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Forty-One

Thursday 1am

The nurses asked Charlie to go in quiet voices and without the threat of calling security. He still didn’t want to leave Tom, but on the promise that he could return anytime the next day, he got a cab back to the hotel and his clothes. He ordered pizza, and ate it sitting cross-legged on his bed, and when he couldn’t face another slice, he leaned back and picked up the phone Murphy had given him.

“Hey, Brody, ready to tell me what’s going on? Am I still a wanted man?”

“Warrant dropped. You’re free and clear. As for what’s going on, you know as much as I do.”

Charlie growled. “Brody. Mate. You have lied to me since we met. Isn’t there some old Chinese proverb about if you save someone’s life, you’re responsible for them forever? Well, you probably saved my life, so I think the responsible thing would be to tell me the truth.”

There was a chuckle from Murphy’s end of the phone. “Tomorrow. Because I am in my own bed for the first time in what feels like weeks.”

“I don’t want to know about your bed-hopping habits. You can meet Tom, and he can tell you about his encounter with Kaylan.” Charlie ignored the spluttering, and ended the call.

* * *

The next morning, Charlie checked out of the hotel and headed back to the hospital, to find Tom sitting up in bed. He still looked as if he’d been run over by a train, and he was still attached to a drip and a selection of monitors. But the trajectory looked positive.

“If I am extremely good,” he said to Charlie, after they had kissed. “I may be allowed to visit the bathroom to pee. Under supervision of course.”

“And eat real food?”

“I think that’s tomorrow’s treat.”

Charlie told Tom how he was no longer a wanted man, which meant explaining about having his clothes taken for forensic examination and the arrest warrant for Kaylan’s murder.

“I should have kicked him harder last year,” Tom said.

“He’s dead though,” Charlie said. “I can’t think of a single nice thing to say about him, but he was only twenty.” He held his hand up. “I know, Rico was only a kid, too. It’s like Kaylan spread death and destruction everywhere he went. Dusty — the bookshop owner — and the other guy, killed because they were in the same room as Kaylan. And everyone who was there is going to remember it even if they weren’t injured.” He rubbed his hands over his eyes. “In other news, I’ve been spending your money and writing in your sketch book. Talking about your sketch book, I’d like to know when you drew some of those … more intimate pictures.”

They were laughing at the idea of Tom breaking off from lovemaking to draw NSFW images of Charlie when Brody Murphy joined them, carrying what Charlie hoped was a bag of doughnuts. Charlie blushed and quickly shuffled the sketchbook back into the messenger bag.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Murphy said, holding out his hand to Tom. “I’m Special Agent Brody Murphy, FBI, Quantico. My job is investigating allegations of corruption within law enforcement.”

Which you could have mentioned from the start.

“Which I should probably have told you earlier,” Murphy said to Charlie.

Charlie shrugged. Because he totally should have, but he was being honest now and that would have to do.

“You were after Mead and Bart all along? Not Dwyer?” Charlie asked, more for Tom’s benefit than his own.

“The Bureau as a whole has an interest in Dwyer. Without going into too much detail, the relationship between the Sullys and Dwyer, and a possible Dwyer move into a particular vein of politics was setting off a few alarm bells. The decision to bring Kaylan Sully back from the UK seemed like a risky move, but perhaps a way of bringing some things out into the open.”

“You didn’t want the January sixth conspirators to get access to any more money or better cyberhackers? And you thought Dwyer and the Sullys were in with that crowd and that some of your people were helping them.” Tom said.

Murphy just smiled.

“And my poor Charlie got dragged into your political mess because he wanted to know who killed Kaylan, even though Kaylan was a piece of shit who shot him and let his friend die?”

Murphy smiled again. “Charlie solved a domestic murder, yes. Probably two domestic murders. It looks likely that Sabrina Sully killed her husband. Let’s not forget her other two victims either.”

The silence following that admission was broken by a nurse coming to take Tom’s blood pressure and check all the monitors and the drip.

“That fake serial-killer set-up in the flat we visited. Was that Mead and Bart?” Charlie asked when the nurse had gone.

“Probably. Forensic investigators are going over it. Bart might tell us. There are a lot of things Bart might tell us if he wants to avoid a very long sentence in a very unpleasant federal prison. Like who else in the Bureau they were working with, because there are more than just those two, but I didn’t tell you that.”

Murphy stood up. “It was nice to meet you,” he said to Tom. “I’ve been asked to give you this. Only a copy, but you’ll get the real thing in due course.” He gave Tom an envelope.

Charlie stood up to see him out, and was surprised to be grabbed into a hug.

“It’s been an experience,” Murphy said. “Give me a call next time you visit the states.” Then he bent down and handed Charlie the bag. “Your favourite, I think.” And with that, he left.

“ Oh my fucking God,” Tom said.

Charlie turned away from contemplating the doughnuts to see Tom staring at a piece of paper.

“Kaylan fucking Sully left all his money to the art college.” Tom thrust the paper at Charlie. It was a photocopy of what appeared to be a properly drawn up will. Leaving all Kaylan’s worldly goods to Llanfair College of Art.