Page 104 of Freshman

Martin exhaled deeply through his nose. “We have reason to believe you aided Mr. Mathews’s escape.”

Alfie straightened fast and gawped at Martin. The air left him in a rush, and he winced at the flare of pain in his ribs. “You—You think I was involved? I smashed up my ribs and my pelvis.”

“If you’re not involved with his escape, then you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“What kind of things are you searching my house for?”

Martin’s eyes hardened. “Anything that indicates you had an inappropriate relationship. Anything that suggests you were in contact with him outside of the prison.”

Martin’s lips continued to move, but Alfie couldn’t hear the words that passed through. He shivered as something dark and sinister wrapped around his spine, and he lifted his eyes to the ceiling, where he imagined his bed was. The bedside table drawer was full of post-it notes and the picture Nate drew of him tied up. Instead of fear and arousal, there was only fear, but magnified to terror. He forced himself to swallow and grabbed a crutch off the coffee table.

“Just got to take a leak.”

Martin stood. “Do you need some help with that?”

“No, I’m fine. Just going upstairs.”

He didn’t turn to Martin but hopped as calmly as he could to the stairs. He only needed one crutch and used the stair rail to steady himself. He realised halfway up that Martin was following and glanced over his shoulder. Martin’s thin lips were pressed into a line, and his eyes were unblinking.

“You don’t have to come up—”

“I think I do, Mr. Bridges.”

“I’m just going to the toilet. I won’t be long. You can put the kettle on if you want.” Alfie took another step and heard the creak of the step behind.

“You seem a bit unsteady. I might just walk behind you, make sure you don’t fall.”

“I’m fine. I can do it. I got pretty fed up being accompanied to the toilet.”

Martin snorted. “Still, I’m a police officer. It would be wrong of me to leave you if I thought you were in danger of slipping—”

“I won’t.”

“No harm in being careful,” Martin said.

“There is, actually.”

“Not that I can see.”

Alfie pressed his lips together and breathed deep. He needed to get to the drawer, grab the post-its and the picture and flush them down the toilet. He couldn’t run. Even hobbling at a swift pace made his bones ache.

“What is it you’re hiding?”

“Nothing,” he snapped.

There was a knock on the door, and Alfie closed his eyes in relief.

“Sounds like the cavalry,” Martin said.

“You’d better go let them in.”

“Yeah, I’d better.”

Alfie opened his eyes and hopped up the final few steps. He dropped the crutch and crawled over the bed to get to the drawer. He tugged it open, but before he could grab what was inside, there was heavy pressure to his back, someone pinning him down.

He yelled out in pain as his ribs screamed in protest. He couldn’t turn to see who pinned him, but another police officer strolled around the bed and peeked inside the drawer.

“I didn’t believe them when they said Nate Mathews was a good artist. Interesting subject he chose…”

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