Page 44 of Ruthless Regret

The article’swords float in front of my eyes.

Evidence ignored. Witnesses who saw someone else at the scene. Inconsistencies with the forensics.

How could they have ignored all that? Witnesses stating they saw someone who didn’t match Zain’s description? That should have been enough to make them investigate further. It doesn’t make sense.

I send the article to the printer, and stare at the screen. There must be more to find. There can’t be a sole article that references the oddities. I start typing again. This time, I focus on names—Ramsey and Holson, the detectives who handled the case. If there’s anything else to find, surely their names would be connected.

A few articles come up. Most of it is procedural, nothing new or groundbreaking. But buried deep inside one news report is a brief mention of a rumor about the lead detective pushing for a fast conviction. Holson’s name comes up in another article, a mention of him questioning the investigation, but being overruled.

I print those out as well. Each new article feels like it’s peeling away another layer to a story I thought was simple. They reveal cracks in a case that was supposed to be black and white.

I glance at the clock on the wall. I should think about going home. I haven’t shed the weird feeling of being watched, and although I still think I’m just being paranoid, I don’t want to spend all day in the library.

Folding the printed pages, I put them into the bag with my new phone. Then I close down all the web browser tabs, log out, and make my way toward the exit. The walk home isn’t far, but that uneasy feeling crawls back over my skin as soon as I step outside. Just like before, no one is paying any attention to me. It’s just the city—busy, loud, and chaotic. But I can’t shake the sense that someone is watching.

By the time I reach my street, I’m on edge. I unlock the door and step inside, closing it quickly behind me. The house is quiet. Karla and Jessa-Mae won’t be home for a few more hours, and I can’t help but do a quick check in all the rooms to make sure no one else is here, before going into the kitchen.

I drop the bag onto the table, and take out the box. Setting up the phone will be a good distraction. Something simple to focus on while I think about everything I uncovered. So, I unwind the charger, plug it in and leave it to power up. I stack the articles in a pile on the table, and then make myself a cup of tea.

Once I’m done, there’s enough charge in the phone to start the setup process. It’s simple enough, and only takes a few minutes to get everything configured, but once it’s ready, I add Karla and Jessa-Mae’s numbers, then send a message to a group text.

Me: Hey, it’s Ashley. This is my new number.

I hit send, and put the phone down. One of them will reply when they’re on a break. Until then, I’ll find something else to do. I take a slow sip of tea. My mind is still racing, piecing together bits of information and trying to make sense of everything I’ve found.

The thought that someone could have deliberately ignored key evidence, that they might have rushed to convict Zain purely because it was aneasyarrest, makes me feel sick.

I was just a scared young girl, caught in the worst moment of my life. But Zain has forced me to face how little I understood about what happened back then.

I push the articles away from me, in an attempt to stop myself from going through them.

If Zain really was set up, what does that mean? For him? For me?

My phone buzzes, cutting through my thoughts.

Karla: New number saved! How’s your day going?

Me: Fine. I went to the library.

Karla: What for?

Me: I’ll tell you about it later.

A car door slams, and I jump, my head snapping around toward the window, half-expecting to see someone standing there.

There isn’t anyone. Of course there isn’t. But that feeling of being watched is back.

I’m just being paranoid. Anyone would feel on edge.

My phone buzzes again.

Jessa-Mae: Just got your message. Glad you got everything sorted. You okay?

Me: Yeah, I’m fine.

I’m not fine. I’m standing on the edge of something, and I feel like the ground is about to give way beneath me.

I take another sip of tea. The articles are still sitting there, waiting … Why am I putting it off? I know what’s in them. But I know that once I dive back into them, there’s no going back.

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