Chapter Five
Summer?
Wrapping the warm fluffy towel around myself, I ring out my long hair, allowing the residual water to be swallowed down the plug. Wiping the excess water from my face, I step out of the shower, heading for the bedroom. Picking up my phone, I check the time. Luckily, I still have a few hours before my interview with the NYPD about my father’s murder investigation.
Murder investigation.
Feeling my stomach drop, the tears blur my vision and the waves of cold shivers run across my skin. Wrapping my arms around myself, I run my palms against my skin, hoping the coldness will subside.
Sitting on the edge of the bed and batting away the tears, I allow my head to fall back slightly, trying to relieve the tension in my neck. I sigh heavily, knowing that I can’t offer them any help in his murder. I wish I could. I can’t understand why anyone would want to hurt him. I’d never heard a bad word said about him. Well, apart from my mother, but she speaks badly of anyone just because she can.
Spending the remainder of the morning getting ready, I lose myself in the whirring noise of the hairdryer and a true crime podcast, mentally preparing myself for the day ahead.
Pulling out fresh clothes, I check the weather on my phone for the day. I give a lopsided smile as it’ll be chilly for most of it, but luckily the sun will be out. Opting for some black super skinny jeans and a cream roll-neck jumper, I slide on my heeled black ankle boots. I run a brush through my loose curls before giving myself one final nod in the mirror. Picking up my purse, I ignore the constant buzzing from my bag as I head to the precinct.
Harry, you can fuck off. Like I’m going to speak with you.
My inner thoughts may seem confident, but the idea of him trying to contact me or even find me scares me. I saw an opportunity to escape, and I took it. I have no intention of ever going back. It wouldn”t upset me if I never saw him or my mother again. Between them, they have made my life miserable whenever they felt like it.
A short taxi ride later and I’m stepping into the precinct, the warmth causes my cheeks to burn. Feeling a slight sweat develop on my back and the smell of burnt coffee causing me to recoil slightly. I shrug my coat off as I’m taken to an interview room. As the door opens, I take a seat at the table. I look at my reflection in the two-way mirror, just staring back. The past twenty-four hours hitting me hard. Even though I’ve escaped one hell, I’ve been thrust into another. Anxiety settles in my gut; I’ve never even planned a funeral before. I have no idea where to start, what my dad’s wishes were, or how to even deal with his estate.
I feel myself begin to nervously chew on the inside of my lip, trying to gather my thoughts and work out how to handle everything with my dad’s best interests and with confidence that I know I currently lack. My eyes snap to the door, and it swings open as two men enter. The younger of the two carrying a folder in his hand. The older man, wears a confident smile, but the more I look at it, the more it appears to be a smirk. I feel my sweaty palms clench slightly at the thought of this man smirking during a time like this. I feel my eyes boring a hole into his forehead as the silence in the room becomes uncomfortable. The younger man begins to speak, but I can’t hear him. The rage building within me feels like I’m taken to another dimension.
“Is something funny, detective?”
My tone is clip, almost defiant towards an authority figure. I hold eye contact as he finally looks me in the eye. He manages to hold it for a couple of seconds before his fa?ade falters. His shoulders sag as he runs his hand over his stubble. His eyes avert my gaze, but he shakes his head.
“No, ma’am, I apologise.”
To my surprise, he doesn’t jump to his defense. With my small triumphant win in my pocket, I sit back in my seat, letting out a low breath.
“No, Detective, I apologise.” My eyes wander to the two-way glass behind them. “It’s been….an odd twenty-four hours.” Feeling my eyes fill with tears, I take another deep breath before shrugging.
“I’m Detective Grey, and this is Detective Strode.” The young man gestures between them, and since entering the room, I find my eyes wandering towards him. I swallow hard as his deep green eyes pierce into mine. My skin feels hot, as though it leaves an imprint on me everywhere he looks. I nod at his words, but there’s no denying his deep voice oozes calm and dominance. With my cheeks on fire, I hope they haven’t noticed. With the heating in the precinct being so high, I’ll put it down to that for now.
“You’ve been in Las Vegas for the past three days?” Flipping a piece of paper, Detective Grey continues. “It says here you were staying at The Bellagio?”
“That’s correct.” I nod.
“What were you doing there?”
“My stepdad wanted to take us away for a few days. I think he and my former fiancé were celebrating some business deal going through.”
I feel both sets of curious eyes on me, and my heart rate picks up a little. I look between them both.
“I ended the relationship during the trip.” Trying to remain confident, I take a deep breath. Deciding to elaborate further. “I ended the relationship before my flight to New York. Things haven’t been good for a while. With my dad passing, staying somewhere where I was unhappy didn’t feel right.” My voice begins to crack, and the eyes avert from me.
“Has your father ever discussed his business here within the city?” Detective Strode asks.
His tone is much kinder. Almost reminding me of a warm fatherly figure, but I shake my head.
“No, I just knew he owned and ran some businesses here. There was never an indication when we saw each other or spoke that there were any issues. He didn’t really like talking about work much, but when we saw each other, he was more interested in how I was and how school or work was going.”
I notice how Detective Strode nods and gently smiles.
“And how often was that?” He asks as he jots down some notes on a notepad.
I feel myself deflate, trying to focus on the last time we spoke, but the sadness of not seeing him as often as I’d like feels like it’s eating me from the insides. Placing my elbows on the table, my head falls into my hands, staring down at the table Infront of me. My body begins to shake.
A thick knot of guilt forms in my throat and I can feel my mind beginning to shut down, the pressure of the situation becoming too much to handle.
“Can I get you some water?” Detective Strode leans in and asks calmly.
“Yes, please.” Not moving, I weakly answer.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to gather my thoughts and maintain my composure, but it’s so fucking hard.
Once the cup of water is placed in front of me, I take a sip, watching as my hand shakes.
The interview carries on into the early evening. The room has no clock, but I can see it’s begun to get dark outside. Both detectives continue to ask questions, but after some time, I feel flat. I can’t offer them anything about my dad’s murder, which breaks my heart. I’m here, but I’m fucking useless to them, and I want to help, but there’s nothing that has ever stood out about him or his lifestyle which could indicate why anyone would want to hurt him.
Sliding my coat back on, Detective Grey abruptly leaves the room. He said very little during the interview, which made me uncomfortable. Detective Strode asked most of the questions, but I could always feel those forest-green eyes on me. Stealing a few glances here and there, his expression never changed. No smile, no nod of the head. It was as though he was a fucking robot. But the more he stared, the more I wanted to ignore him.
Detective Strode walks me out, passing Detective Grey on the way. He doesn’t look up, remaining focused on the notebook in front of him. His dark, wavy hair obscuring his face slightly. But that doesn’t mean as I pass, I don’t feel his white-hot gaze on me as I walk away. I roll my eyes as the entrance nears; the sulky persona doesn’t work for me, and it never has. I just hope I don’t have to deal with him anytime soon. He makes me feel guilty, even though I’ve done nothing wrong. I don’t like being silently accused. That chapter on dealing with difficult men is definitely over for me.
Stepping out into the cold winter night, I see my breath instantly. Pulling my coat tight around my body, I turn back to Detective Strode as he speaks.
“Are you sure I can’t get you a ride home?”
I shake my head, looking up at him as I take a few steps down the street.
“I think the fresh air will do me good. No offense, it’s fucking roasting in there.”
His hearty laugh takes me by surprise, handing me a card.
“Here, if you run into any issues or remember something, anything. Just give me a call, ok?”
I nod, “Thank you.”