Fuck’s sake. “So there’s no text messages, because you both deleted everything?”
Foster nodded.
“And no note.” Michael sighed and chanced a glance at Frank, who looked as pissed off as him. Even if Foster took them to where the fight had taken place, Smith would have had the place cleaned by now. He never left anything behind that could incriminate him. “So basically we just have your word for it?”
“But it’s true!” Foster protested. “Why would I risk telling you about the fight if it wasn’t?”
Frank rested his arms on the table, hands clasped as he stared Foster down. “Maybe you went to meet him that night to share your winnings, then decided to keep it all for yourself.”
“What?” Foster looked between the two of them with wild eyes. “The paper said he’d had his throat torn out. That’s why you lot are investigating it. You know I couldn’t kill him like that.”
“Maybe you met someone who could.” Michael was clutching at straws now, but it was a possibility, no matter how remote.
“That’s insane! I came here because I felt guilty, all right.” Foster scrubbed his hands over his face, his expression distraught. Michael didn’t think it was an act. “I know I shouldn’t have done it. Iknowthat. But I’d had too much fucking whisky to think straight. And after what happened to him, I was too fucking scared to tell the truth.”
And probably still didn’t want to get arrested for being at an illegal fight.
“What changed your mind?” Frank asked.
“I keep seeing it on the news, just the odd mention here and there, but each time I hear it, I think about Charlie, and I… I can’t do it. I can’t keep quiet about it any longer.”
Michael blew out a breath and sat back in his chair. “Have you had any contact with Smith or his men since?”
“Fuck, no.” Foster looked at him like he was mad. “I got the text about last Friday’s fight, but no way am I ever going back there.”
All they had was Foster’s word that it happened like he said it did. No proof to corroborate any of it. Arlington would laugh at them if they tried to present this as enough evidence to go after Smith.
Standing abruptly, Michael said, “I need to speak to DS Coldwell outside for a second.”
“Take your time. I’m in no hurry to get back out on the streets.”
They left him fiddling with the plastic coffee cup he’d had earlier and closed the door behind them.
“Fuck.” Frank leaned against the wall next to the door. “For a minute there, I thought we’d found a breakthrough.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“You believe him?”
“I do. As far-fetched as some of it sounds, I think he’s telling the truth.” Michael slapped his palm against the wall. “But he gave us nothing we can use.”
“But at least we know how Crossford ended up in that alley.” Frank let out a sigh, and Michael felt exactly the same. “It’s got to be the missing shifter that’s doing the killing though, right? I don’t care that they couldn’t trace his scent to the other crime scenes. It’s too much of a coincidence not to be him.”
“Agreed.” Alpha Wallace might not want to accept that idea just yet, but it was the most obvious explanation. “Maybe…” And he couldn’t believe he was saying this. His gut instinct still said Smith was involved somehow, but… “Maybe we should start looking at him instead of Smith?”
“Hmm.” Frank let his head fall back against the wall with a thud. “This doesn’t have anything to do with Harper, does it?”
Michael bristled. “What are you implying?”
“Nothing, Arch. I’m just asking, as your partner andfriend, if there’s even a slim possibility that you want to ditch the investigation into Smith so that Harper’s no longer involved in this case.”
He fought the urge to snap out an answer, instead taking time to consider Frank’s question. He had a valid point after all. One which Michael would have raised if he was in Frank’s shoes. It deserved an honest answer.
“I don’t think so. We have no tangible proof connecting Smith to any of the murders. Running an illegal fight club? Yes, guilty as charged, and we can pass that over to Miller for him to deal with. But we’ve seen nothing to put either him or any of his associates at the crime scenes.” Taking a breath, he chanced meeting Frank’s gaze. “But I can’t say that the thought of Aaron no longer working with us isn’t a bonus, nor can I say with one hundred per cent certainty that he hasn’t altered my thinking, even subconsciously. But we have a missing shifter, and three dead bodies all with their throats ripped out. Sometimes the obvious answer is, in fact, the truth.”
Frank stared at him for a good few seconds before nodding his head. “Fair enough.”
Everything he’d just said had been the truth, but it was easily possible that Aaron had a bigger impact on his rationale than he wanted to admit. Maybe they should just let things fizzle out naturally—probably the better solution for both of them. Even if the thought depressed him.
