Chapter Fifteen
Tyler kept hitting the wrong note as he practiced at college. Every fucking time at the same point in the piece. His mind was not on the music but on Haris. Things were really good between them so why did Tyler’s self-destruct button keep telling him to confess the rest? He’d gone over and over what he needed to say, but no matter what combination he came up with, he just couldn’t find the right words.
Because the bottom line—oh yeah, great phrase there, fuckwit—was that he was trade, a rent boy, a whore, a guy who had sex with others for money. He might not have walked the streets wriggling his backside but he’d done as good as. The fact that he considered himself a cut above the rest was laughable. He wanted to forget any of it had ever happened, but he had a feeling deep in his gut that it was all going to come back to bite him.
So tell him. And tell him you don’t want his money. That you’re not with him for that.
Every time he’d looked at Haris’s happy face, felt his arms around him and his cock unfurl against his belly, he chickened out. The only positive thing was that Tyler would never sell himself again. Getting involved with someone had been the mistake he’d forecast, but he couldn’t help it. It had been much easier to accept his lifestyle when it had no impact on anyone but him. Damn the money, the debt. He’d do what normal people did and work it off in the conventional way.
And what happens when Haris finds out about Prescott and his parties? What happens when he knows there are movies of me sucking guys dicks, swallowing their come, letting them line up to fuck me?
It wasn’t only Haris who might be pissed off. What do I say if what I’ve done has wrecked the band’s chance of success?
I’ll tell him. I’ll tell them.
But not yet.
Coward.
One more day.
And then one day more.
I’ll tell Haris on Friday. I won’t tell the band yet. We might not be going anywhere in any case.
He stayed late into the evening in college, playing until his mind was empty and the pieces were as perfect as he was going to get them. By the time he left, there was no one else around. Haris had told him he was out tonight on some company business and wasn’t sure what time he’d be back. Wilson was with him. Tyler looked forward to slobbing in front of the TV with Alcide, though he wasn’t supposed to let the dog into the lounge. Maybe he’d buy fish and chips on the way home. He didn’t suppose he was allowed those in there either.
Then it struck him what he’d said. Home. Oh God.
Tyler pulled on his coat and hat and made his way out of the college grounds, still grinning. He was almost at the Tube station when he felt his mobile vibrate. His heart sank when he read Jeremy’s text. Need you now. Please come to flat. I’m in big trouble.
Not a-bloody-gain. Tyler called him but there was no answer.
He muttered under his breath. He didn’t want to go to see Jeremy but if he didn’t, and something had happened, the guilt would eat him alive. He texted back. I’ll b there in 30.
Haris stood in the kitchen next to Wilson.
“You know what you have to do?” Stan said over the phone.
“Yes. Wilson’s memorized the route. We wait for instruction from you as to whether we take it or not.”
“Obviously, there’s no point if you’re not followed, but we’ll give it a while and see if a car picks you up.”
“Okay.”
“Well, ready when you are, and keep to the plan unless you hear otherwise from me.”
Haris put the phone back in his pocket.
“Are we a ‘go’, sir?”
Haris nodded.
“I’ll bring the car around to the front of the house.”
“Fine.”
“Not beginning to regret declining the bullet-proof option on the car?”
Haris barked out a laugh. “There wasn’t a bullet-proof option.”
“Indeed there was, sir. Sixty thousand pounds for the vehicle to be armoured.”
“I don’t think we have anything to worry about, Wilson.”
“I’m not entirely happy with the word ‘think’.”
He smiled. “I can’t think of any reason why someone would want to shoot at me.”
“I suspect most people who are shot at think exactly the same in that moment between seeing the gun and feeling the bullet hit them.”
“Go and get the car.”
“Yes, sir.”
Haris headed out the front of the house and locked up. It was tempting to check the road for a white Fiat or a black Peugeot, but he kept his gaze fixed ahead. All that talk about bullets had set him on edge and it was ridiculous. If someone wanted to shoot him, they’d had plenty of opportunity. This was about something else.
Even so, he gave a mental sigh of relief when he was sitting in the back of the car and Wilson pulled away.
“Where did you tell Tyler you were going tonight?” Wilson asked. “Just so we have our stories straight.”
“Business meeting in Richmond.”
He tapped out a message to Tyler. Don’t take Alcide into drawing room. Then he smiled. Tyler and Alcide had bonded and Wilson adored the dog even though he pretended not to. Haris suspected this was the animal that would stay with them.
Tyler texted back. Text Alcide. It’s him who wants to take me in there. Haris laughed.
When Stan called several minutes later, Haris wasn’t surprised to hear they had no tail. Wilson had been giving him a running commentary on every car he’d seen behind them and hadn’t spotted anything suspicious.
“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 neighbours, 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 jeans 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.”
Tyler wanted the floor to open up and swallow him. Not just swallow him, crush him and crunch him up until there was nothing left.
“He’s not been charged with anything yet, sir. He’s being questioned.” The man listened for a moment and then put the phone on speaker. “He wants to talk to you.”
“Tyler? What the hell’s happened?”
“Someone’s stabbed Jeremy. They think it was me.”
“Don’t say another word until I get a lawyer to you.”
“I didn’t stab him.”
“Not a word, Tyler. Promise me.”
“Okay.”
Tyler’s head felt too heavy to keep up. He looked down to see the floor coming up to hit him.
Haris’s fingers shook as he ended the call. Oh Christ. If only he’d kept Stan watching him. He scrolled through his contacts until he found the number he was looking for.
“Michael. It’s Haris. I have a problem.”
While he explained the situation, he grabbed his sweater and wallet and left the study. He arranged to meet Michael at the police station and went looking for Wilson. When he didn’t find him in the kitchen, he went down to his quarters, knocked on the door and called, “Wilson, I need you to drive me to Deptford police station.”
The door opened and Wilson stood there in his slippers.
“Tyler’s in trouble.”
“Five minutes.”
It was less than that before they were on their way. Sensibly, Wilson didn’t try to engage him in conversation. Haris couldn’t remember when he’d felt more agitated. They hadn’t reached the station before he had a call from Michael to say Tyler had been taken to Lewisham hospital and that he’d meet Haris there instead.
Now he was even more anxious.
Wilson dropped him off outside the entrance. Haris told him to find somewhere to park and stay with the car. Michael waited in the lobby.
“Do you know what’s happened?” Haris asked.
“Tyler’s okay. They think he’s concussed.”
Haris sagged. “Where is he?”
“Under observation.”
“Do you know how his friend is? Jeremy?”
“Only that he’s in theatre.”
“Think they’ll let me see Tyler?”
Michael sighed. “We can try.”
The answer was no but Haris was desperate and persuasive and finally a doctor agreed.
“Remind him not to talk to anyone until he’s spoken to me.” Michael glanced at the police officer sitting next to the nurses’ station. “The only good thing about him needing hospital treatment is that the police can’t use anything he might already have said.”
Haris washed his hands with the antibacterial gel and slipped into Tyler’s room. He was curled up in bed, his eyes closed, his fists balled up next to his face. He looked ready to fight the world and Haris’s heart swelled.
He wrapped one of his hands around Tyler’s and Tyler’s eyes sprang open.
“Haris,” he croaked.
“I’m here.”
“How’s Jeremy?”
“I don’t know. What happened to you?”
“I banged my head. Probably when I fainted. I’m such a wuss. I’m really sorry.”
Haris sat on the edge of the bed. “What for?”
“For letting you get involved in the mess that is my life.”
“Hey. You didn’t let me do anything.”
“But you don’t know what I am, what I’ve done. I’m not what you think I am. Except I didn’t stab Jeremy. I called the police. They found one of my socks and a belt covered with his blood in my pocket and now they think I did it. Oh God.”
He could feel Tyler shaking.
“I’ve got you a lawyer. He’s waiting outside. You don’t speak to the police until you’ve spoken to him.”
Tyler pushed himself to a sitting position. “He might as well come in and hear it with you, but there’s something I need to tell you first. You might not want to stick around after.”
Haris was pretty sure he already knew what he was going to say. The moment he’d opened the envelope, he wished he hadn’t. He’d betrayed Tyler’s trust by having his background checked. Now he had to pretend he didn’t know any of it.