One for Sorrow

by Louise Collins

  Chad frowned. “Who?”

  “Homeless people. I need them gone.”

  “What have they done?”

  “One of them was stalking the corridors, peeking in all the rooms.”

  “Did he leave?”

  “Yes, he went back outside, but them being there is enough, especially when one of them could be the countdown killer.”

  Chad shook his head. “They’re not—”

  “You know that for sure, do you? Because that’s what the papers are saying.”

  “I don’t have to stand here and listen to this.”

  Chad went to pass, but Simon blocked him again. He gritted his teeth, then knocked his shoulder into Simon’s hard as he strode forward. Simon’s body twisted around at the force, and he clutched his arm.

  “Your superior officer will be hearing about this.”

  Chad pointed back down the corridor. “My superior officer is back down there, barely clinging to life, with his wife and child watching on. The stress of those articles, the constant harassment by the press is responsible for his heart failing.”

  He didn’t wait to see Simon’s reaction, but kept walking.

  As soon as he climbed back into the Porsche, Chad closed his eyes, and took a deep breath through his nose. It smelled of Neil, of the house, and he sat for a few minutes, still and silent. When his phone buzzed, he silenced Kate’s call, but it vibrated in his hand with a message from her. Chad needed it gone, out of sight, just for a little bit. He opened the glove compartment to shove it inside but froze when he saw a slip of folded paper.

  Chad frowned as he retrieved it, and with shaking hands he unfolded the slip. There was a phone number, and a name, stapled to a card for Boutique Beds.

  Marc Wilson.

  Marc Wilson the journalist that had been writing non-stop articles about the countdown killer. Marc Wilson who’d gotten rich off the back of murder, and terror. Marc Wilson who repeatedly shamed the DI for not catching the killer, and piled on the pressure, and stress, leading to his heart attack.

  ****

  “How could you!”

  Chad threw the slip of paper at Neil, wanting it to hit him hard in the face, but instead it fluttered to the ground. Neil looked at it, then held his head in his hands.

  “I was desperate—”

  “I thought you were being unfaithful, but this—this is worse. Everything I’ve told you about the case, you’ve told him. He’s written article after article. Why?”

  Neil mumbled something at the floor, but Chad didn’t hear.

  “What was that?” he snapped.

  “I’m sorry, Chad. I said I was desperate. I needed the money…”

  “What, why?”

  Neil raised his hands in surrender. “I lost my job, okay? I’ve not had a job for months—this house, this dream wedding you want, it doesn’t pay for itself. When Marc first approached me, I said no. But I couldn’t tell you I’d lost my job; I’ve gone to interviews, but got nothing back… I was out of options.”

  “You could’ve told me, and instead you’ve been selling me out.”

  “I know it seems bad—”

  “It is bad!”

  “No one believes what’s in the Canster Times anyway.”

  “Enough people do that we’re inundated with calls. That journalists gather outside the station. The public insult us in the street and have lost all faith in us. Article after article and they’ve all come from you,” Chad turned away. “They’ve all come from me…”

  “Don’t you see? I did this for us, Chad. I know you’re not used to this,” Neil gestured to the house, the lavish kitchen, the high-tech chair. “I just wanted to spoil you. I love spoiling you. I love how your face lights up when I buy you things, when I surprise you, when you see things for the first time. I lost my job, and I panicked.”

  “I wasn’t with you because of the gadgets, the house, the vacations—”

  “Really?” Neil said, raising his eyebrow. “You thank me all the time for taking you away, buying you gifts, clothes, gadgets.”

  Chad collapsed on the opposite sofa. “No, I don’t—”

  “Yeah, you do. You love this house, the wedding I promised you, the honeymoon.”

  “No, I love you—”

  “You’re kidding yourself, Chad.”

  “How has this turned around on me?”

  “Because I wanted so badly to keep you,” Neil said, getting to his feet. He stepped forward and towered above Chad. “Because seeing your face light up made me happy. Knowing I was spoiling you, when you’ve had a life of shit, made me happy. You’ve had no love in your life, Chad, other than that fleabag on the fridge. I wanted so badly to give you some, and thought in time, you’d let me into your heart in return.”

  Chad lowered his gaze.

  “And I lost my job, and Marc offered me money for details about the case. I didn’t want to admit the truth, too scared you’d turn your back on me.”

  “I wouldn’t have,” Chad whispered. “I wanted a life with you.”

  The knot twisted in Chad’s stomach again, but he ignored it.

  “But now?”

  Chad shook his head. “I can’t trust you… The DI had a heart attack from stress. Part of that stress is because of Marc Wilson, because you told him, what I told you.”

  “There would be no damning articles if you actually caught the killer.”

  “What?” Chad gawped.

  Neil pinched the bridge of his nose. “What I mean is, I won’t tell Marc any more details, but I can’t go back and take what he knows away. He’ll still write articles; the press will still hound your DI; reporters will still wait outside the station. The only way of stopping all this is catching the killer.”

  “That’s what we’ve been trying to do.”

  “Well, try harder.”

  “Promise me, no more articles.”

  “I promise.”

  Chapter Seven

  Relief swamped Chad when he stepped into the incident room. The muted atmosphere between him and Neil had nearly suffocated him. Even though Neil slept on the sofa to give Chad space, he still had to get ready for work with him watching with hopeless eyes, and an expression of hurt.

  Chad sat down behind his desk and pressed into the hard back, happy when it didn’t start rolling his muscles and vibrating his troubles away. The DI told them the chairs had been scientifically proven to improve blood-flow to the brain. He didn’t know if it was true, or utter bullshit, but for the first time since he found Marc’s number, Chad’s mind cleared, and he focused on the whiteboard with the question mark.

  He had to catch the killer. He had to be the one to bring him in. Finding the killer was the only thing Chad could do to make things right. He needed him.

  “What the hell happened to you last night?”

  Chad tore his gaze off the board and looked at Kate. “What?”

  “What do you mean what? The DI, the hospital. You disappearing.”

  “I—I couldn’t handle it, Kate.”

  “Do you think I like seeing him like that?”

  “No, of course not, but I can’t solve it. I can’t make it right.”

  Martin and Gareth both stopped what they were doing, and openly watched the exchange. Chad’s face prickled with heat, a mixture of shame and embarrassment.

  “It wasn’t about solving it or making it right. It was about supporting Lucas’s family, reassuring them. We’re like a family, the DI, me, Gareth, Martin and you. We need to be there for each other. Don’t you understand that?”

  There was bite in her voice, and Chad lowered his gaze. He’d let his family down, the only family he’d got.

  “Kate,” Gareth warned.

  “No, he needs to understand.”

  “I’m sorry,” Chad whispered. “I freaked out. How—how is he?”

  “He woke up just before I left, told Caroline and Lucy he was feeling better. I don’t know how much of that was the truth, but they looked a lot mor
e hopeful when I left.”

  The office door swung open. The Chief inspector pointed at Chad.

  “My office, now.”

  He got up slowly, steadying himself on the back of the chair, then strode into the office. The eyes on his colleagues were on him, and the heat beneath his suit turned up another notch.

  Chad stood to attention, waiting for the Chief to point him into the chair. He didn’t. Instead his face was bowed forward, and he studied a file on the desk.

  Chad focused on the bald patch on the top of his head. He doubted the Chief even knew it was there, but it directed the light at Chad like a mirror. Tattered gray hair surrounded the patch, reminding Chad of a bird’s nest.

  The Chief suddenly looked at him, and Chad moved his gaze to the bulb dangling from the ceiling.

  “I had an interesting call this morning, want to take a guess who it was from?”

  Chad didn’t answer. Bees started buzzing in his stomach, and a snake coiled around his chest, making it hard to breathe. He focused on the deep wrinkle between the Chief Inspector’s eyes, but he could feel himself swaying.

  “Well?”

  He closed his eyes. “Marc Wilson.”

  When he reopened his eyes, the chief inspector was giving him a puzzled look. “No, not him, I’m talking about Simon Gear.”

  “Simon Gear…”

  “Yes. He’s reported you for aggressive behavior.”

  “I wasn’t aggressive.”

  The chief lifted his eyebrow. “Really?”

  “Look, he blocked my path in the hospital when I was trying to leave—”

  “He asked you for help, and you told him you were off duty.”

  “That’s right.”

  “We’re never off duty in this job, understand?”

  Chad turned away. “I’d just seen the DI hooked up to machines, tubes up his nose, pale as snow.”

  “This is the second complaint made against you in four months. The first was for reckless driving.”

  “Me and the DI talked about that, no action was taken against me.”

  “I’m not your DI though, am I, and I think you’re a hot-headed detective, and need to be punished.”

  Chad took a step back. “You—you’re taking me off the case?”

  “No, but you’re to work in the station from now on. No more crime scenes, or excursions. You come to work, and you sit behind your desk.”

  “What?”

  “I want you to go through the license plates, every car that traveled that road. Find out who, then call them and see if they saw anything suspicious.”

  “We’ve asked the public to report anyone walking along the road.”

  “That’s too indirect. You need to call every person, ask them personally.”

  “There’s hundreds of cars that drive that way every night.”

  “You’ve got a lot of work to do then, don’t you?”

  Chad bashed his fist down on the desk. “That’s unfair.”

  “If you have a problem with that, I’ll remove you from the case right now.”

  Chad glared, and the Chief glared back.

  “Well do you have a problem with that?”

  “No, sir,” Chad said through his teeth.

  “Then get out and get started.”

  ****

  Chad knew he was lucky, but sitting at his desk, hours at a time ringing an endless list of numbers turned his brain to mush. When the DI left for his break, Chad slumped forward, resting his forehead on the desk.

  “What did you do?” Gareth asked.

  “I was rude to Simon Gear … apparently.”

  Martin whistled. “He’s the one who’s been driving your friend on front desk crazy.”

  “If only I had Zac’s politeness,” Chad mumbled. “Maybe I wouldn’t be glued to this seat.”

  “Zac’s swapped to night shifts for a few weeks to get away from him, and those taxi drivers.”

  “They still at each other’s throats?”

  “Yep.”

  Kate marched through the doors with a paper raised in her hand. “Have you seen this?”

  A knot twisted in Chad’s stomach, and he quickly averted his gaze.

  “What is the Canster Times saying today?” Martin said. “Is the killer a driver from Cornell’s or Puma, or is he a homeless man stalking the roads and pavements?”

  “It’s not funny,” Kate snapped. “The Countdown Killer strikes again.”

  Martin frowned. “No, he hasn’t.”

  “He’s talking about the DI. Says the stress of the case sent him over the edge. He couldn’t handle it, has accepted the case is lost, and the countdown killer will claim his last two victims.”

  “They’ll print anything to sell a paper,” Gareth said.

  “It was Marc Wilson’s constant articles, his hounding, that put the pressure firmly at the DI’s door. He’s part responsible for what happened.”

  “Him, and whoever’s been giving him details.”

  Chad’s gut squirmed, a sheen of hot sweat appearing on his skin near instantly. He couldn’t look at Kate or the others, pretending to scroll through the number plates.

  “The DI thought it was Anthony Adams that went to Marc,” Gareth said.

  “But he didn’t know about Georgie,” Kate argued. “He didn’t know the TV was left on, with the movie paused. He didn’t know the chief inspector and his team had been brought in to assist us.”

  Martin lowered his voice to a whisper. “So what are you saying? The leaks have been coming from inside the station.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  “Shit.”

  The confession was there. It was poison in Chad’s mouth. He couldn’t swallow it down or spit it out. Instead he held on to it, felt it burning a hole through his tongue. He couldn’t face anymore disappointment, or anger.

  “Whoever it is,” Kate said firmly, “I’ll never forgive them. They’re the ones that deserve to be in that hospital bed, not the DI.”

  “Couldn’t agree with you more,” Chad said through numb lips.

  “What you gonna do with it?” Martin said, gesturing to the paper Kate held.

  “It?” She said, “I bought every last one in the corner shop at the end of the road.”

  “What, why?”

  “To stop people from reading it. I’d rather spend a whole month’s wages buying this, sparing the public, than letting people read any more from Marc bloody Wilson.”

  “You gonna stack them up outside his door?” Gareth asked.

  “Better than that, I’m gonna burn them,” Kate said, before turning around and leaving the incident room.

  “There was definite fire in her eyes,” Gareth said.

  Martin nodded. “Put her in a room with Marc Wilson, I’d love to see what’ll happen.”

  “Martin, you wanna go down and grab yourself a coffee?”

  “Not really.”

  A long silence followed. Chad didn’t look over to them, but he could tell something was being communicated with facial expressions.

  “Actually, yeah,” Martin said. “Chad, do you want anything?”

  “I’m good, thanks.”

  Martin hovered for a few seconds until Gareth pointed at the door. “If you hurry, the line won’t be long at this time.”

  “I’m going, I’m going.”

  Gareth pulled his chair closer to Chad’s desk. “Hey…”

  “Hey.”

  “I—I don’t really know how to tell you this, but I…”

  “Got the sergeant’s position,” Chad finished.

  “What, who told you?”

  “No one, I just guessed.”

  Gareth winced and clutched the back of his neck. “I’m really sorry—”

  “Don’t be,” Chad interrupted. “You deserve the position. I’m not sergeant material.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “I mean it. You deserve it, Gareth. You’re gonna be a great sergeant, and you know I’l
l have your back. As long as you don’t boss me around too much.”

  Gareth breathed out long and slow. “So we’re good?”

  “We’re good.”

  “You’d be lost without your best man,” Gareth said, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

  “Yeah … about that.”

  “You’ve not changed your mind about me being best man, have you?”

  “No, I’ve changed my mind about the groom.”

  “What’s happened?”

  The poison was back in Chad’s mouth again. He stared into Gareth’s eyes, so desperate to unburden himself, but couldn’t. He shook his head, shifting his gaze back to his computer.

  “I just don’t think it’ll work.”

  “You were dead set on him, and he spoiled you rotten. You sure this isn’t a case of last-minute nerves?”

  “No. It’s not that.”

  “Well shit … are you still living at his house?”

  Chad smirked. It was never their house, or their home. Always Neil’s house.

  “Yeah. With everything going on, I’ve not had time to find a place.”

  “I see you’ve still got the ring on.”

  “I can’t get it off. It’s stuck.”

  “Maybe it’s a sign.”

  “Yeah, that the ring was too small.”

  Gareth squeezed Chad’s shoulder, and he glanced down at the comforting hand on him.

  “You know I’ve got a spare room. You’re welcome to stay with me.”

  “Thanks, that means a lot.”

  “And if you change your mind, AKA come to your senses, I’m sure you and Neil can sort it out.”

  Chad didn’t reply, but patted Gareth’s hand, then gestured to the numbers and letters on screen.

  “I better get to it.”

  “Chad—”

  He squeezed his eyes shut. “Seriously, Gareth, it’s easier if I keep busy, I can’t stand sitting here and thinking about it.”

  “Okay … bring your stuff ‘round anytime, right?”

  “Thanks.”

  Chapter Eight

  Chad tugged his duvet up to his chin and placed his phone on the bedside table. Four weeks had passed since he found Marc Wilson’s name and number in Neil’s car, but he hadn’t moved out. Neil had moved from moping on the sofa, to moping in one of the many spare rooms in the mansion. For the most part, their relationship hadn’t changed. Chad always arrived home late, tired, and cranky, and Neil was always sitting on the sofa eating posh food and watching action movies. They were not back together, or back on track like Gareth believed. Chad just didn’t want the hassle for searching for somewhere else to live while the days were counting down to number 2.