Trust No Bitch: Part 2

Lilly Philipps

"What are you doing? You can't just go through my-"

"But we can, Miss. Philipps. We have a search warrant, you see."

"A search warrant?"

"Yes, a search warrant."

Lilly had returned back to her flat after a short, keeping-up-appearances style shift at work to find Detective March stood there outside her open front door. Her hands were clasped together in front of her and she was rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet, with that maddening smile on her face, the same one she had exhibited so frequently during the interrogations that followed the discovery of Cleo's body. In and out of Lilly's flat came the pressed white shirted, jet black vested police men, murmuring to March before disappearing down the corridor, like a trails of ants, one of them carrying an old, unused diary of hers in a see through evidence bag.

"Why...Why do you have a search warrant?" Lilly had blurted out in response, pushing past March to make her way into the flat, the ropey salad she had ingurgitated before work ascending her throat.

"We were alerted by an anonymous source to a correspondence between you and the partner of the deceased." March called after Lilly, who stood watching the 3 officers move around her living room, bag dangling from her arm, mouth open and frozen on the spot, like a posed child's barbie left on their bedroom floor whilst they had their dinner. Her presence didn't stop the officers; they continued combing through her living room, lifting up sofa cushions, brushing over her window sill, across her shelves, beneath the rug, as if searching for gold. Without a word to any of them, she ran to her bathroom, throwing the door shut behind her and flipping the toilet lid up, leaning over it as a drizzle of vomit seeped from her mouth.

Partner of the deceased? Luca? They were alerted to a correspondence? Well, what the fuck did that mean? Though Lilly's questions were promptly answered as she got to her feet and turned round to face the mirror over the sink, wiping her mouth. A photocopy of that letter, the one she'd sent to Luca, theatrically professing her love, saying how she didn't want Cleo around, that same letter the Supplier had first blackmailed her with. It was taped to the mirror. Crowned by The Supplier's quasi-poetic prose, scribbled across the bathroom mirror in kohl that now lay, lid tossed aside, next to the sink.

To Luca, from Lilly.

Your names were all they needed.

Imagine what they'd do if they got this whole letter.

Unless, of course, you want to tell me who you're protecting.

In which case, I'll send the thing up in flames.

Remember, I'm giving you a choice.

After all, I'm nice like that.

Breath harsh and ragged as if stuck back in that store cupboard again, Lilly ripped the photocopy from her mirror, then dragged her hand across the message written out in eyeliner, smudging it like charcoal across the mirror's spotless surface. How long had it been there for? She'd been half-asleep when she'd used the bathroom that morning, and had only darted in and out the night before. Pulling a biro from the bottom of her bag, she dragged the pen back and forth across the photocopy, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, until it resembled nothing more than a 6 year old's attempt at drawing a black, sinistrous storm cloud.

"Miss. Philipps?" Came March's voice from beyond the door, Lilly screwing the paper into a ball and dabbing at her clammy forehead with the back of her hand. "Are you okay in there?"

"Yes!" Lilly called back thickly, throwing the ball of paper into the toilet. "I'm fine!" She added, before gently closing the lid and opening the door. "Just not feeling myself today. A bit under the weather."

"Is that so?" March said as they came face to face once again. She had taken it upon herself to lean against the door frame, just that little bit too close for comfort, one eyebrow arched so high that were she to ever get a fringe cut in, it would have disappeared beneath it.

"Yeah..." Lilly simpered, reaching out one-handedly to the side to flush the toilet, her movement as subtle as it could possibly be. It didn't get past March; her gaze followed the arm stretching towards the toilet so closely, she had the visible concentration level of someone defusing a bomb. All Lilly could do, March's eyes becoming so narrowed the whites of them were indistinguishable, was to try and deflect the hostility with a small, timid laugh; unfortunately, it had little to no effect. The woman continued to stare.