seconds as these words sunk in and he thought about their significance. Richards would have no reason to whisper in such a way when Kelser left the room unless these words were specifically not for his ears.
'Police... testify.'
The realisation hit hard and Kelser felt his jaw tighten. Richards was a cop. But how could this be? He had been recommended to Hellam by a trusted source. Kelser thought for a moment and tried to comprehend the situation but quickly shrugged it off. There was no point in asking questions of 'why', the fact was that Richards was an undercover police officer and he appeared to be trying to coerce Deacon into testifying against Hellam. That could be the only reason for this conspiratorial whispering.
He gathered himself and tried to relax. He wasn't sure how he would play this yet, but decided to not use the information straight away. He needed time to think. After moving the towel rail loudly and making several hard footsteps, he opened the door and returned to the front room. He noticed the sudden movement from both men as he entered but acted as if he wasn't paying attention.
"You ready?" Kelser asked, gesturing towards the door.
Richards nodded then went round behind Deacon and cut the cable ties from his wrists. Deacon arched his spine backwards as if to stretch through the pain in his body. He put a hand to his nose and wiped some of the blood away as the two men left.
Chapter 8
Lewis
The whiskey bottle slipped from between Lewis's fingers, into his lap and the dark liquid trickled gently over his leg. He woke with a start.
"Wha... oh shit," he said, dragging his alcohol soaked brain from its slumber. He picked up the half-empty bottle and placed it on the table by his chair with a clunk then leaned forward and clutched his head between his hands. It was throbbing and, after rubbing his eyes, he looked up at the wall clock. It was
4:17am
; he had been asleep for over an hour. The whiskey soaked through his jogging bottoms and Lewis stared down at the wet patch on his leg. "Shit," he repeated.
He used the arm of the chair to steady himself as he got to his feet and staggered into the kitchen, bumping his hip into the work surface as he entered. He tore off several sheets of kitchen roll and dabbed his leg for several minutes. He cleared his throat as he dropped the sodden paper into the bin and returned to his chair.
His eyelids felt heavy, he allowed them to fall together for a few seconds. Even with his eyes closed, he could feel the room spinning around him and a sudden nausea speared his stomach. Hitting his knee on the coffee table, Lewis lunged towards the bathroom, crashing into the door frame as he went, and threw up into the toilet. He retched for several minutes, feeling the familiar burning in the back of his throat. When he had finished, he slumped down on the floor by the toilet and began to sob.
A feeling of hopelessness had engulfed him over the past two days. He hadn't left his flat during that time and had barely eaten; the only thing passing his lips being alcohol. He was tormented by the thoughts that wouldn't leave him. The unanswered questions and the doubts about how Hannah died were eating him from the inside. But most of all, he missed her and couldn't stop thinking about every moment they had spent together.
Then there was the morning that was rapidly approaching and what that morning held. Lewis wasn't sure how he would be able to even attend Hannah's funeral, but he knew he would - he had to.
He picked himself up, wiped the tears from his cheek with the back of his hand, and shuffled over to the sink. He washed his face and drank some water then went out into the hall. He glanced at the bottle of whiskey and contemplated drinking some more before turning away and stumbling into his bedroom. The soft duvet cushioned his fall as he collapsed onto his bed and he fell asleep almost instantly.
***
Kelly shook her head as she
'Police... testify.'
The realisation hit hard and Kelser felt his jaw tighten. Richards was a cop. But how could this be? He had been recommended to Hellam by a trusted source. Kelser thought for a moment and tried to comprehend the situation but quickly shrugged it off. There was no point in asking questions of 'why', the fact was that Richards was an undercover police officer and he appeared to be trying to coerce Deacon into testifying against Hellam. That could be the only reason for this conspiratorial whispering.
He gathered himself and tried to relax. He wasn't sure how he would play this yet, but decided to not use the information straight away. He needed time to think. After moving the towel rail loudly and making several hard footsteps, he opened the door and returned to the front room. He noticed the sudden movement from both men as he entered but acted as if he wasn't paying attention.
"You ready?" Kelser asked, gesturing towards the door.
Richards nodded then went round behind Deacon and cut the cable ties from his wrists. Deacon arched his spine backwards as if to stretch through the pain in his body. He put a hand to his nose and wiped some of the blood away as the two men left.
Chapter 8
Lewis
The whiskey bottle slipped from between Lewis's fingers, into his lap and the dark liquid trickled gently over his leg. He woke with a start.
"Wha... oh shit," he said, dragging his alcohol soaked brain from its slumber. He picked up the half-empty bottle and placed it on the table by his chair with a clunk then leaned forward and clutched his head between his hands. It was throbbing and, after rubbing his eyes, he looked up at the wall clock. It was
4:17am
; he had been asleep for over an hour. The whiskey soaked through his jogging bottoms and Lewis stared down at the wet patch on his leg. "Shit," he repeated.
He used the arm of the chair to steady himself as he got to his feet and staggered into the kitchen, bumping his hip into the work surface as he entered. He tore off several sheets of kitchen roll and dabbed his leg for several minutes. He cleared his throat as he dropped the sodden paper into the bin and returned to his chair.
His eyelids felt heavy, he allowed them to fall together for a few seconds. Even with his eyes closed, he could feel the room spinning around him and a sudden nausea speared his stomach. Hitting his knee on the coffee table, Lewis lunged towards the bathroom, crashing into the door frame as he went, and threw up into the toilet. He retched for several minutes, feeling the familiar burning in the back of his throat. When he had finished, he slumped down on the floor by the toilet and began to sob.
A feeling of hopelessness had engulfed him over the past two days. He hadn't left his flat during that time and had barely eaten; the only thing passing his lips being alcohol. He was tormented by the thoughts that wouldn't leave him. The unanswered questions and the doubts about how Hannah died were eating him from the inside. But most of all, he missed her and couldn't stop thinking about every moment they had spent together.
Then there was the morning that was rapidly approaching and what that morning held. Lewis wasn't sure how he would be able to even attend Hannah's funeral, but he knew he would - he had to.
He picked himself up, wiped the tears from his cheek with the back of his hand, and shuffled over to the sink. He washed his face and drank some water then went out into the hall. He glanced at the bottle of whiskey and contemplated drinking some more before turning away and stumbling into his bedroom. The soft duvet cushioned his fall as he collapsed onto his bed and he fell asleep almost instantly.
***
Kelly shook her head as she
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