Liam
I miss you, Freddie. We both do.
I see Ryker’s message in the group chat.
I signed back in, hoping to discreetly read any interactions I’ve missed between Freddie and Ryker, and I’m shocked to discover Freddie stopped replying to my brother almost a month ago.
His last message, on the day he turned up on our doorstep I work out, had been directed at me.
What about me indeed. I didn’t go after him that night, instead I chose to ingest a more manageable poison, but I’ve been left wondering why he was there.
There was no way he happened to be nearby, as he put it.
He’d deliberately turned up even though Ryker was out of the country and I was busy.
It makes me think back to our childhood, when he’d knock on our door looking like a gentle breeze might shatter him and ask to come inside.
Back then it had been to do with his dad, we knew that much, not because he told us, but because there had been a pattern to his behaviour.
He only turned up uninvited like that when his dad was back in the family home, and when he came inside, he’d be quiet—too quiet, even for me, the king of silences.
I wondered then what I wonder now. What would’ve happened had we sent him away? It makes me shudder to think about it.
I pocket my phone and glance out the coffee shop window to where my partner waits in our marked car.
We’ve had a quiet day, and it’s twenty minutes before the end of our shift, which means this is the moment something is going to happen and we’ll be home hours later than we hoped.
Sure enough, Marie gestures for me to hurry up and come back to the car.
I sigh, pick up our coffees, and leave the pastries I’d been eyeing behind.
“What is it?” I ask as I climb into the car, expecting a stabbing or a hostage situation from how desperately she’d demanded I come back.
She accepts the drink I bought her, a latte with extra cream, and inhales the scent of coffee before answering. “Some domestic dispute.” She sinks into the passenger seat in apparent bliss. “Some guy has put a vase through another guy’s windscreen.”
“While he was driving?”
Marie rolls her eyes. “No. The car was parked. Anyway, control called to see if we’d attend before calling me back and telling me the owner of the car has asked for us not to.
He’d rather deal with the incident himself and pay for the damage.
He said it’s some misunderstanding and doesn’t want the other guy punished. ”
“That’s very reasonable of him,” I murmur while squinting. “I don’t think I’d be quite so understanding if it was my car.”
“Control said it was some vintage mini.”
My frown deepens.
Marie’s lashes flutter as she takes another sniff of coffee. “Panic averted.”
She’d been flapping her hand and jumping in her seat for my attention, brown hair flicking left to right due to what I assumed was some kind of mortal peril.
“You made it seem important.”
Marie snorts. “You’d been in there for ages, and my body was running low on caffeine.”
“I couldn’t decide,” I say in explanation.
“They’re all sugary and sweet.” She shrugs. “Any would’ve been fine.”
I hadn’t been thinking about the pastries, not really. I’d stood there, frozen in indecision, not knowing what to do about Freddie.
I shake my head. “Where was the domestic dispute?”
As soon as she says Freddie’s street name, I slot the keys into the ignition and take off. Marie straightens her relaxed posture, reaching wildly for her seatbelt while trying to keep her coffee level and not spill it down her blouse. “Slow down, Liam.”
I flick on the lights, allowing the blue and white flashes of our car to clear the way.
“What’s got your knickers in a twist?” Marie asks.
I don’t dignify that with a response. “Tell control we’re going to check it out anyway.”
Marie huffs, but does what I say, contacting control via the radio.
We’re not too far from Freddie’s house, and we arrive a little under fifteen minutes after I slammed my foot down to get to him.
His car isn’t outside, but I spot the one with the shattered windscreen.
Keegan is standing beside it holding a vase, and the guilty expression she’s wearing when she looks at me makes me think she’s the reason for the damage.
I don’t recognise the man next to her with the goatee and long chestnut hair up in a bun, but Keegan whispers something into his ear, and he pales when he looks at me.
I leave the car before Marie, who stays in the passenger seat to tell control we’ve arrived.
“Liam,” Keegan says in greeting. She laughs awkwardly. “This is a load of fuss about nothing.” She shifts her weight from foot to foot, obviously uncomfortable. “We’ve got it under control—”
“Is this your car?” I ask the man beside her.
He nods, and turns to look, and that’s when I notice the purple hairband holding his hair up. Purple like the dressing gown wrapped around Keegan. Purple like the vase she’s holding, and her nails and her eyeshadow.
“This isn’t necessary,” Keegan says. “We said we’d deal with it ourselves.”
“You weren’t the ones to phone the police?”
Keegan tips her head in the direction of the house on the other side of the road. “That was Mrs Peterson’s bright idea, but we called them up after she told us, and said it wasn’t necessary to send someone out. It’s a waste of your time. We’ve got this covered.”
“Name,” I ask.
“Ben . . . Ben Malone.”
Keegan Malone. Ben Malone. He’s her stepbrother.
Freddie told us once she had a brother called Ben.
Ryker has met him a few times, but I’ve not had the displeasure of his company.
All I know is that Keegan’s mum started a relationship with Ben’s dad, and they were brought up as siblings for ten years until their parents’ relationship broke down.
They remained close, though.
“Did you see who damaged your car?” I ask.
They look at each other, then away, and I know it was Freddie.
My calm, sweet Freddie did this. He’s not violent, he’s the opposite of violent. But something pushed him to this, something made him snap.
I point at the vase Keegan is holding. “That’s what was used?”
She strokes a gentle thumb over the gold leaf at the top of the vase and nods.
Freddie smashed Ben’s windscreen with Keegan’s vase. She’s wearing very little if her bare legs are any indication. Ben, although dressed, has fixed his hair with one of Keegan’s hair ties. There’s far too much purple on display, and they both look guilty as hell.
“I don’t want him to get into trouble,” Keegan whispers.
I watch Ben. He doesn’t protest. It’s a classic mini, in great condition other than the front window, and he doesn’t want Freddie to be punished for smashing it up. I don’t ask them why he did this. I don’t want them to tell me what happened. I want to hear it from Freddie.
“Did you say you know who did this?” Marie asks, now next to me and poised to jot down Freddie’s name in her notepad.
“Let’s go,” I say.
Marie blinks in confusion. “W . . . what?”
“They don’t require our assistance,” I say. “They want to deal with the incident themselves, so we’ll let them.”
I walk away knowing Marie will follow. She apologises for my blunt departure, then races to catch up with me.
She’s staring at me with wide eyes when we get back into the car. “What the hell was that about?”
“Nothing.”
“You rush us here like it was life or death, and now you want to leave?”
I give her one curt jerk of my head. “Exactly.” I check the time. “And look at that, our shift is over. We can go back to the station.”
She shakes her head. “Whatever you say, Sarge . . .”