His dad did have a point. Osian had a habit of picking fights with him. Dannel had refused to get involved. Mostly because Osian was generally right. Myron had a poor track record, after all. They’d tried so many times to meet in the middle and rebuild their relationship. Why bother?
“Why don’t we head to your place? We can talk on the way. I’ll do my best not to rise to Osian’s prodding.” Myron took a step toward him. “What’s the harm in trying?”
Dannel could honestly think of a number of reasons to say no. His young heart had been shattered when his dad walked out on them. He’d come back, but the damage was done. “Why do you always want to do this after a long day of work?”
“You ignore my calls on your days off. And you never answer the door when someone knocks.”
“Right.” Dannel had no retort to either of those points. He did ignore people who called or showed up at the flat, particularly if Osian wasn’t home. “Okay. Fine.”
The walk home started out awkwardly. Dannel was tired and had nothing to say. His dad seemed hesitant to open the conversation, for someone who’d wanted to chat.
“Why did you leave?” Dannel paused at a light and found himself unable to keep the question inside.
“Son.” Myron shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Did you have to go for the gut immediately?”
“I don’t understand what you mean.” Dannel repeatedly punched the button to change the light. “You say you want to talk. Well? Why’d you run off?”
Myron was silent until the light changed and they’d begun to walk again. “I was young. Incredibly immature. I had a million dreams for my future. And I thought I had all the time in the world to come back and pick up my family where I’d left them. I wasn’t ready to be a parent.”
“And Mum was?”
He shook his head sadly. “No, she wasn’t. I’m honestly amazed she ever let me talk with you or Roland ever again.”
“So am I.”
His brother had been thrilled to reconnect with their dad as a teenager. Dannel had required a lot more convincing. Even now, he kept Myron at arm’s length.
Dannel stayed quiet all the way to his street. He paused at the sight of the figure hanging out by their flat. “What’s he doing here?”
“Who?”
Dannel ignored his dad. He picked up his pace, trying to catch Ethan by surprise. “Are you waiting for someone?”
He bolted.
Dannel watched, completely bewildered, as Ethan raced out of sight. “What the—”
“Friend of yours?”
“Used to be.” Dannel didn’t know what to think of Ethan anymore.
His dad, after their conversation, had decided not to push the subject. They made a tentative date to have lunch later in the week. Dannel watched him leave, then jogged up the stairs.
He found Osian standing by the window with binoculars. “What are you doing?”
“Spying on Ethan spying on me.” Osian caught him by the wrist to drag him over. He looped his arm around Dannel’s neck and pulled him in for a kiss. “What do you think he wanted?”
“We’ll have to ask him.”
15
Osian
“Do you honestly think Ethan’s going to answer the door?” Dannel followed Osian down the street. They’d made their way once again to Gemma and Ethan’s flat. “He knows I saw him last night.”
“We’re about to find out.” Osian thought Ethan would answer if only to deflect whatever suspicions they had. “Here we go.”
He knocked.
And knocked.
His confidence faded a little. Osian decided to continue ringing the bell and knocking. Ethan had to answer eventually, even if it was just to yell at them to go away.
Osian’s instinct proved correct when the door was yanked open five minutes later. “Morning.”
“Will you quit ringing my sodding doorbell?” Ethan looked ready to start a fight with them. “What do you want?”
“Shall we come inside? Or would you like to give the lovely people walking their dogs even more of a show?” Osian waited until Ethan moved away to allow them in. “Tea? Cakes?”
“Don’t push your luck,” Ethan growled. He went through to the living room, not bothering to see if they were following. “I’ll throw you out on your ear.”
Osian glanced back at Dannel, then to Ethan again. “I like our chances of taking you. Why don’t you tell us why you were skulking around our flat last night?”
“I don’t know.” Ethan flopped down onto the couch.
Osian sat gingerly in one of the armchairs across from him. He’d never seen Gemma’s place so grungy. There was half-eaten food on dirty plates all over. “You don’t know why you were playing creepy stalker?”
“Is this sanitary?” Dannel hadn’t taken a seat yet. He reached down to push an uneven stack of papers onto the floor. “I’ll wash my trousers later.”
“Dannel.” Osian pinched the bridge of his nose, trying not to burst out laughing. He somehow managed to keep his composure. “You went to our flat for a reason.”
“I’ll make tea.” Ethan fled the room without another word.
“Are we trusting his tea?” Dannel peered around the room. “I think something’s sticking to my shoe.”
“Dannel.” Osian sighed deeply. He chuckled helplessly for a moment. “One, you’re being dramatic. It’s a little messy. He’s grieving. I think we can forgive a cluttered living room. Second, no, we pretend to sip the tea.”
“Is he grieving if he killed her?” Dannel whispered his question, eyes darting toward the door. “Do murderers mourn?”
Would a killer grieve their victim’s death? Osian hadn’t studied enough Freud to process the question, let alone answer. Then again, they hadn’t decided if Ethan had committed the crime in the first place.
“Milk? Sugar?” Ethan came in with a tray with three mugs. “Help yourself.”
Osian grabbed a mug and pretended to take a sip. He glanced over to find Dannel hadn’t even bothered to take one. We’re going to have to work on his ability to play along. “If you’re done running out of the room to avoid us, tell me why you came over to our flat last night. Did you want to chat?”
Ethan sank down on the couch. He stared morosely into his mug before eventually glancing over at Osian. “I didn’t murder Gemma. I’d never hurt anyone.”
Says everyone in prison for domestic violence.
“Okay?” Osian set his mug down without taking a drink. “You were there.”
“I was on the other side of the building,” Ethan insisted. “We were happy. What motivation would I have had?”
“Had Gemma gotten tired of arguing?” Dannel asked.
“We weren’t arguing.” Ethan shot to his feet, only to flop back down with a sheepishly muttered apology. “Noah did this. I know he did.”
Osian ignored his throwing the ex-boyfriend under the bus. “I’m more interested in why you haven’t answered my question. Why were you outside our flat?”
“I wanted to talk.”
“By running away?” Dannel asked. He exchanged a confused look with Osian. “And hovering in the shadows like a vampire?”
“I was trying to work up my courage.” Ethan reached for his mug again, taking a large gulp. “We used to be friends. I thought we were. You immediately assumed I hurt my Gemma, and you’re too busy playing coppers to help me.”
“How are we supposed to help you?” Osian felt like his video game had gone into difficult mode. “We haven’t assumed anything.”
Dannel leaned forward, and Osian held his breath, hoping he didn’t show their hand too soon. “You ran off. Innocent people don’t flee from their friends like they’ve picked their pocket.”
“What?”
Osian didn’t bother translating Dannel’s creative analogy. “You’re acting guilty of murder. If you want your friends to help, maybe let us in a little instead of bouncing between yelling, stalking, and running away from
us?”
“I’m trying.” Ethan set his mug down for a second time and dropped his head into his hands. “I loved Gemma. She drove me up the wall. She hated the mess I left wherever I went. And I hated her being late every moment of every day. We argued. Who doesn’t? I bet you and Danny Boy fight over who gets the PlayStation controller first.”
“We don’t.” Dannel shrugged. “I go first.”
Osian rubbed his forehead, giving up on trying not to laugh. “Not what he meant, love. I leave my wet towels on the floor.”
“Yes, you do. And I drape them across your side of the bed.” Dannel glared at him. “You also forget to close biscuit packets. They go stale. Stale.”
“Pretty sure we’re proving his point,” Osian admitted ruefully. He shifted his gaze from Dannel to Ethan. “How did you think we could help you?”
“Prove I’m innocent.”
“We’re not the police.”
“And? It hasn’t stopped you from investigating up to this point. I’ve listened to your podcast. Gemma loved them—never missed an episode.” Ethan got to his feet and began to pace the room. “The police are going to arrest me.”
“Did you do it?” Osian watched Ethan’s face carefully to see his reaction. “Were you in the room when she died?”
“No, I sodding wasn’t.” Ethan had his fists clenched tightly at his side. He started toward Osian but stopped himself. “I didn’t kill her.”
“Ossie.” Dannel stretched his foot out to nudge Osian.
“Yeah, I know.” He scratched his head roughly and sighed. “He believes you. And apparently, we’re going to attempt to help you.”
And me.
Even if I still think there’s the tiniest chance you might be guilty.
“What do we do?” Ethan was suddenly eager to chat with them. “What do you need to know?”
Ignoring the cynical part of his mind, Osian decided Ethan’s guilt or innocence didn’t matter. If he answered their questions, the truth would present itself eventually. He hoped.
“What do you remember before she left with the defibrillator?” Osian went with the most obvious question first.
The police hadn’t exactly been open to sharing information with them. Osian thought if they figured out who’d drawn Gemma away from the first aid station, they’d find the killer.
Whether it’s Ethan, Noah, or someone else entirely.
“Someone called in an emergency. It went over the tannoy.” Ethan wrapped his arms around himself. “We’d had four similar calls through the morning. All pranks. We’d gotten to the point where only one of us went. I’d handled the previous one. It took me across the building to an out-of-the-way space not being used. I didn’t find anyone, so I trudged back to Gemma. She insisted on responding next.”
“Did anyone identify who was playing the pranks?” Dannel shifted uncomfortably in the chair. He rested his hands gingerly on the arms of the seat. “It can’t be a coincidence.”
“A question for the police.” Osian wondered if they could convince Detective Khan or Powell to offer any insights. “Why don’t I text Abra? She might convince Chris to see if the security office looked into the calls.”
“Or kill you for making her reach out to her crush.” Dannel had an excellent point.
“I’ll text Chris. Tell him to call her instead.”
They’d intended to see Noah. Instead, they went through every detail of the day of the murder with Ethan. It took so long, Dannel was almost late for work; he barely had enough time to get home, change, and jog the short distance to the station.
Osian had watched him leave before calling Abra. “Hello, Abs.”
“I hate you.”
“Did Chris call? Have a date?” He grinned at the creative string of curses being shouted at him. He waited for her to pause for a breath. “Want to come over? Dannel’s at the station. I’m by my lonesome trying to decide if Ethan’s a murderer or simply an inept boyfriend.”
“Fine. But you’re buying dinner and explaining to me why you told Chris to call me,” Abra grumbled. “Pizza, curry, or burgers?”
“Surprise me.”
“Tofu it is.”
16
Dannel
The mood in the station set Dannel on edge immediately. Evie joined him on the way into the locker room to change. He couldn’t shake the feeling all eyes were on him.
“Did I do something weird again?” Dannel whispered to Evie when she sat beside him on the bench. “Why’s everyone staring at me?”
“No one is staring at you. I mean, I am, but I’m talking to you.” Evie frowned at him. “It’s just anxiety.”
Despite her encouragement, Dannel’s unease grew throughout the evening. He tried to bury the anxiety by throwing himself into a thorough clean of their fire engine. It wasn’t his turn, but he didn’t care.
“Ortea?”
Dannel moved around the engine to find their chief waiting for him. “Sir?”
“Let’s talk.” He motioned for Dannel to follow him.
Dannel’s blood pressure shot up. He wiped his hands on his trousers and climbed down. “Something wrong?”
“Come up to my office.”
Dannel followed Chief Wilson through the station up into the small room that was more suited to a closet than an office. He squashed himself into the fold-out chair. “Am I in trouble?”
“I’m not your headmaster.”
“Sir?”
He sat on the edge of his desk. “You’re not in trouble.”
“But?” Dannel hated the chief’s office. He rarely felt claustrophobic, and the room made his entire body itch. “Am I being fired?”
“What? No.”
Dannel rubbed the palms of his hands across his knees. “Why is everyone acting strangely?”
“We want to help.”
He wondered if he’d blacked out and missed an entire part of the conversation. “I am confused.”
“Your boyfriend was arrested for murder.” Chief Wilson spoke quietly. He rested a hand on Dannel’s shoulder. “You didn’t know.”
“What?” Dannel tried to catch his breath, but it seemed to stick in his throat. He counted slowly in his head, inhaling and exhaling until his vision stopped tunnelling. “Who…. When….”
He couldn’t put together an actual question. Osian had been arrested. It seemed completely illogical, given his conversation with the detective.
“Abra Gidney contacted me. She was on the way to the police station with Osian’s solicitor. We assumed you knew.” Chief Wilson moved off his desk to crouch in front of Dannel, who’d put his head down between his knees. “Breathe, son.”
“Arrested.”
“Ms Gidney didn’t seem concerned. But why don’t you let me drive you down to the police station?” He stood up and reached down to help Dannel to his feet. “You’re part of our family. We take care of our own.”
They arrived at the police station to find Wayne had already ripped into the detectives. Chief Inspector Callum Banks had taken him aside for an in-depth conversation. Dannel patiently waited with his boss by the front desk.
“Patiently” was definitely a stretch.
He stalked nervously around the room, periodically asking the constable manning the desk for an update. She was gentle in her refusal each time. Her kind answer, though, remained the same.
“Dannel.” Wayne came through the door to the left of the front desk after thirty agonising minutes. “Why don’t you join us? You’ll want to be part of this conversation.”
Dannel shook his arms out, trying to stop the trembling in his hands. “Chief?”
Wilson waved him off. “Go on, son. I’ll wait here for a while.”
Following the solicitor, Dannel reminded himself to keep his voice measured and make eye contact with the detectives. Don’t stare. Just meet their gaze, then look away after a few seconds. You’ll be fine. We’ll get Ossie out of here and find the prat responsible.
Instead of leading him
to an interrogation room, Wayne brought him further into the police station. They went into a larger office. It was packed with three detectives, Chris Kirwin, Abra, and Osian.
“Ossie.” Dannel found it impossible to move when he spotted Osian.
Osian stepped around the others to rush over and drag him into a crushing embrace. “I’m okay. It’s okay. We’re all going to be okay.”
Conversation swirled around them. Dannel tuned all of it out, reassuring himself Osian was truly fine. He’d had too much time to work himself up over worst-case scenarios.
“What happened?” Dannel whispered.
“The detectives received CCTV footage showing me entering the room before Gemma.” Osian tightened his arms around him when Dannel tried to pull away. “It’s obviously fake. Abra called Chris, who rushed over to help them dissect and compare both sets of video.”
“So, you’re not being arrested for murder?”
Osian stepped away from him. “No. I think they’re more concerned now about why someone is so insistent on me being arrested for murder.”
“Finally.” Dannel glared over Osian’s shoulder at the detectives. “What took them so long to figure out the painfully obvious?”
“Dannel,” Wayne muttered pointedly. “Why don’t we all sit down and discuss where to go from here?”
Reluctantly releasing Osian, Dannel dropped into one of the chairs farthest from the detectives. He folded his arms across his chest. His anxiety had flowed into an irate irritation.
“They’re doing their best, love.” Osian nudged him in the arm. “Ease off on the glare of death.”
There was an awkward silence. Dannel watched the three detectives muttering in a huddle together by the door. He wondered who the third one was.
“We haven’t been introduced. I’m Chief Inspector Callum Banks.” He motioned for the other detectives to take their seats. “We apologise for the disruption our investigation has caused. We haven’t been able to identify where the anonymous tip came from.”
Osian leaned in to whisper to him, “Because it’s anonymous?” They snickered together before Wayne cleared his throat loudly. “Sorry.”
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