CHAPTER THIRTEEN #2
I growl, the release opening something inside I’ve been ignoring, and I swipe my arm across the desk, sending papers, glasses, anything within reach crashing to the floor.
“He did this,” I roar. “He fucking did this!”
WYNTER
The police station is busy and chaotic. I was told to be here for ten. It’s now half past, and I’m still sitting in the waiting area, nursing a pounding head and a stomach that hasn’t quite forgiven me for last night.
The door opens and Ray walks in.
We lock eyes and my heart stutters in my chest. He looks good in his designer suit, his shades over his eyes. Whereas I can only imagine how rough I look in my black leggings and over-sized jumper. I didn’t even brush my hair, just bundled it into a messy bun on the top of my head.
For a split second, something flickers across his face—relief, maybe, but he shuts it down quickly, so I look away.
A police officer approaches. “Ms. Lee, if you’ll follow me.”
I stand, my legs feeling heavy, and as I pass Ray, I can feel his gaze on me. I don’t look at him again, not giving him the satisfaction.
The officer leads me into a small room and gestures to a chair. “Take a seat.” She offers a polite smile, settling opposite me. “Before we take a full statement, there are a few preliminary questions I need to ask.”
She writes my name and details at the top of a form, her pen scratching softly against the paper.
“I’m not really sure what you want me to say,” I begin, my voice quieter than I expect.
“Ray and I were out that evening, so we weren’t home.
Before I left, Anika seemed fine. I mean, she’s been down lately because of her ex, but nothing unusual.
She was actually really sweet, telling me I looked nice. I wasn’t concerned.”
The officer nods, listening.
“Before we proceed any further,” she says, “I need to ask, would you like legal representation?”
I frown. “No. Why would I need that?”
“Just to confirm,” she says evenly, “you’re happy to continue without a solicitor present?”
“Yes.”
She presses a button on the recorder. A soft click fills the room.
“Interview with Ms. Wynter Lee. The time is ten-forty-five,” she states for the tape before looking back at me and I swallow down the sudden panic I’m feeling. This was supposed to be an informal chat. Me just explaining the night.
“Did you have access to the medicine trolley in Anika’s bedroom?”
“Yes,” I reply. “We kept a key. I only ever administered her prescribed pain relief.”
“We’ve reviewed the medical records,” she says, sliding a form towards me. “You administered medication earlier that day.”
I glance down at my signature. “Yes,” I say, nodding.
“Can you confirm that verbally for the recording, please?”
I glance nervously at the machine. “Yes, that’s my handwriting.”
“And this is your signature?”
“Yes.”
She reaches for another document, this one sealed inside a clear evidence bag, and places it in front of me.
“What about this one?”
I lean closer. It looks like mine.
“Yes,” I say slowly. “It looks like my handwriting.”
She taps a time noted on the form. “Did you administer morphine at three a.m.?”
My stomach drops. “No,” I say immediately. “I was asleep.”
“But you’ve just confirmed this appears to be your handwriting.”
“It does, but I didn’t give her any morphine after the carer arrived,” I explain, trying to keep my voice steady. “She took over.”
The officer nods slightly. “And you’ll see here,” she gestures to a blank box, “the dosage hasn’t been recorded.”
I shake my head. “I didn’t give her anything. And I would never leave that blank. Catherine was really strict about that—everything had to be documented properly.”
She studies me for a moment. “Is it possible,” she says carefully, “that you were tired? Or that you’d had something to drink and simply forgot?”
The question lands like an accusation. “No,” I say firmly, my pulse picking up. “I would remember. And I was off duty. I wouldn’t administer medication when I wasn’t responsible for her care.”
She leans back slightly, making a note. “Alright,” she says. “Let’s continue with your statement. Sometimes details come back as we go through things.”
Three hours. That’s how long I’m stuck repeating everything, going over what I’ve said, checking everything matches up with records and logs. By the time I step out of the police station, my hands are shaking so badly I can barely feel them.
The air hits me, cold and sharp, and I sink down onto the steps, burying my face in my hands as everything finally catches up with me.
“I noticed you were in there a while.” Ray’s voice cuts through the noise. I flinch, my head snapping up. He’s standing a few steps away, hands in his pockets, his expression hard.
I swallow, forcing myself to look anywhere but directly at him.
“What took you three hours to say?” he asks.
“They asked about her medication,” I mumble.
A beat passes. “Where are you staying?”
“With Holly,” I say quietly. “For now. I’ll go home once the police say I can.”
“They’ve asked you to stay in London?”
I hesitate. “Just until they finish their enquiries.”
His posture shifts slightly. “They think you’re involved?”
My chest tightens. “No. Yes. I don’t know,” I admit, my voice shaking. “They said I gave her morphine at three in the morning. But I didn’t. I was in bed with you. I didn’t give her anything.”
“Then why do they think you did?”
“Because of the medical notes,” I say, my panic rising again. “It looks like my handwriting.”
I search his face, looking for something, anything. Support maybe, just a flicker that tells me he gives a shit, but he’s cold, just like he was the first time I met him.
“Did they find the agency nurse?” I ask, and I hate how hopeful my voice sounds. He shakes his head, crushing that hope instantly, and a sob leaves me. “Then how am I supposed to prove it wasn’t me?” I cry.
He shrugs like it’s of no importance at all and I fight the urge to scream.
“You know I didn’t do it,” I say, my voice breaking. “Right?”
He doesn’t answer straight away. “Anika might’ve asked you to help her,” he says finally.
I gasp and I’m on my feet before I even realise I’ve moved.
“No,” I shake my head, anger burning through the fear.
“Why would she ask me that? She never told me she wanted to die. When she hinted at things like that, I thought it was a bad day, or a joke. People say things like that, Ray.” My chest heaves.
“Did she ask you?” I demand. “Did you know she wanted to die?”
He doesn’t answer.
“Did you tell the officers I was with you? That I was in your bed, Ray?”
He straightens his jacket, glancing around like this conversation is already over. “Take care, Wynter.”
I stare at him in disbelief. “Just like that?” My voice cracks. “Fuck, I wish I’d never met you.”
He scoffs. “The feeling’s mutual.”
It feels like a punch to the heart. “You used me,” I choke out, tears spilling freely now. “I liked you, and you were just using me to warm your bed and look after your friend.”
He laughs, like I’ve said something ridiculous. “You’re making a scene,” he mutters. “And we both know I didn’t even want to hire you.”
The last of the fight drains out of me and I drag my eyes to his. “How do you do it?” I ask quietly. “How do you just . . . turn it off?”
He pauses for a fraction of a second, then turns away. “It’s easy,” he says flatly. “You just tell yourself to stop.”
He walks away and doesn’t look back.
I press my hand to my chest, trying to hold myself together as the pain spreads, sharp and suffocating. “Stop,” I whisper to myself. My voice trembles. “You have to stop. Now.”
RAY
I hear her sobbing as I walk away. It’s quiet, like she’s broken with nothing left to give. The sound follows me down the steps, slipping under my skin, clawing at something I don’t want to feel.
Every instinct in me screams to turn back. To go to her. To pull her into my arms and tell her I don’t believe it, that I know she didn’t do this.
But I don’t. I keep walking.
This is for the best. She lied to me, and she let him in. She put my best friend in danger and now she’s dead.
The words repeat, over and over, like if I say them enough times, they’ll become truth instead of something I’m trying to convince myself of.
My phone rings, shrill and sharp, cutting straight through the noise in my head.
I answer without checking the screen. “Yep?”
“Ray, I managed to get the CCTV back,” Dale says, sounding breathless with excitement.
I straighten, relief flooding me. It’s the biggest breakthrough we’ve had since Anika died.
“You’re a lifesaver,” I mutter, already moving. “I’m on my way.” I end the call and slide behind the wheel, gripping it tighter than necessary.
Focus. That’s what I need. Not her or the sound of her crying. I need answers, and for someone to pay.
“That’s her,” I say, leaning closer to the screen, eyes locked on the grainy footage of the agency carer stepping into the elevator. Even blurred, there’s no mistaking her. “That’s our woman.”
“Perfect,” Dale mutters. “Let’s go find her.”
I shake my head slowly, already thinking ten steps ahead. “If Luke arranged this, she won’t be sitting around waiting for us. She’ll be hiding.”
Dale frowns. “Then what are we waiting for?”
“He’s covered himself,” I say, straightening. “Every angle. Including pinning this on Wynter.”
“What?” Dale snaps, turning to me.
“I saw her at the station,” I continue. “There’s a medical record showing morphine was administered at three in the morning.” His expression darkens. “It looks like Wynter’s handwriting,” I finish.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “You think she did it?”
I shake my head immediately. “No.” There’s no hesitation. “But all I’ve got is my word that she was in my bed,” I add, jaw tightening. “And that means nothing when they’ve got paperwork with her handwriting and signature on it.”
Dale exhales sharply. “Then we need to find this bitch.”