Chapter 32 Roman
ROMAN
“Thank you for coming in.” I ran my fingers through my beard, wondering if I looked as bad as I felt.
The only good thing about Hana going missing the other day was that I’d thrown myself into work.
I’d barely slept, was living on coffee and protein bars, and had split my time between searching for Hana and looking into this flash drive, which was why I’d asked Sean and Jarrid to come into my office this morning.
“When did you last sleep?” Sean asked as he pressed his hand to my shoulder as he passed my chair.
I didn’t bother answering, pointing my pen to the screens on the wall in front of where I was sitting.
Sean perched himself on the edge of my desk while Jarrid took one of the empty seats at the conference table.
“The stuff on the flash drive is all real,” I started.
“You sure?” Sean asked, and I replied with a tut.
“You pay me for my expertise, Sean. I can fuck off back to working for myself, you know.”
He crossed his legs at the ankles. “Good luck with that. Anyway, you signed a twelve-month contract, and we’ll sue you if you try to break it.” My head turned sideways as I scowled at his far too happy face.
“Really?” I scoffed.
His wink was full of humour, but I wasn’t in the mood.
“Shall we get back to this? Larson apparently killed someone. Hit and run. I’m guessing he was drunk, given that it was the early hours of the morning. But the accident was never reported, the body never found, no one reported missing.”
Sean’s face was stoic as he stared at the images on the screen. “But someone took photos of it?” he asked.
“Yep. Looks like Larson had some high-powered friends who liked a little leverage with their cover-ups. They took photos and then made the problem vanish. Literally.”
Sean tipped his head, so he was looking down at me. “Meaning?”
“Wren did some searching.” A picture of a high-rise appeared. “This place was owned by Larson and was currently under construction at the time. Strange that the concrete booked to be poured in the foundation the following week was brought forwards to the day after the hit and run.”
“You think they tipped the foundation over the body?” Sean’s eyes widened.
I tapped my fingers on the desk as my attention drifted to the image of the multistory office block that sat in the heart of the city.
“It would be a perfect place to hide a body, right?”
“But what about the other files on there?” he asked.
The footage of the dead body wasn’t the only thing on the flash drive. There had been financial documents, building sale information, as well as a file that made no sense and had me stumped.
“Looks like our man, Larson here, was into all sorts. And he’s never had so much as a speeding ticket.
Money laundering, buildings that failed safety inspections but were somehow reported as up to code, dumping illegal waste, tenant intimidation so he could clear buildings quicker, knock them down and rebuild on the land. ”
“Building more subpar buildings.”
“And probably burying a few more bodies. I mean, if he got away with it once, do you think he didn’t do it again?” I questioned.
Sean paused as he twisted his seat side to side, like the motion was helping slot all the puzzle pieces together. “Do you think the hit and run was deliberate or an accident that gave him a taste of what he could get away with?”
I didn’t answer because the question felt rhetorical; we had no idea what Larson’s motives were or whether he was working alone, and Sean wasn’t usually the type to speculate.
“What’s that?” He pointed to the corner of the screen where there was an image that didn’t fit with the other files I’d found on the flash drive.
“It’s a tarot card.”
Sean’s brows pinched. “Larson into that woo-woo shit?”
“Nope. We can tell from the timestamps that the other files were all copied onto the drive at the same time and probably from the same source. Not sure where yet, but Wren’s working on it. But this, this was added afterwards. From a laptop, although we don’t know much more than that.”
I clicked on the image, so it appeared on the wall of screens across from us.
“Is that a lobster?” Sean said with a huffed laugh.
“Yep.”
“Right, so we have a lobster and a couple of dogs gathering under a full moon.”
I clicked the mouse, bringing up the explanation of the card I’d found online, and we read in silence together, even though I knew what it said.
“End of a journey, your past reemerging… sounds like a calling card if ever I saw one. Why do these murderers have to be all cryptic? I prefer it when they just carve their name into the body. It makes them so much easier to find.” I scoffed, rolling my eyes, which brought a sigh from Sean. “What? I’m just being honest.”
“And in terms of Larson’s movements after the mayoral announcement,” I explained.
“He went for a drive through coffee, then he came home. His camera doorbell doesn’t show anyone coming to the front door, but there is a sensor on his back door that went off just before he got home.
I presumed it was the wife or one of the kids, but the police report says they were all out, although we still need to check their alibis, so it looks like whoever killed him was already in the house when he got home.
“Downloading evidence on him?”
“Nope.” I popped the P for added emphasis. “This all came from elsewhere. We’re looking into where exactly as we speak.”
“Neighbours hear a gunshot?” he asked.
“Not according to the police report.”
Sean stood, wrapping his hand around the nape of his neck as he began pacing. “So, we have a squeaky clean property developer who’s involved in a hit and run, buries the body in his building—”
“Allegedly.”
“Allegedly buried the body,” he muttered, sounding pissed at my correction. “Then he gets caught up in a whole heap of illegal stuff that he wasn’t doing before the hit and run?”
I shook my head. “No evidence on that drive of any wrongdoing before the hit and run.”
“So what? He got a taste of being a bad boy?”
I twisted my lips as I began clicking out of the files currently open on my screen. “Maybe? I don’t think we have enough on him yet to profile him properly. Give me a couple more hours, and I’ll see what else we can find.”
“Good work, Roman. See if you can find anything on that tarot card. Any other crimes with the same signature. I have a funny feeling this won’t be a one off.”
“You wanna go for a drink?” Jarrid asked as I closed down my laptop. I turned to find him standing in the doorway, looking as miserable as I felt.
“Yeah, a beer sounds good.”
“Where do you fancy going?”
I snorted out a laugh because there was literally only one place to go unless we fancied clubbing, and it was a little early on a random Wednesday for that.
I pointed to the door. “Come on. First round’s on you.”
We made small talk as we walked through the empty high street.
It was chilly, and there was snow forecast, so it looked like most people decided to hunker down at home, but I wasn’t mad about that.
I still struggled to be around people—my life had been built in solitude, and I’d got very used to my own company.
Jarrid pulled open the door of the bar and stepped inside. I followed, the heat of the place like a slap to my frozen cheeks.
He went to the bar, and I chose a table near the window, watching as the first flutters of snow danced in the darkness.
“Here you go.” Jarrid put a bottle of lager down on the table and then sat across from me, taking a long swig of his own drink before absent-mindedly picking at the label.
I took stock of the man across from me. He was usually full of energy; larger than life, but right now, he looked almost defeated.
“You wanna talk about it?” I asked, taking a sip of my own drink, the cool liquid making me let out a satisfied hum of approval.
He shrugged, his eyes dipping to the table. “I’m just thinking,” he replied in a flat, monotone voice.
“Does it hurt?” He didn’t show any sign that he appreciated my attempts at humour, so I decided to rein it in. “Seriously, you look like a wounded puppy. Spill.”
He tutted. “Says the man who’s been walking around like a bear with a sore head for the last few days. You want to explain that to me?”
I didn’t reply, instead bringing the bottle to my lips as an excuse not to give him a response.
“Didn’t think so.”
We sat in silence for a while, cheesy pop music playing in the background.
I watched the man behind the bar cleaning the already clean counter, and the few customers in here chatted easily.
I’d drained the beer from my bottle in no time, and Jarrid didn’t look far behind me, so I pushed myself up to stand. “I’m going to get going.”
His brows pinched as he pushed his fingers through the strands of his long hair that had fallen from his manbun he always sported.
“Shit. Sorry. Don’t go. Let me get us another drink.
I invited you out, and now I’m just sitting here in silence.
” He dragged his hand over his mouth. “I’m not good at this… having friends.”
I sat, and he gave me a grateful half-smile.
“I get that,” I told him honestly.
“It’s Amber.”
From the little I knew of their relationship, this was a surprise.
He let out a massive sigh after he’d said her name, his leg bouncing under the table.
“God, I really like her. We’ve spent practically every day I’ve been in town together since we met.
I think I’m falling for her, Roman. Fuck, who am I kidding?
I’ve fallen. Hard. I can’t get enough of her.
She’s stunning, funny, she listens, like really listens, and she’s, well, the sex is off the scale.
” A small smile spread across his face as if he were imagining his life with her, but then his shoulders dropped.
“But?” I asked.
He glanced to the door as if he was checking she wasn’t close by before he continued. “But she’s got a huge heart. Hates violence of any kind. She even went as far as to say she hates hitmen the other day.”
I knew about Jarrid’s past. I was familiar with everyone who worked for Thomas.
He’d given me access to their files, so I knew their strengths and could work out what tech would work best for which of his operatives.
Jarrid was an ex-sniper. A good one. World-class, just like Sean.
Thomas was ex-SAS. These men were deadly.
And Jarrid had the highest kill rate of them all, despite his much younger age.
I leaned forwards, keeping my voice low. “You’re not a hitman,” I reminded him.
“Semantics,” he whispered back. “I kill people. I’ve killed a lot of people. She would never understand that.”
“What does she think you do?”
“Security.” I chuckled, and he added, “Yeah, you laugh, Mr IT man.”
He’d got me there.
“And what does she think you used to do?”
He lifted his empty bottle as if forgetting he’d finished it before putting it down again.
“She doesn’t. That first night, we didn’t do much…
talking… and the next morning, I just said security and my scars from getting shot were from surgery when I was a kid as I didn’t want her asking questions, but by the time I wanted to tell her, it was too late because I knew she hated all things remotely violent.
If she knew I carried a gun,”—he whispered that word despite everyone being too caught up in their own conversations to be listening to ours—“for a living and took out pedophiles and drug trafficking rings, she would hate me, but worse than that, she’d realise how shitty the world is and she’d lose all that innocence that makes her her. Do you know what I mean?”
I nodded.
“So, what do I do? I don’t want to lie to her, but I can’t lose her. God, sorry for unloading on you. I don’t have many people I can talk to around here, and well, I just thought you’d get it. Sorry if I’m overstepping.”
I shook my head, moving from my seat to take the one next to him because I wasn’t sure he’d want anyone to hear what I was about to say in case he decided to go through with it.
“You’re not overstepping. A problem shared and all that.
” I shoved his arm with mine. “Look for what it’s worth, and this might be a little unconventional, but make it so she can’t leave.
Lock her in so when she does find out, she can’t walk away. ”
His head flew sideways. “What are you saying? Like, lock her in my basement until she decides she can forgive my past and forget about what I get up to on the daily?”
I bounced my shoulders up and down in a shrug. “I mean, that’s one way, but I was thinking put a ring on her finger, tamper with her birth control, take her away to a remote cabin in the woods, and tell her everything. Make it so she can’t walk away and then make her listen.”
He looked at me with a wry smile. “And I thought Thomas and Sean were certifiable about their women. I sense you’re off the scale. Maybe Hana found out, and that’s why she vanished.” His look was accusing, but his tone was light.
I stilled. There was no way. Was there?