Page 8

Eight

Monday 7am

Once upstairs, Charlie put a pod into the coffee machine for himself, and asked Murphy what he wanted. “Just black,” came the reply and Charlie turned to see a sleepy Orianna peering into the tiny kitchen. She wore pyjamas made from what looked like flowered curtains, and a wrap in clashing colours.

“Where’ve you been?”

“To see Tom, and before you ask, all I know is that he’s alive, fastened up to every machine you can imagine. They chucked me out.” The image of Tom, all alone with a machine ensuring he breathed was enough to bring tears to Charlie’s eyes. He blinked them back.

“We’ll ring them in a bit,” Orianna said.

“I didn’t mean to wake you up,” Charlie said, lining up a second mug.

“Can’t sleep anyway. Brody has his from the red-coloured pods.”

“Brody?”

“Brody Murphy. We were talking after you left.”

There was the sound of a throat being cleared. “I was asked to come and wait for you earlier, but I thought Ori … Ms Wildwood needed to sleep so I went and waited in the car.”

Which was interesting. Not the business of going to sleep in his car, but that Murphy had been sent to wait for him. Charlie found a red pod and made the third coffee. When the liquid began to spurt from the machine, it looked exactly like his own, but perhaps there was some subtle difference he was missing. He opened the fridge. The doughnut box wasn’t quite empty. He passed it to Orianna and picked up the coffees. “Let’s go and sit in the living room,” he said.

Orianna curled her legs underneath her on one of the sofas, balancing her drink on the arm. Charlie sat at the other end, being careful not to jolt the sofa and bring the coffee crashing to the polished floor. Murphy sat opposite them, still looking embarrassed. Orianna pushed the box of doughnuts toward Charlie.

“Eat,” she said. “I don’t care if it’s sugar and lard, you have to eat.”

Acid bubbled in Charlie’s stomach, but he took a doughnut hoping it might absorb some of the acid and make him feel better. He couldn’t remember a time he hadn’t wanted to eat something cakey and sugary, but he had no appetite. He bit into the doughnut anyway, chewed and swallowed, feeling the hard lump make its way painfully down his throat.

“Why were you waiting for me?” he asked.

“My sergeant was concerned about Ms Wildwood,” Murphy said. “And then there was a report from the hospital that someone had been seen in Mr Pennant’s room. It sounded like the intruder was you, but there was a fear that Mr Pennant might be a target along with Ms Wildwood. So, that’s why they sent me.”

Charlie understood the individual words, but the whole made little sense.

“NYPD think Orianna was the shooter’s target?” he asked.

Murphy nodded. “That’s why the FBI are involved. Lots of anti-gay feeling around.”

Charlie shook his head. “Not arguing about the anti-gay feelings, but that wasn’t about Orianna. It was Kaylan Sully he was after, and Kaylan is dead. And that FBI guy isn’t from hate crimes.”

“But, Charlie,” Orianna said, “Tom pushed me down when the shooting started. That’s why he was shot. He was between me and the gunman.” She shivered, pulling the arms of her robe down over her wrists. Charlie passed her a blanket and she spread it over her legs.

“I know you don’t want to think about it but, that guy was doing two things. He was firing random shots to frighten everyone, but he was looking for someone in particular, and it wasn’t you. I saw him. Kaylan was shot at close range. That’s who he was looking for. Everyone else was collateral damage.”

There was silence at this pronouncement.

Murphy was the first to break it. “So, who was this Kaylan?”

Charlie sighed heavily. “He was a computer hacker working for the FBI. I arrested him for conspiracy to murder back in the UK but he is such a successful hacker that the FBI brought him back. He should have been in jail. That’s why the FBI are here. The cybercrimes FBI, not the hate crimes FBI.”

“But why would Kaylan Sully be at my signing?” Orianna asked.

Charlie had no answer to that. “You haven’t received any threats?” he asked, and Orianna shook her head.

“Nothing. No pickets or protests. If there has been any hate mail, no one told me about it. You could ask Dana from the publishing company. They’ll know.”

“It’s a big jump from no contact to a mass shooting,” Charlie said, but now it was Murphy’s turn to shake his head. He put his coffee cup down on the floor.

“Those guys just turn up and let loose,” he said.

“And then,” Orianna said enunciating each word, “the police look at their social media. Lo and behold, it was all spelled out and no one bothered to say anything.”

Murphy folded his arms across his chest.

“No one’s blaming you,” Orianna said.

“But maybe there is something I can do to help.” Murphy looked at Orianna with something akin to adoration. She was impressive, Charlie thought, even after no sleep, wrapped in a blanket. But she hadn’t been the intended victim here, and no amount of adoration would make her one. Murphy was on the wrong team in every sense.