by NC Marshall
“Megan, hi! What are you doing here?” Elliott runs his fingers through his dark hair, his hand coming to a stop at the back of his neck and, at first, he appears a little awkward.
“Who was that?” I ask, curiously.
“Oh, just one of our clients – he’s buying one of our places here so I thought I’d use the opportunity to catch up with him.”
I nod, watching as the man disappears around a corner in the distance. Elliott looks me up and down, pausing at the bright pink flip-flops on my feet! Embarrassed I instinctively cross my arms over my chest.
“Why are you here then?” Elliott repeats, “what’s wrong?”
At that moment, everything I’ve been trying so hard to hold together comes flooding out and I begin to sob. People passing in the lobby stare at me, intrigued, and, ignoring them, Elliott takes off his coat and wraps it around me, pulling me into a tight embrace. At first I remain rigid in his arms, but then I settle into his comforting hold and begin to relax a little.
He takes me gently by the arm, steering me next to a large marble pillar. “Wait here!” he orders. He checks in at reception and I begin to wonder what the hell I’m doing here – I really should have gone to Luke’s as planned, but for reasons I don’t yet want to admit, it was Elliott I wanted to see tonight.
“Do you want to come up to my room for a bit?” asks Elliott casually. Appearing in front of me, he flashes the key card, moving past me towards the lift situated at the far end of the lobby.
I pull his warm, heavy coat around me and it’s only now that I realize I’m shivering. Without another word, I nod and follow him silently into the lift.
***
His room’s on the fifth floor and boasts a view of the city below. The river looks calm under the almost-full moon, and the Tyne Bridge in the distance is illuminated by the red dots of a steady flow of traffic crossing it. He switches on the bedside lamp, which instantly casts a warm glow across the room and, turning the heat to maximum, he wastes no time in heading to the mini bar and pouring us both a miniature vodka. I gratefully take the drink and perch timorously on the edge of the bed.
“You do look like you need a drink!” he remarks, standing above me. It’s then that I catch a glimpse of myself in the dressing table mirror and wonder where my old, bright-eyed self has gone. My once enviable thick, long, red hair is limp and lacklustre, and my sharp, green eyes look swollen and glassy. I’m gaunt, exhausted and downtrodden and a world away from the strong and driven woman I used to be. Is it finally time to stop being strong and, for once in my life, admit defeat?
Unable to look at my reflection any longer, I rise from the bed and make my way to the floor-to-ceiling window. A brief flash lights the room before the sky explodes, displaying an array of brightly coloured trails behind the glass. I put one hand against the window and continue watching the impressive display as it creates multicoloured patterns across the night sky, reflecting back an identical image in the river below.
“Tell me what’s wrong Megan – are you upset because of Will?” Elliott puts his empty glass on the bedside cabinet and moves to stand next to me in front of the window, waiting patiently for my answer.
“No, well, yes, but it’s not just that,” I whisper back, rubbing at my temples which ache from crying.
“So, tell me what it is – you can talk to me,” repeats Elliott. There’s another explosion as the sky comes alive again with glittering gold threads and I turn my attention to Elliott. His voice is soothing, and, just as it did the other night in the cottage, it draws me in and begs to be answered. I hesitate at first, but when I look into Elliott’s eyes the words pour from my mouth and I’m rendered incapable of stopping them.
“The accident I was in – when Will saved me...”
“Yes, what about it?”
“I haven’t told you the full story.”
“What do you mean the full story Megan?”
“The police have been investigating and at one point they thought the driver of the other car could have been deliberately trying to force me off the road.”
Elliott’s blue eyes suddenly darken. “Do they know who it was?”
“Possibly. It’s a man they know well, apparently.”
“Do you know him?”
I throw back the small measure of vodka and ignore the burn as it hits my throat.
“No, I’ve never met him before – apparently he’s just some local thug who’s recently been released from prison.”
“But they’ve got him in custody now?”
“They did have, but the detective working on the case called me tonight to tell me they had to release him, due to lack of evidence.”
“So, it wasn’t him then?” Elliott asks, confused.
“I don’t know, but they don’t think so. I’m scared Elliott! What if it was this bloke, and for some reason he wants to hurt me?”
I begin to cry, again, reduced to a whimpering mess. Never in my life have I felt so helpless and vulnerable. Even when Johnny died I managed to hold it together more than now, and it’s not a feeling that sits comfortably.
“It’s OK.” Elliott takes my hand in his and brings his face closer to mine, forcing me to look up at him.
“I honestly don’t know whether I’m coming or going, Elliott. My head is telling me that something isn’t right, but the logical part of my brain is telling me to trust the police and let them do their job.”
Elliott takes a tentative step forward.
“What about your heart though Megan – what’s that telling you?”
I force myself to look away and laugh, awkwardly. “That’s another thing altogether!”
“Listen to me – nobody is going to let anything bad happen to you. Trust me?”
I continue to weep, forcing myself to look fully into Elliott’s eyes.
“Thank you.” I place my other hand over Elliott’s and he bends to kiss me.
His kisses are soft as he gently moves me backwards and lowers me to the bed. As he rests on top of me, I hold the back of his neck and he slips his hand under my top. His touch is warm against my still-frozen, bare skin. Suddenly he stops kissing me, inching his face away from mine and removing his hand from under my clothes, he cradles the back of my neck with his other hand.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asks softly.
Before answering him, I pull him towards me and kiss him tenderly on the neck, while reaching to unbutton his shirt.
“I’ve not felt as sure as this in a long time.”
Chapter 28
Tony was still wide awake when his phone, playing the ‘Peppa Pig’ theme tune, pierced the quietness of his hotel room. He reached to answer it quickly, cutting short the parting ‘oink’ and making a mental note to change the ring tone. He then reminded himself that he didn’t have the first clue how to do it, but, unfortunately for him, his 7-year-old daughter did. On her younger brother’s request she had successfully added the tune last Sunday morning, just before he received the call from Joe, asking him to come up to Newcastle. When in public, his phone was now on silent to avoid the appearance of a 41-year-old detective with a fetish for talking farm animals!
He didn’t want to wake Charlotte in the room next door; she was exhausted and needed a good night’s rest before they headed back to Manchester in the morning. Due to the late-night shenanigans between the couple in the room next door, he was painfully aware of how thin the walls of the hotel were.
“DCI Morgan speak—” he whispered, quietly, his voice giving up halfway through the greeting. He glanced at the clock on the muted TV in front of him; it had just gone 4 a.m. and even though he knew he hadn’t slept a wink, his voice told a different story. He coughed to clear his throat, trying the seemingly difficult sentence again.
“Tony Morgan speaking,” he managed, with a clearer voice.
“Tony, you sound rough did I wake you?” Joe’s voice greeted him, and his was unaffected by the early hour.
“N
o, it’s fine Joe, I was already awake. What’s up?” Tony shuffled to the end of the undisturbed bed, rubbing his face with his free hand, his fingers scraping against the coarse stubble on his unshaven chin. He glanced into the mirror above the dressing table, lit only by the TV’s glare in the otherwise dark room. His appearance prompted him to make another mental note – ‘must have a shave in the morning before heading home’. It was a well-known fact that Liv hated a beard and, without a clean-shaven face, she wouldn’t allow him anywhere near her. If he returned like this, a ‘welcome home’ kiss, let alone anything else, would definitely not be on the cards.
“You still remember where Rick Donovan lives, yeah?” asked Joe.
“Yeah, I think so. Is he still over in Jesmond?”
“Correct. Are you OK to come? I’m already there.” Joe responded.
“Yes, of course – give me 15 minutes and I’ll be there, but why? What’s he done now?” Tony knew that anything Donovan-related would never be simple, and part of the reason he hadn’t bothered going to sleep last night was because he had a foreboding that this was going to happen.
“Actually he’s done nothing, for once,” replied Joe. “He’s dead!”
“Dead? Bloody hell – how, when?” Tony stood and reached for the TV remote to switch it off.
“He was shot at his home and his body was discovered a little while ago. I’ve just got here now and the CSIs are already here so I’d appreciate you coming down to take a look.”
“Course, I’m on my way.”
“Great, see you in a bit…oh, and Tony?” He added.
“Yeah?”
“You’d better still have a strong stomach – it’s not a pretty sight!”
***
Tony sat back in his seat and, for the second time, replayed the last loop of the CCTV footage he’d been watching. He knew what he’d watched was accurate, but he wanted to view it again, just to be certain.
The camera was positioned on the road of the hotel where he and Charlotte were staying, and it had a clear view of the whole area. It had been the final place where Donovan was spotted last night and he was now relieved that he and Charlotte hadn’t headed straight home yesterday, instead choosing a well-earned rest before returning this morning.
Taking a sip of now stone-cold coffee, he placed the mug back on the desk and tried to block out the images in his head of Rick Donovan’s limp and lifeless body strewn across the floor of his lounge; a large pool of blood and matter, from what remained of his skull, seeping into the cream, wool-blend carpet and spattering the light-oak furniture around him. His neighbour had discovered the body when she had woken in the night, looked out of her window and noticed Donovan’s front door wide open.
Tony was grateful that Donovan’s baby son had been staying with his mum at her parents’ house on the night his daddy’s brains were blown apart.
Forcing down another mouthful of cold coffee, purely for the caffeine hit, Tony fast forwarded the footage until he had a clear view of Donovan, captured at 7.05 pm the previous evening, entering the south end of the quayside. He continued along the street, near the hotel, keeping his head down and his coat collar turned up. It was clear that he knew he was being watched.
Two minutes later, Donovan stopped on a corner and glanced at his watch as another man arrived on the scene. The camera angle enabled Tony to get a clear image of the other man. He looked about mid-thirties with short-cropped, dark hair. He actually looked vaguely familiar, but Tony was pretty sure he’d never seen him with Donovan before.
The men had a brief conversation before it looked as though Donovan handed something to the other man which, whatever it was, he put straight into his jacket pocket. They then parted and went their separate ways. Donovan headed back along the street, exiting the same way he had entered, and Tony followed his movements until he was out of shot. The other man headed into the hotel directly behind him.
Tony picked up his mobile and hit the quick-dial menu; Charlotte answered her phone on the second ring.
“Hi Tony.” She slipped on one ankle boot and began to search her room for the other. “Are you ready to head home now? I just need to finish packing my stuff and I’ll meet you in the lobby, OK?”
“I’m not at the hotel, Charlotte. I’m over at the station.”
“Eh, why?”
“I’ve been here since 5.30 am, but thought I’d let you sleep for another couple of hours as you were knackered.” Charlotte was grateful for Tony’s concern, however, she was also slightly annoyed that he’d gone into work without her knowledge. Tony was suddenly quiet and Charlotte heard a sharp intake of breath.
“Rick Donovan was found dead last night!”
Charlotte jumped up from the bed, stumbling over the other boot partially hidden under the mattress valance.
“Jesus Christ, where?”
“His body was found at his home over in Jesmond, in the early hours of this morning. He was shot three times before it appears he took a point-blank hit to the head.”
“Any idea yet who killed him?”
“The team are looking into it now.”
“Bloody hell! Have they got any suspects?”
“Possibly, yes. I’ve sent you through a still of CCTV footage that has just been brought to my attention. Could you do me a favour and run it past the staff on the reception desk at the hotel?”
“Yes, of course, no problem.”
“The footage shows Donovan and another bloke, taken last night before he was killed. I think the other bloke could be staying in our hotel.”
“OK, Tony, I’ll head down to reception now and call you straight back.”
Charlotte popped on her other boot and made her way towards the lobby. Racing to reception she leaned on the desk, focusing her attention on the man behind it whose badge stated he was the hotel’s duty manager.
“Hi, I’m DI Taylor, Greater Manchester Police.” She pulled her warrant card from her pocket, flashing it at him, then grabbed her phone from the other pocket.
“Could you tell us whether you recognize this man please? We believe he could be staying in this hotel.” She accessed the photo on her phone, which Tony had sent to her. The image wasn’t particularly good quality, but it was decent enough for someone to make a positive ID if they had seen him.
The man behind the desk smiled politely and removed a pair of glasses from his top shirt pocket, before scrutinizing the photo.
“Nope, sorry, can’t say I’ve seen him,” he replied. “Kerry might have done though as she was on ‘til 8 pm last night.” He called over a young girl in hotel uniform and slid the phone in her direction.
“Kerry, have you seen or dealt with this gentleman?” he asked. The man seemed undeterred by the questioning, but Charlotte doubted that this sort of thing happened regularly!
The girl looked flushed, providing Charlotte with the kind of reaction she was more accustomed to, and then looked down at the photo.
“Yes, I think I checked him in yesterday evening, just before I finished my shift,” she replied, reasonably confidently. “We didn’t have many guests check in last night.”
“Can you tell me his room number please?” asked Charlotte, taking her phone and pressing redial to call Tony back, as the girl tapped into the computer.
“His name is Elliott Fletcher. Room 513,” she replied, as Charlotte moved away.
“Thanks!” she shouted over her shoulder as she held the phone to her ear and waited for Tony to answer.
“Come on, Tony… pick up, for Christ’s sake!” she shouted impatiently, striding quickly across the lobby. When Tony didn’t answer, she cancelled the call, stuffed her phone in her pocket and headed to the lift to make her way to the fifth floor.
Chapter 29
As I open my eyes and they gradually adjust to the grey light of the hotel room, I see that rain clouds are collecting outside. I stretch and yawn, feeling content. I hadn’t slept that well in a very long time, and I can’t remember the l
ast time I felt so rested. Reaching across the king-sized bed towards Elliott, I’m greeted by an empty space and a small piece of paper, headed with the name of the hotel, resting on his pillow. I sit up and read the neat writing:
Morning, Meg
Didn’t want to wake you, but had to leave for first flight home. I’ll call you later and arrange to meet up. I’ll take you out on a real date! Really enjoyed our night together.
CALL ME IF YOU NEED ME!!!!!
EL, xxx
Surprisingly, I’m not consumed by guilt, and I feel slightly ashamed for not experiencing the one emotion I imagined I would feel when this day finally came – the day I felt myself falling for another man. I think about Elliott; how we fell asleep in each other’s arms and how, when I woke in the middle of the night, I was curled up with my back to his chest, feeling the comfort of his heartbeat. This time, thankfully, it wasn’t just my imagination.
Sitting up, I stare at myself in the mirror opposite and my reflection, unlike last night, already appears less drained and washed out. I lie back on the soft pillows, replaying our night together in my mind, when there’s a loud knock at the door.
A feeling of anticipation hits me. Maybe Elliott hasn’t gone back to Morteford after all? He was worried about leaving me alone after all, although I’d insisted it’d be fine. Maybe he’s decided to stay with me today…
I jump from the bed, quickly wrapping a sheet around me before running across the room. Swinging open the door and preparing to excitedly welcome Elliott, I’m shocked to see DI Taylor standing there.
“Oh, Inspector Taylor, hello!”
“Megan?” DI Taylor looks as confused as I feel.
“How did you know I’d be here?” I ask, feeling a little awkward about my state of undress.
“Erm, I didn’t! I’m looking for an Elliott Fletcher and the reception staff told me he was staying in this room?”