Page 35 of Dead Serious: Case 3 Mr Bruce Reyes

“I’m scared I’m going to let him down,” I confess.

“That will never happen,” he says confidently.

“You seem so sure.”

“I am.” He leans in closer. “Danny, there are no absolutes in this world. Life is messy and confusing but when you add the afterlife in too, there are so many things that can and will go wrong. The world isn’t black and white.”

“What exactly are you saying?” I ask in confusion.

“Go into this with an open mind, and you and Tristan eventually will find a way to make it work. As long as you’re honest with each other and you have each other’s backs, trust me, there’s nothing you can’t survive.”

I snort quietly. “How did you get so wise?”

“Head trauma.” He grins and I see he’s deflecting again. “Anyway, how about we get back to Mr Reyes’ case?”

“Right now, we have no formal ID and no cause of death,” I answer, letting him change the subject. For now. “If we work on the assumption that the remains are, in fact, Bruce Reyes, and that he was killed sometime during the eighties… Tristan said his parents were still alive. I would imagine they would’ve filed a missing persons report, but I can’t access the police records while I’m on sick leave. If I ask Maddie, I’m going to have to explain why I want access to a random file from nearly forty years ago. Especially after I’ve been asking about the John Doe from the rugby grounds.”

“You’re right about that.” Sam pulls his laptop back in front of him and starts tapping away. “As much as I really do like Maddie, and she’s a brilliant detective, it’s probably best if we try not to involve her. It would be too hard to explain.”

“What are you doing?” I nod toward the laptop as he clicks at the keys.

“This.” He stops typing and turns the screen around to show a scanned form dated May 1986.

“Mr Bruce Reyes,” I mutter as I read the name at the top of the scanned copy. Looking up over the screen, I suck in a sharp breath. “How did you get access to this? These are sealed police files, not a matter of public record.”

“I could tell you.” Sam’s brows rise as he gives me a meaningful look. “But I think we both know you’re not going to like the answer.”

“You hacked the Metropolitan Police’s record system, didn’t you?” I stare at him. “Do you have any idea how much money they plough into their security and firewalls?”

“Apparently not enough,” Sam mutters under his breath.

“Sam,” I warn.

“What? Danny, you said it yourself. This is going to be an extremely difficult case to investigate because we can’t tell the authorities how we came by the information we already have. Unless, of course, you’d like to tell your bosses you can identify the bones found in Surbiton because your boyfriend is friends with his ghost. Oh, and you can add in that Death stopped by your kitchen during a power cut to tell us to stop him from crossing into the light.”

I purse my lips. “I’m reluctant to concede that you may have a small point.”

Sam laughs and tosses a wadded-up ball of note paper at me playfully. “I know you, Danny. We worked together for years, remember? You’re a straight arrow and you live to adhere to the rules, but this is one massive bloody grey area. If we’re going to figure out what happened to this guy, we’re going to need all the tools in our arsenal, whether it’s hacked files, psychic connections, or good old-fashioned police work.” He smirks a bit.

“Fine,” I agree reluctantly.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his brows rising in amusement, and I snort. “I don’t want you clutching your pearls every time I do something slightly–”

“Illegal?”

“Outside the box,” Sam corrects.

I give a loud, resigned sigh. “Why do I get the feeling this is going to blow up in our faces spectacularly?”

“Have a little faith.” He winks at me. “I haven’t been caught yet.”

“I really don’t want to know.” I shake my head and hiss as my leg gives another excruciating throb. Glancing down at my watch, I note the time. “Alright,” I say begrudgingly. “Hand me my painkillers and then tell me what the missing persons file says.”

Sam slides out of his seat and, while he’s busy getting me a glass of water and my medication, my gaze tracks across to the kitchen window. The rain is pelting against the glass in waves. I glance at the time once more and hope that Tristan isn’t going to be much longer. I don’t like him being out in this weather; he still hasn’t fully recovered from his bout of the flu. He should be tucked up in bed, not chasing ghosts across London in the middle of a storm, or if he really has to, I wish I was with him. I hate being stuck in the flat with one leg propped up on a chair.

My attention is pulled back when Sam sets the glass and pill packet in front of me and slips back into his seat.

“Thanks.” I pop a couple of pills from the blister pack and pick up the glass of water. “Tell me what Bruce’s report says.” I nod toward the laptop.