His shirt is torn. There’s blood everywhere. Staining his pale blue shirt, darkening his jeans.
I want to scream or run, but I don’t. Instead, I stay rooted to the spot as I hear myself whisperOh my God, oh my God, oh my God, over and over again. It’s like I’m in some TV drama. It doesn’t feel real. I tell myself to keep it together, not to faint or panic. I have to do something. Should I call an ambulance? Maybe they can do something. Save him… No. He’s dead. He’s not coming back. He’s actually dead. I’ve never seen a dead person before.
Call the police, Louisa, call the police. I’m muttering. I think I must be in shock. I want to call Jared. Instead, with shaking hands, I pull out my phone and call 999.
Twenty-Three
I can’t get the image of Mike’s face out of my head. Of his open eyes and slack mouth. Of the blood. I wait outside his apartment in the hall, sitting in the chair next to the pot plant. I don’t want to be here. I want to go home but the police told me to stay put. Who killed him? Why? A robbery gone wrong? A business deal gone bad? Something more… personal? Poor Darcy. What’s she going to do now? Unless… No. That’s just crazy. She’s certainly got a screw loose, but would she really go so far as to kill her own husband?
The strains ofMr Brightsidestartle me. I stare at my phone screen, my vision hazy, and see it’s Jared calling. I answer.
‘Hello,’ I say shakily.
‘Louisa, I’m sorry about before. I was being a knob. Come home.’
‘Jared, something’s happened.’ My voice cracks.
‘Are you okay?’
‘No. No I’m not.’
‘Where are you? Are you hurt?’
‘No. It’s Mike. He…’ I look up as the lift door opens, disgorging two male uniformed police officers. ‘I’ve got to go,’ I say, rising to my feet. ‘The police are here.’
‘The police! Lou, tell me where you are. What the hell’s going on?’
‘I’m at Mike’s. Look, I’ll call you back.’ I’m well aware that Jared is probably freaked out by now. But one of the officers is asking me to end the call.
‘Louisa, don’t hang up.’
‘I’ll call you back,’ I repeat and end our conversation.
‘Are you Louisa Sullivan?’ the older officer asks.
‘Yes.’
‘Was it you who made the 999 call just now?’
I nod.
‘My name is Sergeant Merton, and this is my colleague Constable Santani. Are you hurt at all?’
I shake my head. ‘No.’
‘Can you tell me where you saw—’
‘In there,’ I interrupt. ‘In the kitchen.’ I point through the semi-open door to the flat. ‘I don’t want to go back inside.’
‘No, that’s fine,’ he says. ‘You can stay out here. We’ll be out in a minute.’ He nods to the other officer and they stride into Mike’s flat.
My phone rings again. It’s Jared. He keeps calling. The music from my ringtone is making my nerves even worse, so I set my phone to silent. I’ll wait until I get a proper chance to talk to him before calling him back. A small, petty part of me is punishing him for how he spoke to me earlier. I want him to worry about me. The officers’ voices float out of the apartment, deep and low, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. Then, I hear the louder static click of a police radio, and a woman’s voice, asking questions about the body and the female witness. I guess they mean me. Only I didn’t witness anything.
The officers come back out into the lobby.
‘Did you touch anything inside the flat?’ Sergeant Merton asks.
I shake my head. ‘Only the door handles. Oh, and the light switches.’
