Free Nameless Kill by Ryan Casey Page B

lump in his throat. He wanted to tell Stephen to fuck off. To tell him to keep his pointy, spotty nose out of his job.
    But as the jelly-like weakness worked up his legs and his arms tingled, he simply found himself saying, “Okay,” before walking away from his desk towards the exit door of the offices.
    “Get those doctors called,” Molfer shouted, as Brian pushed open the office door.
    Brian nodded.
    He’d go home. He’d get some rest. Milk some attention from Hannah.
    But the day he entered a doctor’s surgery was the day he gave up his pride altogether.

Chapter Thirteen
    Brian sat with his feet up on the sofa. He had his iPad on his knee, browsing the web like he always did while Hannah watched the television. He had his legs resting over her. Her warm hands tapped against his shins as the sound of some soap opera or another rattled from the speakers of the television. Hannah swore by her soap operas, whether it was Coronation Street, Eastenders or Emmerdale.
    Funny thing, Brian found. They were all pretty much identical.
    He tapped away on the iPad screen. First, he’d had a good look into the Yemi Moya case. There was a shitload on the Internet about him. Convicted in 2001 after the murder of eleven-year-old Harry Brydle. Also under investigation for exporting kidnapped kids out to Nigeria to sell to some Islamist group. Brian’s stomach turned as he scrolled down the words‌—‌the accusations. Child rapist, murderer, and trafficker. What a fucking horrible bloke. If he or his family didn’t in some way have something to do with the mystery dead girl down at Avenham Park, it’d be a miracle.
    “Oh gosh she’s been sleeping with him .”
    Brian looked up momentarily, then realised Hannah was interacting with the telly rather than him. Her eyes were wide. There was a slight smile of surprise on her face. Brian tutted and shook his head, returning to his iPad as the light of the luminous screens lit up the dark, curtained living room.
    Brian tasted a sharp rustiness in his mouth. Blood. His tongue stung, too. Must’ve bitten it when he’d collapsed after that press conference. Bloody idiot. He’d have to wear less to work tomorrow. He was just warm, that’s all it was. Heat exhaustion. All Molfer’s crap about watching his health‌—‌that was just classic Molfer. Classic Molfer trying to get him all riled up and scared. They might’ve got on these days, but rivalries died hard.
    “God I can’t believe she’d do that while she’s still with Kane.”
    Brian looked up again. Hannah was getting on his wick a bit with her interaction with this banal TV programme. What did she see in these soaps, anyway? She claimed she was reviewing them for a column in the Lancs Evening Post. Brian didn’t buy the LEP, but when he did, he swore he’d never seen a soaps column.
    Brian grumbled and turned over on the beige sofa, lines from the material sinking into his face. He swiped his finger across the greasy iPad screen and moved over to the Facebook app. He only had about six friends, so his news feed was filled with stupid reposted jokes from Harry at work, and idiotic cat videos from one of Hannah’s friends, Sally. Hannah insisted on Brian adding Sally, and all Sally did was “like” every photo Brian uploaded, whatever the fuck that meant.
    But mostly, Brian went on Facebook for one reason. And that reason was Davey.
    He looked down at the chat window and found Davey’s name, a little photo of him doing indoor skydiving in a blue suit as his profile picture. Beside him, there was a bloke. Vanessa’s new fella. This bloke was skydiving with Davey. Skydiving with Brian’s son.
    And judging by the smile on his Davey’s face, he was enjoying it.
    Brian gulped and looked away from Davey’s picture and back at his name in the chat window. His stomach tingled as soon as Brian saw the little green chat icon next to his name. He felt his arms tickle. His hands numb. He clicked on his name. Clicked, his