Page 57 of Nothing But the Night (Basic Instincts 2)

“Well, yes. But that’s not everything?”

“Do you have any suspects? Any CCTV footage from the river area yesterday? How far have you got with Dan Blumel’s murder? Or finding out who stole the car that hit us.” Jason’s voice brimmed with anger.

“This is an ongoing investigation, I’m not at lib—”

Marc stood. “I think it’s best that you go. We’ve been through enough, and you’re not helping. In fact, you’re making things worse.”

Glenister was about to argue, but Benito was already on his feet and thanking them for the tea. Marc saw them out.

When he returned to the living room, Marc’s father was gathering up the dirty mugs. His mother was at the window, watching the detectives leave.

“Are they all as bad as that?” she asked.

“What’s the expression?” Jason said. “As useless as a marzipan dildo. That’s how best to sum up Blyham police.”

Marc sat on the arm of the chair and touched his face with his good hand. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Apart from being tired, groggy, sore and, after talking to those two dipshits, pissed off.” He took Marc’s hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it gently. “But this makes it better.”

“What happens now?” his mother asked.

“If we leave it up to that lot? Not much. They might shake down some of Tyrone’s dodgy contacts and see if they can pin the murders on them. Or some random car thief might find he’s being accused of a lot more than what he’s actually done. But in terms of getting to the truth, it’s up to us. We keep investigating.”

“Oh, no you don’t,” his mother said. “Two attempts to kill you is more than enough. You might not be so lucky a third time.”

“We have to,” Jason said. “Whoever is responsible will keep coming until they’re stopped. And I know we’ve got a much better chance of finding them before the plods do.”

While Jason and his mother continued to argue, Marc sat back down and scrolled through his phone to the news pages. The murder at the river was getting a fair bit of coverage on the local news groups, but so far the police had withheld the name of the victim and the details of the killing. In the comments sections, people were making wild speculations about what washappening, including suggestions that the cops had lied about catching the Blyham Strangler, and that the real killer was still at large. They were also naming people with no connection, suggesting they were the victim.

Interesting, some people were also aware of the attack on Jason. Though nothing had officially been released to the press, there must have been enough witnesses in the coffee shop to get the rumours started.

Marc put down his phone and looked at the others. “Don’t shoot this down until you’ve heard me out, but I’ve got an idea. You’re going to hate it, but it might work to our advantage.”

* * * *

“Why are you talking to me now?” Nadine Smythe sat at the kitchen table and extracted a mobile phone, notebook and pen from her oversized handbag. “What’s changed?”

“You mean apart from almost getting killed for a second time?” Jason asked. He sat across from Nadine, looking a lot brighter than he had that morning. The painkillers seemed to have kicked in, but it was more than that. Since Marc had suggested his plan of action, Jason had perked up considerably. Having something to do had jerked him out of the depression that had threatened to descend on him.

“My parents know everything now,” Marc told her. He put a cup of coffee in front of Jason and returned twice more with drinks for Nadine and himself before sitting down. “I tried to protect them from the facts of my brother’s lifestyle. There was no need.”

Nadine nodded. “I’m glad. I did always think you were overreacting. This isn’t the 1970s. Parents are a lot more open-minded these days.”

He let the little dig slide. They both knew she would have sensationalised every aspect of Theo’s work, making it appear as sleazy and sordid as possible.

“But I still don’t get this.” She wagged her finger between the two of them. The red varnish on her long nails reminded Marc too much of the colour of blood. He’d seen more than enough of that in recent days. “You hate me. So why are you offering me an exclusive?”

“You’ve seen the latest headlines,” Jason said. “The cops are giving nothing. They’re going to sit on this until people forget it happened. They haven’t even released details on the latest victim yet.”

“I’ve already spoken to Tyrone’s sister,” Nadine said.

“You didn’t waste time, then,” Marc couldn’t resist the snipe.

“I’m not going to write a hatchet piece, if that’s what you think. The victims of the Blyham Strangler were barely a footnote in the reporting of that story. It was despicable. Tomorrow morning, my paper will feature a full tribute to Tyrone Lucas and Dan Blumel.”

“It will?” Marc and Jason asked the question in unison.

“Yes,” she said, defiantly. “Syrine Lucas, his sister, has given me her full blessing. Tyrone had a difficult life. Him and Syrine were dragged up as kids. Alcoholic mother, absent father. They were in and out of foster care for years, the only consistency they had was each other. He acted tough because he had to. People might look down their noses at online sexual content creators,but it was the first time in his life that Tyrone had a reliable job and income source. He had his struggles, and he deserved a lot better than a cold, premature end on a fucking riverbank.”

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