My anger flared hotter. “You’re calling my daughter nonsense?”
“I’m calling you thinking you have any special privileges nonsense.” The older one rubbed his nose and cocked his head toward the exit. “No cuffs is your one and only privilege. Now, no more delays. Out.”
The younger officer moved first, expecting me to follow.
Swallowing back my rage, I fell into line and did my best not to shiver as the older one positioned himself behind me.
A sandwich of law and criminal.
I wished I’d been able to call O and tell her.
I didn’t want her to come here with Olive and find me missing.
I couldn’t expect her to figure out Olive’s living arrangements.
She was only supposed to look after my daughter until I was released from hospital.
But now my custody included police instead of doctors.
This whole fucking mess was on me.
No one spoke as I did the walk of shame through the hospital, down the elevator, and out into the bright sunshine. England looked practically cheerful even though my freedom was ending.
The older officer stayed with me, his hand resting on my elbow while his partner went to collect the patrol car.
No lights, no sirens, just a smooth glide to the curb and a door opening wide to welcome me.
I winced, holding my side as pain flashed. Ducking to climb inside wasn’t as easy as I hoped. The internal pain of healing organs and stitched together muscle grumbled at the movement.
The second I was inside, the door locked me in, and the older officer joined his colleague in the front. They drove me away from the hospital just as I spotted O walking from the visitor’s car park, holding Olive’s hand.
Her gaze caught mine.
A brief, violent moment.
Our connection snapped tight.
My heart crashed hard.
I twisted to keep both girls in my sights as the car turned the corner and she vanished.
* * * * *
“Mr. Clark. You’ve been arrested for the murder of Jeffrey Clark by use of succinylcholine.” The judge read the file on her desk, her half-moon glasses sliding down her nose. “You’ve also been charged with accessory before the fact and second-degree manslaughter for the four women who lost their lives while covered in the same pigment found in your paint supplies.”
She pinned me to the spot, her brown stare severe and unyielding. “How do you plead?”
“Guilty for the murder of Jeffrey Clark. Not guilty for the women, your honour.” My voice stayed stable, but my heart was a fucking mess.
“You don’t have a lawyer present. Are you sure you’d like to submit those pleas?”
I nodded.
The sooner this was over, the better.
The past few hours had been mayhem.
Thanks to the eight days I’d already technically served being arrested in my hospital room, the moment I’d arrived at the station, they booked me, fingerprinted me, asked for any personal items, which I did not have, and placed me in a holding cell with a few other men who looked as shell-shocked as I did.
I didn’t know how the justice system worked and figured the cell I was in was the cell I’d be living and sleeping in for the next unknown while. However, a few hours later, an officer appeared, called my name, and hurried me down a concrete corridor and into a room with heavy wood panelling.
The judge eyed me up and down. “Murder charges are serious, Mr. Clark. Ordinarily, I would hold you without bail until your trial.” Her gaze went to my pale blue t-shirt and the small bloodstain that’d appeared from my stitches. I’d twisted too far in the squad car, trying to see Olive and O. I’d ruptured something.
“As you’ve come here directly from hospital and still have at least a month of recovery, I will permit you to post bail with the strictest instructions not to leave Birmingham or even the street where you live. You will wear an ankle bracelet at all times. Do you understand?”
I nodded again. “Yes, your honour.”
Bail sounded great. I could go home. I could be a father. I could cram in as much normalcy as humanly possible before I couldn’t anymore.
But I had zero equity. I had no cash. No assets to use as collateral.
It didn’t matter if bail was ten pounds or a million, I couldn’t afford it.
My shoulders rounded, my pain level magnifying as she muttered, “Bail is set at two hundred thousand pounds, and your hearing date will be advised.” Her gavel smashed down with finality, and the next unlucky schmuck was shuffled forward.
I had no time to question or let shock trickle through my bloodstream.
I’d been processed.
It was done.
I was guided to a small room where more paperwork was presented and signed, a monitoring anklet was locked around my leg, and the terms and conditions of my bail advised even though I had no way of taking them up on their offer.
With the condemning device strapped to my ankle, the guard guided me back to the holding cell. This time, the icy depressing space was empty.
“In.” The officer pushed me forward.
I hissed as my wound twinged. I sat on the metal bench and rested my head in my hands.
Now what?
If I couldn’t post bail, would I have to stay here until my trial?
Would they at least give me a blanket because I was fucking cold?
Would they let me see my doctor tomorrow like she requested?
I didn’t even know O’s cell phone number to call and tell her what happened. To make arrangements for Olive. To advise her that Justin would once again have to pick up my fucking pieces so O could run far away from the mess I’d caused.
Fuck, poor Olive.
She wouldn’t understand.
She’d hate me for failing her all over again.
My grey sneakers would soon be traded for prison shoes. My jeans would become a jumpsuit. My business no longer operational. I would never paint again. Never watch TV with Olive again. Never tell O every answer to her every biting question.
It’s over.
I couldn’t catch a proper breath as I accepted that fate had once again fucked me over.
I’d lost my freedom, daughter, and the love of my life all over again.
And this time, I only had myself to blame.
* * * * *
“Clark, you made bail.” A guard banged his hand on the bars, wrenching my eyes open.
I hissed between my teeth as I moved too fast, hurting my side. I would kill Jeffrey all over again for some painkillers and a hoodie.
The guard opened the cell, waiting for me to exit.
The prison vanished for a moment as my blood pressure dropped. The goosebumps that had permanently decorated my skin increased as my bones complained of being so cold.
I hauled myself to my feet, fighting a body that craved rest.
I’d been stupid to think I was cured.
I wasn’t nearly as healed as I’d hoped.
Clearing my throat, I moved into the corridor and waited for the guard to lock up. “Who paid my bail?”
He shrugged. “No one tells me nothing.” Striding forward, he looked back at me. “Come on. I don’t have all night.”
Following him as fast as I could, I kept my hand on my wound as we entered the foyer of the precinct and I signed yet more paperwork that they shoved under my nose.
My back prickled as someone came up behind me.
Someone I knew.
Someone I owed more than I could ever repay.
Turning slowly, I held out my hand to shake Justin’s. Half of me wanted to punch him while the other wanted to bow in defeat. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know.” He nodded, his dark blond hair neat and body encased in a suit from work. “But I couldn’t let you rot in there awaiting trial. Besides, I know you won’t run, so it’s not like I’m going to lose my investment in you.”
We broke contact. “I won�
�t cost you bail.” I frowned. “How did you find out about it? No way should you have had to part with two hundred grand for my sorry arse.”
He smiled, heading toward the exit and waiting until I fell into step with him. “You’ve listed me as next of kin. They called and asked if I wanted to post your bail or knew of someone who would.”
“Why did you do it?”
“It’s either free your sorry arse or become surrogate father to your child.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to do that.” I winced. “I’ve already asked so fucking much of you.”
“So you’re okay with O looking after your kid?”
“O needs to be free of me. I’ve already hurt her too much.”
“So your plan is to let O run away and Olive to be packed into foster care?”
My heart stopped beating. “Fuck, no. But I refuse to put my fuck-ups on others anymore. None of you deserve this. I should’ve handled the situation better. I should’ve—”
“Look, I’m going to be black and white here, all right?” His eyes flashed. “You don’t have a choice. You need us, mate. Me and O. You need our help. There is nothing wrong with that. It doesn’t make you weak. It doesn’t make us hate you for asking for help. But it does get old when you constantly fight the help we’re trying to give you.”
I had no reply. I stared at him dumbfounded.
The first time Justin had shown a spark of temper and he’d put me in my place like a kick to a barking dog.
He sighed, shrugging. “Sorry, but that’s the reality of the situation. You have no choice but to lean on us, all right? The other shit? It doesn’t matter. It’s all in the past.” His long legs ate up the pavement, his back ramrod straight. “Just focus on getting better. The rest we’ll figure out.”
I wanted to argue. To tell him I would figure this out without him, but fresh air licked over my skin as we strode through the door and into the night sky, and reality smashed me in the face.
I was lucky.
So fucking lucky to have people who hadn’t given up on me, no matter what sort of bastard I’d been.
Relief tried to worm under my overwhelming guilt.
I would never take freedom for granted. I would forever be in Justin’s debt. But I also couldn’t justify his sacrifice.
Why had he put so much on the line after only a troubled year of friendship?
Who did that?
Who was that selfless?
O.
O is that selfless...and so is Justin.
Two similar people who’d been lumped with the unlucky job of looking after me.
My teeth ground as self-hatred wormed through my chest. “You’ve given me time, Miller, and for that I’m terribly grateful. I will cherish every moment I have with Olive, I’ll do my best to repair what I did to O, and I’ll figure out a way to pay you back, but you can’t keep doing this. I’m not your responsibility. I know I listed you as Olive’s godfather but I don’t expect you to adopt her if this all turns to shit. Don’t feel like you’re trapped just because I am.”
He closed the gap between him and his parked car. Resting his hand on the roof, he scowled. “You’re a friend, Gil. Friends help out.”
“There’s helping out and then there’s being too fucking generous.”
“Look, I put myself in your shoes. I thought about how shit I’d feel being locked up when my daughter is too young to take care of herself. I don’t know a hell of a lot of what you’ve been going through, but I know it hasn’t been easy.” He unlocked the black sedan, cracking open the door. “I’m still waiting for that explanation, by the way. But in the meantime, just accept it for what it is. Despite all your efforts, you actually have two friends who care about you. You should be with them until...” His eyes flickered away.
“Until I’m sentenced.”
“Pretty much. Yeah.” He waited until we’d both slipped inside, and I’d puffed with pain to fasten my seatbelt.
He asked softly, “Do you know when they’ll call you to court?”
I shook my head. “They didn’t say.”
He started the car and shoved it into gear. “It can sometimes take months for a hearing.”
Staring out the window, I didn’t reply as my gaze landed on a small group of people with placards walking down the road to the police station in the dark. Streetlights highlighted a banner linked between the two women walking in front.
A banner that said, ‘Gilbert Clark deserves the death sentence.’
My heart stopped beating.
The placards all depicted paint splashes and pictures of the girls who’d worn my colours and who’d died because of it.
The family of the murdered.
“Shit,” Justin muttered as he stomped on the accelerator and shot in the opposite direction.
Yep, shit.
The world was out for blood.
And I was at their mercy.
Chapter Thirteen
______________________________
Olin
UNKNOWN NUMBER: O, it’s Gil. I’ve typed, deleted, and retyped so many messages to you, but none of them sound right. No amount of apologies will be enough. No number of thank yous will ever come close. So...I’ll keep it simple. I’m back home. I saw you arrive at the hospital today with Olive as I was driven away by the police. I tried to get in touch but was refused. I don’t know what the staff told you, but I was officially arrested, booked, and granted bail. Anyway, I just wanted to say, you’re free to travel now. I can look after Olive and figure out another scenario for her before my court date. I’m desperate to see her. Tomorrow, I can pick her up or you can drop her off. Either way, I’m extremely grateful to you for looking after her.
I re-read Gil’s message ten times, sipping on a glass of cheap supermarket wine, glancing at my bedroom door to make sure Olive stayed asleep and none the wiser.
I’d never had a message from Gil before.
The novelty sent shivers down my spine.
A teenage reaction to flirting and fun when neither of those options was real.
The wine was to settle my fear over what’d happened to him. After seeing him being driven away in a police car and being turned away at the hospital because he’d been discharged, I’d hid my own concern to protect Olive. I’d taken her to the library and checked out whatever books she wanted—mainly sketching and painting workbooks—and done what I could to distract her.
After a week of living with her, I’d grown used to her triggers.
Her bravery was sometimes far too good. She could laugh and joke and seem like any normal child her age. However, there’d be a moment. A fleeting second when her guard would drop and I’d see the truth. The worry over being in public if I’d gotten too far away from her. The bitten lip if a man walked toward us on the street. The jumpiness if someone came up behind us unannounced.
The fact she could hide her true fears as well as Gil drained me because my instincts took over—just like they had when doing my best to help Gil through his secrets.
My brain told me to give her space—to watch but not hover, to accept that time would heal her from the worst of being held hostage—but my heart wasn’t interested in giving her space or letting time heal her. My heart wanted to cure her. It wanted her laughter to be true and not some carbon copy of joy. It wanted her to be able to stroll down a supermarket aisle and not freeze in panic if I wasn’t there.
I sighed.
Poor thing.
But at least, she had her father back.
She could go home now.
She could bask in normalcy until Gil was summoned for trial.
Saving his number into my phone, I typed a reply.
Olin: I’m glad you’re back at home. Did everything go okay with the police? I can drop Olive off tomorrow around mid-morning if that works. She’ll be beyond happy to be home with you. She’s really missing you.
I inhaled sharply as I pressed send. I didn’t want to go to his warehouse. I still wasn’t pr
epared to enter the place where Gil had painted me. But I equally didn’t want him in my space, either.
Dropping Olive off was the best choice because I could leave straight away. If he came here, he might stay...he might try to talk.
Gil: Okay, great. Thanks. By the way, don’t feel like you can’t keep using my car if it makes your life easier. I’ll figure out an alternative.
Olin: It was kind of you to let me borrow it to drive Olive around, but it’s yours. I’ll just catch the bus back after I’ve driven her to you.
He took a long time to reply, as if he was once again typing and deleting multiple responses. My heart flurried as words flashed over my screen.
Gil: I know it’s over between us but...if you want answers, I can give them to you. I’m done with lies and hiding. I’ll tell you all of it...if you ask.
My eyes flashed to my bedroom door as it cracked open. Olive rubbed her eyes sleepily, her forehead furrowed with exhaustion. “Oh, good. You’re still there.”
I tossed my phone onto the couch, climbing to my feet and going to her. She walked into my embrace, squishing her face into my chest. “Of course, I’m still here. I told you I’d keep you safe.”
She pulled away, looking up at me. “You’re the best, O. My second favourite person after my daddy.”
“Wow, that’s a great honour.” I smiled, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “And you’re the greatest little girl I know.” Holding her shoulders, I pushed her away until I could study her face clearly. “What woke you? Another nightmare?”
She dug her barefoot into the carpet. “I thought I heard something. A man.”
“Nope. Just us.”
“That’s good.”
She’d grown used to Justin but not to the degree of our bond. Justin had come over a couple of times with pizza and Thai takeaway. He told kid jokes, brought dessert, and braved through a Netflix program for little girls. He was allowed to touch her shoulder in goodbye and take her dishes into the kitchen, but that was where her comfort level ended.
If Gil did get sentenced, who would care for her? Who would step up to be the parent she needed—the protector, the artist, and the disciplinarian?
The Finished Masterpiece (Master of Trickery Book 3) Page 55