by Sofia Grey
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.
Chapter Twenty-One
Up to now, Adele had managed to convince herself that last weekend’s events were behind her. Now she had to go over it all, including why she didn’t go to the police at the outset, in painstaking detail.
She was interviewed by kind-looking Detective Inspector Taylor, flanked by a female detective, DC Aldridge. She took Adele through the events of Friday night at the club, on the way home, and then the morning after. The memories surged forwards. Waking to the horror of seeing the marks on her body. The realisation of what happened.
The marks had mostly faded, but the bites were still visible on Adele’s throat, and she tugged down her collar to show the officers.
They took copious notes, though the tape machine was running throughout. DC Aldridge sat back, looked at DI Taylor, and then it was his turn.
His questions revolved around Karl. Had she seen him get angry? Was he physically fit? Did he associate much with Jason at work? Outside work? How did Karl react when she accused him of attacking her?
There were questions about her relationship with Nick, and she stumbled over her answers. How much could she say?
She told them Nick stayed in her apartment the other weekend, on the night she’d been dancing with Dimitri, when Jason took home the mystery brunette. “Nick slept on my sofa. He’s a friend, nothing more.”
DI Taylor quirked his eyebrows. “You sound very defensive.”
“I don’t want you jumping to assumptions.”
“He sounds like a good friend. Karl thought you would trust him.”
On and on it went. She couldn’t figure out if they suspected Karl or Nick—though he was in Paris at the time—or if they were trying to cast her as a slapper who deserved what happened.
It was past one in the morning when she finally went back to her apartment, tearful and exhausted. After she locked the door and shoved a stool in front of it for good measure, she sent Nick a text.
I know it’s late, but are you awake? I just got home from the police.
Maybe an hour later, he replied.
Me too. Just got home. What the fuck is going on? Are you ok?
She longed to hear his voice. Sleeping alone for the first time in days was going to be hard enough, but after the questions from the police, she was beyond agitated.
Can we talk? Don’t want to disturb Lara.
His reply was quick.
Give me half an hour. I’ll call you.
By the time he phoned, she was curled up in bed, a large glass of vodka and tonic in her hand. Sleep was light years away.
“Lara went to bed,” said Nick, his voice low. “She was questioned all afternoon, by the sound of it. She freaked out when they took me in, but she’s asleep now.”
Adele heard the sound of him dragging on a cigarette and managed a wobbly smile. “I thought you weren’t allowed to smoke at home?”
“I’m supposed to have given up. I’m in the kitchen, with the back door open. It’s fucking freezing.”
She pictured him standing there, and remembered the Gauloises they smoked together. It would be easy to become dependent on Nick, but she couldn’t.
“They kept going on and on about our relationship,” she said. “I told them you stayed over those two nights. I’m not sure if they believed me that you slept on the sofa.”
“Bugger. I didn’t mention that. Oh well. If they ask again, I’ll say I forgot.” He took another drag and exhaled noisily. “What I don’t understand is what they think I’ve done. Do they think I leapt on a flight back here, pushed Jason under the train, and then returned to Paris without anyone noticing?”
“I’m your alibi for Tuesday night.”
“Yeah, but we’re not talking about that.”
He didn’t want Lara to know, but if it came to Nick being a suspect, Adele would have no qualms about speaking up for him.
“I’d better go to bed,” said Nick, and she heard a muffled yawn. “Will you be okay tonight?”
She wanted to cling to the phone and keep him talking. “I’ll be fine.”
“Yeah.” He didn’t sound convinced, and she disconnected before she could plead with him to stay on the line.
“I’m strong,” she whispered. “I’ll get through this.” Or not. It should be harder to lie to herself.
****
Sylvie was heavily asleep when Alex awoke on Saturday morning. He didn’t recall her waking in the night, which was good. He hoped the police visit would be nothing more than a formality. Sylvie was fretting enough about everything else without worrying about this too.
He woke her later, and they showered together. She was subdued again. When he kissed her, he got the feeling she was going through the motions. Where was the Sylvie he fell in love with? The vibrant girl who ran circles around him? He needed to know what was troubling her.
What if she didn’t like this life they’d made? The life with him?
No. He was an idiot to think like that. She was stressed. They both were.
When the police finished, he’d grab some time to be alone with her, and he’d get to the heart of it.
Decision made, he looked at her in th
e bathroom mirror and found her staring vacantly at her reflection.
He stepped up to her and cuddled her from behind. “You look gorgeous, babe. Always do.”
She shook herself and met his gaze in the glass. “I’ve got this horrid taste in my mouth. I’ve brushed my teeth twice, but I can’t get rid of it.”
“Too much coffee. I’ve never seen you drink so much.”
She turned to face him and nestled into his arms. “I’m fine. I guess I need a few more nights of decent sleep.”
“Cut back on the caffeine. It’s not healthy.”
She made a clicking noise with her tongue. “Don’t fuss, Alex.” Before he could say anything else, she wriggled free and strode into the bedroom, banging the door behind her.
Alex spent much of the past fifteen years avoiding the attention of the police. He was nailed a few times for possession, although his legal team always managed to get the charges quashed, and the idea of inviting officers to his home felt wrong. He didn’t trust them.
The two detectives introduced themselves as DS Cooper and DC Mackenzie. With their short haircuts and sharp suits, they looked more like lawyers—another profession Alex mistrusted.
They’d promised to keep this an informal chat with Sylvie, and that meant he could sit with her while they talked. He led them into the kitchen where Sylvie waited.
“I’m Sylvie Hamilton. Did you really need to come all this way to ask me a few questions?” Her voice was sharp, and Alex hid a smile. It was good to see her back on form.
“Would you like to sit down?” Alex gestured towards the chairs around the table, and the cops accepted.
“We felt it necessary, Mrs. Hamilton, otherwise we wouldn’t be here.” DS Cooper remained calm, as he pulled a notebook out of his pocket and flicked through it. “Nice place you have here.” He smiled, but her face remained stony.
Alex leaned against the sink, from where he could watch the proceedings.
“We’d like to talk to you about last Tuesday.” DC Mackenzie had a Scottish burr to his voice. “Can you please tell us what you were doing in London?”