Mr Ropeman, in fact, had your job. According to close acquaintances, he was forced out. He was also about to file a wrongful dismissal suit.”

Rick blinked. “I was told he resigned.”

“Did you know him?”

“No.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yes.”

She tapped her pen off the notebook for several long moments. “Swanson and Gerrard is, at most, a twenty-minute drive from your flat in Friday night traffic—”

“I walk it.”

“Okay,” she said slowly. “So it’s not more than a half-hour walk. How did it take you nearly two hours to get home, Mr Bennett?”

“I already told him this,” Rick said wearily, nodding at the DC.

“Please repeat it, for the tape.”

Rick’s watch told him it was close to midnight. His eyes were gritty, the adrenaline was making his palms itch. He was startled by the realisation that all he wanted, right then, was to be back in his cramped bedroom in Morden with nothing more on his mind than his mother’s care home fees. “I went to a wine shop on Cotton Street after work—”

“For over an hour?”

“The owner was helping me choose something special.”

“What for?”

“Why does that matter?”

She scribbled something on her pad. “So you were in the shop until…?”

“I don’t know. Just after six? Ask them. They’ll tell you. And my office will tell you what time I left there. That will prove I couldn’t have been in my flat any sooner than I said. Now, please, detective. I really have told you everything. If you want to question me more or arrest me, I want a solicitor.”

She glanced at the DC, stood and closed her notebook. Walsh got to his feet and followed her to the door. Another half hour dragged by. Rick paced the small room then sat again and finished the cold coffee. It tasted like plastic.

Eventually, the door opened, and the detective returned, her face unreadable.

“All right, Mr Bennett. You’re free to go. Though the crime scene team won’t release your flat until the morning. Have you got somewhere you can stay?”

Rick nodded, relief making his shoulders sag. “Sure. Yeah. My sister’s.”

“We’ll need the address. Oh, and please don’t take any sudden trips. There will be more questions.”

The freezing wind and pounding sleet outside the police station were the best thing Rick could remember ever feeling. He hurried round the corner, stumbled into a bus shelter and lowered himself onto the bench, the shaking in his limbs finally taking over. He put his head in his hands, breathing until the shaking eased and his head stopped spinning. Only then did he take out his phone.

Dozens of missed calls from Ella, several from an unknown number and two from Kim. He wiped sudden moisture from his eyes and loaded the voicemails.

 

Rick, ring me the second you get this or, fuck help me, it’s your ass.

 

Ella’s fear iced the edges of her angry words, and his stomach plunged with guilt. Kim’s voicemail and text were simple, polite, with the air of someone assuming they’d been stood up. The unknown number puzzled and unnerved him most of all. This did not ease when he played the last voicemail linked to the same number.

 

Hey Rick, it’s Cecily. I got your personal number from HR. I heard what happened. Please ring me when you get this.

 

Rick’s head began to spin again. He blinked until his Uber app came into focus, ordered the nearest car then rang Ella.

“Rick. Christ and shit, you little bastard. What the fuck is going on?”

“It’s okay, El.”

“Like shit it is. There are police everywhere. They’ve been here all fucking night, asking questions about you and refusing to tell me what’s happening. There’s fucking crime scene tape across your door. What the hell has happened?”

“Too much to explain on the phone. I’ll be back soon then we can talk. Can I stay with you tonight?”

“Damn right you’re staying with me tonight. But don’t think I’m letting you go to bed until you explain all this.”

“My car’s here,” Rick said, getting to his feet as the silver Skoda pulled up at the curb. “I’ll be home soon.” He disconnected before she could respond and climbed into the car, grateful for the heated interior.

He opened a new text message, selected Kim’s number and spent several painful minutes trying to decide what to say.

 

Really sorry. Something came up. Talk tomorrow?

 

To his surprise, the reply dots began to dance immediately.

 

Sure. Something wrong?

 

Rick took a breath, his mind swinging back and forth, then he replied.

 

No, all fine. Do you ever sleep?

 

Not when I’m thinking about you.

 

Despite everything, warmth bloomed in Rick’s chest. He started to type a reply but another message came in.

 

Look… If you’ve changed your mind, it’s fine. I get it, really. But please just say.

 

Rick bit his lip.

 

I haven’t changed my mind. I want to see you again.

 

Okay, great :) When?

 

Rick rubbed his head. The screen was coming in and out of focus.

 

Can we talk tomorrow?

 

A pause.

 

Sure. See you soon. Sleep well x

 

Rick stared at that ‘x’ that felt so different from Cecily’s for a long time, then put his phone away, rested his head against the headrest and closed his eyes.

Ella launched into questioning him the minute he got in the door. He gave her all the answers he could, insisted he didn’t understand and didn’t know what happened. Yes, he’d locked the flat. No, he hadn’t left the balcony door open. No, nothing was taken except one of the knives. No, he didn’t know why they’d taken it. No, he didn’t know the dead guy.

He thought it best not to mention that he did, however, know who he was. He couldn’t bear to try to answer the inevitable follow-up questions that he’d been trying to answer himself for hours or see the worry deepen in her face.

They lapsed into silence and stared at each other over the untouched cups of tea cooling on her breakfast island, so similar to his own. Rick closed his eyes, the image of the pool of blood still stark in his mind.

Eventually, they both went to bed—Ella on the mezzanine, him on an inflatable mattress in the as-yet-unfurnished spare room. He expected to lay staring at the shadows on the ceiling all night but the second his head hit the bundled jumpers Ella had provided as a pillow, exhaustion stole him into blessed darkness.

 

* * * *

 

“You need to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I don’t care,” Ella said, shovelling a doorstep of eggy bread onto his plate.

Rick rubbed his still-aching head and prized away a forkful of the thick, glutenous bread. It was seasoned with salt, pepper and a dash of chilli—one of Ella’s signature breakfast dishes—but he might as well have been eating straw. He chewed and swallowed, washing it down with a mouthful of coffee that he knew was good but was also beyond his ability to appreciate.

He glanced up. Ella was watching him, her own breakfast untouched.

“You’re going to be late,” he said, not very hopefully.

“What’s going to happen, Rick?”

Rick prodded at his food and didn’t answer.

“Are they gonna arrest you?”

“No,” he said, hoping it didn’t sound like he was trying to convince himself as well. “They let me go. They must know I didn’t do anything.”

“But what if they’re just gathering evidence? Building a case?”

He managed a wan smile. “This isn’t an episode of CSI. There is no evidence against me to gather. How can there be?”

She pressed her lips together and lowered her gaze to her plate.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he murmured. She nodded stiffly. He reached out, resting a hand on her arm. “I promise, El. It’ll all be sorted soon.”

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” she murmured. “It was all supposed to get better, not worse.”

“It will be fine,” he insisted. “This is… I don’t know what this is. Something awful. But it’s nothing to do with us.”

“Someone was killed in your flat, Rick,” Ella quavered. “And the news said he was an ex-employee of S&G. Someone’s trying to make it look like you did this.”

“The police will get to the bottom of what really happened.”

“You need a lawyer,” she said, topping up their cups.

“Then I’ll get one,” he said, “if it comes to that. But—” His phone buzzed on the countertop next to his plate. “Shit.”

“Who is it?”

“Cecily Swanson.”

“Fuck,” Ella said, the colour draining from her face. “Are they gonna fire you?”

“No,” Rick said, picking up the phone and moving towards the spare room. “I’m sure it’s fine. Go to work. I’ll call you later.”

“Rick?” Cecily’s voice was clipped. “Rick, are you there?”

“Hi,” he said, clicking the bedroom door shut behind him. “Yeah, it’s me.”

“Are you okay?”

Rick swallowed. “Sure.”

“I’m so sorry, Rick. How awful this must be. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Rick closed his eyes, took a moment to steady his voice. “Yes, I’m fine.”

“They questioned you?”

“Yes.”

“But let you go?”

The keenness of her voice set something creeping along his nerves. “Yes. Look, Miss Swanson. I swear I didn’t—”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” she cut him off. “No one thinks you did this. But someone seems very keen to make it look like you did.”

“What exactly do you know?” Rick said, his insides chasing each other round.

“Only that the victim was a former employee and that he was apparently stabbed in your flat then thrown off the balcony. The police rang Dad last night but were typically unhelpful. But I don’t want you to worry, you hear me? It’s all going to be fine. I’m sending Valerie Stanhope round to your flat tomorrow. She’s the best criminal defense lawyer in the business.”

Rick stared at the wall. “Th…thank you,” he managed.

“Of course. We’re behind you all the way, Rick. We look after our own.”

He drew another breath, but the nervous roiling in his belly continued.

“Everything okay there?” she asked when his silence had stretched on several moments.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s just…”

“Just what?”

“Do you have any idea why this happened?” Rick ventured, very carefully.

“What exactly are you asking me?” she said after a heavy pause.

Rick swore to himself. “Nothing, specifically. It’s just…the guy was your JA before me.”

“That’s right. And?”

Rick chased after what to say, what exactly he wanted to ask. “They told me he was suing S&G…”

There was another leaden pause in which Rick rapidly began to regret mentioning anything, but then she laughed. “Tried to frighten you, did they?”

“No,” Rick said hurriedly, “they didn’t really say anything. But they made a point of mentioning it.”

“Of course they did. Look, Rick. Killing off anyone that takes legal action against you is not a sustainable business practice. We tend to avoid it, as a rule.”

Rick managed a nervous laugh. “I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine, honestly. This is what the police do. They make everyone suspicious of everyone else, hoping they will turn on each other. It’s how they build cases when they have no case. But we’re on the same team, Rick.”

Rick found himself letting out a sigh of relief, some, though not all, of his tension easing. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. And…don’t say anything to anyone else, okay? Let Valerie handle it.”

“Okay,” he said with more conviction. “Thanks again, Miss Swanson.”

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Cecily?” she said in quite a different voice.

“Sorry…Cecily.”

“That’s better. Now I must dash. But you look after yourself, all right? Try to get some rest. Enjoy your weekend, if you can. I’ll see you Monday.”

He stared at the screen for a long time after she hung up, trying to decide what he was feeling. When he returned to the kitchen, Ella had gone. He finished his eggy bread, grateful that his stomach had eased enough allow him to do so.

He was just loading the plates into the dishwasher when the doorbell sounded. The distorted form of a uniformed officer was visible through the peephole and he opened the door a crack.

“Yes?”

“Richard Bennett?”

“That’s right.”

“We’re done with your flat. The lads have done what they can to clean up, but you may want to call the professionals.” The man was holding out a business card.

Rick swallowed, feeling slightly queasy. “And these people deal with…this sort of thing?”

“They do,” the policeman said. “They can usually get someone out the same day. Oh, Detective Nayar wanted me to remind you not to go anywhere.”

Rick stepped into his flat with his skin crawling. His new sofa was against the wall, his guitar cases piled on top of it. An endless stream of muddy footprints ran between the front door, the balcony and the kitchen. He drifted towards the kitchen with his heart thumping sluggishly in his chest. It was stark and bare, all the appliances either taken or moved into the living room. There was no sign of any of his knives.

The air stank of industrial cleanser. The tiles were almost too white, but the grout and the plastic kickboard under the breakfast island were dark with stains. He hurried to the mezzanine and into his en suite. He hung over the toilet but nothing came up. He waited for the nausea to pass then got shakily to his feet, turned the shower to full heat and pressure, stripped then stepped in. He willed the scalding water to wash away the sights and smells from the night before. It only partially succeeded.

He towelled himself dry and glowered at his newest work suit, crumpled where he’d dropped it on the floor, wondering if he’d ever be able to wear it again without smelling blood or the police interview room. He rooted around in a box for a tracksuit, dressed, hesitated then padded down the stairs from the mezzanine and out onto the balcony.

He peered over the edge. It all looked so normal apart from a lack of cars in the carpark and some yellow police tape across the entrance, snapping in the wind. The river and the city lay beyond it under a lead-coloured sky, looking the same as it always did. Everyone was going about their business like death, pools of blood and murder didn’t even exist. The air was cold. He breathed it deep, the chill on his face and the fresh taste finally starting to still his jangled nerves. He pulled out his phone to call the cleaning company.

As he hung up, relieved they would be with him by the end of the day, the doorbell rang. He approached the front door slowly, his mind dancing around a number of unpleasant possibilities, then put his eye to the peephole. He stared at the figure outside for so long that the person had raised their hand to ring the bell again before he opened the door.

“Kim?”

The man quickly smoothed away his surprised look with a smile. “Hey there.”

“What are you doing here?”

Kim’s expression turned solemn. “Your building was on the news this morning.”

Rick fought for what to say and how to feel but couldn’t decide on any of it.

“Are you okay?”

Rick took a shuddering breath then let it out, his remaining strength going with it. “Not really.”

Kim didn’t speak. His expression didn’t change. He didn’t ask questions or try to give any advice. He simply stepped over the threshold, threaded his long fingers through Rick’s hair and drew him in for a kiss.

Rick started to shake. His pent-up emotions surged through him and he finally let himself feel the full extent of them. As the kiss deepened, they were drawn out of him like poison lanced from a wound. Kim slipped his free hand round his waist and pulled him close. Though Rick was bigger, the firmness of Kim’s grip made him feel supported. Somehow, they made it up the stairs. Rick was very aware of the rumpled covers on the bed, the dropped clothes, the piles of unpacked boxes, but when Kim pushed him onto the soft mattress and climbed on top of him, the dark clouds in his overworked brain melted away.

Kim kissed him again and ran his hands up his sides. Rick pushed impatiently at his overcoat, desperate for contact. Kim shouldered himself out of it then leant over, mouthing his jaw and unzipping his hoody. He pushed the fabric aside and took one of his nipples into his mouth.

Rick gasped, trying to rub his restrained erection against Kim’s thigh, but Kim took hold of his wrist with surprising strength and held him down, lavishing slow, deliberate attention on one nipple then the other.

Rick closed his eyes and sank himself into the sensation. Kim worked down his belly, dipped his tongue into Rick’s belly button then made his way to his waistline with a series of burning kisses. Rick’s breath caught in his throat but then Kim sat back up and pushed Rick’s hoody off his shoulders. He recommenced his attentions on the sensitive skin where Rick’s neck met his shoulder.

“You’re so gorgeous,” Kim rasped in his ear, pressing his crotch into Rick’s hip. “Let me show you just how fucking gorgeous you are.”

Rick was too dizzy with arousal to reply. Instead, he raised his head to taste the skin just under Kim’s ear, drawing a pleasing sound from the man’s throat. He tasted sweet, like summer fruit, and Rick swallowed it down whilst pulling at his T-shirt. Kim allowed him to pull the tee over his head then they were kissing hungrily and ridding each other of the rest of their clothing. Rick just had time to take in the lithe, toned legs of someone who liked to run before Kim was pushing him back into the pillows and lying on top of him. Kim ground against him, his hard length pressing at Rick’s own while mouthing his ear and teasing his nipples with skilled fingers. Rick ran his hands over the toned back, trying to read the whole of the younger man’s muscled frame with his hands. He kissed the scar on his shoulder. Kim dug his fingers into Rick’s arms as he thrust against him faster, his warm, sweet breath brushing against his jaw.

“Jesus, Kim,” Rick breathed, “that’s good.”

“It’s about to get better.” Kim breathed against his neck and he slid a hand between them to grab his aching cock. Rick cried out and threw his head back, almost sobbing with relief. Kim kissed him deep, mirroring the movements of his hand with his tongue, and their moans tangled together and grew more urgent.

“Sometime,” Kim panted against his mouth, “sometime soon, Rick, I want this cock in me.”

Rick groaned and liquid fire started pooling in his lower belly.

“I want you to fuck me,” Kim growled into his ear. “Soon, Rick. Real soon.”

“Fuck yes,” Rick forced out. The idea, coupled with the feel and taste and smell of the man, flooded Rick’s senses and he thought he might explore.

“You know what to do,” Kim whispered in his ear.

Rick didn’t have enough breath to reply. Kim’s hold was firm and skilled, angling and pumping him just right, so that every movement sent fire dancing through his flesh. Rick dug his fingers into the bedclothes and opened his mouth.

“Jesus, Kim. Now. Now.”

Kim shifted down the bed and took Rick’s length into his throat as he started to come. He cried out, heat and fire and electricity shooting through him. Kim made a low noise, the vibration adding another layer to Rick’s thundering orgasm, and warm liquid spilled over his leg.

Rick lay, breathing hard and staring at the ceiling, deliciously full and empty at the same time. When the world stopped spinning, he raised his head to see Kim draped across his legs, his cheek propped on his fist, smiling crookedly and stroking his thigh. “Better?”

Rick closed his eyes. Reality threatened to flood back into his consciousness, bringing waves of fear, guilt and worry with it. But then the bed dipped as Kim crawled up then stretched out along his side, pulling the covers tight around them both. Rick didn’t open his eyes and allowed himself to be still, just for a few more moments. Just a few more…

 

* * * *

 

He woke slowly, feeling like he was waking from a safe, comforting dream. The cold winter sun had crept a considerable distance across the sky. He sat up and realised he was both naked and alone. A stab of disappointment so sharp it almost punctured his mood was stopped in its tracks when he heard the soft sounds of someone moving around downstairs.

He pulled on his track pants and hunted for his phone, frowning when he couldn’t find it, and padded downstairs. Kim was in the kitchen. The sight of him, his black hair still damp from the shower and his eyes, startling blue and unguarded as he set up Rick’s new Nespresso machine, had emotion flaring in his gut. Rick allowed himself a moment just to watch him then stepped forward.

“Hey there,” Kim smiled and dropped a cartridge into the top of the machine. “How are you feeling?”

Rick was just opening his mouth to try to reply when his eyes fell on his phone where it lay on the counter next to the empty Nespresso box.

“Oh, sorry,” Kim said, handing it back to him. “Your sister called. I guessed she would want to know you were okay but also thought you could do with some sleep.”

“You spoke to Ella?”

“Yeah. Nice lady…if a little suspicious of a stranger answering your phone. Perhaps understandable. But I can be very charming when I need to be.” Taking in Rick’s expression, Kim’s boyish grin slipped. “Did I overstep the mark?”

Rick searched in a box for espresso mugs to give him a moment to think. “No. No, it’s fine.”

He wiped the mugs and set one in the machine just as the rich, rounded smell of fresh coffee filled the air. He realised he was staring at the tiled floor and turned his back.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Rick let out a shaking breath and closed his eyes. “What do you know?”

“Only what was on the news.”

Rick gazed at the Nespresso machine without seeing it. “I don’t know what to talk about. I don’t understand any of it.”

He sensed Kim take a step closer. “You could start by telling me what really happened.”

Rick looked up. Kim leaned against the counter, a mild concern lighting his cool blue eyes. “Why?”

“It must have been traumatic. It’s important to talk about stuff like that.”

Rick watched the smooth, caramel-coloured espresso pour into the little glass mug. Kim stood, patient and silent at his elbow.

“I came home from work and the door onto the balcony was open,” he murmured. “I closed it. Then I saw…blood…and a knife. I…” He made an impatient noise, put a fresh cup into the coffee machine and slammed in a new cartridge. “Then the police were hammering on my door.”

“They took you in?”

“Yes.”

“Shit,” Kim said, taking the full cup. “How bloody awful.”

“Yeah,” Rick said, firing up the machine again. “How much was on the news?”

“Just that there had been a mysterious death. But they released the guy’s name. It was the one I was telling you about. The guy who resigned from Swanson and Gerrard?”

Rick glared at the coffee machine.

“Between that and you not answering the phone last night,” Kim went on, his voice mild, “I figured something pretty awful must have happened.”

The machine purred to a stop and Rick raised the mug to his lips, but his stomach churned and he lowered it again. Kim was staring at the stains, his forehead furrowed.

“There’s someone coming to take care of that later today.”

“And the locks?”

“What?

“Someone was in here. Someone dangerous. You need to get the locks changed.”

Rick rubbed his forehead, trying to make his thoughts stop spinning. “Who could have done this? And why?”

“You can’t think of anyone?”

“No.”

“There’s no one you can think of that would want to hurt you? Or get you into trouble?”

“No.”

“No one at work?”

Rick frowned. “What are you getting at?”

Kim looked at him levelly. “The only connection so far is S&G.”

“I’ve only worked there a couple of weeks,” Rick stated.

“And you haven’t in that time, perhaps, found out something that you shouldn’t have?”

Ice shot up Rick’s spine. “Like what?”

“I don’t know,” Kim said with a shrug. “Evidence of something? Something damaging?”

Rick took a long moment to find his voice. “No. Nothing like that.” Kim examined him for so long Rick’s skin started to prickle. “What do you know?”

Kim raised his eyebrows. “I don’t know anything,” he said with a helpless gesture. “I’m just guessing here. But I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Rick looked away, the fire ebbing from his limbs and leaving him weak. “Thank you”

“For what?”

“For believing it wasn’t me.”

A smile, more sincere than usual, softened Kim’s face. “Of course.”

Rick hesitated then brushed a kiss across his lips, breathing deep the fresh smells of his damp hair and citrusy skin. Kim kissed back, slightly firmer, a reassuring pressure, then broke away.

“Come on,” he said, downing his espresso in one mouthful. “I’m taking you to lunch.”

“I don’t know—”

“You need to eat,” Kim said firmly, “and get some headspace. What time are the cleaners coming?”

Rick checked the time on his phone and raised his eyebrows when he realised how long he had slept. “In an hour.”

“Call them and tell them you’ll leave the keys with the doorman. Then get dressed. I’ll call my locksmith chum. By the time we’re back, everything will be sorted.”

“What if the police—”

“I won’t let them stop you getting lunch,” Kim said, pushing him towards the stairs. “Go. Get dressed. Now.”