Free Tumbledown by Cari Hunter

uncertain and very tired. “I don’t know,” she said.
    The admission hung between them, its implications too deep for Sarah to fathom after so little sleep and so much stress. Hand in hand, they sat in silence. It was Alex who eventually spoke.
    “Maybe we should call Castillo.”

Chapter Five

    Alex eyed the small pink pills with disdain.
    “Come on. Down the hatch,” Sarah said. Her hand was cool from the water, her touch light against Alex’s aching head, and Alex took the first pill just to prolong the moment. It didn’t make anything worse so she chased the second down with a gulp of water.
    “Oh bugger,” Sarah muttered. The advice leaflet from the medication was on the bed, spread out in front of her.
    “What? Am I allergic?” Alex might have felt alarmed, had she not been so damn tired.
    “No. Well, I don’t think so.” Sarah studied her, her expression quizzical as she tried to remember. “I thought beetroot was the only thing you were allergic to.”
    “Those pills were awful pink.”
    The worry on Sarah’s face softened as she smiled. “Unlikely to be beetroot flavored, though.” Her finger rested on a section of the leaflet. “It’s this warning: ‘may cause drowsiness.’”
    She must have had a point to make, but Alex couldn’t discern it. Blinking at her, she tried not to yawn. “That gonna be a problem?”
    “We need to phone Castillo.” Sarah sounded as if she were speaking to a child: slow, careful, ensuring that Alex could follow her. “That means I need to know what happened last night, and everything you have on Emerson, because I don’t think you’re going to be in a fit state to speak to anyone in an official capacity.”
    Alex nodded in a manner she hoped was serious, but found she had concerns of a far more pressing nature. “Can I have your toast?”
    Sarah swore beneath her breath, but passed the spare piece of toast over before taking a notepad and pen from the bedside table.
    “Scott Emerson,” she said, flipping the pad to a blank page. “Go.”
    “He doesn’t like me,” Alex ventured. For some reason, that made her feel incredibly tearful, and chewing the toast was the only thing keeping her bottom lip from quivering. “I don’t know why. He gives me all the crappy jobs to do.”
    Sarah made a “carry on” motion with her hand; she hadn’t written anything down yet. “Do you know anything that might help Castillo look into his background?” she said. “His home address? Is he married?”
    “He lives out on Pike Road, right up the top end. I think he’s single. There was cake in February.” Something gave a twinge in Alex’s injured wrist and she instantly forgot why her last point had been salient. “There was cake in February.” She looked up at Sarah helplessly. “I can’t…”
    “Think his birthday might be in February?” Sarah asked gently.
    “I guess. I don’t remember the day, but he’s thirty.”
    The notepad page was half-full of scribbles.
    “You’re doing fabulously,” Sarah assured her. “Does he have any distinguishing marks? Tattoos?”
    “Not that I’ve noticed.” Since being held hostage by Deakin’s gang of racist thugs, they had done their research. Tattoos were a notable feature of many white supremacist groups, but Emerson would have to have been insane to display any such markings, given his choice of profession. “I’ve never heard him say anything out of line, either,” she said. “He seems like a decent officer, metip, meticul…” She stumbled over the word, her teeth and tongue getting in each other’s way.
    “Meticulous?”
    “Yes. And last night, the look on his face—Sarah, he looked terrible.”
    Sarah paused in her writing, the pen hovering over the page. “Terrible because you were hurt or terrible because he was in deep shit and you weren’t actually dead?” She made no attempt to temper her bitterness, and there was a flush creeping upward from her chest to her neck.
    Alex closed her