by Jack Jordan
‘Great space,’ he said. ‘One bed, one bath, large open-plan living space as you can see. The windows, they let in such good light through the morning to afternoon, and—’
‘I’m not here about the apartment.’
The smile dropped from his face.
‘I’m here about Finn Matthews.’
He crossed his arms.
‘You could have told me that from the beginning.’
‘Would you have seen me if I had?’
He looked back to the open door, as if he was about to ask her to leave.
‘Finn is missing. I’m trying to find him. I was hoping you knew of a forwarding address, so I can confirm he’s all right.’
‘Wouldn’t give it to you even if I had,’ he said. ‘I respect people’s privacy.’
Not enough to give them a working lock on their door, she thought.
‘So you don’t have a forwarding address?’
‘No. He up and left overnight. Didn’t even take half his stuff. I’m holding on to it for another month before I take it to the tip. Spoke to the police about it, they said I’ve hung on to it long enough.’
‘You have his things? Why would he leave belongings behind?’
‘How should I know? He was trouble from the beginning. I should just chuck the lot now. No sign he’s coming back for it. And after the break-in, I should try and find him myself, charge him for the damage.’
‘What break-in?’ she asked.
‘I’ve got some garages in town I keep for storage; stuff for decorating, old furniture I use to furnish empty homes I’m trying to flog. I kept his stuff in one of the garages and it was broken into. Someone hacked the lock clean off.’
‘Was. . . was anything stolen?’
‘I didn’t have an inventory of his shit, love,’ he said, huffing. ‘Nothing that I could see.’
‘When was this? The break-in?’
‘Couple of weeks ago.’
She acquired the journal a couple of weeks ago.
‘What night?’
‘A Thursday, I think.’
The night she had bumped into the man was the night the garage was broken into. Was that why the man had been running – running from the break-in? She knew now that it couldn’t have been Finn she bumped into. All he would have had to do was call the landlord and ask for his belongings back. It hadn’t been him that night – it had been his tormentor.
‘Finn Matthews was nothing but hassle. His buzzer would sound throughout the night: eleven p.m., one a.m., three. Shouting from his apartment in the middle of the night. The police always pulling up outside. He upset my other tenants, caused a leak and did things in the flat that I would’ve kicked him out for, had he not left on his own merit. I don’t know where he is, but good riddance to him.’
Rose looked around the apartment one last time. Even with the fresh paint and the lack of furniture, she could feel him there, as though it was the sound of his heart beating in her ears rather than her own.
‘He was in trouble and needed help,’ she said. ‘And you turned your back. Frankly, you and every person in this building should be ashamed of yourselves.’
‘Out,’ he said firmly, pointing towards the door.
She headed back down the stairs, feeling the heat of Lee’s breath on the nape of her neck. He shot forwards for the door, opened it quickly to snatch back control, and slammed it behind her the second she was out on the steps.
The man had stolen the journal; he must have known what lay inside and tried to cover his tracks. But the only way he could have known about the journal was if someone had told him. . . if Finn had told him. Which meant the man knew where he was.
She walked down the steps and onto the street, a smile creeping across her face. She was getting closer.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket and broke her from her thoughts. She rummaged in her pocket, only remembering how tired she was when she felt the tug of her muscles, the start of a headache pulsing at her temples. Investigating the disappearance gave her the best distraction; she wasn’t just helping Finn – he was helping her, too.
She glared down at the screen. A text from Christian.
Get home as soon as you can. The police
are here. They’re asking for you.
THIRTY
Rose turned onto the driveway and saw the police car stationed on the gravel. She had thought of possible reasons they had for coming to her home without warning. Maybe they had decided to look into Finn’s case. Maybe they had been contacted with a lead after her advertisement in the newspaper. But in her gut she knew: they weren’t there to help her, they were there to silence her. Shane had tried to help and had been beaten to a pulp. She wondered what they had in store for her.
Her phone vibrated again. Rob had been messaging her the whole way home, asking if she was okay, if he had moved too quickly, acknowledging that she appeared uncomfortable when she left. She couldn’t see him again. Not if he was one of them.
She walked up the driveway to the door, rummaging through her bag for her keys, and stopped when the door opened.
Christian stood in the doorway.
‘They’re in the kitchen,’ he said, his tone flat. But it wasn’t his voice that showed her his fury; it was his eyes.
He turned and headed back down the hall.
Rose stepped inside and shut the door behind her. The air of the house felt different; she could almost taste the testosterone in the air.
She walked down the hall to the kitchen. Christian was standing in the corner with his arms crossed tightly across his chest, his brow furrowed. The officers stood at the breakfast bar.
They were the same officers from the gun range.
‘Mrs Shaw?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m Police Constable Leech, and this is my colleague, Constable Watts.’
She immediately saw flashes of the naked men on the ground, glistening with the urine from the men who stood in her kitchen.
‘Fucking pussy,’ Watts spat.
‘We can sort him out too, then we almost have one each,’ Leech said.
PC Leech was tall with broad shoulders, thick sideburns creeping from beneath his hat. His eyes were blue, cold.
PC Watts was smaller in height, but wider in girth, muscle bulging from beneath his uniform, his neck as thick as her thigh.
Both of them wore wedding rings. She couldn’t fathom the idea of people loving them, promising their lives to them.
‘You went to visit Adam Morant, didn’t you?’ Watts asked.
‘Who’s that?’ Christian asked.
‘Why do you want to know?’ she asked.
They all stood eyeing each other, each waiting for one another to crumble and answer first.
‘He’s dead,’ Leech said finally. ‘Hung himself in his room the same night you went to visit him.’
Her legs almost buckled. She looked from officer to officer, waiting for them to burst into laughter, to tell her it was a joke, but all she saw were the crude smirks creeping across their faces, the mischievous glints in their eyes. Her head felt light.
‘What did you say to him to make him do that?’ Watts asked.
‘What the hell is going on, Rose?’ Christian asked. She met his eyes and flinched; the anger in them was searing. ‘What are they talking about? Who’s Adam Morant?’
He was standing straighter; his eyes were wider. The anger was rising like heat, and she immediately thought of him on the bridge, beating the asphalt with his fists as though it were her.
The downstairs toilet flushed. The door unlocked and Detective Inspector Montgomery emerged.
‘Hello, Rose.’
Her eyes shot to Christian. It was a reunion none of them ever wanted.
‘You need to think about the consequences of your actions, Mrs Shaw,’ Leech said, putting on his hat. ‘A man is dead. This isn’t a game.’
‘Rose,’ Christian said sternly. ‘I asked you what’s going on.’
�
��Is that all you came here for?’ she asked Leech. ‘To make me feel bad?’
Christian scoffed and strode out of the room, passing Montgomery in the doorway.
‘I’ll go to him,’ Montgomery said, and gave her a closed smile.
Each of them remaining waited to hear the lounge door click shut before speaking again.
‘I won’t stop looking into this,’ she said, clenching her hands into fists. ‘I know what you’ve done. You hurt Shane, those men in the park. No matter what you do to me, I won’t stop.’
‘You might want to reconsider,’ Leech said, stepping closer until she could feel the heat of his breath. He stared into her eyes, but she refused to look away.
‘Is that a threat?’
‘No, love, that’s a promise.’
They stared at each other until her whole body was twitching under his glare. He smirked again, showing uneven teeth. He was enjoying every second of it. Did Montgomery know what they were really doing here? Did he know that the officers had come to antagonise her, or did he truly think checking in on her was going to help?
‘We suggest you stop this,’ Watts said, behind him. ‘For your sake. Your family’s sake.’
She leaned in closer, until her nose almost touched Leech’s.
‘Over my dead body,’ she whispered.
Leech breathed a laugh, hot on her cheeks. He adjusted his cap and headed through the doorway. Watts winked at her as he followed behind and whispered beneath his breath.
‘See you soon.’
She stood stock-still until she was sure they were gone. When the door clicked shut, she heaved for air. Christian stormed back into the room.
‘Tell me what’s going on. Now.’
She slipped her bag from her shoulder and removed the journal. It fell on the countertop with a loud clap.
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s a journal. It belonged to a man called Finn Matthews. He’s gone missing, and the police don’t give a damn. I’ve been trying to—’
‘The man from the paper,’ he said.
‘Yes. I placed the ad.’
He looked at her, bewildered.
‘Why?’
‘Because I can’t stand by as the police bury the case of a missing man. He could be in danger. He could be dead.’
‘But you don’t know him.’
‘Why does that matter?’
‘Because it’s madness, Rose. If the police don’t think there’s enough to go on, what makes you think you can do anything?’
‘It’s not that they believe there isn’t enough evidence. There’s plenty. They just don’t care. The whole establishment is homophobic. If Finn were a missing white woman, they would be all over it.’
‘Christ, Rose. Listen to yourself.’ He paced.
‘You don’t know what they’ve done.’
‘Is this why you’ve been out at all hours? The bruise on your face?’ A thought came to him, like the flick of a switch. ‘That’s why someone took your bag, left the message on your phone. What the hell have you got yourself into?’
‘No one is looking for him, Christian. No one cares. But I do. I had the opportunity to help someone before, and I didn’t. I won’t let the opportunity pass again.’
‘Jay,’ he said and sighed. ‘You’re doing this because of Jay.’
‘I’m doing this because it’s the right thing to do.’
‘So what, you think finding this man will bring your brother back? Make you feel less guilt for something that was never in your control? Shit, maybe even make you feel less guilt for killing Violet?’
Killing Violet, as if she had wrung the life from her neck. Tears pricked. Montgomery walked back into the kitchen the second Christian said the words. She thought of the day on the bridge, Montgomery holding her back as Christian took Lily away.
‘You wouldn’t understand,’ she said hoarsely.
‘You’re right, I don’t. What you’re doing, it’s insane.’
Christian stormed towards the front door. She followed behind him, her shoes clipping the backs of his heels. Montgomery stayed behind. Déjà vu had truly set in.
‘Well, maybe I am,’ she shouted after him. ‘And with the life I live, would you blame me?’
She watched him get inside his car and swing around in the driveway, gravel spitting into the air. He sped out of the drive and down the road.
‘I hope they weren’t too hard on you,’ Montgomery said behind her. ‘But you need to understand that you’re not just meddling with your own life here. A man has died.’ He raised his hands. ‘I’m not saying you had anything to do with it, but you need to consider that your actions have consequences.’
She stepped aside and held the door open.
‘Good day, Detective Montgomery.’
He cleared his throat and gave her a nod.
‘Good day.’
He just managed to pass the threshold before she slammed the door behind him.
FINN’S JOURNAL
18th February 2018 continued
I arrived at the office dripping with sweat. I had practically marched the whole way, my eyes constantly darting to my watch.
I was so racked with nerves I could almost taste them. I stepped out of the lift and into the office.
A sudden silence fell upon the room.
Everyone was looking at me. They didn’t smile, they didn’t drop their gazes when they recognised me, they just continued to stare.
‘Good morning,’ I said.
Everyone looked away.
I walked on with my head down and let myself into my office, left the door ajar. I chucked my bag down beneath the desk and took off my blazer, only to spot the sweat patches soaked beneath my arms and shrug it back on.
‘Finn, can I speak with you a moment?’
I looked up. Jonathan Cunningham, the editor of the Evening Herald, was standing in the doorway, the girth of his waist almost meeting either side of the door frame. The strip lighting reflected off his bald scalp.
‘Yes, of course.’
‘I’ll meet you in my office.’
When he left the doorway I saw everyone looking at me through the glass partition, shooting their attention back to their computer screens when I met their eyes.
I couldn’t tell him why I was late. I was new to the role, I had expectations to meet. Telling him of my stalker would only make him worry about my commitment. So many bad things could come from this.
I left the comfort of my office and walked across the open-plan room, sweating further, my skin burning with the tension. I stepped inside his office and closed the door behind me.
Jonathan was a man of business. Although his appearance was unkempt, with sparing tufts of hair on his scalp and fingerprints on the lenses of his glasses, he was focused on keeping everyone in line. This was the first time I had strayed. I looked down at the food stain on his shirt before meeting his eye as he clasped his hands together on top of the desk.
‘I’m so sorry I was late.’ I picked the first lie that formed. ‘I woke up feeling nauseous and faint, and didn’t feel safe walking to work until it had passed.’
He went to reply. I spoke again before he could.
‘I’ve never experienced anything like this before. Perhaps I’ve been over-eager this first month, working late and weekends.’
‘I’m sorry to hear you were unwell,’ he said. ‘And it was unfortunate that you were late this morning, but that’s not the reason I’ve called you in here.’
The looks everyone had given me in the office now felt more sinister. They hadn’t stared at me because I was late, but for another reason entirely. I tried to swallow, but couldn’t.
‘Something has come to my attention.’ He looked down at his hands. ‘Something quite disturbing.’
He turned his computer monitor to face me, and every drop of blood left my face.
I looked at the social media page dedicated to my slander, eyed the photos that had edited me into explicit imag
es with a man weighing over three hundred pounds, an array of animals in pigsties, barns, a cage with my head between the bars. Sick rose to my throat. I looked away.
‘You’ve been very dedicated this first month, so I’m not worried about your commitment. However, we can’t have anything like this affecting the company.’
‘I. . . I obviously don’t need to tell you that it wasn’t me who created those. . . images. They aren’t real.’
‘We know that,’ he said. ‘Of course we know that.’
We. More people knew.
‘And there are emails,’ he said. ‘Photos of this nature were sent to everyone in the office, our contacts at the printers, our shareholders.’
I couldn’t process any of it. I stared at him, tears slipping down my cheeks, watching his lips move, but I couldn’t hear him any more. It was too much.
‘We think it’s the right thing to do at this stage.’
I blinked furiously to focus.
‘. . .For you to take a leave of absence while we consider the best way forward.’
‘But you can’t fire—’
But I knew they could. I hadn’t passed my probation period. At this point, they could fire me for any reason they chose.
‘I’m sorry, Finn.’
‘I understand,’ I croaked, but I didn’t. My whole world had been ripped from me like the flesh from my back, and I couldn’t do a thing about it.
I left his office in a blur and made my way to my own, eyes following me, pity scorching into my skin. I took my bag from beneath the desk and waited until I was in the lift before letting the sobs burst from me and echo all the way down.
By the time I returned home, I was trying to stop myself from hyperventilating. I got a taxi from door to door, too nervous to walk alone, which made me think of the police officer smirking at me, thinking I was a joke, less of a man for fearing another.
I let myself inside the building and trudged up the stairs. The two bottles of wine I’d bought from the off-licence as I waited for the cab clinked and chimed together with every step.