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“I don’t need your help or intend on helping you. If that means I go to prison, so fucking be it, James.” The scowl on his face, which now mirrors mine from moments ago, isn’t because I called him James and not father. No, it’s the lack of respect I showed by not calling him Your Honour. “You and I both know you’ll never make what you have stick.”
“Now, that’s where you’re wrong, I’m afraid. But, come now, it’s not you I wish to lock up. You’re purely the vessel to the real target of my ire. If you were the only thing I had to worry about, I’d have had you gone years ago, my dear daughter.”
“I don’t give two fucks about yourire, and I’m not as easy to get rid of as my mother was, so whatever bribe or blackmail you’re about to try to sell me on, you can go to hell.”
His eyes narrow, and whether at my crass words, the mention of my mother or just my flat-out refusal before he’s laid it out for me, I don’t know or care.
He suddenly barks out a laugh, deepening the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes. “I didn’t kill Tracey, Roxanne. I may have made her life not worth living, or a living hell if you like, but I didn’t end her. Am I to assume from your accusation that you’re no closer to finding your mother’s killer? Because that surprises me. The great Roxanne Whitmore can’t solve a murder, of her own mother, no less, when the responsible party is right under her very nose. Kind of makes a mockery of your faultless reputation.” He stops, and I think he’s done, but of course, he’s not. “Oh, hold on, no, I’ve got that wrong. Burning your own career to the ground for the sake of two bit-part brothers is what ruined your reputation.” I don’t have time to think about what I’m doing before I’m on my feet, standing toe to toe with James Whitmore, and my fist poised ready to strike.
“Now, now, dear daughter, I don’t think you want to do that. I imagine a discredited, disgraced ex detective facing a murder charge will have the book thrown at them for assaulting a judiciary of the courts, one of the highest order too. Perhaps you should sit your arse down and listen to what I have to say, if only to humour me some more.” James’ eyes burn like hot coals, and I see a small tic at his right temple. “Sit, Roxanne.” It’s a demand not a request and very aware of my already precarious situation, I lower my fist and step back. My fingers remain curled tightly into a fist, nails digging into my flesh as I take a seat once more.
“Much better,” James says condescendingly, tucking his hands inside the pockets of his dark grey coat. “I believe that we are fighting for the same cause, of course, my motives are far from similar to yours, but the end result will benefit us both. Provided, that is, you agree to my terms. As you can see from your current predicament, I’m skilled in ensuring I get the very best level of cooperation.”
“I wasn’t aware the judicial oath was open to interpretation. Or did I miss the part that says I will take a bribe, falsify evidence and blackmail all manner of people without conscience?”
“Don’t get smart with me, daughter. You’re not above such indiscretions.” He gives me a knowing look before continuing, “The Lawlers aren’t much use outside of hired guns for Theo Rogers when he was alive, or so it appears to anyone without the means or ability to look a little deeper. But, alas, I must admit they seem to have an aptitude for business. And as a businessman myself”—I let out a derisive scoff, which he chooses to ignore—“I feel perhaps, given the right…incentive, they may wish to assist me.”
“If this incentive you’re referring to is me, then I’m afraid you’re fresh out of luck.”
“Please don’t flatter yourself, Roxanne. Even the sweetest cunt isn’t enough to go to jail for. No, no, I have something much sweeter at stake for them.”
My lip curls up in disgust. “I wondered how long it would be before the veil dropped and the true colours of James Whitmore were revealed. Whatever you have, or think you have, won’t be enough to force them to join you. As you said, they have an aptitude for business, not self-sabotage.”
James chuckles, his coat fluttering open as he splays his still pocketed hands in a shrug. “What I have is enough to bury the both of them, or even just one, for the rest of their lives. Assuming they live that long.”
I slowly rise to my feet again, but before I can reply, the echo of footsteps in the corridor stops me. James hears them too and stands a little taller, the tic at his temple pulsing again, as he slips the Right Honourable Judge Whitmore mask back in place.
“Your Honour, I think it’s best you leave now.” It’s Officer Hughes, who was with Smithy earlier, but from the doe-eyed look in her eyes, I get the impression her words are less of an order and more a warning to James.
With a nod of acknowledgment that he’s heard her, he turns to me. “Think about what I said, Roxanne. I’ll see you again very soon.” And with that, he turns and saunters from the room.
Officer Hughes follows behind, casting a disapproving look my way before shutting and locking the cell door.
I listen for the faint tip tap of her footsteps as she gets further away, and as soon as they can no longer be heard, I let out a roar of frustration.
From a young age, I learnt that in this world doing the right thing doesn’t always mean you do well in life. More often than not, it puts you in a category of people that work their whole lives and never achieve their dreams. They never receive any gratitude or even a simple acknowledgment of their hard work and input into the world, the community.
You would think given that lesson that I would have been more prepared, less surprised, to learn that an establishment I dedicated my life to was as corrupt as the criminals they claim to lock up.
My only excuse, and it is an excuse, is that I wanted so much to believe I could do some good in this world. That joining the force would allow me some comfort, the opportunity to search for my sister and my mother’s killer and the chance to belong again, to be a part of a family once more. Don’t get me wrong, it did that and so much more, but now those protective walls I encased myself inside, blindly threw my coveted trust into, are now being smashed apart.
The arrival of Maddox and Zak back in my life has not only brought back memories and emotions I had buried but with it an unwelcome, yet necessary, reality check.
I pace my cell, up and down a well-trod path, for what seems like an age. Time has no meaning inside these four walls. By the time I’ve worn myself out enough that I slump down onto the poor excuse for a bed, which I’m expected to sleep on, a quick glance at my watch reveals it’s approaching midnight.
I bring my knees up, resting my arms on them, hands dangling between, and drop my head back to the cold wall behind me. I let my eyes slip closed in the hope I can hold back the tears that are right there, waiting to break free. The thought of breaking down, becoming an emotional mess, only adds to the fury zip lining up and down my body. I refuse to let the tears fall. I refuse to be broken by betrayal. I refuse to let the anger consume me. What I will do is allow it a small corner of my soul alongside hate and misery for company and let it fuel my vengeance.
My vengeance will be ruthless.
***
I’m startled awake by the clanking of metal and sit up just as the cell door is opened. Smithy strides in carrying a tray of food and a much-appreciated cup of tea.
As he places the tray at the foot of my bed and hands me the tea, he whispers, “Noah is planning on interviewing you this morning before your solicitor can get here. If everything goes to plan, you’ll be out of here soon.”
I go to reply, but Smithy raises a finger to his lips, and the reason becomes clear as Officer Hughes comes into view.
“Sleep well, Whitmore?” She doesn’t even try to hide her derision.
