Page 122 of Fire Fight

I run to the dining room and burst through the door.

Mum sits in a chair, arms bound behind her. A dirty rag is stuck in her mouth.

“About time we had a family dinner,” Arnold says from behind me. He grabs me in a chokehold, squeezing until I can’t draw a breath.

And the world fades to black.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

DRAKE

The recording flickers,horizontal lines scoring the image in a hundred places before they chase each other up and off the screen. A car creeps along the road, bonnet nudging into the park ahead of it as the driver idles.

“Do you recognise this vehicle?” Detective Chalmers asks, leaning forward, flashing a reserved smile. The dude’s been ‘building rapport’ since I got here, sympathising over the tough year I’ve had, clicking his tongue over reports.

He organised a meal outside what the station provides, sending some poor underling in search of cheap fast food just to show, he gets it, he’s down with the kids.

It makes me want to fuck with him so bad.

I would if my life weren’t on the line.

There’s no way I’m spending thirty years locked up because some fat chemist got himself slaughtered. Not when everything just started to fit together, giving me hope for the future.

Not when the girl I’ve adored since primary school just told me she loved me. In front of the police, no less. Which means she can’t ever take it back. It’s evidence.

Inside, I glow at the idea while my face stays resolutely still.

Number one rule of Boot Camp.

Don’t give the fuckers anything for free.

“No comment.”

I slouch in my chair, thumbs hooked around the back support poles, one leg stretched in front.

It’s my car.

Any moron could tell from the license plate.

The questions aren’t to elicit the requested information but to get me to talk in the hope I won’t stop.

Good luck with that.

“These images were taken by CCTV in the street behind the pharmacy. The alleyway here”—the detective uses the base of his pen to circle the screen—“cuts through to the rear driveway of the corner shops.”

That wasn’t even a question and raising his eyebrows in a social prompt doesn’t turn it into one, but I’m too polite to point this out to him.

“No comment.”

“The images were taken at twelve forty-five last night. Where were you at that time, Mr Arlington?”

He had asked to call me Blaine. I refused.

A weight settles on my shoulders as my eyes return to the screen.

It’s my vehicle but at the time in question, I was tucked in bed. Sound asleep.

And I didn’t go sleepwalking because Cadence was tucked in there with me. She would have noticed if I went walkabout.

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