Insane - Who Are You To Judge? (Gripping Psychological Thriller)

Chapter 47 - Avery

"Her husband's doctor just got back to us," the beer-belly announces. "He and his wife had won a surprise trip to a desert island and he took all his holiday and sick days off to go. That's why he was unavailable to confirm the appointment."

"And?" the skinny one replies.

"And now he's back, he's confirmed it. The alibi checks out. He was at the appointment at the time she was killed. Her husband wasn't responsible. Suppose there was just a fault with the records."

Dammit, I think to myself. Why couldn't he have just stayed stranded on that island, it would have been so convenient for me.

I glance down at my phone and spin it around in my hands, debating whether to call.

I've come home for lunch today. Partly because I wanted to catch up on all three of my cases, but mostly to check that Julian isn't poking his head where it doesn't belong like he was yesterday.

"Well that's the relatives eliminated for the person of interests. What next, sarge?"

The beer-bellied detective isn't amused by the nickname. "We'll look into her phone records. Why don't you get on that, Grant, and I'll go back to the forensics team?"

"Okay, I'll do that tomorrow."

I close the laptop as the skinny one exits. The Little Mermaid's case no longer has much attention because of my apparent resurgence, so that's gone pretty cold, apart from them doing another sweep of her apartment. This just shows their desperation. They really do have no leads.

As for Sleeping Beauty, the detectives on the case are still going over the fine details of the scene and trying to find a match for the fingerprint. How they got it I have no idea, but I know that those fingerprints are mine.

It's a pretty close match to my own work, I'll give them that. Whoever is responsible for this must have studied each and every one of my murder scenes – right down to the fact that I always use the property of the victim as a weapon. I don't even think that was released to the public.

I drum my fingers on the desk, impatient and trying to keep myself distracted. I need something to do, something to turn my mind to, something other than his number.

Keeping my home tidy at all times has its advantages, but one of the drawbacks is that there are very few household chores to do when I want to avoid things.

But I am stubborn and determined, so I make my way into the kitchen and wipe down the counters and wash up the mug and spoon I used for my morning tea. I even give the oven a good polishing.

My phone flashes up and moves along the counter.

"Ow," I moan when in a frantic rush to reach my phone, my head collides with the top of the harsh metal oven.

It's my boss, asking me to go to a meeting tomorrow in Braxton. I feel like an idiot. He's not going to call or text. He knows better than to do that. He's going to wait until I'm ready to speak with Him.

I don't want to, though, because I'm still mad at Him. I'm mad he went through my desk and I'm mad he confronted me about it. If you're going to snoop, at least do it right.

Then again, he seemed concerned for me. Perhaps I shouldn't be angry at Him. Perhaps it's okay for someone to want to protect me every now and then.

No, Avery. Be reasonable. It's a good thing this happened, it means you can concentrate on what's really important. Oh, her irritatingly familiar voice pops up in my head again. And of course, I can't exactly disagree with her logic.

I go back into the lounge, bounce onto the sofa and switch on crappy TV. There's never anything decent on at this time in the afternoon.

Even if there was I couldn't concentrate on it anyway. I know my reason told me this is a good thing because I can focus on the real issues, but all my mind goes to is Him. I need to get Him out of my head if I want to be at the top of my game and the only way I can do that is by calling Him.

I procrastinate for another thirty-three minutes, and while beating my foot against the floor at a quicker rate than my heartbeat, I snatch up my phone from the coffee table.

"Screw it." And the phone starts ringing.

I don't know why but I have an itch in my chest, making it hard for my lungs to function and causing my breath to shake.

"McKenzie's Southhurst Estate Agent, how may I help?" the chirpy voice of the receptionist sings down the phone.

"Hi." My voice is husky and I pause to clear my throat. Let's try that again. I ask in my politest voice if he is available and if I am able to speak with Him.

"Of course, ma'am. May I ask who is calling?"

I'm hesitant but eventually comply. "Avery Blake."

I hear a dulled tone play at a repeated rhythm, as if it is speaking to me in Morse code, telling me to back out and hang up the phone before he picks up. If he picks up.

"Avery."

My heart leaps at the sound of his voice. Although I am the one who called Him, it's as if I'm not expecting Him at all.

"Hi," I reply with a higher pitch than I have ever spoken in before.

"Are you okay? I feel so awful about the other night..."

I cut Him off. "It's okay. I've had some time to think over it. I want to meet and sort things out. I want to get back to before."

I hear Him sigh through the phone. "I'm so glad to hear you say that. I would love nothing more. I've got a house viewing this afternoon but..." He pauses and I can hear Him murmur something to one of his colleagues. "But I can get someone else to take it for me. Are you home? I can come over now."

"No!" I stutter. "No, um, yes I am at home but I've got work this afternoon."

"But, it's Thursday. I thought you had Thursday afternoons off?" he asks in a suspicious tone.

I grit my teeth and slap my head into my hands, ashamed at myself. "Yeah, I normally do but um ..." I'm struggling to give him an answer. I'm usually great at being put on the spot like this, but right now my mind is blank. "I, um, my friend Kirsty is sick and she wants me to cover for her."

He laughs softly. "You hate Kirsty, why would you do that?"

Yes, I do hate Kirsty. Why would I do that?

"Yeah, yeah, I know." I mimic his laugh, trying to sound less stiff. "But she promised to give me one of her top clients if I did, so I couldn't really say no. I mean, it gives me the chance to poach a few more from her." It's not my best work, but it'll do. I add quickly, "I'm around tonight, though?"

"Sure, sounds great. I'll come round about seven-thirty?" he asks and I agree. He then adds, "I've missed you, Avery."

"I've missed you too. I'll see you tonight."

It feels like I'm missing three words. They're so easy to say and they are on the tip of my tongue.

But I hang up the call. I can't say them. If I do it becomes real. I'm not ready for it to be real.

If you're wondering, yes I was lying to Him – there is nothing Kirsty could offer me that would make me do anything for her. No, I have prior engagements.

Over the past couple of months I have been researching the glue used on the letters and after pulling a few strings, I've found two companies that use the exact ingredients that match what I am looking for.

One of the companies is in the Midlands and the other is situated in none other than Braxton.

Unlike Southhurst, Braxton is a small town and it tends to house local shops and companies that don't tend to do business too far from them. So, I'm paying a visit to the company today and I am praying to my lucky stars that one of their customer records gives me a clue as to who I'm up against.