Free Nameless Kill by Ryan Casey

believe that’s the case,” Brian said, a little agitated by this question. “There is…‌there is nothing yet to imply…‌We’re dealing with one death here. One death that we’re still investigating the circumstances of. And a death which the media and the public could greatly accelerate our investigation of.”
    Brian heard more fingers tapping against keys and screens. More scribbling of pens. He felt his heart beating faster. The warm air was starting to become difficult to breathe.
    Another barrage of questions hit Brian. Again, he couldn’t make them out, couldn’t distinguish one from the other.
    Except he did distinguish one of the later questions.
    He thought he’d been hearing things at first. Thought his mind was playing tricks on him.
    But then he heard it again. A woman’s voice. A short, dark-haired woman right at the front.
    “What about the links between Yemi Moya’s murders and this discovery?”
    The room grew silent. Silent, but for the expectant anticipation of an answer.
    Brian watched. Watched the wide, waiting eyes as his heart raced. Watched as his mouth got dryer and dryer. As his chest got tighter. He loosened his collar. Cleared his throat. Not now, not now…
    “I…‌We don’t comment on rumours or speculation,” was all Brian could manage. His head spun. He could see colours in his eyes. “Just…‌just please. Any information…‌Please…”
    He stood up. Rushed towards the white door at the back of the boiling hot press room as muffled voices picked up behind him. His throat burned. A hot wave of nausea covered him.
    “Brian?” somebody ahead of him said, somebody blurred, somebody out of sight.
    Brian wanted to answer. He wanted to tell whoever it was that he was okay‌—‌that everything was okay.
    But he didn’t get the chance because his knees turned to jelly, his vision blurred completely, and darkness surrounded him as he fell onto the floor…

Chapter Twelve
    He felt hands on his shoulders. Heard muffling sounds. Voices. Distant voices, so loud, so out of focus.
    And then, a piercing light above him. A piercing light that made him want to close his eyes again. But he knew he had to keep his eyes open because there was somebody above. Somebody looking down on him.
    The pink hat. The antlers. The sheep’s fur.
    Where was he? What had happened?
    “McDone? Jesus, somebody get an ambulance or summat. He’s passed out. McDone? You hear me?”
    Brian could make out who it was above him now. The thick rimmed glasses, the gingering beard‌—‌who other than Stephen Molfer?
    But why was Molfer leaning over him, with a look of genuine concern on his frowning face? Why was he shouting for an ambulance?
    Brian edged himself further upright. The back of his head was aching, and his arms and legs were tingling. He blinked a few times. Blinked as he looked around, now the light was lowering in intensity. White tiled floors. People wearing uniforms looking at him with concern of their own.
    Shit. His cheeks started to heat up. His stomach sank.
    He’d been delivering the press conference. The conference about the mystery murdered girl down at Avenham Park. He’d been giving that conference, then he’d rushed out and he’d collapsed.
    A hand on his shoulder. Brian swung around.
    “Hey, hey,” Molfer said, moving his spindly hand away. “Just me. We’ve got an ambulance coming down to take a look‌—‌”
    “I’m okay,” Brian said, trying to stand on his wobbly legs. Doing so made his head dizzy. He tasted metal in his mouth. “I…‌I just need to‌—‌”
    “You need to do nothin’ other than get down to the hospital. You were in there giving that press appeal then you got all red and passed out.”
    Brian’s stomach sank further as he saw more officers up ahead looking at him with wide eyes. He was the centre of attention all of a sudden. “It’s okay. I…‌just need to get back to‌—‌to the case. Is there‌—‌is there anything from