Binary Witness (The Amy Lane Mysteries) (24 page)

Chapter Fifty-One: Hearth

“I worked it out,” Amy said, with a note of triumph. “Before he arrived.”

She hadn’t moved from the sofa, tucked against Jason’s side as he rested his good arm over her shoulder. Bryn and Owain had to make their own tea.

“Martin,” Jason spat, as if the name left a bad taste in his mouth.

Bryn frowned. “You know him?”

“It was the Job Centre,” Amy said, savouring the feeling of all the pieces sliding into place. “We were so concerned with where they worked and who they knew there that we overlooked the fact that they all had new jobs. Melody had the postcode for the place on her phone. The credit card on the ticket machine confirmed it.”

“What about Carla Dirusso?” Owain asked.

Amy shrugged, blanket sliding off her shoulder. “The hospital? It would be easy enough to find out.” She would run the data when she had time. When Bryn needed it for court. When Jason wasn’t just back from the police station and A&E (again) and she could stop checking he was really here. “He matches the sketches and the profile. He came after Jason when he recognised him at the train station.” Her voice shook on the words, and Jason squeezed her arm, silently supporting her.

“He was worried that you’d recognised him, like he’d recognised you,” Owain said, nodding to himself.

But Amy shook her head, still turning over the facts in her mind. “He knew he didn’t, because we didn’t come after him. Jason went to the Job Centre this morning and didn’t say anything to him. There must be another reason for it.” Amy frowned, struggling to connect the dots. She was tired. Fighting for your life would do that to a person.

“Maybe he wanted to use me to get to Carla,” Jason said.

Amy looked up at Jason questioningly. “Why would he seek out Carla? She rejected him. She never knew he existed.”

Jason smiled at her. “Because he loves her. Or he thinks he does, which is as good as. People do stupid shit for people they love. Including killing a bunch of girls and coming after tough ex-cons.” He removed his arm from her shoulder to flex it, showing off an impressive bicep.

Amy giggled, slightly hysterical.

He was real. He was here.

* * *

Jason measured the last segment of hallway for the new carpet and noted it down on his bit of paper. Amy had offered her iPad for the task, but he liked the feel of pencil on paper when measuring. It was reassuringly familiar, and God knows he needed some of that.

The news reports had been as dramatic as expected, describing the confrontation at the home of the “private investigator” as if it had been a high-speed car chase through the city centre. However, his mother had dutifully framed the front page of the
Echo
to put up in the kitchen, and Jason was resigned to it being dinner table conversation for the next year.

He’d called Teresa, and she had listened in silence to his story, with only a few telltale hitches in her breathing. She’d thanked him for what he’d done and tentatively wondered if they might get a drink some time. He’d told her no, that he was still caught up in this investigation and it wouldn’t be fair on her, and she said she understood. He liked to think they’d parted friends, but they’d never really been friends before and he couldn’t see them keeping in touch.

Jason was both relieved and saddened that the gun was gone. Bryn had taken him to one side and reminded him that this wasn’t an episode of
The Wire
and if he ever found him carrying a concealed firearm, there would be hell to pay. Also, he didn’t think that any sort of weapon around Amy was a good idea. Jason had agreed with his eyes, despite his nonchalant denial.

Amy wasn’t yet back to her usual self. She had been avoiding going to bed, catching naps on the sofa instead, and burying herself in lines of code. Jason had managed to feed her, but only if the food was placed directly in front of her with hints that it was getting cold at regular intervals.

At least she didn’t have to testify in court. Jason had identified himself as principle witness and Amy would only be required to submit a written statement, as Bryn declared her a victim who required the protection of anonymity, and the judge had agreed.

Jason had never known anyone like Amy. It seemed that most of the time she just didn’t care what happened to her. Meals, sleep, changing clothes—it could all be happening to someone else, a remote person who she didn’t particularly like.

He returned to the living room, where she was sat in front of Ewan, busily typing away. The rhythm of her keystrokes was almost soothing, a tapping lullaby, and he sat on the sofa to watch her for a while. Amy was never still, but she was never entirely in motion. It was as if her energy was all constrained inside her, only released for dire need or the thrill of the case or an exciting piece of coding. She was otherwise inert, uncaring, a lifeless doll.

Well, that wasn’t entirely fair. Amy did care—he saw that in the way her eyes strayed to his arm, how she wanted him to sit down with her and take tea to make sure he rested. He’d soon learned that he didn’t really have working hours and he was still seeing just as little of his mother and sister as he had been at the height of their investigation. He missed sitting across from his mam in their little kitchen, talking over the day with a cup of tea. He’d have to sound out how Amy felt about her coming over for dinner.

“What are you thinking about?”

Jason looked up, startled to see Amy’s chair turned towards him as she studied his face. “Nothing much,” he said, hurriedly dredging up a neutral subject. “Dylan thinks the bike will be ready for the road soon.”

“You’re not ready for the bike,” she reminded him, looking pointedly at his arm. The surgeon had decided he wouldn’t need an operation, but his struggle with Martin had undone all the healing accomplished so far and he had to start the wait from scratch. Another five weeks before he could ride his beauty down the street. He could hardly contain his excitement and earned another look from Amy.

“What are you up to?” He tried to peer around her to look at the monitor.

She gestured vaguely at the lines of code. “Trying to commandeer our killer’s private server. He’s not using it and I can run it better than he ever could.”

Jason shook his head. “Back to the wrong side of the law, eh?” It wasn’t that he disapproved; he just had a hard time picturing Amy as a career criminal.

Amy laughed at him, a small puff of air over lips, before returning to her work.

“Tea?” he asked.

“Please,” she said, and he went to make another round of toast.

* * * * *

About the Author

Rosie Claverton grew up in Devon, daughter to a Sri Lankan father and a Norfolk mother, surrounded by folk mythology and surly sheep. She moved to Cardiff to study medicine and adopted Wales as her home. Her short film “Dragon Chasers” aired on BBC Wales in Autumn 2012. Currently exiled to London, she lives with her journalist husband and their pet hedgehog.

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ISBN-13: 9781426898334

BINARY WITNESS

Copyright © 2014 by Rosie Claverton

Edited by Deborah Nemeth

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