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I need to leave. My chest tightens and I grab my t-shirt. “Sorry, I really have to go.”
* * *
The emergency services’presence around the hotel isn’t subtle, nor is the number of press. I yank my hood over my head, and hunch down, weaving through the bodies and the huge sliding glass doors. A police officer steps in front of me, hand extended to prevent me passing. I look into the young cop’s face and the realisation who I am crosses his face. He drops his hand.
“Where’s Jem?” I ask.
The cop turns around. “Maggie, we’ve got another one here.”
A middle-aged woman dressed in a well-cut navy trouser suit looks over from where she’s speaking to a pale-faced girl in a hotel uniform. She purses her lips and strolls over.
“Where’s Jem?” I repeat.
“I was hoping you’d be able to tellus, Mr Morgan.” The woman crosses her arms over her chest and fixes me with an accusatory look.
Fuck. I knew he’d bloody leave.
“It’s in Mr Jones’s best interest to talk to us. Leaving the scene doesn’t do him any favours.”
“Yeah, I told him to wait.”
“Really?” The woman pulls out a notepad and poses her pen. “Were you with him or Olivia last night?”
“No. I was home with my girlfriend.” And what the fuck is Sky going to say about this?
“And what did Mr Jones say when he contacted you?”
I rub my lips together as years of teaching by Steve and our media team prevents me from replying. “You should talk to him.”
The woman flips the notebook shut and glares at me. “I would, if he revealed his whereabouts. Where would Mr Jones go?”
I run a hand through my hair. He’s unlikely to go back to his Notting Hill place and I hope to hell he hasn’t gone to mine. Shit.
“I don’t know. Have you contacted our manager?”
“We’ve tried, but maybe it’s too early and he’s still asleep? I expect as soon as he switches on the news he’ll have an idea.”
This is big. Fucking huge. What the hell happened? A young paramedic dressed in green emerges from the elevator and he approaches another detective, a man in a suit also talking to staff. All the way here, I’ve willed this girl to be alive, hoping Jem’s panic led him to believe she was dead.
“Is she…” I begin.
“Deceased. Yes. So we have a suspicious death, a missing lover, and we need answers.” She pauses. “We believe drugs were involved.”
I give her an ‘are you surprised’ look. The possibility of Jem killing himself with drugs has followed him for years, but someone else… The next move: call him. I whip my phone from my pocket and dial his number. It rings out and I swear under my breath. Typical Jem. But what the fuck does he hope to achieve? Can’t he see how this looks?
“I should look for him,” I tell the detective.
“No, I think you need to stay and talk to us.”
“What? Why? I didn’t do anything! I told you I wasn’t here.”
“Until we finish checking the security cameras, or get in touch with your alibi, it would be wise of you to remain with us.”
“Are you saying you think I had something to do with this?” I pull myself tall to disguise the rising panic.
“Did you?” she fires back.
“No! Shit.” I scroll for Steve’s number and call him. No response. I can’t leave; they’d probably arrest me. The police would use any excuse to arrest one of us. I heave in a breath. “I’ll stay but I have nothing to say until Steve or a lawyer arrives.”
