With or Without Him (28 page)

“What do you want to do?” Haris asked Stan.

“We might as well call it a night and try again tomorrow. Before you go home, pull up next to the row of shops coming up on your left. I want to give you something.”

Haris put the phone back in his pocket. “Wilson, park on the left by those shops, please.”

As Stan pulled in behind, Wilson unlocked the doors. Stan climbed in the back.

“Do you think whoever’s been following spotted you?” Haris asked.

“It’s possible, but I doubt it. I’ve had three cars tailing you at different times and none of my drivers saw any vehicle stay behind for more than a couple of turns.” He sighed and put a brown envelope on the seat between them.

“What’s that?” Haris asked.

Stan kept his fingers on the envelope and Haris’s heart thumped hard against his ribs.

“Something that’s just turned up.” He flipped the envelope over and Haris saw Tyler’s name written on it. “There’s no way I’d have uncovered this in a routine search but someone in my office thought he recognized him from something else he’d been investigating and this is the result.” He took his hand off the envelope. “You need to be sure you want to open it. Don’t be too quick to judge without knowing all the facts.”

What the fuck does that mean?

“Do you know all the facts?” Haris asked.

“No, though it’s not hard to guess. Remember, without compassion, we’re nothing.”

Haris sat staring at the envelope after Stan got out of the car.

“Home, sir?”

“Yes.”

He might have told himself all the way home that he wouldn’t open the envelope, but when he arrived back to find Tyler still out, he sat at his desk and accepted there was no way he could leave it sealed. It wasn’t the way he worked. Information was power. It was everything. He ran his finger along the seal and tipped out the contents.

Haris had sort of expected what he found. Photographs of Tyler, naked, on his knees, sucking…
oh hell.
He was still shocked. Stan had listed a number of Internet sites and Haris assumed it was more of the same. Disappointment stole his energy and he sagged, but he wasn’t as shocked as Stan thought he’d be. He’d already assumed there was back story about Tyler he wouldn’t like after he’d discovered he’d been paid to appear at the BDSM show. The important thing was he’d given whatever this was up once they’d come to their agreement. As long as that was true, it made no difference to the way he thought about him.

Did it?

What right did he have to pass judgment when he’d offered money to Tyler to have sex with him? There was a difference between fucking one guy and a whole room full, but Tyler’d had a terrifying experience of what being in debt could do to someone and though his reasoning for not wanting to be in debt was flawed, Haris
did
understand the strong pull of desperation. Tyler must have thought all his ships had come in at once when he’d offered him twenty thousand for four months on his back, on all fours—
oh fuck it.

It serves me right.
He was the one who’d started this off. Why had he even offered him money? For all he knew, Tyler would have gone out with him, given up the night job and they’d have lived happily ever after with their butler and their little dog. Haris gripped the envelope so tight he tore it.
Cloud-fucking-cuckooland.
He pulled out the first envelope Stan had given him and thrust the contents of the second inside.

Everything would have worked out fine if he hadn’t fallen for the guy.

Jeremy still wasn’t answering his phone which was
fucking
annoying. If it was just a ploy to get him here, he was going to be seriously pissed off. He tried him again before he let himself into the building and climbed the stairs. When he heard a mobile ringing out on the other side of the door, Tyler hesitated. Why wasn’t Jeremy answering? Was he even here?

He ran his gaze over the text Jeremy had sent and a flicker of uncertainty stirred in his belly. Not his usual clipped style. Was he trying to warn him of something? Or maybe someone else had sent it. Tyler licked dry lips. He might open the door and find Gerald waiting. He looked back at the stairs and considered running, but if Jeremy was in trouble…

Before he could convince himself not to, he unlocked the door and pushed it open. The room was dim but he made out a figure lying on the bed. There was no sign of anyone else.
What’s that smell?
He pushed the door closed behind him and switched on the light.

“Jer—” The word died on his lips.

Tyler staggered to the bed. One of his kitchen knives stuck out of Jeremy’s chest.

“F-fuck, fuck. Jeremy!”

Tyler thought he was dead, but he heard a gurgling breath and wrenched his phone from his pocket. “Shit, shhhhit.” His head was already swimming with the sight and smell of the blood.
Don’t pass out, don’t pass out.

“Hang on, mate. Hang on.” He fumbled but managed to press 999.

“Emergency. Which service do you require?”

“Ambulance. A guy’s been stabbed. Hurry. Flat four, seventeen Pershore Road, Deptford. Oh God. No…stop asking me for my name. There’s a knife still in his chest… No, I haven’t touched it. I won’t pull it out. Forget about me. He’s unconscious. His breathing is wrong. Get someone here. Fast. Please. I think he’s going to die. Flat four, seventeen Pershore Road, second floor. Deptford… No, I won’t calm down. Just get someone here.”

The room was wavering in and out of focus. He’d had to shout all that out in case he passed out.

“Why do you need to know—he’s seventeen. Please. Please send help.”

He flung down his phone and stared at Jeremy.

“What can I do?” Bile surged and burned his throat as he looked for something to press against the wounds.
Oh God.
How many times had he been stabbed?
The blood. Don’t lose it. Don’t lose it.

Tyler grabbed a couple of his T-shirts from a drawer and moved back to the bed. As he pressed them against Jeremy’s chest, his eyes fluttered open and Tyler’s vision dimmed.
Oh no.
Afraid he’d fall on Jeremy and make matters worse, in his last split second of conscious thought, he flung himself backward and went down like a stone.

The first thing Tyler noticed when he came round was that he had a terrible throbbing pain at the back of his head. The second thing was the loud banging that wasn’t in his head.
Oh God, Jeremy
. He tried and failed to get to his feet and instead crawled to the door and pulled it open. It crashed back into him as uniformed police rushed in followed by paramedics. He sat on the floor and watched in a daze as they worked on Jeremy.

Don’t die. Please don’t die.

A paramedic crouched next to him. “Are you injured? Can you tell me what’s happened?”

“Came. Found him like that.” Tyler’s chest was tight and it hurt to breathe.

He spotted blood on his fingers and he tried to rub them on his jeans but his hands wouldn’t work properly.
Why are my jeans wet? What’s in my pocket?
Everything was spinning and the floor vibrated. He leaned against the wall, breathing faster and faster, knowing he was having a panic attack. He pressed his arm against his mouth to slow his breathing, tasted blood and gagged. The paramedic reached for his wrist.

“Help him. Help him.” Tyler cast a desperate look at the bed.

“He has enough help. Look at me. Let me see your eyes. Don’t look at your friend.”

Tyler’s head felt too heavy to hold up.

“What’s your name?”

“Ty—ler.”

“You’re breathing too fast. You need to slow down. Count. Breathe when I tell you to.”

Tyler tensed as Jeremy was carried out of the room, someone holding an intravenous bag in the air above the stretcher.

“Is he—okay?”

“They’ll do everything they can for him. Slowly in and out.”

Tyler made a conscious effort to control his breathing but he could do nothing about his mind. Someone had stabbed Jeremy. He might die. If he’d had the strength, he’d have run, no matter how bad it would look.

A policeman crouched next to the medic. “What’s your name? What’s the name of the young man who’s been stabbed?”

“He’s Jeremy. Don’t know…other name. I’m Tyler Bellamy.”

“Whose flat is this?”

“Mine. I said Jeremy…could stay here. Oh God, oh God.”

“Are you hurt?”

Tyler shook his head and the room wavered.
My head. I’m going to throw up.

“He’s fighting a panic attack,” the paramedic said.

The paramedic rose to his feet but the policeman stayed next to Tyler on the floor.

“Did you have a quarrel?”

“What?”

“Things get out of hand?”

“No.”

“Where did the knife come from?”

“Looked like one of mine. What are you…? I didn’t do this… I found him. He texted me and asked me to come.” Tyler closed his eyes.
Oh fuck. Did Gerald do this?

“I need you to come to the station and answer more questions,” the policeman said.

“Are you arresting me?” Tyler whispered.

“Should I be?”

“No.”

“Then you won’t mind coming with me.”

Tyler struggled to his feet and staggered.

“I’m not sure he’s fit to go with you,” the paramedic said.

“None of that is his blood, right?”

“No.”

Tyler couldn’t stand to be in the room any longer. It was impossible to breathe. When he opened his mouth nothing entered. His lungs weren’t working. He stumbled toward the door, collided with another policeman and went down flailing. He wasn’t fighting, just trying to get free, desperate for air.

“Stop it,” someone shouted.

The click of handcuffs around his wrists brought him some way back to reality.
Don’t struggle. They think I’m resisting arrest. I fucking am. Oh God.
As they dragged him downstairs past gawping neighbors, fear surged into every cell of his body as if he’d been zapped with electricity. If Jeremy died, how could he prove he didn’t do it?

Tyler was under no illusion that even if he explained everything, they’d let him go. He sat with his eyes closed in the back of the squad car and wished he’d told Haris the truth before about Prescott because it was all going to come out now. Except what if the police didn’t believe him? What if he’d been set up? He didn’t have an alibi. He’d spent hours in college on his own tonight. There were CCTV cameras at the station. They could check those. But whatever had happened to Jeremy hadn’t happened long ago.
Oh God. What if he dies?

I want Haris. I need him to tell me everything’s going to be all right.

By the time they reached the police station, Tyler had a splitting headache. Pain radiated in a throbbing band around his eyes. When he’d pressed his head back on the seat in the car, he registered there was a place that hurt more than anywhere else and thought he must have injured himself when he passed out.

They read him his rights, took his fingerprints and photograph and then gave him sweat pants and a T-shirt to put on. Tyler gagged when he took off his bloody clothes. He threw up in a trash can when one of the cops pulled something soaked in blood from Tyler’s pocket.

“Like to explain these?” the man asked.

One of the items was a sock, the other was a fabric belt he wore with a pair of pants that were too loose.

“I can’t,” Tyler muttered.
What the hell were they doing in my pocket?
Then he threw up again.

No one would tell him how Jeremy was and Tyler was scared he’d died. Gerald had to have done this but it was Tyler’s fault. He remembered the look of anger on Gerald’s face when he’d accused him of raping Jeremy. Were the belt and sock an attempt to set Tyler up for Jeremy’s murder? A way to shut them both up? But why should Tyler keep quiet now? He had to tell the truth about everything.

A cop took him into a room, removed his handcuffs and told him to sit down. When two non-uniformed policemen took seats opposite, their faces grim, Tyler worried he’d start crying. They read him his rights again and gave him a copy of the Codes of Practice. The words blurred as he tried to read.

“Is there anyone you want to tell where you are?” one of them asked.

“A friend.” Tyler swallowed hard. How much longer would Haris be his friend?

The policeman took out his phone. “What’s his number?”

“It’s in my phone. You took it.”

Tyler sat in silence while one of the men went to fetch it, trying hard not to fidget. He didn’t want to drag Haris into this but he was scared. Only the truth would extricate him but maybe that wouldn’t be enough. He came back holding Tyler’s phone inside a plastic bag. The officer switched it on without removing it.

“What’s his name?”

“Haris.”

The policeman found the number, tapped it into his own phone and sat down.

“Is that Haris? This is Detective Constable Munroe at Deptford police station. I have a man in custody who asked for you to be informed of his whereabouts. Tyler Bellamy.”