Chapter Nineteen Hole in Your Heart
Chapter nineteen
Hole in Your Heart
“I’m gonna ask her to the Halloween party at the student union. Dress as a sexy witch with a mask, so she doesn’t know it’s me, then make my move.” Mel tipped out of Aaron’s window, tapping her DMs together as she knelt side by side with him on his bed, vaping into the cool air.
“What if she’s not into the sexy witch thing?” Aaron blew out a lungful of vapour to cloud the small window.
Campus was getting chillier. Eerier. Or maybe it was all the goings on recently. But whatever it was, it had made accommodation switch on the heating which Aaron couldn’t control, hence him practically bending over double out of the window to get some air. Well, there was that and there was the need to exhale his vapour.
“Who isn’t into the sexy witch thing?”
“Er…me.” He took another drag of his menthol-flavoured vape, relieved he had a back facing room and not a campus-facing one where someone could see the two of them dangling out the window. He’d already dismantled the smoke alarm when he’d moved in for such endeavours. The no vape rule had pissed him off in the half-way house, too. One day, he’d have his own place, and he’d be able to smoke in bed.
Post coitally, hopefully.
“Men can be witches, too.” Mel bumped his shoulder with hers.
“Ha, yeah, but really not into the whole Halloween thing.”
“Fucking love Halloween, mate.”
Aaron slanted farther out of the window to exhale, the smoke twisting into the woodland beyond. Where Rahul’s last resting place was. Where the bloke had met his brutal end. Didn’t seem fair that it was just beyond his own room. Aaron would forever know there was a graveyard past his window. Yet, more strangely, he couldn’t help viewing it as the place where Dr Kenneth Lyons had rammed him against a tree and kissed life back into him. It was a place of both life and death.
“What is it? Too scary for ya?” Mel teased, then made a ghostly woo .
“Piss off.” Aaron elbowed her playfully. “There are far scarier things than dickheads in costume.”
His parents, mostly. And they didn’t even wear masks.
He didn’t say that, though. As much as he liked Mel and had confided in her about him being from care, there was always a limit to any friendship he made.
Apart from Dr Kenneth Lyons, it would seem.
But Kenny was different. He wasn’t a friend. And Aaron was slowly but surely becoming Kenny’s dirty little secret. And he wasn’t even ashamed to admit how he liked it.
More than liked it.
Kenny was like the slow wearing off of a nicotine fix, a craving Aaron couldn’t replace with artificial substandard imitations.
The gurgle from Mel’s vaping broke Aaron’s lusting. “Sorry. Guess that was kinda insensitive, considering…” She gestured vaguely to the wall, the one separating Aaron’s room from what used to be Rahul’s.
Aaron took another long pull of his vape. Artificial substandard. He could use a proper smoke.
“They said when they’re gonna replace him?” Mel nodded to the empty wall.
Aaron dropped from the windowsill to sit on the edge of the bed, vape dead, juice gone. He knew better than to ask Mel for a top up. She’d already given him enough, more than just nicotine. She was the only person who made sure he ate sometimes. Checked if he was still breathing.
Well, her and Kenny.
“I suspect they’ll find someone soon enough.” Aaron grabbed a textbook from the pile on the floor and settled back against the wall, thumbing through it half-heartedly. “Doubt they want to lose out on double bubble rent.”
Mel looked appalled. “Surely they’re not keeping his rent? That’s… cold.”
“That’s corporate.” Aaron yawned, rubbing his forehead, the exhaustion of the last few days catching up.
He didn’t have the mental energy to focus on their research methods textbook. Hell, he couldn’t even understand his own behaviour, let alone analyse someone else’s. Last night, wrapped up in Kenny’s arms, under luxury cotton sheets from John Lewis, he hadn’t slept, not really. He’d felt too much. And he wasn’t used to feeling. He’d forgotten how draining it was.
“Right.” Aaron flipped through the pages aimlessly. “What can we get away with?”
“Murder,” Mel said with a cackle.
Aaron arched an eyebrow. Mel’s laughter faltered, but a sharp knock at the door, loud and insistent, stunned her into complete silence.
“Fuck! Whose shit you been stealing now?”
Aaron tossed the textbook at her and clambered up to answer the door.
Two uniformed police officers stood behind it, expressions hard and unreadable. “Aaron Jones?”
“Yeah?”
“We’d like you to accompany us to the station,” one said, voice devoid of emotion. Bit like him. “We have a few questions to ask.”
“About what?”
“It will be better if you come with us. We can explain everything at the station.”
Aaron glanced over his shoulder at Mel, and she stared at him wide-eyed, vape dangling from her fingers. A chill settled in his chest as he turned back to the officers. A chill he didn’t like. One that told him this was the proof of why he should have kept his damn mouth shut. And why he was consistently told not to tell anyone who he was. Because as soon as they found out—
“Do I need a solicitor?”
“You can ask when you’re there.”
Well, fuck.
With a sigh, he grabbed his hoodie from the back of his desk chair, wriggling into it, then snatched his phone from the nightstand.
“Shall I tell anyone?” Mel said, scurrying to the end of his bed.
“Who?”
Mel gave him a sympathetic smile. She knew there were no parents for him to turn to. If he had any forethought, he’d tell Kenny. But he neither had his number, nor was he sure that this little impromptu visit wasn’t because of Kenny. He’d been na?ve to think he could run from it. Be protected from it. That’s why his decision to come back to Ryston wasn’t completely ridiculous. Wherever he’d go, his parents’ legacy would follow him around like those phantoms in the night Mel wanted to worship.
He followed the officers down his corridor and on the sly, texted Jervine: Being questioned. Ryston. Because, for her, that would be a problem she had to solve. As she had done each time before when he’d found himself hauled into another police interview, either for his own doing or someone else’s.
Aaron sat in the back of the police car, silent and tense, mind racing. He watched the town blur past, everyone else enjoying their weekend of chores and family fun, whereas he headed for Ryston Police Headquarters with the only potential reasoning being that they were linking him to Rahul’s death. Because he hadn’t touched Archie enough to be frogmarched in like this.
Once at the station, he was led through the sterile corridors, the buzz of fluorescent lights above like an interrogation spotlight. He hated this. Hated the way the people here looked at him. Hated how they treated him. Like he was already guilty of something. Police had questioned him a lot in his time. Petty crime as a teen had him hauled inside places like this more often than he cared to admit. And he always approached it with the same indifference. The way he approached the men who tried it on with him in Inferno. As if he were untouchable .
Because he sort of was.
But not to Dr Kenneth Lyons.
By the time they brought him into the interview room, he’d shed his unease because the room was claustrophobic. Like a small cupboard might be. Bare walls, a metal table bolted to the floor, and two chairs. It stank of stale coffee and disinfectant, and he sat, arms crossed, legs splayed out in defiance, waiting for the inevitable barrage of questions. He didn’t trust the police. Never had. And nothing about this felt like anything other than a setup.
The door creaked open, and in walked DI Jack Bentley.
“Hi, I’m PC Bentley. You can call me Jack.”
He sat across from Aaron, settling into the chair with a deliberate calmness that pissed Aaron off. He then placed a folder on the table, face unreadable.
“Aaron.” Bentley’s tone was level, but it carried an undercurrent of authority. Gone was the fresh-faced police constable who’d held his hand and taken him out of his cupboard. Aaron wondered if he knew that yet. “We appreciate you coming in voluntarily.”
“Didn’t feel all that voluntary to me.”
Bentley ignored the jab, flipping open the folder, skimming his fingers over the notes before he looked up. “We’re here to talk about Rahul Mishra.”
“Yeah, I figured.”
“Before we start, this is being recorded.” He pointed to the camera in the top corner of the room.
Aaron glanced at it, strove to pierce it with his gaze. Kenny was at the end of that camera. He could feel him.
“You are free to leave at any time. This is not an arrest. And you do not have to say anything.But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court.Anything you do say may be given in evidence.” Bentley checked over his notes. “Have you been offered a solicitor?”
A bang on the door stopped Bentley in his tracks. A uniformed officer opened the door to a suited and booted man.
“For Aaron Jones.”
Aaron looked the bloke up and down. Heavy-set fella. Buttons straining on his blazer. Jervine had been quick with her selection. Aaron supposed this was a duty solicitor or someone she’d had handpicked when she’d found out where he was.
Bentley looked as though he hadn’t expected it. But he gestured to the chair beside Aaron, allowing the solicitor time to take out his notebook and fountain pen, eyes trailing over to the corner of the room. Aaron peered over Bentley’s shoulder at the camera, too. Kenny was most definitely watching, then. He thought about blowing him a kiss, but Bentley started the interview by pressing record.
“Interview with Aaron Jones, Saturday October 26. Conducting the interview is DI Jack Bentley of Ryston Police. Also in the room is…” he gestured to the uniformed officer.
“PC Florence Jenkins.”
“And the solicitor for Aaron Jones…” Bentley nodded to the man next to Aaron.
“Julian Thatcher.”
“We’ll be starting the interview at,” he glanced at his watch, “five forty three p.m.”
“Aren’t you gonna say who else is watching?” Aaron angled his head to the camera.
“There isn’t anyone watching,” Bentley lied. “The recording is for safety.”
“Huh.” Aaron looked behind him again, right up into the corner camera. “So you’re on duty now?” He used his words deliberately and carefully. If Kenny was watching on, he’d know exactly what Aaron meant.
“It’s in case we need to draw on this later.” Bentley shuffled the papers. “Can you tell me the last time you saw Rahul Mishra?”
Aaron’s jaw tightened. He’d been expecting this, but the question still made his stomach churn. They were already pointing the finger at him. “Can’t remember exactly. Couple weeks ago.”
“How was he fitting in at university?”
“Don’t really know. We weren’t friends.”
“You lived next door to him?”
Aaron shrugged, leaning back in his chair, and crossing his arms. “We shared a hallway. I’d met him once. Sorry, twice. The beginning of term. We didn’t hang out.”
“But it was you who reported Rahul missing to the accommodation officer on Friday evening? Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Why would you suspect him missing if, as you say, you weren’t friends?”
“Because he made me dinner once. It was nice. Liked it. Fancied it again. So kept knocking on his door. Never answered.”
“Did you ask anyone else if they’d seen him?”
“Course.”
“And they’d said they hadn’t?”
“Yeah. Obviously.”
“Did you wait outside one of his lectures?”
Aaron furrowed his brow. He had a hunch where this was now going. “Yes.”
“Why would you do that? If you, as you say, weren’t friends?”
“Because I was hungry.”
“Did it ever occur to you he might have been avoiding you? That he might not want to see you? That, maybe, he might have felt intimidated by you?”
“I’m the least intimidating bloke in our Halls of Residence.”
“You believe that?”
“I believe other people believe that.”
Bentley scanned through his notes and Aaron noticed his left ring finger had an engagement band wrapped around it. He had a hunch that he and Kenny had a past together. It was based on nothing but instinct, but the deeper Aaron looked at him, the more he could see it. And he didn’t like it. Regardless that Jack was clearly engaged to someone else. He wondered how Kenny felt about it. Then threw that thought away. Because how Kenny felt was of no concern to him if being here was down to him.
“You alerted the accommodation office on Friday evening. Is that correct?”
“Yes. Which I have now told you or one of your minions thrice.”
“Why did you wait until Friday evening?”
Aaron shrugged. “Thought I was being a good citizen. Had I realised it would land me in here, facing you again, I wouldn’t have fucking bothered.”
Bentley leaned forward, the shift in his posture subtle but deliberate. “Where were you last night, Aaron?”
Aaron flinched, not expecting that. “Why? What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Did you visit the location where Rahul was found?”
Aaron clamped his mouth shut. How the fuck did he know that? And if he knew that, was it because Kenny had told him? And if Kenny had told him, had he also told him what they’d done against a tree? How Kenny had taken him home, stripped bare and cuddled him?
Aaron turned to his solicitor. “Do I have to answer that?”
“You don’t have to answer anything,” Julian said, “and it would be judicious to know where this line of questioning is going, DI Bentley.”
“We are ascertaining Aaron’s involvement with Rahul Mishra. As we don’t believe it was as innocent and trivial as you’ve been telling us.”
“What would lead you to believe I was anything more than a bloke who liked his daal?”
“You told us before you gave Rahul your number.”
“Yeah. I shoved it under his door. Looked like he could use a friend. Didn’t use it. What happened to him kinda proves me right.”
“Are you saying you had no communication with Rahul Mishra via a messaging service?”
“No. He didn’t text me. I didn’t have his number.”
“You didn’t contact him in any other way? Email? Via the university messaging service? A social media app?”
“No. We only ever spoke in person. Literally twice.”
Bentley stared him down again. When Aaron didn’t rise to his bait to fill the silence, to offer more than he already had, he continued to question him. Question after question. Some directly to do with Rahul. More to do with his first few weeks at university, where he’d been, who he’d met. Aaron either didn’t answer, or he gave one word. Yes. No. He even probed into his life prior to becoming a student. The questions were met with silence. Aaron had been told, in no uncertain terms, that no matter who asked him those questions, he didn’t divulge unless he was told by the UKPPS he could. He had no such memo.
He hadn’t last night either, but Kenny had that way about him. Because he didn’t use questions. He used his mouth. His hands. His tongue .
Aaron switched off for a while, throwing out yes and no’s willy nilly. Until Bentley brought up the arguments with Archie. “Can you tell us what happened with Archie Leopold?”
“I smacked his face into a kitchen door.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s a bellend.”
“Do you often physically assault people who annoy you? Who don’t do what you want them to do?”
“Only the bellends.”
“Was Rahul a bellend?”
Aaron threw his head back and laughed, digging his fingers into his eyes to contain himself. He didn’t answer.
“Do you use social media, Aaron?”
“No.”
Bentley quirked an eyebrow. “You don’t use any social media?”
“No.”
Bentley cocked his head. “Are you telling me you, a nineteen-year-old young man embarking on his first days at university, doesn’t at least have Instagram?”
“No.”
Bentley stared him down.
“Do you want me to repeat that?” Aaron leaned forward toward the microphone. “I, Aaron Jones, don’t have an Instagram account.”
“All young men have social media accounts.”
“That’s projecting, DI Bentley,” Julian cut in. “Not a question, and my client has answered. Several times. He does not need to explain his reasons for not wanting to conform to your stereotyping.”
“Is the reason you don’t have a social media account because you’re being monitored?”
Aaron said nothing.
“DI Bentley, it would be in everyone’s best interest if you were to explain to my client his reason for being here,” Julian cut in like a fucking legend. “My client has answered every one of your questions to satisfactory standards. His reasons for not using social media bear no relation to this case.”
Bentley threw his solid stare at Julian. “Doesn’t it?”
“If you have something you wish to present to my client, I suggest you do this now. Or you will need to arrest him to continue.”
Bentley drew out a piece of paper from his folder. “Can you read through these, please, Aaron? Tell me what you see.”
He pushed over a mound of stapled paper. Aaron read through a transcript of direct messages via Instagram. Between Rahul and, it would seem, him. He snorted.
“You find that amusing?” Bentley asked.
“I find it fucking hilarious, but I didn’t think bursting into laughter would help me get out of here in time for Strictly Come Dancing .” Aaron leaned back in the chair, arms folded. “That’s bullshit. I didn’t send them. I don’t use social media. And if you think I’d send messages, like,” he leaned forward to read one, “the others are just lame’, then you lot need to go on some Gen Z classes.”
Bentley took the transcript back. “You are confirming, for the record, that you did not send any messages to Rahul Mishra?”
“For the final fucking time and for your fucking record and whoever else is fucking listening, I do not have an Instagram account. I did not send those ridiculous fucking messages.”
Bentley sat forward, linking his fingers together on the table. “Aaron, I’m going to level with you. These messages alone could lead to an arrest.” He prodded his finger to the transcript. “They clearly show Rahul talking to you the day of his death where you ask him to come drinking with you and a suggestion you take a walk along the river. I don’t want to arrest the wrong person. I want to find out who did this. The thing is, your name keeps coming up. You are taking up a lot of police time. The best thing for all of us is to figure out why these messages exist. If they are yours, and this is innocent, that you were conducting a relationship with him that maybe went wrong, or maybe you didn’t even meet him, or you were leading him to meet someone else, a joke, a university hall initiation, and he ended up dead and you’re protecting yourself or them, then it’s best you come clean. If none of that is true and these aren’t yours, then why are you not concerned that someone is imitating you to shift the blame?”
“I am concerned. Real concerned.” Aaron pointed at the pages. “Not only can they not tell the difference between the possessive your and you are , making me out to be as dumb as fuck, but that’s also a fucking shit photo of me.”
Bentley fell back in his chair with an exasperated sigh. Aaron almost felt sorry for him. Almost . Bentley rubbed his fingers across his forehead.
“I am being monitored,” Aaron said. Mostly to avoid an arrest. And to stop Bentley from wasting his time. If there was someone out there framing him, then he wanted to know who the fuck it was, too.
Bentley skimmed his gaze, almost undetectable, to the camera.
“You can check that with Jervine Paulson.”
“Who’s Jervine Paulson?” Bentley wrote the name down.
“You’ll find out the instant you type her name into your little database whatsit you have. She’ll tell you Aaron Jones doesn’t have an Instagram. Or SnapChat. Or Facebook. Or TikTok. Actually, that’s a lie. I have TikTok in an alias ‘cause what else am I meant to do to pass the time? Read Discovering Statistics using SPSS ?” He snorted. “But when you talk to Jervine, don’t tell her about the TikTok. I like watching the dances.”
Bentley clutched his hands together. “Why would someone set up an account in your name to lure Rahul?”
“Because they’re some sick, twisted bastard who wants to see me go hungry.”
Bentley fell back again, studying his face. “Is there anything else you want to tell me?”
“Yeah. You’re doing a stellar job.” Aaron gave a chef’s kiss. “Cause I’m sure before you hauled my arse in here today you checked when the account was set up and from where and all that other cyber shit you can do before you accused me?”
Bentley waited a moment. Then hovered his finger over the recorder. “Stopping the interview at six twenty p.m. Thank you, Aaron. You’re free to go, but we will need to confiscate your phone under Section Twenty-Two of the Police and Criminal Investigations Act.”
Aaron stood, fishing out his phone from his back pocket. He then dropped it onto the table and, along with his solicitor and the police constable, walked out of the interview room to the reception area. The constable left them and Julian fished out his card and handed it to Aaron.
“Direct number.” He patted his shoulder. “Jervine sent me.”
Aaron took the card, and Julian wandered off, out of the revolving doors, leaving Aaron alone. He couldn’t even call a cab. What was he supposed to do? Walk home? Bastards .
Aaron pocketed the card and stormed through the revolving doors onto HQ’s gravel path. The manicured lawn and serene water feature felt like a cruel joke. An attempt at peace in a world that was anything but. He wasn’t even sure which way would lead him back to campus, but he didn’t care. His body burned, every nerve charged, and he took off at a half-run down the steps.
“Aaron!”
He turned, heat flaring as Kenny rushed out of the building, jogging to catch up with him, and in an act of defiance, Aaron lifted his middle finger in a trembling rage. “Fuck you, doc!”
Kenny’s hand was on him in an instant, strong fingers gripping his wrist, pulling him back just as he’d done in his lecture hall. “Hey, wait—”
“I fucking trusted you!” Aaron shoved his palm against Kenny’s chest, wanting to hate him, feeling something else entirely.
Kenny took the shove, steady as a rock, tightening his grip around Aaron’s wrist, pressing his thumb softly over his pulse. “I didn’t tell them anything,” he said, voice low, as if speaking to Aaron alone, as if none of the world’s distractions or dangers mattered. As if the entire Ryston police force who’d ripped Aaron’s little world apart wasn’t right there, imposing and ready to do it all again. This time unjustified.
Aaron scoffed. Yet Kenny remained composed, unwavering, and Aaron felt his anger soften, replaced by a terrifying, longing ache.
“I didn’t.” The warmth of Kenny’s hand fixed Aaron to the spot, to this man he didn’t want to need, but did, and he swayed, the pull towards Kenny as undeniable as gravity. It felt so easy to just…let go. Let Kenny be his shelter. “You can trust me. But we do need to talk.”
Kenny took a step closer, his familiar scent surrounding Aaron in a way that had him wanting to fall into him, cling to him. Beg him to make him whole. Kenny’s eyes glimmered with the same desperate want. Undeniable.
But the revolving doors swung open, and Aaron caught DI Bentley watching from the top step, arms crossed, eyes sharp.
Aaron shifted, a mocking edge in his voice to cover the tightening in his chest. “You on duty, doc?” He tilted his head toward the looming HQ building.
Kenny dropped Aaron’s wrist, rearranging his face into something colder, more professional, and, turning slowly, he tore himself away from Aaron to face Bentley. Aaron forced himself to hold steady until Kenny had fully straightened back to a man too far out of his reach.
“Keep up the good work, Detective,” Aaron shouted to Bentley, loud enough for his voice to glide over the traffic beyond. “With instincts like yours, you’ll make chief in no time. Maybe rack up more bodies than the last guy.”
Then, with a mocking salute, Aaron spun on his heel, striding away without looking back.