Page 7

T he days blurred together, a cycle of frenzied thoughts, panic, worry and if I was honest, a fair amount of fear. To top it off, I felt like a complete idiot – Tom had been right about Wyatt, and I hadn’t taken him seriously. This was my fault, and the guilt was piling up.

I wanted to talk to him about it, but when we’d returned that night he was having none of it. While my mind raced, worrying about what all this meant and how the hell I was supposed to deal with it all, he was detached and distracted, passing his days in the chair by the window and staring into nothingness. I couldn’t tell him what I’d seen – not while he was in this state – and I’d never known him like this. He’d been friends with Jon for over a decade and worked with Maggie for less than a year, but his grief seemed more raw when it came to her.

The problem was, I needed to get my thoughts out. That was my process, and if I could talk things through with someone, I knew I’d feel calmer. But Tom was all I had, and one look at him was enough to tell me he needed more time. Unfortunately, I’d never been known for my patience, and on the second day of silence, I cracked.

“Tom?” I approached him with caution, but he didn’t look up or even react. “Look, I don’t mean to be harsh, but you’ve gotta get out of that bloody chair.”

I ran a hand through my hair, watching his reflection and mine in the glass. “Chowdhury. Fucking wake up .” I knelt in front of him, grabbing the arms of the chair. “I need to talk to you.”

It wasn’t the first time I’d tried since we’d returned from Maggie’s flat. And I was upset about her too – Maggie had been one of the sweetest, funniest people I’d ever known. But being a hunter meant keeping my grief at arm’s length, especially now I knew that Wyatt was involved. So I needed to know what Tom knew – before I buggered up again.

“Okay,” I stood and leaned against the windowsill, blocking his view of the drizzly street outside. “If you won’t talk, I will. Isabel Wyatt was at Maggie’s.”

Tom’s grip on the arms of the chair tightened. “What?”

“When you were talking to the police officer. She pulled up in a car down the street with a guy I met in the shop last week.” My words were almost a whisper as I confessed.

“Did they see you?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

Tom shifted in his chair. “Good. You’d get yourself killed.”

His words hurt, though he was right. The strength I’d felt from Wyatt had been unlike anything I’d ever known, even at a distance. My skin crawled in memory, and for the first time in a long time, I was scared. I fought a lot of vampires, and I was damn good at it, but she was something different.

I should have taken Tom more seriously. I should have been protecting Maggie, but I hadn’t even considered it. I searched for the words to apologise – this was well and truly my fault. But a tiny part of me couldn’t help but think that if I’d protected her, we wouldn’t know for certain about Wyatt right now. We’d have nothing more to go on than we had before. It was a horrid, traitorous thought – but it was true.

???

A fter our brief chat, Tom went right back to his creepy silence. I brought him sandwiches, mugs of tea… I even went out and fetched his favourite pastries, but he barely touched them. I wasn’t sure if he was grieving or just pissed at me, but I suspected it might be a bit of both. Still, he hadn’t left. He stayed, and there was some comfort in that.

The morning of Jon’s funeral came around fast, the dawn dark and cold. I’d planned to stay away from Jolt and its distractions for the day, but standing by my bedroom window and cradling a hot mug of coffee, I changed my mind.

I stared at my bed. I’d laid out a smart black dress and tights for later that day, but they looked pathetic and rumpled against the dark red sheets. Jon would’ve found the idea of me in a dress hilarious – I was more the chunky Doc Martens and jeans type – and I wondered if we should have tried harder to get involved in the funeral plans. Would Jon be mad that everyone was in formalwear? Duh, Erin.

Branches from the tree outside my window scratched against the glass as a blast of wind rolled down the street. The sky was only now beginning to grow light, but I’d been awake for well over an hour already. Despite my utter exhaustion from the long, solo days in the shop, sleeping well had become a thing of the past. Tom needed time before coming back. Hell, I’d needed time. I was drowning on my own.

Pulling my cardigan more closely around me, I turned back to stare at the dress on the bed. I hated this. I couldn’t sit and wait all morning to say goodbye, when he was already long gone. Gulping down the last of my coffee, I headed for the shower. I’d go and collect the post. It was a mundane way to find some normalcy in a day that shouldn’t even be happening, but it was what I had.

???

O nce I’d scraped the ice off my car windscreen, it didn’t take long to get to Jolt. The sun had only just breached the horizon in my rearview mirror, and by the time I pulled up its pale glow was beginning to reflect off the gold lettering on the glass front door. The shop was warmer than I’d expected inside as I scooped up the pile of junk mail and bills that must have been delivered the previous afternoon.

Sorting through the bits and pieces, one envelope in particular stood out. Palest blue. Heavy textured paper. Expensive. I sliced open the top with a knife and a single sheet fluttered to the ground. The sloping cursive was unfamiliar, but the name and phone number at the bottom were clear enough.

It is not as it may have appeared. Please call at your earliest convenience.

Adam Locke

Shit. It hadn’t even occurred to me that Adam might have seen me at Maggie’s. He’d seemed almost as on edge as I was, but that was all I could really remember, what with Wyatt showing up. I couldn’t think of anything else he could be referring to, though. Maybe my observational skills were on the fritz.

The bell over the door jingled merrily and I glanced at the clock on my phone. It was only just seven – well before opening time, even if we were open today. But the person walking through the door wasn’t exactly a regular.

“Well, if it isnae my midnight wanderer.”

Standing near the door with his face in shadow, the smile in his already familiar voice was clear. Even in the dim light, there was something easy about the way he moved as he stepped inside, all quiet confidence. His presence made the shop feel smaller.

“Cole, right?” He knew I knew his name. But what else was I supposed to say?

“The verra one.” Walking toward the counter, he took in the shop with apparent interest. “So, this is where you spend your days, eh? ”

I shoved the blue paper deep into my satchel and pulled the leather flap down, suddenly over-conscious of the drawing still inside. “Mostly the ones that end in ‘y’, yeah. We’re not actually open—”

“I didnae think so at this hour,” he interrupted. “But I spotted ye through the glass and had to say hello.” As he spoke, he leaned against the worn wood of the counter, the movement drawing my eyes to the way his shirt pulled taut across his broad shoulders. His green and gold eyes danced with amusement as he watched me right back. I found myself noticing details I’d missed in the dark – how his mahogany hair caught the golden shades of the light, curling a little at the back of his neck, and the strong forearms revealed beneath his rolled-up sleeves when he removed his coat. “Seems you’re on my route home. Night shift.”

“Just happened to be passing, did you?” I tried not to sound as flustered as I felt.

“I doubt anything ‘just’ happens around you, lass.” The corner of his mouth twitched.

I resisted a small smile, unsure what to say. Today was supposed to be about Jonathan, and yet here I was, tongue-tied over a stranger who happened to remind me of him. Get a grip, Erin.

Cole studied me over the top of the till, his quiet assessment accompanied by a faint crooked smile. I thought back to the odd look he’d given me before, the one I’d interpreted as disbelief. I still didn’t understand it.

“How’re ye farin’? After your fall, and all? ”

I raised both eyebrows and shrugged. “I’m walking and talking. My ankle’s still dodgy, but I’ll live.”

He nodded, still studying me. “Aye, you seem well enough.”

“Do you want a coffee?” I asked, turning away from him to busy myself washing the cups. “This is a coffee shop, after all.”

“I’m fine, thanks,” he replied. “No sure the caffeine’ll do me much good at this point.” I watched his reflection in the shiny chrome of the espresso machine as he straightened and rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “Need any help?”

I shot him a quick grin. “Chivalrous as ever, eh?”

His eyes twinkled, and he made his way around the counter. “If you say so, lass.”

I pointed him to an apron, and once he’d tied it on, we got to work in amiable silence. It was bizarre, having him here like this. I didn’t really know anything about him, except that he was pretty good under pressure and smelled great – like the forest after a storm, or something. But he was also infinitely better company than I’d had of late.

As I scrubbed at a particularly stubborn coffee stain on a mug, I glanced over at him carefully stacking plates.

“So… night shift. And handy in a crisis. But you said you’re not a doctor?” I asked, unable to contain my curiosity.

Cole’s mouth twitched into that half-smile that was becoming dangerously familiar. “I think you’ll find I said nothing o’ the sort.”

“Evasive too. Intriguing.”I raised an eyebrow at him, resting against the counter.

“Aye, well that seems to be fair common these days.” He threw me a thoughtful look, his eyes bright even in the dim morning light. “Out for a walk in the middle o’ the night, and all that.”

Okay, fair point. I turned back to the sink, returning to the impossible-to-shift stain.

“So what do you do besides rescue concussed women in parks? And wash dirty coffee cups?” I asked over my shoulder.

He considered the question for a moment, folding a dishtowel into precise thirds. “A wee bit of this and that.”

I spun around, my hands dripping with soapy water. “Evasive again? Really?” I placed the last clean mug on the draining board, balancing it precariously. “Who are you, Cole? There must be more to you than a half-smile and a sexy accent?”

Cole’s eyes crinkled as he smirked, catching the mug before it could topple over. “Sexy, is it? Good to know.” His voice dropped slightly. “But I ken your meanin’. Only I dinnae ken you , lass. Do I no deserve to learn about my interrogator?”

I sighed and dried my hands. “Sure. Ask away.”

“You own this place?” He picked up another mug.

“I do. Co-owner with a friend of mine, Tom.” I watched his long fingers work the cloth over the ceramic with hypnotic precision.

“And when you’re no falling through ceilings and serving coffee? You read?” He indicated the bookshelves with a nod of his head, a dark lock of hair falling into his eyes before he shook it away.

I reached up to tuck a strand of my own hair behind my ear, abruptly aware of how dishevelled I must look. His eyes followed my hand. “When I have the time for it, yeah. Time seems to be in short supply though.”

“Aye, I can imagine so.” He nodded. “You draw?”

I froze. “How did you know?”

“Your name’s below the sketch on the wall back there.” He gestured toward the door with the tea towel. “Seemed too much to assume there was more than one Erin workin’ here.”

He was observant, I’d give him that much. Hopefully not so observant that he’d force me to lie to him. I busied myself with re-organising the clean cups, avoiding his gaze.

“No, no other Erins. Reading, painting, music, coffee. That about sums me up.”

His face lit up, eyebrows raised. “Music?”

I couldn’t help but smile at his sudden enthusiasm. “You’re into your music, huh?”

“Aye, ye might say that.” He leaned back on the counter, animated in a way I hadn’t yet seen him.

Well at least Jon would approve of this guy.

“Listening or playing?” I asked.

He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it slightly mussed in a way that was unfairly attractive. “Both. I havnae played an instrument for many a year, but that doesnae mean I’m done doin’ so.”

“What sort of music?” I folded my arms across my chest and watched him as he thought it through.

“Ach, what a question.” He stretched an arm up to rub the back of his neck. “A wee bit o’ everythin’, mostly. Anything with a melody. Wi’ a heart. ”

“Favourite song?” I pressed.

“I couldnae say. Tis different every day.”

I unfolded my arms and stepped a little closer, feigning nonchalance as I glanced up at him. He was so bloody tall. “And today?”

He met my eyes, his own gold-flecked ones intense. “‘ Lover, You Should've Come Over. ’”

I swallowed. I knew it. I loved it. And I couldn’t help but feel a slow warmth spreading in my lower belly at the way he looked at me as said it. Something in his expression made me feel like I was missing something important.

He raised a quick eyebrow and threw me that crooked smile again. I cleared my throat and turned back to the glasses on the counter, putting some distance between us.

“It’s a good song.” I managed eventually.

“Aye.” He paused for a moment, tapping his long fingers on the counter. “This Tom you mentioned… he’s just a friend?”

I laughed. “Yes, just a friend.”

He took a minute to process this. “And you dinnae have any other… friends?”

The question caught me off guard. I placed the last cup in the cabinet with extra care. “No, not really.”

He didn’t reply, and I didn’t break the silence. It hadn’t occurred to me to think about it that way. My circle had been small for so long… and now it was just me and Tom.

After a few minutes, he paused, dish towel in mid-air. “Is everything alright? I didnae mean to upset ye, lass. Only, ye seem… sad, now. Not that I’d assume my presence would light up a room of course, but…” A wolfish grin crossed his face. “It usually does.”

“Oh yeah?” I shook my head, shaking off the feeling and holding back a laugh. “No, I get that a lot. Resting bitch face and all that.”

He didn’t seem convinced. “You’re sure?”

I wanted to tell him my secrets. I wanted to get to know him, and for him to know me. Maybe it was because he was a stranger, or maybe I was tired of holding it all in. Either way, it didn’t matter. My secrets were secrets for a reason.

“I’m going to a funeral this afternoon,” I said. “So yeah, I suppose you could say I’m sad.”

“Ah. Someone you were close to?”

I swallowed. “My best friend. And the whole place will be full of people who think he killed himself.” Stop it, Erin.

“Did he?” His tone was innocent enough, but there was real curiosity there. Suicide seemed to bring that out in people.

“No. He wasn’t capable of it.” Why was I telling him the truth? “There was too much life in Jon for that.”

Cole didn’t respond, slowly drying the inside of a cup and placing it on the counter beside the others.

“I don’t mean to bare my soul or anything. I’m just pissed about the whole thing.” I pulled the plug from the sink with more force than was necessary, splashing water all down my front. “And I miss him,” I added quietly.

When I went to grab a towel, Cole was standing close behind me. My fingertips barely brushed the sleeve of his shirt, but it was enough to set my skin alight. I was suddenly very aware of how his height made me feel small, how his presence seemed to fill the narrow space between the counters, the cool air between us charged with something I didn’t want to name yet.

“Aye,” he said, voice low. “I can tell.”

I tried to shrug it off and faced the sink again. “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do without him. This place—” I gestured to the huge espresso machine, the mismatched tables and the bookshelves pressed against the walls. “It was ours , all of us, and now he’s gone and I’m supposed to do it on my own. It’s too much, and all I can think about is the stupid bloody dress…” I knew I was rambling, but the words held back my threatening tears.

“A dress?” The corner of his mouth twitched as I glanced up.

I shook my head. “I got a dress out to wear, and I feel like Jon would laugh at me for wearing it, but I don’t know what else to do.”

Cole’s chuckle reverberated in the small space between us, and I fell into its contagious rumble, laughing with him and marvelling as it filled my heart with something beyond heaviness and grief.

“Aye, well that’s one thing to focus on,” he said when we finally quieted down. “But think o’ it this way: your friend, Jon, you said? Would he truly mock you?”

I snorted. “Honestly, he wouldn’t give a shit what I wore.”

“Then there you have it, love,” Cole tilted his head, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Wear the damn dress.” He paused, then added, “Sometimes the best tribute is showin' the world you’re still here, dress and all.”

???

T he wake was unbearable from start to finish.

“Such a waste…” I had no idea who said it first, but it was on everyone’s lips as we walked from the graveside, the cloying perfume of coffin lilies lingering in the cold air. I searched for Tom, hoping to find his hand and some comfort, but he was already at the gates, making polite conversation with Jim. I caught the end of their conversation as I got closer.

“… young. I can’t imagine what he must have been feeling. So lost and alone and with no other way out.”

I grimaced, and for a second, I thought Tom was trying to catch my eye – I’d been surprised to find him already dressed and ready to leave when I returned from the shop, but even now he was still keeping his distance. I mean, I wanted to grieve in peace and everything, but that peace included Tom. Instead, we were ignoring each other while we made idle chit-chat with strangers, all the time perpetuating the lie.

As the wake drew to a close, I peered around to see where Tom had gotten to, knowing what had to come next would be easier to deal with if he was there with me. Almost everyone was gone – just a few staff clearing away trays of leftover food and rearranging chairs remained. On your own again then, Erin.

Maggie’s funeral was the following day, which meant it was my last chance to find out more about her death. Grabbing my coat from the cloakroom, I gave the room one last glance before heading to my car. Turning up the music and singing along loudly, I tried to distract myself. Not exactly a day I want to remember , I thought. Nothing about it reflected my grief, or how I’d felt about my friend.

I pulled up outside the Medico-Legal Centre as the sun was going down – though it had barely gotten light anyway. The city’s public mortuary was inside, but though I dealt with death regularly, I’d never had much occasion to visit in person before. Unfortunately, it was time to get hands-on. Now that I’d seen Wyatt here in the city with my own two eyes, I knew the only way to get what I needed was in the square, red brick building in front of me. I got out of the car and closed the door quietly, wishing I’d changed out of my funeral dress.

The whole drive I’d gone over scenarios and backstories, trying to come up with a viable reason a coffee shop owner might need to see her friend’s corpse. Pushing through the double doors at the entrance, it quickly became apparent that there wasn’t all that much in the way of security in a place like this – in fact, there might be cover enough for me to quickly sneak my way into the back. There was a reception desk in the lobby, but while the computer was humming quietly, there was no one manning it. As calmly as I could, I hurried past and through the door behind, the overpowering scent of air freshener stinging my nose – not quite strong enough to cover the stench of death.

The long corridor beyond had several doors dotted along it. They appeared to lead to offices, but that wasn’t what I was after. Tom and I had been exploring the coroner’s computer servers for years, so it had been no problem to discover there was never any intent to open a formal inquest into Maggie’s death. However, I also knew it was standard procedure to carry out a post-mortem examination on suicide cases. The only snag was that this particular coroner was pretty old school – which meant if I wanted to learn anything useful, I needed the hard copies of his notes.

I finally spotted the door I wanted at the end of the hall and was almost through it when someone called out behind me. I swore under my breath.

Mind racing, I breathed a sigh of relief at the face that greeted me.

“Bradley!” I smiled, “Holy fuck, you scared the shit out of me!”

“Erin?” he whispered, clearly annoyed. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“You know, the usual.” I jerked my head towards the door behind me. “I won’t be a minute, I promise.”

Bradley pulled a face, his rich, dark skin puckering around his mouth as he thought it through.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have to be,” I insisted. “Especially this time.”

“I know,” he sighed. “But Carl’s got it in for me at the minute, reckons I’ve been stealing his lunch or some rubbish. I know full well it’s Brenda on reception that takes those stupid mini cheeses he eats, but—”

“Your workplace drama is remarkably normal for someone who cuts up dead people for a living.”

“Says the woman who hunts vampires,” he muttered. “At least my clients don’t fight back.”

I held back the threatening eye roll and went with it. “You can handle Carl, Brad. You always do. And I’ll owe you one – I just need to see something.” I gave him my best pleading look. I’d known the pathologist a few years now, having bumped into him repeatedly at suspicious crime scenes – and I couldn’t forget the childish rivalry between him and his elderly co-worker.

“You owe me about six already, and I don’t know what you think you’ve got to offer to pay me back.” He huffed as he said it, but was already leading me back along the corridor, fumbling with a keychain before unlocking the final door. “I don’t get why you’re so interested in what’s in there anyway, it’s only a suicide. Not your remit, right?”

“You’d be amazed at what’s become my remit,” I murmured, following him through.

“I don’t want to know.” He shook his head. “Just get done what you’ve got to and go. She’s due to be picked up in the next hour, anyway.”

I nodded, swallowing as I took in the wall of steel. Most of the deaths on this side of the city came through here eventually. One day, so would I. Hopefully not any time soon.

Bradley didn’t seem to notice my apprehension and crossed over to the nearest drawer, pulling it out without a word. I turned my face away. I knew I had to look, but now the moment was here, I felt woefully under prepared.

“Margaret Elizabeth Everett,” he read aloud from the hastily scrawled label on the drawer.

“Do you have the full file for her?” I asked, still staring at the white tiled floor. I’d never known Maggie and I shared a middle name. I shook myself as a wave of nausea rolled over me, suddenly eternally grateful for the awful aftershave Brad wore, that was apparently potent enough to block out any additional odours in the room.

“Give me a moment, I’ll be back,” he replied, closing the door behind him and leaving me alone with her.

I raised my eyes to the steel drawer. There was a crisp white sheet over her body, but her head had been left uncovered. Her unruly curls of ginger hair looked different somehow – too bright against her stark, waxy skin. She didn’t look like my friend at all.

Maggie had been the first person we’d recruited at Jolt. Despite our best intentions, it hadn’t taken long before Jonathan, Tom and I had realised we weren’t up to organising a business ourselves. Jon had recruited her, though it occurred to me now he’d never said how – we’d just accepted she’d had an amazing trial day, and even better: she understood the accounts. Maybe Tom would have talked to her about how she’d got the job if they’d ever managed to go on that date. She and Tom might have talked about a lot of things. We’d never know.

Swallowing back the tears I’d contained earlier, I hardened myself. I hadn’t had the opportunity to examine Jon’s body for clues – and given the circumstances, I was happier not to have to see what the killer had left of him – but I needed to find something on Maggie to point me in the right direction. The tang of copper filled my mouth, my heightened senses confirming that her body had come into contact with a vampire recently – but it wasn’t enough.

Walking around to the other side of the drawer, I examined her face and hair again. Nothing seemed amiss, but I hadn’t expected it to. There was no way Wyatt had survived this long and been sloppy to boot. I pulled back the sheet, silently apologising.

The colour was bleached from her skin, no longer the creamy smoothness I’d once envied. Vertical cuts at her wrists had been stitched neatly together along the veins, but I could see they were deep. Probably deeper than I’d expect the average person to be able to make unaided, but I wasn’t a professional. It was the method I’d been expecting, given that she’d been found in a bathroom. But a glance showed me nothing else was unusual – there wasn’t even a puncture wound. I pulled the sheet carefully back over her and sighed. Now what?

I might not have believed Tom about Wyatt initially, but that didn’t mean I hadn’t done the reading – there had been killings like this before. And I couldn’t help but notice how it echoed one of the many myths about the origins of the vampire species; women who would bathe in the blood of the young to preserve their youth and live forever, never ageing. It was sick.

Bradley snuck back in as I was closing the drawer up. He handed me a thin paper file in a brown wallet, glancing back into the hall behind.

“Did anyone see you?”

“Of course they did, but I work here – I’m not the one behaving suspiciously,” he snapped back.

I ignored him, opening the file. As well as photos of Maggie’s injuries and details from the post-mortem scribbled in an almost illegible hand, there were images from the crime scene. I pulled them out and spread them across the small, immaculately tidy desk in the corner.

“Do you normally keep this kind of thing?” I asked. If I was honest, I hadn’t been expecting anything this useful.

Bradley shuffled his feet. “It’s not typical, no. But since… well, some of the things you’ve told me about the stuff going on – I figured there was no harm in being a bit more thorough. It’s another reason Carl’s pissed off with me, actually; he thinks I’m being unnecessarily morbid,” he explained.

“You’re a pathologist,” I pointed out. “How much more morbid could you be?”

He gave me a small smile and a shrug. “You’d think it would be part of the job description, but apparently there’s a sweet spot.”

I worked my way from one end of the table to the other, examining each picture. Most of them had been taken after Maggie had been removed from the scene, and I recognised the patterned glass of her bathroom window in the background. The bathtub was full of deep pink water, but it wasn’t the crimson you’d normally expect – unless vampires were involved, of course. I pointed this out to Bradley.

“Yeah, I wondered about that,” he agreed. “Some of the other details don’t add up either – I mean, even the water temperature must have been perfectly regulated, kept exactly above the point where blood stops clotting. You wouldn’t normally see that kind of precision in a suicide.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Reminds me of some case studies I read about Nazi medical experiments, actually. But Carl’s written up plenty of explanations, and I left him to it. I keep noticing details that don’t quite fit, and he hates it when I do that.” He paused. “You don’t think she killed herself, then?”

“I know she didn’t. I even think the person who killed her showed up at the crime scene. I’ve just got to prove it before anyone else gets hurt.” I selected a wide-angled photo taken from the doorway that showed the full room. “Somehow,” I added quietly.

It wasn’t a large bathroom. The sink was on top of a small, white unit right by the side of the tub. And by the sink was a tiny spray of flowers. I didn’t recognise the blooms, but alarm bells rang in my head.

“Do you know what kind of plant that is?” I asked Bradley, pulling out my phone to take a close-up of the image with the sink.

He examined the photograph and shook his head. “Why?”

“Didn’t anyone think it was weird, that they were just lying there?” I spoke more to myself than to him.

“It’s not that strange. People seem to romanticise death in cases like this – we’ll arrive on the scene to rose petals, candles burning, music playing, the lot.”

Tom had said Wyatt left coins or flowers at her scenes – and Maggie was severely allergic to all kinds of pollen.

“She had seriously bad hay fever. She suffered from it year-round.” I told him. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

“You think it’s a calling card?” I could tell he wasn’t happy with the idea.

“I do,” I replied, pulling myself out of my thoughts. “Yeah. I think I’ve got what I needed.” I hurriedly gathered the photographs and rammed them back into the folder, passing it back to Bradley.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “There are more somewhere, I kept as much as I could—”

“No, you’re fine Brad,” I answered. “You’ve already done more than I was expecting. Unless – you didn’t happen to notice if there were coins anywhere in the bathroom? Like, I dunno, coins that you’d have noticed?” It was a long shot, but still.

He waited before answering. “I don’t think so. I mean, people leave money lying around. I don’t think I’d have given it a second thought.” He sounded apologetic as we closed the door behind us, lowering his voice as we made our way down the corridor as quietly as possible.

“That’s okay,” I reassured him. “It was worth asking.”

The reception was still empty as he followed me out. I wondered where the receptionist could be.

“So – you don’t think this woman killed herself? It was one of your guys?” Bradley asked as I went to leave.

I looked up at him, gangly in his lab coat. I sometimes forgot how young he was. “I thought you didn’t want to know?” I sighed. “Yeah, I’m pretty certain. But there’s nothing you can do other than keep an eye out,” I added, quashing his protests. “We couldn’t prove it if we tried. And you need to keep your head down and stay safe.”

He nodded, his mouth downturned. “Let me know if there’s anything else you need,” he said instead of a goodbye. I made my way out to the car without responding. He was another person to keep out of it. Wyatt was my problem to fix.