CHAPTER 5. EX #2
She looks almost exactly the same—silky chestnut hair pulled into a ponytail, big blue eyes framed by long lashes.
“Friends,” Xavier muses, his tone mild, though I can see the wheels turning behind his eyes.
“We went to high school together,” Katie explains.
“It was a long time ago,” I say.
For a moment, I just look at her, trying to process how she still looks exactly the same. Not just young—almost untouched by time. She meets my gaze, and for a second, it’s like no time has passed. Like we’re seventeen again, standing in the school hallway.
“You’re a detective, Newt?” she asks, surprise flickering in her voice.
“Yeah.” I nod, quickly steering the conversation before she can ask questions I’d rather avoid. “When did we last see each other? Fifteen years ago? You haven’t changed a bit.”
“Neither have you.”
We stand there, smiling at each other for a beat.
“Well, that’s the second time this week!” Xavier cuts in, his voice dripping with mock enthusiasm. “Feels like a class reunion! Should we trade heartwarming stories, or head straight to the crime scene?” He flashes me one of his fake smiles. “What do you think, Newty?”
There’s an edge in his voice, a little dig aimed squarely at me. I shoot him a warning look, but he ignores it.
“You want to examine the lab, Mr. Ormond?” Katie asks, frowning. “May I ask why? Chief Willand and the other detectives already went over everything.”
Xavier shrugs. “You know how it is with SCPD—not exactly Mensa material. Always safer to give it a second look after they’re done.”
Katie’s frown deepens. “I thought you were SCPD?”
I shoot Xavier a quick glance, silently reminding him that we told them we were working for Willand. But, as always, he doesn’t miss a beat.
“Actually, we’re with Partners-in-Crime, a private detective agency. Willand brought us in for an outside perspective.”
“We step in when the police hit a wall,” I say smoothly.
“Which is pretty much always,” Xavier adds.
“Alright,” Katie says, glancing between us. “So you two are the partners?”
I nod.
“Newt, didn’t you want to be a CSI tech back in school?” she asks, curiosity edging into her voice.
“Oh yes, do tell, Newty,” Xavier echoes, clearly entertained.
I ignore him and keep my focus on Katie. “That’s a story for another time.”
Before she can press further, a lab-coated man approaches, pulling her attention away. I take the chance to shoot Xavier a pointed look.
“You good?” I whisper, heavy on sarcasm.
“Never better.”
“Great. Mind hitting pause on the whole asshole Sherlock act for a sec?”
Xavier scowls but bites back a retort—he hates the Sherlock comparison. Then his eyes narrow slightly.
“Funny she doesn’t call you ‘Newty.’ Thought you two were high school buddies?”
“What are you—”
The lab assistant walks off, and Katie turns back to us.
“Alright, gentlemen, I’ll show you the lab. Penny, you can go.”
Penelope nods to us and leaves. Katie leads us past towering marble columns toward the elevators.
“How many floors does this building have?” Xavier asks as we stop.
“Seven, Mr. Ormond.”
“Is there a basement level?”
“Yes.”
“What’s down there?”
Katie blinks, then offers a small smile. “I’m not sure. Storage, probably.”
The elevator doors slide open, and we all step inside.
“Tell me about Henry Wakefield,” Xavier says as Katie presses the button for the fourth floor. The doors close, and the elevator hums to life, carrying us upward.
“Henry was a senior cryogenics researcher, Mr. Ormond.”
“What exactly was he working on?” I ask.
She gives me a faint, knowing smirk. “Same as the rest of us, Newt—studying how different materials behave at extremely low temperatures.”
“Sounds like something you’d read in a company brochure,” Xavier says, unimpressed.
“I’m afraid I can’t be more specific, Mr. Ormond.” Katie shrugs. “Company confidentiality.”
Xavier shoots me a sidelong glance, mild irritation flickering across his face, but I ignore it.
The elevator slows to a stop, and the doors slide open onto the fourth floor.
“This way.” Katie leads us through a busy hallway packed with people in white lab coats, then down a glass-walled gallery overlooking the snow-covered gardens below.
The view is striking, but I barely take it in before we reach the end and turn right, stopping at a steel door tucked into a small alcove.
“This is where I found Henry,” she says.
Xavier and I step closer, peering through the small window in the door. Inside, the lab is lined with metal tables, equipment, and glass vessels, the whole space looking sterile and untouched.
“Open it,” Xavier says.
Katie frowns. “Mr. Ormond, this is the Blue Laboratory. It’s about minus thirty-five Celsius in there.”
“We’ll manage. Open it.”
She hesitates for a moment, then swipes a keycard over the sensor. A low hum sounds, followed by a click, and the door unlocks.
The second we step inside, the cold cuts straight through me. Even through my clothes, it’s sharp and biting, raising goosebumps on my skin.
“He was over there, by that table,” Katie says, pointing toward a far corner. “We believe there was a security malfunction. The doors wouldn’t open, and he was trapped in here for twelve hours.”
“The coroner’s initial report mentioned frostbite from direct contact with a cryogenic liquid,” I say, rubbing my hands together for warmth. “Was he handling it?”
Katie nods. “His hands were severely frostbitten. We think he broke one of the containers while working. When liquid nitrogen touches clothing, it freezes instantly. That, combined with being trapped in a room this cold, would have sped up the frostbite. We think that’s what killed him.”
“But he didn’t die from frostbite, according to the toxicology results,” Xavier mutters, his gaze sweeping over the room. “He suffocated.”
Katie blinks, caught off guard. “What? Suffocated how?”
“He died from inhaling gasoline vapors,” I explain.
“Gasoline?” Katie’s expression twists in confusion. “But there’s no gasoline here.”
“Exactly,” Xavier says, giving the lab one last look before turning for the exit. “Let’s go, Newt.”
“Already?”
“We need to re-examine Wakefield’s body.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Katie says, following as we step back into the gallery.
I frown. “Why not?”
“He’s scheduled for cremation tomorrow. All the paperwork has been signed.”
Xavier scoffs, his mouth twisting with disdain. “We’re investigating a murder. The cremation can be postponed for at least a few hours.”
Katie shakes her head. “The police have already done their analysis, Mr. Ormond. Henry will be cremated tomorrow—the body’s already been transferred to the crematorium.”
Xavier doesn’t even hesitate. He just smirks. “Don’t worry, Miss Fairfax. We’ll work something out.”
For a few long seconds, Xavier and Katie just stare at each other, locked in silence. Then I clear my throat, pointedly. Katie folds her arms across her chest.
“I’ll escort you downstairs,” she says.
Xavier doesn’t respond, so I nod. “Thank you.”
As we make our way back through the hall toward the elevators, I turn to Katie again. “Does the center use any equipment that runs on gasoline?”
“Not that I know of,” she says with a shrug. “But I’m not really an expert on that.”
“What kind of research is conducted at the center?” Xavier cuts in.
“It’s mostly medical research,” Katie says.
“Mostly?” Xavier presses.
Katie exhales, her patience thinning. “Mr. Ormond, a lot of what you’re asking is confidential. I’m sure you understand I can’t discuss it.”
“Of course, I understand,” Xavier says, his tone making it clear he couldn’t care less.
“You really should be talking to Mr. Rishetor about this.”
“Yes, shame he decided to take a vacation.”
Katie doesn’t respond, and the conversation fades as we step into the elevator. The ride down is quiet; Xavier scrolls through his phone while I make small talk with Katie just to fill the silence.
The doors slide open into the lobby, and we head straight for the exit. The moment we step outside, voices carry from beyond the gates, sharp against the still air.
Katie frowns. “Those journalists again.”
I follow her gaze and spot a crowd gathered behind the gates. Among them, a flash of bright magenta catches my eye—the same journalist from this morning, lingering just outside the police station. Xavier and I exchange a glance.
“I’d better go before they start pestering us with their ridiculous questions again,” Katie says apologetically, not realizing Wakefield’s death probably isn’t why they’re here. “It was good to see you, Newt. We should catch up sometime.”
“I’d love to,” I say with a small smile, and we hug.
“It was nice to meet you, Mr. Ormond,” Katie says as she lets go of me and turns to Xavier.
He just nods, suddenly quiet and brooding.
Katie heads back inside, and I watch her disappear before glancing at him. He’s staring off into the distance, jaw tight, eyes unfocused.
“Selena Hast, right? That was the journalist’s name?” I nod toward the gates.
No answer.
“I’ll call a cab,” I say, pulling out my phone.
Still nothing. As I order the taxi, Xavier just stands there, lost in thought. Then, without a word, he turns and starts down the path.
I sigh and follow. “So, what do you make of Wakefield’s death?” I ask, trying to get him to talk. His mood swings today are getting to me. He’s not himself—I can feel the wall between us every time we’re alone.
“Nothing yet,” Xavier says, his eyes fixed straight ahead.
For a while, the only sound between us is the crunch of snow under our boots. We’re just ten feet away from the gates when I slow and glance at him.
“Xavier, are you okay?”
He takes a few more steps before finally turning to me. The look he gives me is sharp, like he’s daring me to push further.
“Xavier?” I try again, reaching out, my fingers just brushing his elbow.
He pulls away like I burned him.
Something twists in my chest, a sinking feeling I can’t shake, and for a moment I catch it—his cheeks flush, his jaw tightens. Embarrassment flickers across his face, gone so fast I might’ve missed it if I didn’t know him this well.
“I’m fine, Newt. Let’s go,” he says quickly.
“No.” I shake my head. “You’re acting weird. What’s going on?”
Xavier doesn’t look at me. “Nothing. Come on.”
I want to press, to push past whatever this is, but before I can, he strides ahead and presses the button on the gate. It buzzes open, and he steps out onto the street. I hesitate for half a second, then follow.
The moment we’re outside, they’re on us. Cameras flash, voices rise, and before I can even take a breath, she’s there—Selena Hast, right in our path, her burly cameraman looming beside her.
“Mr. Ormond! Mr. Doherty! A quick word for The Romford Recorder?”
“Move,” Xavier says, already cutting toward the road.
But Selena doesn’t back off. She sidesteps right into his path and, quick as a vulture, slips a business card into his coat pocket before he can dodge. “Take my card and call me! Five thousand for an interview!”
“Not interested.”
“Mr. Ormond—”
A man pushes through the crowd, stepping in front of us. Tall, sharp blue eyes, slick blond hair—vaguely familiar, but I can’t place him.
“James Answorth, The Weekend Herald,” he says smoothly. “Just one question: who’s top and who’s bottom in your duo? Wait—” his gaze flicks to me, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Let me guess. Mr. Doherty’s bottom. I’d hit that too.”
Xavier doesn’t say a word. He just moves. It happens fast—a split second, a blur of motion.
One moment Answorth’s smirking, the next Xavier’s fist connects with his jaw. The crack echoes through the frozen air, cameras flashing like fireworks.
Answorth reels but recovers quickly, swinging back.
Or tries to. Xavier catches his wrist mid-air and twists, making the man shriek.
His face contorts in pain before Xavier shoves him off.
Cameras erupt around us, flashes popping like fireworks, voices rising as the journalists fight to get the shot.
“Let’s just go, Xavier,” I say, grabbing his elbow and pulling him toward the car.
But we don’t get far. Answorth charges from behind, and when Xavier catches my panicked glance, he turns just as the guy’s fist slams into his face.
Adrenaline surges, and before I even register it, I’m shoving the bastard hard. I know Xavier, with all his ridiculous strength, could’ve handled him alone, but seeing Answorth land a hit on him sends something feral tearing through me. I can’t hold back.
Answorth stumbles but doesn’t go down. His furious eyes lock on me—and then he lunges.
His shoulder slams into my chest, my knees buckle, and I hit the asphalt hard.
Pain explodes through my skull, blinding me for a heartbeat.
The world tilts, spinning out from under me, and the last thing I register is Xavier diving toward me—a dark blur against the fading sky—before everything goes black.