Page 65 of Death Kiss

‘Listen, that’s what happened. I have an alib⁠—’

‘Oh yes. The girlfriend. Ellie Warner. The very same Ellie who’s linked to Sam Ulster, the first missing person in this case. That Ellie?’

I can feel the heat in my face.

‘That’s quite the coincidence, Mr Baker. And in my line of work, there are rarely coincidences. There are patterns. A journalist turning up at a crime scene related to his girlfriend’s missing ex. Suspicious, no?’

The smug mother fucker makes me break. ‘You want to hear suspicious? Why’s an old copper like you coming crawling back onto the force for this investigation? Do you think your colleagues are too incapable to do it without you, or are you guiding them?’

Ashworth snarls. ‘Careful.’

‘Why? Are you worried about what people might say?’ I’m getting reckless as my heartbeat quickens. ‘People will uncover every single skeleton in your closet eventually, Richard. No matter what roads you push them down.’

Ashworth hits the record button and looks at me with a cold, calculated fury. For a few sharp breaths, nothing happens.

He leans across the table, his face close enough that I can see the red broken lines in the whites of his eyes. ‘Want a bet?’

I don’t have a response, my mouth gaping as he calmly switches back on the recorder and ends the interview.

‘Don’t leave the area, Mr Baker. And watch your back; you never know who’s watching.’ The threat is clear as day, but he smiles and adds. ‘Someone must have been watching you and sent you there. We’ll do everything in our power to apprehend them.’

The charade isn’t for me. It’s for the recordings.

As I catch a cab home, his words run through my head,

Wanna bet?

Ashworth knows that I know more than I’m saying. And he knows about Ellie. I have no proof he killed anyone, but he needs to be dealt with.

TWENTY-NINE

ELLIE

Flopping back on the bed, I close my eyes. The TV's din makes my head ache, but I don’t have the motivation to get up and turn it off.

I’m just off the phone with Freddie, who’s filled me in about his weekend, and I’m feeling pretty guilty for being annoyed at him. He isn’t shutting me out; he’s been dealing with dead fucking bodies. And the police.

I’ve invited him round on Friday to chat it over, as he’s a little reluctant to do so over the phone. He sounds exhausted. And worried.

Clutching my phone in hand, I lay there for a long time, TV blaring and my head thumping.

What’s going on with everything around me?

First Sam. Then I find out my foster brother is all up in my best friend. Then they start being weird as fuck and getting their asses handed to them. Then Freddie gets sent to a fucking crime scene and questioned by the police.

Secrets.

Lies.

I’m sick of it all.

And worried about them. It’s like this infection has pricked and is spreading through everyone I know.

Mum’s downstairs rattling around, and I’m half tempted to spill it all to her and then curl up in her lap like I used to as a teen when the world felt too crazy. Lord, I had no idea.

Dropping my phone on the bedside table, I roll onto my side and watch the TV. The show is supposed to be funny, but I feel numb. Like I’ve gone and used up too much of it worrying about everyone else.

Maybe I just need a jolly good wank to feel something.