Chapter 34
VERA
“That’s all.” The words echo in my mind, and as I brush a tear from my cheek, I realise I’ve been crying.
I’ve been a pawn all along. A mere pawn in the Dubois family’s game, a toy in Enzo Woods’ hands.
Hours have passed since it all came crashing down.
Upon landing in London, we were greeted by a police car, its flashing lights making me feel like a deer caught in headlights.
The Dubois family had flown in on a separate plane, leaving the French authorities to collaborate with the local police.
An arrest warrant had been issued in my name, so they escorted us to the station.
While we were in Bordeaux, a scandal involving the entire Dubois family had come to light: someone had tipped off authorities about the Club Montari.
The Dubois were involved in a major crime scheme… And I was, too.
“Don’t worry about Elo?se’s condition,” Officer Mariah tells me. “She lost a lot of blood, but the wound wasn’t fatal. She’s stable. I’m sure you’ll be glad to hear that.”
I exhaled.
“Yes, thanks. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.”
Officer Alonso steps forward.
“Wait, kid. You don’t know who tried to kill Elo?se?”
“No, I’m sorry.” The words slip out, sharp and sudden.
The department head eyes Officer Alonso with curiosity, but doesn’t interrupt. Alonso offers me a smile, his demeanour too calm for the storm brewing in my chest, and somehow, it makes me angry.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. We have a confession,” he says, his hands settling on his hips, his sigh heavy. “Makes things a lot easier. It’s been a crazy morning.”
My heart stutters, then takes off in a frantic rhythm.
“Who was it?” I ask, tripping over my own words.
Officer Alonso looks for the police chief’s approval before speaking.
“Norman Plaskitt. I believe you’ve had the… pleasure of meeting him.”
I nod, but my brows knit together in confusion. “Are you kidding me?”
Gina had spent the entire afternoon chatting away with the Dubois’ chauffeur. There’s no way it could’ve been him who tried to kill Elo?se. It didn’t make sense. It couldn’t make sense.
But the stern, unflinching expression on Officer Alonso’s face tells me this isn’t some twisted TV prank. This is real. Cold, hard reality. My stomach tightens, and the room seems to close in around me.
“Plaskitt seemed to believe that Elo?se had killed her own mother,” the police officer offers as an explanation.
That doesn’t clarify my doubts.
“Why? Was it….?”
“No,” he interrupts, shaking his head. “The first thing we did was verify her alibi and cross-check the facts with everyone’s account.”
Then, like pieces of a puzzle snapping into place, it all clicks in my mind.
“The money,” I whisper.
Officer Alonso lets out a sigh.
“The money,” he repeats. Then he rubs his chin with his hand and turns around, letting Officer Horseface take over. Both of them look exhausted.
“Norman Plaskitt had seen that Elo?se had money in her purse,” the woman explains, “money that couldn’t have been hers, given the fact that she hasn’t…”
“She’s broke,” I say. I know this part. “It was my money. The money Elo?se had taken from Gina at the Club Montari.”
It’s my fault that Elo?se almost got killed.
I stifle a manic laugh that bubbles up, uninvited; exhaustion tugs at my eyelids, my head throbs with a dull ache, and I can’t shake the feeling that the whole weekend was just one elaborate, cruel prank.
A twisted game where Enzo was the one pulling the strings.
My jaw snaps shut, the words dying on my lips. I still don’t understand his motives. I don’t understand anything.
“That woman,” I mumble, raising my gaze to seek the attention of the two police officers, “the woman Bastian and I went to see. Who is she?”
They exchange a look of confusion.
“Are you sure it wasn’t Ivet Birtwistle, Vera?” Officer Alonso asks, his tone gentle, like he’s speaking to a child on the verge of a tantrum. Maybe that’s all I am right now.
“I’m sure,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel.
He tenses, his shoulders pulling up as if bracing for impact. “I suppose we can send someone to check it out,” he says, his gaze lingering on me a moment too long, like he’s searching for something beneath my words, beneath my insistence.
Then he leaves. I’m taken back to my cell. I don’t say a word.
“Vera,” my boss says before leaving me alone. Officer Horseface stops but steps away from us, giving us a bit of privacy.
André looks more exhausted than all the police officers in this station put together. His eyes are ringed with dark circles, and his shoulders slump, fraying at the edges. A pang of guilt threatens to throw me off, and I swallow it down. André doesn’t need my poor excuses right now.
But I don’t need more reprimands, either.
“Spare me the talk,” I warn, my voice sharper than intended.
“I was just going to tell you to take care of yourself,” he says with a laugh, but it’s tinged with a condescending edge that grates against my nerves.
“Take care of myself?” I echo, scoffing.
I’ve barely slept, and food feels like an afterthought.
I’m running on nothing but coffee and a fading rush of adrenaline.
Every time I close my eyes, Elo?se’s body flashes behind my eyelids, clinging to life, still.
Ivet’s face blurs in and out, a ghost I can’t place.
And always, somewhere in the corners of my mind, there’s Enzo, smirking like this whole chaos is the punchline to the best fucking joke he’s ever told.
Now that the information regarding Julian Garros’s case had taken a turn and the authorities knew the Counterfeiter had been three people all along: Julian, Enzo, and a third person whose name I can’t recall, the trial had been postponed. Everything I had fought for, I had lost.
None of this would go away with a “take care of yourself.” It wouldn’t be fixed by morning jogs or a comfort meal or a mid-afternoon tikka masala chicken with Gina.
“If I need a psychologist after this,” I warn André. “Saidi’s footing the bill.”
“That’s understandable,” he laughs, like it’s all a game.
Everyone’s laughing except me.
“It wasn’t a joke,” I warn, my eyebrow arched, the tension radiating off me like a bad sunburn.
André just nods, pats me on the back like I’m a kid who needs consoling, and walks off. I sink lower in my chair.
I’ve got nothing to laugh about anymore.