40. The Man With a Plan #2
He doesn’t ask me for details about the case to jog his mind. Doesn’t look up Jem’s file. I know he will have been looking at it today, after I sent that message. I know it’s fresh in his mind now, even if he’s barely thought about us all year.
“We haven’t had any new leads,” he says carefully.
The comment rouses pure anger deep in my chest. “How about this one? How about, he was gunned down in a shitty council flat kitchen by a couple of drug dealers, and you knew about it. You knew, and you left him there all night long, and you chose not to tell us a single word about it.”
His face says it all. Even more surprised than he was to see me here.
But with a nervous smile, as if I’ve told a joke he doesn’t quite understand.
His eyes dart across his desk, looking at anything but me.
It’s sheer panic, and it’s just confirmed that what Tezcatlipoca showed me was perfectly true.
“We don’t… uh… Wh-who told you that?”
I’m fast with the answer I know will unseat him most effectively. “I wasn’t told, I was shown.”
The colour drains from his face, but he keeps that touch of a smile plastered there. “What do you mean you were shown? There can’t be anything.” Twice as loudly, he reiterates, “There are no leads!” as if that will make it all go away.
“It was you,” I pursue. “I saw you there, in that kitchen, drinking coffee next to his dead body. I heard them ask you, should we tell the family? Ongoing investigation, you said.”
He takes a long moment, and I can practically see the panic mechanism scouring his mind for an answer. Yet all he comes up with is, “I’m not at liberty to discuss ongoing investigations.”
“So you admit it then?”
“I don’t admit a thing,” he snaps. “This is preposterous.” Before he can even suck in another full breath, he adds, “If you have evidence, you need to provide it. To me. Directly to me. As the investigating detective in charge of the case.”
A loud laugh escapes me. “Just how stupid do you think I am? No chance I’m giving you that.”
His chair slams back against the wall as he stands. “And for what purpose? What is it you want?”
“The truth!” I shout at him. “I want to know what really happened to my brother. Why was he there? Why did you leave him like that? He was working for you, I know he was.”
His hands fall on his hips, and he lands a cautious glance on the door. He could go out there. We’re in a building full of cops. It would be so easy to get us out of here.
But he doesn’t. And that can only be for one reason.
He doesn’t want them to know. He doesn’t want anyone to know.
“I’m not here for your job,” I tell him, even if that tastes like ashes in my mouth.
This man shouldn’t have a job, not one like this that affects people, changes and ruins lives.
“I just want the truth because…” Tears sting my eyes.
I did not want to cry. Not here in front of him.
But when I try to say the words, a huge lump forms in my throat, calmed only a little when Archer’s hand on my arm soothes me.
“My mum’s going to call you tomorrow. Because that’s the anniversary of his death.
And that’s it. That’s all I want from you.
Tell her the truth. Tell her he was working for you.
Tell her he wasn’t a bad person. Please, just tell her he’s gone.
Tell her where to find the body so we can bury him. ”
Cold, callous, he immediately says, “If I knew where he was—”
I slam a hand down on the table and shout, “Don’t try to bullshit me! I have… I have footage of you. There at the scene. And if you don’t do this—”
“You don’t have footage,” he snarls. “If you did, you’d present it. You’d bring in proof, and you wouldn’t be asking me to make that call. Need I tell you that threatening a police officer carries a minimum sentence of—”
“Fuck your sentence,” I yell, rising to my feet. “And fuck you too! Don’t you have any humanity? Can you even imagine what this has done to us?”
He pushes his lips into a white line, but his eyes remain just as hard as ever. “Listen, I’m sorry for your loss. I’m sorry your brother was involved in some bad shit. And I’m sorry that trail went dead years ago.”
“It did not!”
He speaks louder, over the top of me. “But whatever you thought you were going to achieve here today, it stops now. It’s time to go.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“You are, or I’m going to arrest you—”
“I’m going to The Guardian first,” I say, leaning across the table. “I’ll offer them an exclusive. And if they don’t want it, it’s the BBC. And on and on, all the way down to the Daily Mail. And not just that. I’m going to demand a full coronial inquiry—”
He outright laughs at me. “Only the coroner can instigate a coronial investigation.”
“Well, they were there, weren’t they?” I press, while he buries his forehead in his palm. “Someone was there. I saw them come and take the body. All while you stood there doing nothing. Someone will talk. Someone will tell us—”
“Okay. Listen.” Another long glance at the door, and his voice drops as low as I’ve heard it since we walked in. “I’ll make the call, all right?”
All the air and anger inside me is sucked away. That’s it? I did it? “You will?”
“Present your new information,” he says, “and I’ll work with you on this. Of course I will.”
The wily fucker. “What, and give you time to delete it? No way. Not until you’ve phoned her.”
Immediately his voice rises again. “What am I supposed to tell her if you don’t show me this new evidence you supposedly have?”
“You’re supposed to tell her how he died and where his body is. Because I know you know that. And that is all I’m asking. I don’t care what other lies you make up to explain it. You’ve already made enough of those.”
His eyes bore into me as if he’d like to see me in the ground next to Jem. He’s furious, calculating, determined not to lose the upper hand. And I’m scrambling. Throwing out everything I can think of without a shred of evidence to help me.
Finally, the standoff breaks with, “Fine. I’ll make your call. Then you’ll come see me, Thursday, and we’ll finish this.”
An open admission of guilt.
I should be satisfied, feel like I’ve achieved something here. I have. But his answer… The way he says it shoots a wave of warning down my spine.
Archer’s right. I’ve threatened this man’s career. His livelihood. And he knows how to dispose of people. He knows how to make it so someone can go missing and not be found ever again.
“I just need you to understand,” I try, “this has broken my family. It’s the not knowing that hurts the most. The hoping he’ll come home one day. She just needs to know that won’t ever happen. She needs to be able to move on. This is all I’m asking from you.”
His voice softens, but his eyes keep the cold calculation of a cat about to pounce. “I understand. I can do that. And then you’ll come see me, correct? And give me whatever you have?”
Dark and clipped. Like a person who’s made up their mind.
“I will,” I promise quietly. “I will. Just as soon as you’ve talked to her.”
“You can head home, then,” he suggests. “Stay there and wait for my call.”
Alarm bells are going off, clanging through my veins, pulsing in my ears. “You want me to go home?”
“That’s right. Wait there, and I’ll call.”
What else can I say? He’s offering to give me exactly what I want.
It’s possible he just wants me out of his office. Maybe he’s only telling me what I want to hear, and this will be the end of it. Maybe that’s why it feels like something’s off.
“You’ll really call?”
“Absolutely.”
I want to threaten him again. Tell him how sorry he’ll be if he doesn’t. But I’ve said all I can think to say at this stage.
Archer’s voice cuts through everything, his cheery-sounding words dropped like an axe. “Okay, then. Looks like we’re done here.”
With the withdrawal of his support, his arm slipping from my back, what little confidence I had left dissipates.
I hadn’t even realised how much he was holding me up, just being here for me, after getting me in here like this. It feels like drowning when he steps away from me, walks directly to the door.
But there’s also a spark of outrage inside. Surely he can see there’s something wrong here?
Archer pulls the door open. “Honey?”
That smile’s back on Marsden’s face. Just lightly. But instead of a touch of panic, it now holds a touch of smugness. Like he just won.
This is all wrong. But what can I actually do?
My mind’s whirring as I step over to Archer, like I’m hoping he’s going to interfere somehow. Fix it. Because that’s what Archer does, isn’t it? Fixes things. Makes things nicer. Makes everything better somehow.
His arm only rises to land on my shoulder, to guide me gently through the doorway. And I walk straight through. I turn back to throw one last glare at Marsden, but it’s Archer’s face that meets mine.
He leans in, presses a surprise kiss to my lips, and at the same time pushes his car keys into my hand.
I barely have time to register them when, eyes bright, he moves his lips conspiratorially close to my ear and says, “Wait in the car for me. I’m going to have a short chat.”
The door closes in my face, and the lock clicks.