Reid
Hours have passed, yet it’s still dark outside. I don’t think this night will ever end, just as much as I don’t believe this nightmare I’m living will conclude with the outcome I'm praying for—Morgan home safe and unhurt.
West tries to discuss the phone tracing situation with me, but I’m not interested. Nothing he says will be able to explain the department’s incompetence. I bet I could locate a hacker who could do the job faster than these dipshits who call themselves ‘men of the law’. Maybe this is what I need to do—enlist a criminal to help me find a criminal … a psychopathic one at that. Where would I even start looking? Do I know anyone?
My phone chimes in my hand, snapping me from my thoughts.
John: Hey boy, how're things going over there? Is there any updated news on Morgan?
I wish I could tell John what's happening. But I can’t. I don't know how to tell him that the wife-thieving bastard has rung again, and how after taking his call I’ve come to think Morgan's abductor has eyes on everything we’re doing inside this house. I need proof. I wish I could tell John that I was starting to put together my theory, a theory which leads me to believe someone working this case is behind Morgan’s abduction, somehow … even someone as high up as West. I can’t share any of this with John, because what if I’m wrong? I need proof. Could it be West, though? Or his partner Gleaton? Maybe they’re both in on this together. Where’s that prick Gleaton anyway? Why isn’t he here?
I rub my face with my free hand, trying to make sense of my thoughts. Morgan is missing; this is a fact. But where is she? Who has her? Maybe I need a whiteboard where I can pin pictures of those I suspect on display to help wrap my mind around each possibility. I could perform a process of elimination like they do on those cop shows to find her captor. I bet West has a board, and I’ll put my equity, hell, my entire livelihood on the fact that my face is pinned as their number-one suspect.
My phone chimes.
Turning my eyes downward, I’m surprised to see a message from Linda. I was expecting it to be another from John.
Linda: Reid, I have information. Are they tracking your incoming and outcoming calls? Your text messages?
Information? What information?
Me: What information?
Linda: Can they see these messages or not? The cops?
I stand slyly and look towards West, Maloney, and Dyson, who are busily working away on differing gadgets at the dining room table. I eye the staircase, deciding it’s best to call Linda, but from somewhere I can’t be heard by them. A simple twist on my heel has me creeping to the stairs.
“Can I help you with something?” Prospect towers over me from the second step. His red hair is mussed, the corners of his eyes drawn downwards.
“Ummm. Nope. Going to use the bathroom and freshen up.” Which direction had Prospect come from? He wasn’t on the stairs when I’d scanned them before.
Prospect shimmies to the side and gestures with his hand for me to pass.
“Thank you,” I say.
That copper gives me the heebie jeebies. Where was Prospect when the call came in this morning? Where has he been since? Prospect’s like a nightwalker whose footsteps bear no sound. Whose presence is only known when he’s right in front of your nose and not before. I need answers, and I need to pin Prospect’s face on my suspect board.
Pressing my chin against my collarbone, I try to sneak a peek behind me to see if Prospect’s still standing on the step, but I can’t see him. I can’t see much from this position at all.
Keep walking. Forget about Prospect for now and call Linda.
I don’t bump into Ronald or Kylee when I enter the hallway, which has me relieved. I pause by Aleeha’s closed door, hovering my hand over the top of her pink-painted name on to the wood, and think of Ronald and the same questions he asks of me every time he enters the room, as I’m about to enter. I’m worried about Ronald. Hell, I’m afraid for all of us. If Ronald doesn’t get even the smallest bit of reassuring news soon I fear he’ll turn into a bomb and explode shrapnel in every direction he faces. I’ve no comforting news to deliver to this man because I’ve no clue how to bring Morgan home. I’m useless. I’m sick of feeling so fucking useless.
Leaning my forehead against the door, I think of Kylee and the weeping mess she appeared earlier. Her slumped posture and sunken eyes told me all her hope is failing. Her closed fist scrunching the material of her shirt over her chest screamed of the ache her heart was undergoing. Her rapid and falling tears were those you know could never fall hard enough to wash away a soul-crushing pain. Kylee’s tortured by the loss of her daughter, and she’s no help now. Not to me, not to anybody.
“Hang in there. You need to hang in there,” I mouth so as not to be heard, but to remind myself that I too need to hang in there.
I reach my destination, the master bedroom, and carefully tiptoe through the small gap the door creates before closing it quietly so as to minimise sound.
My phone chimes.
“Shit!” I whisper, fumbling the phone in my hand, desperate to mute the volume. Muted. I need privacy right now.
Linda: Are they tracing your God damn phone, Reid?
I press the phone image besides Linda’s name in the open message.
Ring, ring.
“Hi, you’ve reached Linda. I’m currently out of the office until further notice. Thank you.”
She’s changed her outgoing message.
My mobile phone vibrates.
Linda: Don’t ring me. Just answer my question.
Me: I’m not being tracked, no. What’s going on?
Linda: Trust nobody.
Me: What do you know? Where are you? Why did you leave the house so quickly?
Linda: Investigating. I’ve been seeing someone. He’s a cop. He attended Morgan’s crime scene and volunteered himself for the searches they’ve been doing. I have intel.
I’m shocked. Why has Linda kept this from me? Did she tell West or Gleaton about this cop? And by seeing, does she mean romantically, or are they friends?
Me: Seeing? As in dating this cop?
Linda: Yes. For a little while now. Morgan didn’t know either. I wanted to keep it on the down-low.
Me: Were you seeing him when we, you know, on the business trip?”
Linda: Yeah, I was. Kinda.
Kinda. How do you kinda see someone? Either you are, or you aren't. Why didn’t she tell Morgan about him?
Me: Is this cop there with you now?
Linda: Yep.
Me: Ask him about a tall, lanky red-headed cop, last name Prospect, first name Eric.
I sit on the edge of the bed and wait for a reply. The screen flashes.
Linda: Dodgy. His record isn’t clean. Eric Prospect has had multiple disciplinary actions in the past. Stay away from him.
My mind is spinning.
Me: What is this boyfriend saying about Morgan? What does he know?
Linda: Reid, what they're telling us is not everything they know. They’re keeping things from us.
Shit! I suspected as much.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Reid. Are you in there?”
Shit! West.
Me: West is knocking on the bedroom door. I have to go. Come to the house and bring your copper friend with you.
Before I get a chance to discard my phone, it vibrates.
Linda: Delete these messages.
I throw the phone onto the bed and race into the bathroom, pull my T-shirt over my head, and discard it to the floor. A dab of toothpaste coats the bristles on my toothbrush before I shove it in my mouth and seal my lips around it. “Shit!” I mumble, turning the tap on to a dribble, using the water to splash my face. “Coming.” It’s a muffled call. I breathe a long drawn-out breath through my nose. Get it together, Reid.
Attempting my best casual stroll to appear more relaxed, I reach the door and open it a crack. It widens just enough for me to see West and for him to hopefully see the water droplets still sliding down my face, the toothbrush poking out the corner of my mouth, and the fact I’m currently shirtless.
West furrows his brows. “Are you going to be long?”
“No. Just freshening up.” I suck back the toothpaste about to dribble from my lip down my chin.
“Okay.” The way he looks at me tells me he doesn’t believe my little charade. “I’ll wait here for you.”
I shrug. “If you must.”
Am I paranoid? Or can I smell a rat? A rat who’s inside my house.
A rat who's responsible for the disappearance of my wife.