Falling: A Sexy Alpha Romance Collection

I knock on his door and wait. A good few minutes pass with no answer, so I knock again, this time a little louder.

Another few minutes lapse before the door is slowly pulled open. A hunched-over elderly man squints at me. “What?” he barks.

I jump a little, mostly from my

nerves rather than from his tone. “Ah, Mr Beacon?”

“Yes. Who’s asking?” He speaks so loud, which makes me think he’s a little deaf.

I take a deep breath and steady myself. “My name is Callie St James and I’m investigating the Jolene Hardy murder case. Would you have a few minutes to spare so I can ask you some questions?”

He scowls. “I’ve already told the police everything I know. Fat lot of good that did because those wankers didn’t even listen. Shot me down in court was all they did.”

My lips twitch at his language. “I know, and that’s the reason I’d like to talk with you. I’m looking into Jolene’s innocence.”

“Of course she’s innocent,” he barks. His firm belief encourages me to push harder.

I take a step forward as if my entry into his house is assured. “Please just give me a few moments of your time so I can go over it again with you. I’m going to be speaking with Jolene tomorrow, so I’d really appreciate your time today.”

I’m pretty sure it’s my last statement about talking with Jolene that does it. He shuffles back and lets me in. I take a few steps inside and wait for him to close the door and lead me into his lounge room where we both take a seat. His house is stuffy. It has that closed-up smell that my grandma’s home used to have. I draw my breaths sparingly—I don’t love this smell or the memories of my childhood they bring.

“What do you want to know, girly?” He’s still squinting at me.

“How close were you to Jolene?”

“I lived next door to them for just over a year. In that time, she visited me a few times a week to make sure I was okay. She often took my clothes to be dry-cleaned and usually picked up groceries for me once a week, sometimes more. Oh, and my scripts from the chemist—she picked them up, too. I didn’t know her so well, but she always made sure I had what I needed.”

Totally not what I was expecting.

I jot my notes down fast.

“Did you ever see her with her mother?”

He nods. “Her mother visited her every couple of weeks, sometimes more. I know this because my favourite spot in my house was my sunroom and I sat there every day observing the comings and goings of my neighbourhood. You see some interesting stuff when you watch people.”

“What did you see happen between Jolene and her mother?”

“A lot of arguing. Her mother was mean to her. And hounded her for money a lot. I asked Jolene about that one day and she said she hated to say no to her mother, even though she knew most of the money would be going towards drink and gambling. Problem was Jolene didn’t work, so she had to sneak the money from her husband without him knowing.”

“Do you know why she didn’t work? Was it so she could look after their son?” I’m not even sure this question is relevant, but I’m desperate to know everything about her.

He scoffs. “No, that woman didn’t have much of a maternal bone in her body. She loved her son as much as she knew how to. I never saw her treat him wrong, but she didn’t know much about mothering. Figures, with a mother like hers. Reason she didn’t have a job, as best I can work out, is she didn’t have the confidence to get one. Jolene didn’t have an ounce of self-belief.”

Everything he’s saying is matching up to what Marion told me about Jolene.

I cock my head. “How did you two meet? From what you’re saying, Jolene didn’t know how to care for people, but by the sound of it, she cared for you.”

“She fell over in her driveway one day. I saw the whole thing. When she didn’t get up, I went to help her. Called an ambulance for her and checked in on her a few times after. Seems she appreciated that because that was when she started looking in on me.” He leans forward. “That’s how I know for sure it was Jolene I saw getting in her car that night of the murder.”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“When she fell, she hurt her leg real bad. Had a slight limp afterwards. Didn’t affect her all the time, but when she was in pain, she limped. The night of the murder, the woman getting in the car parked in her driveway had the same limp. The streetlight was bright and I know it was Jolene I saw. And I know what time it was by what was on the TV.”

“That wasn’t in my notes.”

He shrugs. “The damn lawyers only wanted to talk about my eyesight at the trial. The prosecution paraded experts who tried to prove me wrong, focusing on my eye condition. I’m not so sure Jolene had the best lawyer out there. She didn’t seem able to bring the limp to the forefront of anyone’s mind. The prosecution was like a dog with a bone, all over the problems with my eyesight—all she seemed to do was spend her time arguing over that rather than changing the direction of the testimony.”

He might be old, but his mental faculties are all still there. And I’m inclined to give his information more weight than the prosecution did. He doesn’t beat around the bush, and he calls it as he sees it. Most importantly, he didn’t wear rose-coloured glasses where Jolene was concerned. Mr Beacon had no reason to lie or to be inclined to give false evidence. He truly believes in Jolene’s innocence.