Chapter Five #2
A few minutes later, she comes back, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “He’s quite a character,” she says. “He’s on his way here. I think he was shocked when I explained what had happened.”
I close my eyes. The last thing I want is him here.
“Did anyone contact my mum or my brother?” I ask quietly.
“Yes,” she says softly. “Officers have gone to your mother’s home. Would you like us to take you there?”
I nod immediately. “Please.”
She gives me a sympathetic smile and stands. I push the untouched tea away, my hand trembling.
Because whatever Warren Baxter’s shock looks like, I don’t want to see it. Not today.
Mum opens the front door and crumples against me before I can even speak. Her sobs shake through both of us, raw and broken, and my heart feels like it’s splintering in my chest. I wrap my arms around her and guide her back inside.
Jordan’s already pacing the living room, jaw tight, fists clenching and unclenching. When he looks at me, his eyes are red and furious.
“Did he tell you what he was doing for money?” he demands.
I shake my head, feeling the tension spike through the grief. “No. He didn’t.”
“Well, I’m not gonna rest until I find out,” he mutters, raking a hand through his hair.
“Not now, Jord,” I say quietly, glancing toward Mum.
“We’ve got cops out front,” he snaps. “So whatever he was doing wasn’t legal, was it?”
“You don’t know that!” Mum cries, her voice breaking.
I grab the tissue box from the coffee table and hand it to her. She takes it with shaking hands.
“He was murdered in cold blood,” she sobs. “They should be out looking for whoever did this, not sitting outside my house giving the neighbours something to gossip about.”
A shaky smile slips out of me before I can stop it. “Betty and Margaret will be loving this.”
Mum’s tear-streaked face softens for half a second. She always pretends to hate her neighbours’ gossip, but she’s the first to peek through the curtains when anything happens on the street.
Then the moment fades, and she looks at me with a hollow kind of pain that makes my chest tighten. “Why would anybody want my boy dead?”
I can only shrug. There are no words that make sense.
“And why in your apartment?” Jordan presses, his tone accusing. “Why there, Lee?”
“I don’t know!” The words come out sharper than I intend. “Why are you asking me? I don’t have all the answers. I’m just as shocked as you are, and when I saw him—” My voice cracks, the memory flooding back. “I don’t know what happened or why.”
Jordan’s glare softens, but only slightly. “Where were you?” he asks quietly.
I look away, my face heating. “I…got drunk. After work. I stayed with a friend.”
When I’d told the police officer that, he’d given me a strange look, like he couldn’t quite decide if he believed me. Maybe he thought I shouldn't have left him after everything. Maybe he was right. I keep wondering if it would’ve been different if I’d been home.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Warren: Where are you? I want to make sure you’re okay.
I stare at the message for a long moment, before locking the screen again.
I can’t deal with Warren right now. Not with all the questions I can’t answer.
Not with the image of my brother’s lifeless body still playing on repeat behind my eyes.
The days blur together, endless cups of tea gone cold, sleepless nights, and a house that feels too quiet without Isaac’s noise filling it.
Mum’s struggling. She tries to stay strong, but the cracks show. We can’t bury him yet; the police still haven’t released his body, and it could be weeks. Maybe months. Every time the phone rings, I hope it’s them. It never is.
When I walk into the kitchen, she’s sitting at the dining table, still in her dressing gown, staring at nothing. Her eyes flick up as I enter, scanning me like she’s trying to read my thoughts. She takes in my outfit. “You’re going back to work?” she asks softly.
I nod, grabbing a mug and pouring myself a coffee. “I need something to take my mind off all this,” I mutter. “If I sit here any longer, I’ll go insane.”
She nods slowly, eyes dropping to her hands. “Makes sense.”
“If you need me for anything, just call. I’ll come straight home, okay?”
I glance toward the counter and spot the little brown pill bottle the doctor prescribed, something to take the edge off, to help her sleep. “Have you taken your pill?”
She shakes her head. I pick up the bottle and shake one into my palm. It’s so small. Hard to believe something that tiny can quieten the noise in her head. I hand it to her, and she swallows it without even reaching for water.
Her face looks drawn, her skin pale against the dark circles beneath her eyes. My chest tightens. She’s always been the strong one, the one who held us all together, and now she’s the one unravelling.
I force a smile, hoping it’ll anchor her somehow. “Go back to bed, Mum. Try to rest. I’ll call you at lunch, yeah?”
She nods again, eyes glassy as she pushes to her feet and disappears down the hallway.
When she’s gone, I sit for a moment at the table, coffee cooling in my hands, and stare at the spot she left.
The silence presses down on me until I can’t stand it anymore. I grab my bag and keys and head out.
Work might not fix anything. But at least it’ll stop me thinking for a few hours.
I head straight for my desk, the soft hum of the office sounding distant and hollow after days away. Sliding my bag into the drawer feels strange, mechanical. Like I’m watching myself from a few feet away.
The elevator dings behind me.
When the doors open, Warren steps out, mid-conversation with someone. He stops dead when he sees me.
“You’re back,” he says, surprise flickering across his face.
“Yep.” My voice comes out flat.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you.”
Before I can respond, Nancy appears behind him. She looks polished, perfect, like poison in red lipstick. Her smirk lands on me like a slap.
“I’ll go over the diary and update you once I’m caught up,” I say, keeping my tone professional and my eyes down.
Warren stops at my desk. I can feel his stare burning into the top of my head, hot and heavy, like he’s searching for the right thing to say.
“Two coffees, please, Liz,” Nancy calls sweetly, already walking toward his office.
My jaw tightens. Liz. She knows my fucking name isn’t Liz.
Through the glass walls, I watch her glide into Warren’s office and shut the door behind her. A moment later, she twists the blinds closed, cutting off the view from the rest of the office. Privacy. Of course.
I can still feel him watching me. Eventually, I lift my eyes and meet his. He looks… conflicted. Tired, maybe. “Are you okay?” he asks softly.
I nod, forcing the motion even though my throat feels tight.
“I’m sorry about your brother,” he adds.
I let out a humourless breath. “Don’t be. You didn’t kill him.” I try for a smile, but it cracks halfway. “Everyone keeps saying sorry, like it helps.”
He hesitates. “If you need anything, let me know.”
He turns to leave, but the words spill out before I can stop them. “You didn’t say you lived in my building.”
He pauses, glancing back. “I thought it would be weird,” he says. “It’s not like we were ever supposed to cross paths there. I use a separate entrance—the elevator’s private to my floor.”
“Right.” I nod, fiddling with my pen. “Still… you could’ve said something.”
His lips twitch, unreadable. “If you need more time off, take it. Full pay.”
I shake my head quickly. “I need to be busy.”
He studies me for a beat, like he wants to say more, then disappears into his office.
The blinds stay closed.
I turn to my computer, pretending to focus on the diary, but my mind won’t stop racing.
Everyone else gets to move on—the police, the neighbours, even Warren with his perfect coffee companion.
But me?I’m still stuck in that moment, standing in my apartment doorway, staring at Isaac, and wondering if I’ll ever stop seeing the blood.
WARREN
Nancy leans over my desk, spreading a handful of photographs across the polished surface. She’s bent over enough to make it obvious what she’s doing, and I know it isn’t for the sake of her paperwork.
I hang my jacket on the back of my chair, forcing my focus on the task rather than her curves. “What have you got for me?”
She flashes a playful grin. It’s all teeth and lipstick, but I don’t take the bait.
“These came through from my father,” she says, tapping a manicured finger against one of the photos.
It’s a police mug shot of a skinny youth with hollow eyes, clutching a placard with his name and date of birth.
“He’s a known addict. Had dealings with your guy, Isaac.
If your witness can identify him, it’s practically case closed. ”
I study the photo for a long moment, jaw tight, then nod. “I’ll pass it on.”
Reaching into my drawer, I pull out an envelope thick with cash and hand it across. She takes it without hesitation, one hand brushing mine deliberately, just as the office door opens.
Leoni.
She freezes in the doorway. Her eyes flick from me to Nancy, who’s now perched on my desk, her backside covering the rest of the photographs. Nancy slides her hands up my chest and tugs me forward between her knees, smiling like the cat that got the cream.
“Could you give us a minute, Liz?” Nancy purrs.
Leoni’s face hardens. “It’s Leoni,” she says sharply before slamming the door on her way out.
The sound echoes in my chest.
Nancy exhales a laugh, hopping off the desk and gathering the photos.
“You really should teach your hired help to knock and wait,” she mutters.
“My quick thinking just saved both our arses.” She presses one photograph to my chest, I take it.
Then she stuffs the rest in her bag and saunters out, leaving her sweet, sickly perfume surrounding me.
As soon as she’s gone, I snatch up the burner phone and dial Anthony.
“I have a photo for your witness. It needs dealing with asap, before the cops start sniffing around.”