“Micah, I need you to come to the station.”
Rogers is on the phone while I’m sitting in the car outside the campus, ready to see Tahlia again during my work time.
“What’s going on?”
“Get your arse here and I’ll explain. Things are not looking good,” he adds, and then hangs up.
I stretch my arms above my head, knowing that Clarke is probably getting impatient. We had the new lead and so far Tahlia hasn’t confirmed or denied that she met with that asshole during the night when Suranne was murdered.
Over the last three evenings I have tried to gently talk to her about it, but then she takes her clothes off and I instantly stop worrying about work.
I roar the engine back to life and drive off, contemplating the fact that I’m losing this battle. Tahlia has me and I’m not planning to betray her. This case may not be relevant, but I still have to go to work every day and think about Steph, knowing that this case is somehow connected to her murder.
There are reporters outside the station, a few more than usual. They spot me and all of a sudden I’m surrounded. Then I get an instant flashback from the past.
“Andrew! Hey, Andrew, do the police have any suspects yet?” asks one of the reporters, sticking the microphone into my face.
The grief mixed with shock dulls me. I should keep walking, but instead I stop and look at all of them.
“Do you think she had a reason to die?”
“The detective hasn’t ruled out the fact that she could have killed herself.”
“Andrew, how long have you guys been going out?”
I lose it then, the pain explodes in my chest, and all of a sudden I can’t breathe. The men and women keep throwing their questions at me. I grab one of the cameras and hit the guy who stands in front of me.
The chaos starts. The darkness crushes me. Someone starts screaming. I’m blinded by the flashes and the crowd. I’m lost, and the light that keeps burning inside me is long gone.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Twisted days and nights.
I can’t fucking breathe at all, struggling to force the cruel memories away, telling myself that it’s been years and I was only a seventeen-year-old boy filled with anger and misery. Those nosy bastards are all over me again, trying to get information and put me on edge. Back then the reporters had no idea that I never used my first name. That was the only time that I ever had any contact with the journalists. Shortly after the incident, I moved away and the papers went back to nagging Steph’s parents.
“Detective, a few questions?”
“Detective, we have information that another girl was murdered almost eight years ago. The wound and the photo from the crime scene are almost identical. Any comments on that?” asks someone else.
I suddenly stop and look at all of them. I’m surrounded again, and they are all waiting, expecting answers, holding their microphones close to my face.
“What are you talking about?” I demand, looking at the guy that asked the question.
“Detective Thomson, are you linking the recent murder to the one from the past?” another reporter asks.
“What can you tell us about your parents, about your background?”
This can’t be happening. That case was closed years ago. No one apart from me and Rogers was supposed to know. I don’t want to believe that my partner could have sold them my story. All of a sudden I regret that I haven’t been paying much attention to what was going on around me in the past few weeks. I refuse to answer any questions and push through the crowd, storming into the station. Something must have happened; someone must have talked.
Rogers is standing by the entrance, waiting for me as I approach. The reporters keep snapping my picture, shouting through one another.
“We are totally screwed; do you even realise that?” he asks.
“What exactly is going on?”
He doesn’t respond and I’m pretty sure that he is leading me straight to Clarke’s office. The old man has finally snapped, and I don’t even want to know how long I have left. Kerry has that annoying smile on her face when I come in. She must have reason to be happy. Rogers locks the door. I instantly spot the recent papers that are spread all over his desk. I glance over the titles and the colour drains from my face. Now I’m certain that someone has talked, spilled my secrets. I look at Rogers, feeling like the walls are slowly closing in around me.
Is Micah Thomson the right man for the job?
A murder from eight years ago comes into light. Should we be afraid of a serial killer?
I press my hands to my head, flopping in the chair. I grab a few papers, trying to read the main bullet points.
“Someone started to talk, and I have a feeling that I know who it is,” I say, wiping the sweat off my forehead. Rogers drags his hand over his jaw. He looks like he didn’t get much sleep last night. Kerry promised that I’d regret pushing her away. She most probably sold me to the press, but she couldn’t have known about me and Steph. Maybe she only leaked enough information to ruin my reputation, to jeopardise my case and make me look like a fool in front of Clarke.
“What are you talking about?” Rogers asks, then waves his hand dismissively. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I don’t need to know. It’s a mess and Clarke already knows.”
“We will deal with it somehow. We need to pretend that we had no idea that there was another murder. Years ago, I made sure that I stayed away from the press. So far no one figured out that it was my ex-girlfriend and I want to keep it that way. “
Rogers is shaking his head, like he doesn’t want to believe me. He goes around his desk and exhales.
“The guy has vanished.”
“What guy?”
“Our most recent witness. I have been trying to verify his story in that past week, but when I showed up at the address he gave us, the place was empty. It turns out that no one had lived there for over six months,” Rogers explains.
“What about his work and the bar where he met with Tahlia?”
“Clarke had me tied up on another case, so it was only a couple of days ago that I had a chance to double-check everything he told me when he first showed up at the station. He must have had someone hack into the bank’s employee database and put his name in there. Everything else he has given us is complete bullshit. He wanted us to believe that Tahlia was guilty. I drilled her about him like you asked me, but she denied everything. She has never seen this guy, so it’s clear that she never went out with him.”
All of a sudden I feel like complete moron. I believed that there was something special going on between me and pinky head, but all we’ve ever done since our date in the manor was sleep together.
“How much does the press know?”
“Enough to connect the two cases together,” Rogers says. “Anyway, enough about that. I want to know—how did it go with the girl? You’ve been seeing her, right? Tell me, did you find out anything?”
I stretch my arms above my head, pushing the air out of my lungs. Rogers gave me some space. I didn’t tell him that I stopped thinking about the investigation altogether, that Tahlia has distracted me. I shake my head, wondering why I feel so connected to her, so good when we’re together. I should tell him that she has nothing to do with the murder, that she has been innocent from the very beginning.
“For christsake, Micah. I thought you were getting information out of her, not fucking her.”
“There is nothing going on,” I lie. Rogers knows. He isn’t an idiot.
“Whatever—don’t act like I don’t know you. It’s been two weeks, and you got nothing. Fuck, Micah. I had a lot of respect for you, but this time you’ve gone too far.”
“I will get the truth out of her, Rogers,” I insist, lying to myself. I can’t keep seeing her and work on the case. It’s impossible.
Rogers waves his hands, grabs some files and leaves. He hates arguments and he is probably pissed off that I’m not telling him what’s really going on.
> I lock myself in the office later on and start going through the articles in the papers. Online there are some photos linking me to my parents in London. Somehow the press managed to track them down too. My scummy mother must have smelled the cash, because there is an article about them in one of the papers. After so many years, my father only put on more weight. He is posing in the picture with a can of beer in his hand, stating that we never got on. The woman that gave birth to me smiles, like she just won the lottery. I have no idea who reached out to them, but I know for a fact they must have found out that I was given a significant case. The lack of progress suddenly questions my abilities. My parents would love to ruin my new life because I cut them off completely and never regretted it. At least they weren’t stupid enough to tell the reporters about Steph, to say that we used to go out. They knew that I would have thrown their arses in jail over Steph, without hesitation.
In one of the articles they say that they want to see me, that it’s been too many years.
I put the paper away. I can’t carry on reading this shit anymore. They both deserve each other, and they never acknowledge that they made me miserable, or the abuse that scarred me for the rest of my life. My hatred for them never stopped burning, but maybe it’s time to let it go, time to forget them. That one slip won’t throw me off.
I know that sooner or later, Clarke will want me to go back to London. I’ll have to pull the archived files and probably re-open the old forgotten case. It won’t be long before the press finds the real connection. Someone from the council estate might talk, and then I’ll be in a real trouble.
After five, I grab my jacket and head out. I drive home, wondering what to do. There are so many implications, so many pros and cons. Tahlia probably doesn’t fully trust me yet, and I know for a fact that we cannot carry on seeing each other if this case is still open.
It’s bloody cold outside and that just adds more flames to my bad mood. I know that Rogers has his own ways of getting what he wants. We both want to solve the case—the difference is that I’m not convinced that I have done enough to find the killer. Maybe it’s time to hand this to someone more experienced, someone who is not personally connected to the evidence.
There is a stigma about growing up in a council estate. I turned out all right because I had a goal. The truth is that my parents were and still are scumbags that never deserved to have a child. Fuck, I hate my past and the fact that I could never close that chapter in my life.
I drive through the city, angry and frustrated with how today went. More articles will flood the papers over the next couple of weeks. The press will undermine me, using my parents to crap all over my reputation. On top of that I have to worry about Tahlia, about how this whole thing will affect our future.
Someone runs out in the middle of the road right in front of my car. I turn the wheels abruptly to the right, missing whoever the motherfucker is by about an inch. I hit the brakes and stop, feeling like someone just poured boiling water all over me. Then all of a sudden someone bangs on the window, scaring me to death. It takes me a couple of seconds to realise that it’s fucking T. I roll down the window, ready to kick his arse.
“What the fuck, T? I nearly killed you!” I shout, trying to slow down my racing pulse.
T opens the door and gets inside. He’s soaked from head to toe and he has a black eye. I don’t know what happened to him, but he doesn’t look good. T doesn’t do shit like this. When he wants to talk, he gives me a sign and I call him.
“Drive, Micah, before anyone sees me,” he says. T doesn’t need to repeat that twice. The wheels accelerate when I turn into a dark alley, after making sure that we don’t have an audience.
Five minutes later I make a final turn back onto the main road. This whole thing is getting out of hand. T was supposed to be waiting for me to get in touch with him, not the other way around.
“What’s going on?”
“Knox is gone,” he says, and when I glance back at him he slides his finger over his throat. I shake my head, wondering what the hell happened during these past two weeks I spent with Tahlia. Knox has people everywhere; he was untouchable. Maybe T is wrong.
“What happened? We’re going to my place, so we can talk properly,” I say, wiping the sweat off my forehead. I start doubting myself, believing that maybe I’m not supposed to be the guy with the badge. My mother must have been right all along—I’m too weak to handle the shit going on in the streets.
“No idea,” T says. “Out of the blue, a new guy showed up. Knox got stabbed. He bled to death, and apparently no one called an ambulance. The new guy told everyone that he was taking over the business, that they were either with him or against him. He had his own people with him, so most of Knox’s guys agreed. Someone has found Jambo, his body was cut to pieces. Apparently he wasn’t interested in a new order.”
“What happened to your eye?”
“Someone sold me up. The new guy wanted me in the circle. They caught me on one of the streets, told me that I had few days to think about my options, told me that if I don’t choose right, they’ll kill my mother and little brother,” T explains, sounding desperate. I try to take a deep breath, but deep down I know that he has no choice.
“Who is this new guy? Have you seen him? Is he a junkie?”
“Don’t know. No one ever heard of him. Apparently from somewhere up north, Micah. What the fuck am I supposed to do now?”
“We will figure something out. Just calm down,” I say, but I’m not confident that there is anything that I can do. Rogers is on that case with a couple other detectives. I don’t believe that anyone at the station knows that Knox is out of the game, that he is fucking dead.
We reach my flat and, after checking the street, I tell T to come through the back. I’m still pissed off over the articles. My phone keeps buzzing and I presume that it’s probably Tahlia. She must have seen the papers, heard the news. Fuck, I have been so stupid, believing that this could work.
I go out to the back and let T in upstairs, tell him to strip and shower. When he’s done I give him something to wear and open two beers.
“Your mother will be fine,” I assure him.
“I have to go back to them, especially now. The new guy is keeping everyone close, doesn’t want any fuck-ups.”
“The timing can’t get any fucking worse.”
“That girl at uni, the knife wound, the one you told me about? The paps are fucking with you. One of the boys showed me the paper. I’m sorry, man,” he says, shaking his head.
I don’t need to be a mind reader to know that he wants to know about my background. We both grew up surrounded by scumbags, drunks and junkies. The only difference is that no one has ever given him a chance. I made good use of my mind, and one of my teachers helped me apply for a scholarship. I left as soon as the paperwork was sorted and I never looked back.
“My mother probably needed cash; that’s why she talked. I really wanted to keep the other murder out of the press,” I say. My back is stiff, my thoughts racing.
“No, I heard that it was some girl with tattoos and pink hair,” T disagrees. I lift my head and look at him wondering what the hell he’s talking about.
“Some girl? What’s got into you, T?”
“Jason gets paid for selling information to one of the paps. He has been bragging about it all evening. He said that some girl with tattoos and piercing sold these stories about the other murder. Apparently she got shitloads of cash for it.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Betrayal?
I’m on my feet, pacing around. T is fucking with my head. Tahlia couldn’t have betrayed me like that. My heartbeat freezes in my chest, and anger mixed with a need for vengeance starts rippling through my body. I need to get a grip and make sure that I understood T correctly before I start jumping to any conclusion.
I shared my past memories with Tahlia because I thought she would understand me. Maybe I was wrong about her. Maybe she didn’t feel the same way ab
out me, so she sold me to the press. She probably needed to earn some cash. I want to believe that she couldn’t have done that to me.
Moments later I lose control. T is still talking to me, but I start trashing stuff on the table and shelves. l’m torn apart, feeling like someone is breaking my bones while I’m still living and breathing. I thought I could be fixed, but now I’m back to square one, to being the coldblooded cop that can’t control his anger.
T shouts for me to stop, to calm down, but I’m beyond furious. Pure, uncontrollable rage takes over and I’m ready to kill the woman that I feel so strongly about. I keep taking oxygen into my lungs, but it’s never fucking enough. My world is spinning in front of my eyes.
I failed. It looks like Tahlia was never planning to tell me the truth and I was so stupid in believing that she was innocent.
“Micah, are you all right? What did I say?” T asks, standing in the back of the room looking at me and wondering if I’ve completely lost the plot now. Bottles, newspapers and bits of food are on the floor, some furniture overturned.
I clench my fists, thinking that this can’t be. It’s the worst day of my life. I have fallen for a poisonous girl and only now I begin to realise it. A woman that is a manipulative psychopath, a girl that most probably murdered her roommate. I keep taking deep rasping breaths, thinking about our time in the old manor. She was playing me back then.
“The girl! Are you absolutely certain that she was the one that sold the info about the other murder to the press?”
“Jason keeps bragging about it all the time. Sorry, man, I should have kept my mouth shut,” T says, messing his hair.
“I’ll be back in an hour, sit tight on your arse and do not let anyone in,” I tell him, grab my jacket and leave. He shouts after me, but I’m already running down the stairs. I’m fucking shaking all over, mainly from fury. I thought that I had this whole thing figured out, that I was in control. As it turned out, Tahlia managed to trick me. She must have researched the old case after our trip to the manor, probably because she wanted to know more.
Love & Hate Series Box Set 2 (Love & Hate #3-4) Page 18