"We're not playing some sort of game here, August. If you want to be helpful I need details. You've already told us you don't have an alibi."
One thing that Liam could definitely say was that the boy didn't seem to be particularly troubled by the pictures of the young woman laid out in front of him. Once her hair had been pulled back from her face, she looked years younger; despite the bruise-like smudges of shadow over her eyes, the garish dash of lipstick streaked over pale skin. A necklace of purple poppies wormed their way around her neck; and Christ, he wished that they would have decided to close her lids before breaking out the camera, because her blank stare, complete with bright red, busted blood vessels was burrowing itself deep into his brain. On second thoughts, he'd probably be lucky if he could sleep that night.
There was a quiet knock on the door, and a younger DS, a woman that was called – what was it, Joan? Janet? Stuck her head around, with three flimsy Styrofoam cups of acrid coffee. The burnt-diesel smell was almost immediately evident in the room, and it turned Liam's stomach; he felt sick at the scent, but he also felt exhausted, and he knew which one was going to win the fight.
He accepted his cup with a grunt of thanks.
She set down the other two, then, on the steel topped table; the solicitor turned his nose up at the beverage, but his young suspect took the coffee with a gracious smile.
"Ah, fabulous. Thank you, darling."
You're not to flirt with my detectives, Liam wanted to bark, but that would cave in the guise of professionalism he'd worked so hard to maintain all throughout this interview. It was hours, and August had refused to co-operate in the slightest; he'd not offered up any other possible killers, or evidence to suggest that he hadn't himself carried out the crime. It was obvious, the contempt he had for Liam, how little respect was there for the badge on his chest. Jane gave her own stupid little grin in return, and lingered just a little bit longer than was necessary to let Liam know that the next student to be interrogated was waiting just outside with a police officer.
"And who would that be?"
"You should be well aware that I can't share details of anyone else possibly connected to the crime, August." Or rather, he wouldn't tell him exactly which one of his friends it was that was hovering just inches outside, in case it inspired him to say something that was a little less than true. Although Liam strongly doubted that this guy would take the fall for anyone, procedure was procedure. "Now, take a look at these pictures. Closely. See, these marks on her neck, they'd suggest death by strangulation. Not a nice way to go, but maybe... I don't know, maybe it was some sort of... game, gone wrong?" There'd been a similar case in Ireland, a few years ago – again, involving someone stupidly well connected, where no one had been certain whether or not it was accidental death by BDSM, or something more sinister. "I wouldn't know. If it was a mistake, it was a mistake."
"I didn't choke the poor thing when we were in bed together, if that's what you're trying to insinuate." He leaned forward, raking his unruly, dark hair back from his eyes to see better. "It would seem to me that you're looking for some sort of... cord. Half-inch thick?" Another little smile, and Liam wanted to smack him. "I'm more... hands on, shall we say."
"Yeah, we're looking for a cord." So it doesn't exactly bode well that you gave me a clear description of what we suspect to be the murder weapon. But the chap was finally starting to talk – Liam pressed forward, intent on sniffing out what else it was that he was hiding. "So, you say that the relationship yourself and the victim had was merely... physical."
"Mmm. That's usually how I do it. If you want someone to attest to that, perhaps you should talk to Charlie."
"Well, Mr. Haughton is no longer a person of interest in this case – his alibi is solid." He cleared his throat, and took a scorching sip of coffee, regretting it almost instantly. It was all he could do not to spit it out and start fanning his tongue like some stupid cartoon character. "You first came across the victim together, didn't you?"
"No," August corrected. "Charlie had had prior contact with the pair of them."
"The pair?"
"Louise and... Charlotte." For the first time, something that wasn't self assurance flickered in the boy's eyes, and Liam knew that he'd finally struck something.
In her dreams, somewhere, there was a beautiful utopia where forcing people to get out of bed on a Saturday morning at half seven was a crime. Somewhere.
Unfortunately, Lottie was stuck in upper class England, and that meant clambering up out of bed and looking for the thick tights. Now that they were edging into October, frost was beginning to steal in at night time, impishly touching all the windows, dragging its way over blades of grass. She'd need good boots, too – Rebecca's Doc Martens, maybe, with their heavy soles. An extra pair of socks to cushion her slightly too small feet. And a coffee, to keep herself alert while she listened to Louise complain about the lack of eligible bachelors in and around King's College campus.
She'd called last night, about... it would have been two o'clock, lately. Lottie probably would have been prickly about the situation if she hadn't been sat up herself, trying to put the introduction of her latest essay together. And Louise had been very, very drunk – celebratory drunk, she supposed, but it was important that she keep an ear out lest her friend get into some sort of trouble, need someone to come get her. Although Lottie mostly disapproved of her lifestyle, she knew she'd find it difficult to hold against her if she needed help.
Anyway, for some strange reason, they were to be taking a morning stroll along the banks of the river that wound around the campus. Lottie would have asked why exactly it was that it had to be so early, because Louise wasn't exactly a fan of alarm clocks either; but she hadn't had time to question it before the phone had been hung up, succeeding a chorus of inebriated giggles. Well, all she could do was prepare herself for the daytime cold.
Borrowed boots in hand, Lottie crept down the stairs in stockinged feet, not wanting to wake anyone else in the house. She hadn't been the only one who was up late the night before, working away at the stack of paper that tended to build up around any university student, and she wouldn't want to inflict her hideously early morning on anybody else.
Right. Keys, purse, phone, earbuds... everything seemed to be there. Letting herself out through the front door without a sound, she set her designs on the Costa Coffee stall that would be found on the way to the river.
Fortunately, Louise intercepted her as she crunched over a few broken, frost-coated leaves, just below a collection of oaks. Immediately, an arm slipped into the crook of her elbow, giving a tight squeeze, and the same sweet-scented perfume that she associated with her friend was wafted right underneath her nose.
"Good morning!"
"You know, you sound awfully chipper for someone who was out clubbing until... what, four o'clock?" Lottie teased, taking a sip from her recently-purchased coffee. They continued through the gap in the trees together; the river was in sight, a silvery serpent that stretched out thicker than anything. It melted into the sky, both the same shade of perturbing blue-grey that made it almost difficult to distinguish one from the other.
"Mmm. Well, I had to come out and meet you, didn't I? Hurry up or we won't see them pass." Her hand tightened, her strides increasing. Now, when Louise was in a comfortable pair of laced up sneakers, she was almost as short as Lottie; but little legs had her fighting to keep up in any case.
This provoked an eye roll. "Oh, fabulous. Who did you meet last night, then?"
"He's on the rowing team, Lottie," Louise beamed, head turning to one side in an effort to see if she could spot – ah, there it was. If one squinted, it was easy to make out the figure of the boat coming upstream. It appeared that nine men were perched in there, eight of which were commanding oars. The ninth was sitting opposite the rest, holding some sort of megaphone and yelling indistinguishable commands at the crew. Lottie understood, then. "He's absolutely gorgeous, oh my God."
Another scorching sip. "Well, I've never had much interest in the Cambridge rowing team. What's his name? Which one is he?"
"Charlie. Charlie Haughton. You see him – there? He's pretty buff. I think he's... uh, he's in sixth position, maybe? Fifth? I'm not sure."
"Oh, yes, because obviously he's the love of your life."
"Stop that! Look, they should be coming in, soon. Aren't they all absolutely... just, wow?"
Lottie had to admit that the physical demands of the sport had every lad on that team in horridly good shape. Each one of them was a different definition of 'fit'; some boys were built like brick outhouses, with strapping chests and rounded biceps, while others were leaner, with more invisible muscle. Charlie happened to be one of the outhouses, it seemed.
"Good looking. Sure." She gave a minimal shrug, rocking back on her heels and casting her eyes over the landscape again. There was a sophisticated looking equipment house a few hundred meters down the bank, along with a little dock, and that was where the boat appeared to be heading.
Upon a scathing glance from Louise, Lottie laughed, nudging the hard ground with the toe of her boot. "Okay, they are very good looking, but again – I don't have any strong feelings about the Cambridge rowing team."
"Mm, you might if you meet some of them. Charlie was a proper gentleman, Lot. Wouldn't let me buy a single drink, and we talked like, all night. He was really very sweet." Louise's eyes shone as she spoke – she'd fallen head over heels for the perfect man, yet again. "And we didn't even... like, he walked me back to my flat, but that was it."
"Oh, really?" The scepticism in Lottie's voice registered clearly – as did her impatience. So she'd been dragged out to watch some monkey play boat races for what reason, exactly? Surely Louise wasn't going to attempt to set her up with one of the team mates that she didn't even know on the back of a practice...
"You know, you could at least try to sound like you're interested. We're going to breakfast, one of his mate's flats, and I was thinking that you might –"
"Oh, for fuck's sake, not this again!"
"I'm not trying to set you up! I promise! Jesus, it wouldn't kill you to have some male friends, you know." Louise was now the one who was displaying her obvious frustration, and began to pick up her pace in the direction of the boat house. Lottie didn't particularly want to follow, but what else could she do?
"I have male friends. Jack and Elliott are my friends."
"Okay, so Elliott is gay, and Jack has been dating the same girl for like, eight years. Am I really supposed to believe that it's a coincidence that they're the only two men that you've let into your uni life besides the lecturers? Besides, they live with you, so that doesn't even count. You guys have to be friends."
"I don't see why their sexuality or relationship status is important, Louise."
"Because your avoidance of straight, single men is actually turning into somewhat of a worrying habit. Would it kill you to broaden your social circle just a – oh, there, there he is! Charlie, hi!"
Only a few feet away from the boathouse, now, they could clearly see the young men that were emerging from the structure. Most were still wet, dripping with a mixture of severe perspiration and lake water. The fact that they were shirtless made Lottie shiver in herself – as the cold was biting into her through her jacket, cardigan, and shirt, she could only imagine how awful it must feel to be striding around half-naked like that in the October cold.
Still, it didn't seem to bother them all that much. Most of the guys were chatting away, having peeled off their training gear and put away their equipment; the coxswain, a great deal slimmer and lighter than all the rest, was perched atop a post and chatting animatedly to his team. Meanwhile, Charlie was jogging over to the duo with a towel around his neck, and a bright grin reserved only for Louise. Upon clocking Lottie, it faltered – and her mutual dissatisfaction was much the same. Now that he was up close, his face was easier to see – and the almond like slope of his eyes, accompanied by a brush of pitch black hair, was starting to look familiar to her. Where had she seen him before?
He quickly regained composure, pupils darting back and forth between the young women. "Um, hi, Louise! I didn't know you were bringing a friend."
"I'm not – I can leave," Lottie said, almost apologetically. "You know, if you have something... planned." Louise might have kindly mentioned that Charlie's friend was facilitating a fucking hookup. "I've got plenty of – "
"No, no, don't worry about it! She just didn't mention, is all. I wouldn't say that Gus will mind if you want to join us." He gave Lottie the same, high-end beamer, and she suddenly remembered where it was she had seen him. "Haven't we met --?"
"—At a party. Mm." She gave a minute nod, but not before Louise could grasp her on the arm with such force, she thought that her nails would slice through her coat.
"A party? Lottie does not do parties."
"It was at the start of first year. I was... new," was the uncomfortable reply. Charlie appeared to be rather confused at what was transpiring between the two girls. "It was... fancy dress."
"Yeah. Um – if I remember rightly, you were..." He tilted his head to one side, attempting to think back to October of 2016; of course, it might have been centuries ago, for all he could recall. Louise was looking a little too interested, delighted by this sudden revelation – as though she could take it as proof that she would still be able to coax Lottie into a social life of clubbing and men. "Fuck, I'm no good at that sort of thing."
Lottie remembered all too well. He'd been a drunk Peter Pan, a second year trying to coax the naïve little scholarship girl into the back room. She'd run away in fear, leaving a trail of bandage from her patched together mummy costume behind her. It had been so hideous, she was convinced that no one would come near her; not that she would have welcomed such advances.
"A mummy."
"A sexy mummy?" Louise grinned.
"No, a plain old mummy. Anyway, it's lovely to see you again, Charlie."
"I have never heard a woman say that to you before, mate. Congratulations, you've surpassed expectation." A somewhat diverted tone interrupted the slightly awkward conversation between the three, and Lottie noticed that another one of the rowers had joined their little circle. He was a good four inches taller than poor Charlie, and about half the size of him; slim, yet strong, perfect for streamlined rowing. A rake of dark, messy curls that were still tinged with freshwater contrasted against a pale face, roses in the cheeks; along with distinctive emerald eyes. Attractive. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure of meeting either of you before."
"Um, hello." Louise, despite her good intentions towards Charlie, had been almost completely distracted by the specimen in front of her; took his outstretched hand, talons wrapping securely around long fingers. "I'm Louise. Charmed."
"Charlie has mentioned you. Once or twice. Maybe six times." He laughed, before turning his attention to Lottie. "May I?"
"Charlotte," she replied, accepting his shake with a small, yet firm one of her own; that had been one of the first lessons their lecturer had taught them, a successful solicitor himself. No one trusts a lawyer with a bad handshake. "Friend of Louise."
"Well, Charlotte, friend of Louise, we weren't expecting an extra guest, but it's wonderful to have you, all the same." He definitely had the sort of smile that could melt insides, but Lottie wasn't perturbed by any of it. He was just another pretty boy; there were plenty of those at Cambridge already, carrying themselves with the same air of confidence and self-obsession that seemed to surround this young man. There happened to be something else about him... a commanding presence that was almost recognizable to Lottie, but she couldn't place her finger on where she had felt it before. "I'm only a short walk away."
"I'll pass, actually, thank you."
There was a pause, as three pairs of eyebrows shot up simultaneously in surprise at her answer. However, August recovered quickly enough, leaving the other two in the dust with his soft grin.
"Please, don't tell me you intend to spend a Saturday morning studying."
"Well, I wouldn't want to waste my time doing something else, now, would I? I do rather care about school," She issued politely in return. "I'll see you later, Louise. Text me."
"Are you sure you don't want to come with us, Lot? It's like... Well, we'll hardly be doing anything risqué." Charlie had already wrapped his arm around Louise, who was pleading with Lottie from underneath his sizable bicep.
Yeah, sure. And I'll be stuck in the front room with this airheaded idiot while you two fuck in the toilets? Sounds fabulous! The wind by the river was already beginning to pick up, tossing her dishwater-blonde curls and tangling them in an irritating manner. "I don't fancy playing gooseberry. Have fun, you three. Get up to something... adventurous." With her slightly sly departure (of which she was very proud), she turned on her heel, marching off over the boggy ground. Random rowing team members were not worth sacrificing a Saturday lie-in for.
Although his friend, Mr. Haughton, had been alibied by another young man the night before, he was still managing to drum up a sort of dislike for him. Fucking rich people. It wasn't exactly admirable, how the spoilt brats like Beauchaump placed themselves in a separate bracket, actually looking down on the boys and girls who were smart enough to win themselves a scholarship. "I fail to see how this has anything to do with the case... August."
"Charlie had gone after her before. I don't know, it seemed relevant. She'd shot him down at some sort of party, or something." Despite the fact that he was smiling, Liam could see something hollow, something... brittle, behind August's eyes. A kind of suffocating panic, waiting for the chance to step into the spotlight. "Louise – Ms. Lowery – she wasn't exactly a... fan of Charlotte's... discretionary behaviour."
Enjoy, all of my six readers x