Alex steered me to the nearest station café, where he pushed me into a seat and went to buy some water.
It was a small establishment, tucked away behind walls of its own so that the noise from the rest of the building was muted. Not many people were inside with us: two mothers and toddlers in one corner, a sulking teenager with a hot chocolate almost as big as her head in the other, and an elderly man with a cybernetic leg reading something on his tablet near the door. Deciding no one would pay me any attention, I laid my aching head down on the table.
Alex came back a minute later with two cold bottles of water. When I looked up, he reached into the pockets of his coat and produced a packet of painkillers. I took one tablet.
He sat down and stretched his long legs out, brushing against mine. "You know we're going to have to talk to Clyde?"
I nodded.
"We have three murders on our hands," he continued carefully, "and one attempted murder of a police officer. Clyde has displayed aggression towards Evan Archer and you. We'll have to treat him as a suspect."
Again, I nodded.
"That means his stalking and harassment may have to become part of this investigation. Including whatever he said to you when you found him outside your flat on Saturday."
Finally, I found my voice. "It has nothing to do with the investigation."
"It does now. Did he threaten you?"
I looked away.
In my peripheral vision, Alex's jaw tightened. "And you didn't tell me."
"It wasn't like that. It wasn't relevant."
"It's relevant to me."
I looked back, and guilt twisted in my gut when I saw his dark expression. Hell.
I reached under the table for my bag and found the photograph. A ten-year-old version of myself smiled at the camera alongside a dark-haired man. My face was crossed out in red pen.
Alex stared at it. "Clyde sent you this?"
"I think so. It's a long story." My voice sounded as weary as I felt.
"Is that your dad in the picture?"
"It's my uncle, Eric. Fifteen years ago, he was handed a prison sentence for GBH with intent."
Alex looked up. GBH stood for grievous bodily harm, the most severe kind of non-fatal assault.
"He had an argument with my dad." Even those simple words made me feel sick, and it took me a moment to go on. "My uncle was a drunk, and naturally hot-tempered. And he was both drunk and in a temper that day. He asked my dad for money, and my dad said no. He always asked for money and we never had any -- my parents had rent to pay and two children to feed. But this time, it was different. He was seriously wound up. I think he was afraid. He beat my dad and then stabbed him in the legs with a kitchen knife. I found him when I came home from school."
The trauma had never taken the memory from me. The eerie silence of the flat. All the blood...so much blood. The numb confusion I'd felt when I'd stepped into the kitchen and switched on the light.
And then the slow, harrowing understanding.
"Your dad...?" Alex asked softly.
"Paralysed from the waist down."
He took my hand under the table. I'd clenched it into a fist.
"My uncle should have been locked up for life, but he only got ten years. More fool the judge, because he's just been charged with the same thing in New London. Clyde's threatening to write an article about it that shines a big, ugly spotlight on my family relationships. We broke up over my uncle, by the way. Clyde found out who he was and how close I'd been with him. He was disgusted."
Alex frowned. "Eric's family. Why wouldn't you have been close?"
"No. There's more." I closed my eyes. "I was bullied at school, and I didn't tell anyone except him for a long time. He said it had been the same for him when he'd been younger...and he encouraged me to respond with violence."
Don't fight words with words, kiddo. When someone hurts you, you get a different weapon. You get a mother-fucking scarier weapon, and you defeat them.
I opened my eyes. "So he taught me how to fight. That's the part that will really break me. The GBH offender told me, an officer of the law, to punch people...and I did."
Alex was holding the photo now, staring at it.
"Just for the record," I said uncertainly, "I've never laid a finger on anyone since I was fifteen. And I regret those school fights now."
"I know."
"What?"
Alex dropped the photo and met my gaze. "If you hadn't changed, then I know for a fact that Clyde's face would be very crooked."
Slowly, I smiled.
He stroked the back of my hand with his thumb. "I do have one more question."
"Go on."
"Is this why you don't drink?"
I nodded.
The café door swung open, and Cassia and Dixon entered. They came over to our table, faces grim.
"Evan's family have been informed now," Dixon said.
"Thank you, sir."
Cassia's eyes fell on the photo. "What's that?"
I looked at Alex. He nodded this encouragement.
Neither my sister nor Dixon needed an explanation about my uncle, so I just told them about Clyde's visit to me and what he'd said.
Dixon was glowering before I'd even finished. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"There's more, sir," Alex said. "We have CCTV footage from a few days ago showing Clyde and Evan almost coming to blows on the platform."
"Talk to him." Dixon's voice tightened with anger. "I'll send Sebastian with you, Alex. If anything seems off, if he even seems the slightest bit shifty, arrest him."
"Yes, sir."
"I'll go," I said.
Dixon held up his hands. "Amber, no. I let you watch that CCTV footage, but I am not caving in this time -- "
"You're just trying to protect me, sir. But this is my job, and I'm going with Alex." I looked to my sergeant for support.
He was frowning. "Amber, I don't think this is a good idea."
"Oh, let her go," Cassia said. "It will make things easier for her in the long run. If Sebastian and Alex turn up to question Clyde and she's nowhere in sight, he'll think she's scared. He'll think he's winning."
"Exactly," I said.
Dixon released a long-suffering sigh. "Fine. But don't you dare stop Alex from arresting him if it's necessary, or I'll arrest you."
***
We left the station in awkward silence, Clyde now a heavy weight on our shoulders. When the train station had vanished in the distance behind us, I could bear it no longer.
"Evan was taking a robotic science degree," I said. "The person who killed him was almost certainly a man. The only suspect who would not have needed Evan's skills to help her is a female."
"I think you're trying to tell me that I'm right." Alex sounded amused. "In a roundabout way."
"I'm saying that the hacker was probably hired like an assassin, yes. And Evan was probably the hacker. Mary wouldn't have needed to hire him -- that puts her at the bottom of the suspect list. Ronan is at the top. He hired Evan to get his revenge on Kristina and Zed for one reason or another, tried to make Evan kill me to derail the investigation, and then covered his back by killing Evan."
So this has nothing to do with Clyde...I hoped.
My ex lived in a much nicer part of the city than me, on the top floor of a small, plain, but luxurious glass building. We rode a fast lift up to his flat and rang the doorbell. I couldn't find my voice to ask it anything, but there was no need. The camera would recognise me.
The door swung open. Clyde called gleefully from further inside. "Come in, darling!"
I knew my way around the flat too well, so I led Alex straight to the room at the back: Clyde's office. It was where he spent most of his day.
He was lounging at the desk in the middle of the room, pouring a glass of whisky. His tablet was hovering in front of him, displaying a half-written article. Shelving units stood against the rear wall, holding folders and boxes all labelled meticulously and filled with evidence for big, sordid reports. I'd never seen a box marked Amber, but I supposed there must be one somewhere.
Clyde looked up with a smouldering grin. "Darling, have you decided to... What the fuck is he doing here?" His eyes narrowed as they settled on Alex.
"This is just a business call, Clyde," I said. "You've become a suspect in our murder investigation."
"A suspect?" He turned purple.
"Not to mention," Alex added, "that we have evidence piling up against you for harassment and blackmail of a police officer."
Clyde sneered. "Not enough to stand up in court. You're bluffing."
"Oh, I don't know about that."
"You'll have bigger things to worry about if you murdered Evan Archer," I said.
Clyde's head swivelled back to me. "Who the fuck is Evan Archer?"
"Don't play silly buggers with me. You publish articles about murders before we're halfway to the deceased's house to inform their family. You must have heard about Evan. Tell me, what are you doing on your tablet?"
He turned the screen off and flung it down on his desk. "All right, I know Evan Archer was pushed in front of a train. So what?"
"We have CCTV footage placing you at the train station on 9th February. You pushed past Evan Archer as you got off the train. He called you out. You proceeded to turn around and shove him to the floor."
"The last time I checked, that isn't murder."
"Did you know who he was?" Alex asked.
"No. Just some kid who was taking too long to get off the train."
"So you had no reason to kill him?"
"None at all."
I stuffed my fists in my pockets. "Then you won't mind telling us where you were at quarter to ten this morning."
"I was sitting right here, thinking."
"I assume no one can confirm that."
"No. I'm all by myself. Of course, you're welcome to come back any time..."
"Oh yes, about that offer of yours." I took the glass out of his hands. "I've been thinking, and I have a different answer for you."
He sat up straighter. "Yes? You want to come back to me?"
"You've got two options. Option A: Dixon and Alex are dying to arrest you for harassment and blackmail. I'll let them. We've got that lovely photo you've sent me, and I can testify to all the times I've seen you following me. Dixon can testify about the incident before Christmas when you tried to strong-arm me away from the station. Alex can testify that you harassed me in The Silver Star after Christmas, where you also admitted that you'd followed me earlier in the day."
Clyde swallowed, some alarm entering his eyes. "I'm a respected journalist and a good, upstanding citizen of Socrico. I'm not harassing you or blackmailing you. I've just been letting you know that I'd like you back."
I spoke over him. "What cop will admit to being stalked and proceed to press charges unless it's true and very problematic? We have pride, you know. And other people know that, too."
He paled.
"Regardless of the outcome, your reputation would be dented," I continued. "The arrest wouldn't look good for you, would it?"
Or me, actually, if the contents of that photograph had to be discussed in court. But I kept my expression cool.
"Option B: you keep your mouth sealed about Eric Rames. You don't ever write or speak a word about him, you leave me alone, and we don't arrest you. What do you think?"
Clyde glared at me. "You can't do this."
"I can."
He stared at his tablet. I wondered if he was imagining the way the scandalous article about my uncle would look.
"I think I'll choose Option B," he said eventually.
"Great." I put his glass down. "If you go back on your word, Option A will be evoked automatically."
"With pleasure," Alex added from his position by the doorway.
Clyde glowered. "Is that all?"
"Unless we find more evidence linking you to Evan Archer," I said. "We'll see ourselves out."
We left. Alex looked at me as he shut the front door behind us. "I wasn't expecting you to be so harsh."
"You should know by now that I can fight my own battles."
"I do. But..." His eyes met mine, the expression there a mixture of concern and relief. "It's not just Evan's death that's shaken you. It's him, too. He makes you afraid."
But it was Evan who I saw when I blinked. The horror of the fall. The train cutting through his torso. The blood all over me, all over everything.
So much blood...again.
I closed that door in my mind and raised my chin.
"This fire never dies," I said softly. "It just flickers sometimes."