Chapter 22
The faces of two police officers surprise me enough that the piece of toast I’m trying to swallow tries to choke me. They wait, almost smiling as I cough and splutter for what feels like five minutes but is probably only five seconds.
“Sorry about that,” I stammer. “How can I help you?”
“I’m Constable Fisher, and this is Constable Greene. We’d like you to come to the station with us. We have questions about the abduction of your friend,” the skinny one asks, his Adam’s apple bobbing hard in his throat as he squeaks the words out. He blushes and repeats himself.
“Um, questions? I’ve already given my statement.” What more can I tell them? I don’t know anything else. I wasn’t there.
“It won’t take long.” There’s a finality to the woman’s words.
“Okay, let me grab my jacket.” I turn from them and take my jacket off a hook on the wall rack. I walk between them to the police car. “Can you elaborate? What else do you want?”
“It will all be explained at the station,” she says calmly. Too calmly.
“Do I need a solicitor?” This is not sounding good.
I’m led directly into an interview room. It’s small and has a table with some kind of recording device, the chairs sit two either side of the table. There’s a camera attached to the wall in the top corner opposite the door. “Take a seat. Would you like a drink? Tea, coffee?”
I decline the offer, and they leave me alone. A couple of minutes later, the two officers that were at the hospital that night walk in. They take the chairs opposite me, and with a click of a couple of switches, all our conversations will be recorded.
“Okay, Mr Masterton, thanks for coming in. Is it okay to call you Finn?” Sargeant asks with a polite smile. I nod but stay quiet. “Where were you the evening your friend Memphis was abducted?”
I sit back in my chair in stunned silence, trying to get my brain to work and think.
“I’m confused. I told you all of this in my statement.
I was at home; we’d been working hard on a set of graphics, and it got late.
We ordered pizza, and Memphis went to collect it.
I stayed home completing the work to email to our client. ”
“Yes, I read that, but that’s not the usual way you order pizza. The restaurant told us you always have it delivered. Why did Memphis walk that night? Why didn’t you go together?”
Why are they asking me all of this? “I don’t know, not specifically. Memphis said he wanted to clear his head or stretch his legs, does it matter? We’d both been staring at our screen for way too long. It wasn’t unusual for him to do that.”
“Tell me about your relationship with Matt Bennett,” the other detective asks, speaking for the first time. His change in subject has me confused. “You’d broken up after an argument that turned violent. You never reported your attack.” It wasn’t a question.
I’m curious how they know about that. “No, I didn’t think a couple of punches warranted wasting your time. I’ve had worse.”
“He’s hit you before?” Fisher asks, eyebrows rising up.
“No. But as a gay kid you get your fair share of bullies and beatings. A punch isn’t going to do that much harm.” I shrug, almost getting a kick out of how uncomfortable they now are.
“When you told Memphis about the fight, you knew he’d rush back here.”
“Of course, I didn’t. I’m a grown man. I don’t need babysitting.” I’m pissed off now. Are they trying to set me up? “I didn’t have anything to do with Memphis getting hurt.”
No reaction from the two men at all, not even an eyebrow twitch. “You got back together with Mr Bennett. He says he was at your house that evening. What time was he there?”
We’re back to the questions. “No, he wasn’t with us. He showed up just after Memphis left to pick up the pizza. He didn’t even come in, just said he’d see me later.
“So, you weren’t with him the whole time you were waiting for Memphis?”
“No, I just told you, he didn’t hang around for Memphis to come back.
He said he had someone to meet. I had to call him to ask him to drive me to Mansbridge’s house.
Why is this relevant? Do you think he had something to do with it?
He didn’t like Memphis, but I don’t think he would have anything to do with it. He didn’t know Mansbridge.”
Sargeant types on the laptop in front of him, then turns it around, allowing me to see the screen.
It’s a photo that looks like a screen shot from a CCTV camera.
My heart stills as I look at Memphis looking at a car, a very distinctive Porsche, Mansbridge’s pride and joy.
A couple of feet behind Memphis—unknown to him—is Matt, and he’s got something in his hand. “Do you recognise anyone here?”
Bile rises in my throat as I clamp my hand over my mouth. I don’t know how I manage to stop from vomiting all over the floor. I nod and swallow a couple of times before I can speak. “Yes, that’s Memphis, the hideous bright yellow Porsche is Mansbridge’s. The man behind Memphis is Matt Bennett.”
He did it. He hit Memphis and let him be dragged into the car.
“Thank you, Finn. You’ve been a great help.”
I look at them puzzled. Is that it, is that all they’re going to tell me. “I didn’t know. I promise you, I didn’t know. What happens now? You have to find him; he needs to be punished.”
“We will, thank you. That can’t have been easy.” They both stand up; Sargeant gives me a small smile. “We’ll be in touch.”
“That’s it? I can go?”
“I know you’re looking, Drake, so open the door for me,”
“What do you want?” His voice belligerent; I wonder how much he’s scowling. For a sub, he gets very stubborn and growly.
“Just do it, Drake. You know you’re interested in why I’m here.” I smirk full on this time. I hear the click of the entrance door “Good boy.” I tell him before releasing the call button and pushing open the door.
The door to his apartment opens just as I reach it.
The sight is Drake in a tight black T-shirt that seems to be moulded to his pecs and soft grey sweatpants, ones that hang off his hips.
My mouth dries as I run my eyes over the defined oblique muscles and the dark happy trail as they disappear under his waistband.
“Have you finished gawping or is this why you’re here?” he asks dryly, his eyebrow rising in a perfect arch. His comment is droll enough to make me feel my cheeks heat, and I never blush.
“No, this view is just a pleasant perk. I’m actually here to speak to you about Matt Bennett and something that was hinted to me before it went to trial.” Drake looks at me dumbfounded, then with an angry huff, he steps back.
“This isn’t something I want to talk about.
What happened to Memphis was beyond horrific, and as a family, we are only just coming to terms with it.
Matt’s role in it has been dealt with. We all know he took a plea deal.
I never want to hear his name again; he’s a waste of breath and time. Please leave.”
Is he kidding me? I don’t move. I know I should, but this is not how I thought this would go.
Finding out the things Matt did to Memphis to enable Mansbridge shocked me to the core.
I truly couldn’t believe that the man I had developed feelings for, that I had been falling in love with was a farce, a plant from the beginning.
All I want to do is explain how it affected me, how guilty I felt when I couldn’t see how Matt was using me, and why I went silent, and he doesn’t want to know.
He’s still staring at me. His eyes, which had a little warmth mixed in with the curiosity, are now cold and dark.
He’s even changed his stance; he’s like a big tough military guy, one that could get you to spill your guts without a thought.
Yet, according to Memphis, he’s a submissive.
I’m guessing he doesn’t want me to know about that part of his life.
Perhaps that’s the part of my question he answered.
“I don’t think so, Mister.” I step forward into his space, and like a brick wall, he doesn’t shift. “You know as much as I do; there’s something between us. Only you’re too chicken shit to do anything about it.”
“Go home, Finnegan.” He moves forward until I have no choice but to step back until I’m at the threshold of his apartment. “Go back to Lincoln and leave me alone.”