Laura fidgeted with her empty cup, peeling the shiny plastic into sharp strips.
“What can I do?” she asked eventually. “I don’t have any power.”
“I suppose not.” Flipp slumped back, turning her face to the wall.
“Once this bunch of muppets have finished pissing about, we go straight back to London,” Rhodes vowed, still pacing. “Straight back home, for a proper reunion, eh, Phil? A tender moment, husband and wife together again.”
“That’s not the way I’d describe rape and false imprisonment, you delusional freak.”
“She’s joking,” Rhodes told Laura. “That’s her sense of humour. Sick. You see what I have to put up with. But I do it ’cause I love her.”
“Aww,” said Laura mechanically.
Suddenly a flurry of detectives burst through the room, towards the interview suite where Rocky was being held.
“What’s happening?” Rhodes wanted to know, but they ignored him. He turned to the desk sergeant, who was pretending not to eavesdrop. “Cordwainer must be dead. Must be a murder rap now. I’ll sort it out for you, Phil. You’ll be okay. It was self-defence. I told them that. You’ll get bail.”
“Pete, stop it. Just tell the truth.”
Flipp leaped to her feet as Rocky emerged from the interview room flanked by police officers.
“What’s happening? Are you okay?”
He nodded and tried to stand by her, but Rhodes leaped between them, until one of the detectives stepped in front of him and held up a hand.
“Peter Rhodes, I’m arresting you for attempted murder, assault, false imprisonment and perverting the course of justice.”
Flipp clapped her hands and whooped, flinging herself into Rocky’s arms so hard that he staggered.
“What the fuck?” bellowed Rhodes, over the rest of the spiel. “You can’t do this. You just can’t do this.”
Rocky spoke quietly into Flipp’s ear. “They had a statement from Cordwainer—he told them Rhodes pulled the trigger, and he was the one that knocked me out. We’re cleared. We’re free.”
Flipp gripped the lapels of Rocky’s leather jacket, digging her nails in hard.
“It can’t be true. I can’t believe it.”
“Believe it, darling. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
Chapter Twelve
“You’ve seen the news, I take it?” Laura threw the morning’s Gazette down on the breakfast table, where Jeremy sat, head in hands, staring at a piece of cold toast.
“Of course I’ve seen it.” He took in the headline—Dockside Drama: Local Businessman Critical After Gun Battle—and replaced his forehead in miserable palms.
“The inside. Michelle Roberts taking everything back.”
“Yes. I know,” Jeremy wailed. “What I don’t know is what the hell I’m going to say to my editor. He’s called me in for a meeting later. He is going to want to throttle me with my own intestines. I’ll be lucky if I come back alive, let alone in gainful employment.”
Laura put massaging hands on Jeremy’s shoulders. “You’ll be all right, Jez. You were just using your journalistic instincts. The editor will understand. You’re a brilliant investigator.”
“Cordwainer will sue for millions.”
“If he lives.”
“Yeah. I suppose there’s always that silver lining. Though when the only thing you’re holding out hope for is a man’s death, things aren’t looking great, are they?”
“It’s not your fault, Jeremy. It’s that crazy bitch from the hotel. You weren’t to know she’d drop you in it. Though I have to say, she did strike me as a little…volatile.”