Bloodless Read online

  “I shouldn’t have blown up like that,” I said, trying to slow my breathing to get my heart rate back under control.

  “He was a total idiot, though,” Ram said. “Shame. I thought we were actually going to have something to do for a bit.”

  “I thought you didn’t care?” I said, as we rounded the corner and started retracing our steps towards the Tube station.

  “That was just blag,” Ram shrugged. “I’m bored. I figured at least we could get stuck in and get a good review on the website. What a waste of time.”

  “Maybe it’s not a total lost cause,” I said, fighting down the bitter disappointment at hearing him talk like that. I didn’t know he was happy underneath all the complaining. I thought he hated even the idea of the case. Knowing that he was looking forward to it makes the fact that I blew it even harder to bear. “We could still at least try. Maybe it will be a more interesting challenge than we thought.”

  “More like fucking impossible,” Ram shrugged. “Hey, why don’t we stop here and discuss it a bit more?”

  I looked up, to see the sign of the pub we had passed earlier this morning. I hesitated for a moment; I’d seen him looking earlier, knew he wanted to go in. I was supposed to be keeping an eye on him, making sure these bad habits didn’t become something more serious.

  But how could I stop him from doing what he wanted? It was my fault, I ruined everything, and I couldn’t deny him something that made him feel better about it.

  “Fine,” I said. “I’ll just get a tap water.”

  Ram laughed. “We’re not that hard up. Come on, I’m getting a cider.”

  “Just a water,” I said, feeling my insides clench at the thought. “Ask for a slice of lime.”

  “Aren’t you coming with me?”

  “No, I’ll just grab us a spot,” I said, pointing to the tables outside the door and heading over to claim one.

  I sat at the table on my own and closed my eyes for a moment. I really did screw this one up. My temper always gets the better of me. When I’m stressed – like now, worried about Ram and money and how we’re going to make all of this work – it’s so easy for me to fly off the handle. Out of control. I don’t know how to get myself back into check.

  “Here we are.”

  Ram’s voice made my eyelids flutter open in surprise. I must have drifted off into my own thoughts – I didn’t even realise it had been that long. He put down a glass of water in front of me, with a single slice of lime nestled amongst some ice cubes, and took a sip of his own amber-coloured drink.

  I fixed on the water, feeling my stomach clench again in hunger. It wanted something that I couldn’t give it. I took a long draught of the ice-cold liquid. Everything calmed and stilled inside of me. The temperature numbs everything, all the way down, and the lime provides me at least with some flavour. That way, I don’t feel so empty.

  “I guess we’d have more to go on if we’d been able to ask him some more questions,” Ram said, putting his glass down on the table and wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.

  I looked up at him, framed by the sun blazing above his head. It always amazes me how much he looks like some kind of Viking god, sent here in mortal form. Because, really, who could possibly have those blond good looks naturally?

  Then again, I’ve seen his parents, and they still both look like they could be models from the pages of a magazine. His mother literally was. She met his father at an afterparty when he was visiting the UK in the eighties, playing guitar with his band. With those genes, it’s no wonder he turned out to be probably the prettiest man I’ve ever seen.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, running my hands around the glass and collecting the freezing cold condensation on my fingers. “I know I screwed everything up. I let you down.”

  Ram shrugged. “It’s done,” he said. “The guy is clearly a prick. We have to work with what we have.”

  His casual dismissal only made my heart ache all the harder. I could never forgive myself for this. It was so good to see him getting back into the game. That cocky attitude and keen eye, ready to start solving the case. That is what he was built for. And I took it away. “We should lay out what we know and start from there,” I said, numbly, feeling like my throat was frozen by the ice.

  “Alright,” Ram sighed. I knew he hated the logical way I did things, but it’s how I think. I work through everything piece by piece. Ram would rather smash the pieces up with a hammer and see what falls out of them. I guess that’s why we worked so well together. Two opposing approaches, melded into one.

  “So, someone broke in through the conservatory in January and stole just a jacket, nothing else,” I started.

  “They probably got in through the back gardens,” Ram said. “I noticed there’s no fencing at the back of the conservatory – they likely share the space with the mews behind. Which means the perpetrator could have just walked through between the properties and in.”

  “Agreed,” I said. “There’s a small alleyway at the side of the mews house directly behind Xavier’s place. You walk down the mews, through the alleyway, and you have easy access to the conservatory. Probably why Xavier had the door put in, to give them a back way out of the house.”

  “Okay, so we have our entry route,” Ram said. “Of course, they could have come from literally fucking anywhere before that.”

  I made a mental scan of the area quickly, remembering the map I looked at before we set off as well as our walk from Baker Street station. “There’s Regents University a short walk away. Could have been kids, messing around, trying to impress each other.”

  Ram considered it, tilting his head from side to side. “Could be. It’s not an isolated area here, though. Regent’s Park, the zoo, Primrose Hill, Hyde Park. That’s another thing – a lot of big, expensive properties around here. So I think we can assume this wasn’t about money.”

  “But then why choose this house in particular? Maybe they know Xavier.”

  “If we run with your theory about uni kids, then maybe they just chose the first property that seemed easy to get into. It wasn’t exactly a mastermind plan – they just broke a window, then opened the door. But the police couldn’t see anything on CCTV?”

  I took another gulp of my water, holding it in my mouth for a moment before swallowing it down. “No, he mentioned that in his email. CCTV only covers the entrance to the mews and the main street. It was the early hours of the morning. There’s a shadowy figure who goes into the mews, but on the street he’s swallowed up by a group of people who were leaving a nearby pub. By the time he comes out, wearing the jacket that was stolen, he’s got his face covered. Next camera after that wasn’t working. All they can say is that it looks like a man, reasonably tall, probably local by the way he walks around.”

  “Hmm.” Ram drank the last of his cider down and smacked his lips. “Well, I’m getting another. Thirsty work. You want anything? We can stay for lunch.”

  “No,” I said, as quickly as I could. “Not for me. I’ve got to get on with some stuff back at the flat.”

  “Suit yourself,” Ram shrugged. “I’m staying.”

  He went back into the pub before I could protest. I didn’t want him to stay and drink alone, but what could I do? I couldn’t stay there. Not for lunch. It wasn’t possible. I got up, feeling strangely at a loss without the natural closure of saying goodbye, and walked for the station, hands shoved into my pockets.

  4 - Ram

  I wake up with a groan. What’s new? The hammering in my head certainly isn’t. The sun is shining brightly enough through the curtains that I can see everything, which is not a good thing. Peeking with one eye open against the headache, all I can make out in my immediate vicinity are two empty whisky bottles nestled next to me on the covers of the bed.

  I move just enough to feel how much my body aches, and then stop. Shit. What kind of fucking hell is it where something that makes you feel so good for the night makes you feel so bad in the morning?

&nbs
p; Or, well, afternoon, I guess. A glance at the clock next to the bed tells me it’s already past noon, so I should probably be getting up. Last night was a bit of a late one. Not that I really remember most of it, but I’m still wearing the leather jacket I went out in yesterday morning.

  Wasn’t there something to do with a dog…? I reach for my phone and thumb blearily through the apps until I find last night’s pictures. Oh, yes. A Jack Russell with a bandana came to visit the pub. I remember that being really quite hilarious at some point. Today it doesn’t seem as amusing. I delete the photos and shake my head.

  Scrolling down a little further, I hit the pictures from California. The last photos I took out there. For the last few days before we left, I wasn’t really in a picture-taking mood. There’s nothing like fleeing a country with as much as you could carry to stop you from feeling like a tourist. We had to get out of there. I just wish things could have been different – for Will’s sake.

  Alright. Time to get up. I stumble into the shower to get the grease out of my hair, pull on some clean clothes, and make it into the kitchen. I need something to eat to soak up the remnants of last night.

  Will is sitting in the living room, crouched over his laptop like a gargoyle. One day he’s going to have a completely curved spine and his eyes won’t be able to handle sunlight. Mind you, I’ve warned him.

  “Morning,” I joke, walking over to see what he’s doing.

  He looks up at me with the kind of disapproving look I haven’t seen on anyone since my father. “Afternoon,” he replies.

  He can judge me all he wants. He has deep, dark circles under his eyes, and his skin is even paler than usual. Has he even been sleeping or eating at all?

  “I’m going to make a bacon sandwich. Want one?” I ask.

  Will visibly shudders. “No,” he says, nodding to an empty plate on the coffee table. “I already ate.”

  I watch him for a moment. He’s already turned back to his screen, his fingers flying over the keyboard without pause. I wonder what he ate. A real lunch? Or just a piece of fruit or a few crackers? I can never tell. That’s if there even was anything on the plate in the first place.

  I shake my head and go back into the kitchen to start on my sandwich, going through the motions mechanically. Truth is, I’m worried about him. If we don’t find a good case to work on soon, he might just waste away. Maybe I should find something myself, instead of waiting for queries from our site.

  It’s not like I don’t appreciate the fact that he set it up. Coming out of that daze I was in after we flew here, getting out of the jet lag, and finding that he’d already set us up with our own private investigation business was amazing. I mean, all I’d managed to do was sleep. But things aren’t exactly paying off the way I think he expected.

  While the bacon sizzles in the pan, I scroll through the news app on my phone. Most of the usual rubbish. Politician caught lying, earthquake somewhere in Asia, celebrity accused of sexual harassment, currency value plunging. The mysterious murder of a currently-unnamed male victim puzzling police after a body was discovered in Highgate Wood.

  What was that last one? It looked interesting, at least. I open it up and start reading: a young jogger found the man after his dog started barking and wouldn’t come when called. Detectives say it’s too soon to comment. Rumours of some heavy injuries to the corpse, though they don’t specify what. More details when we get them, and so on.

  The bacon is ready, so I flip it onto my bread and pour on some ketchup. I sit down in the kitchen to eat. I know if I go through to the living room, Will is just going to give me evils about the smell of my sandwich. The grease hits the spot exactly, and I almost roll my eyes at how good it tastes. I’m beginning to feel like a human again.

  On that note, I pick up my phone and start scrolling through one of my hook-up apps. I need something exciting to do tonight. Or someone, at least. I scroll through a few pictures without much interest before I find a user nearby who looks somewhat promising. A cute boy band type with floppy, dark hair falling into his eyes. He looks like the kind of guy I could seriously ruin.

  I swipe right, and it only takes a few moments for him to send me a message. I smirk. I mean, obviously. Who wouldn’t be interested in the photo I have set as my profile?

  Want to meet up for a drink? I ask, getting right to the point.

  “Any more emails from potential clients?” I ask Will, wandering back through with my eyes on my phone.

  “No,” he says, sighing heavily. “It’s just going to take some time. It’s not like we have a reputation here anymore.”

  “That’s not my fault,” I say. It’s a knee-jerk response. I can’t help myself.

  “I didn’t say it was,” Will replies quietly. He sounds down. I probably shouldn’t have been so defensive. “But I guess this is just what happens when you build a career in another country and then abandon it.”

  “We didn’t…” I start, and break off, shaking my head. “What happened in San Francisco was… it’s not like we planned for it.”

  “No one plans for something like that,” he says. “No one gets up in the morning and decides to ruin everything with one stupid mistake.”

  I close my eyes briefly. The memories that I don’t want to relive are threatening somewhere just inside my subconscious. “We have enough money to get by, don’t we?” I ask, wanting to focus on the present instead.

  Will gives a tiny shake of his head which makes me jump, but I realise he’s just shaking the fine ends of his hair out of his eyes. He sweeps it to the side across his forehead with one hand. If he could just get some proper food and sleep more, he could look like a K-pop star. And be as popular as one with the ladies, no doubt.

  “We have enough for now,” he says. “It would just be nice to get a little more in the bank.”

  My phone beeps with a new message from the app.

  I finish work at 5. Meet 5.30?

  I grin, then nod at Will. “We’ll get there. I’m going to hit the gym for a couple of hours. Date tonight. You want to come?”

  Will gives me a lopsided look from under his fringe, which has almost fallen back in his eyes again as he leans over his keyboard. “To the gym, or on your date?”

  I laugh. This joker. We both know he’s not interested in either. Will hasn’t dated anyone at all for as long as I’ve known him, and if he tried to lift any kind of weight I’m pretty fucking sure he’d snap. “See you later,” I say.

  I grab my gym bag and head for the door. When I look back, a second before I leave, he’s still in the same position. Hunched over that keyboard, typing like the world is coming to an end.

  Five - Will

  I had barely moved by the time that Ram came home from his gym session. Sweaty and still out of breath. He likes to finish the workout with a run from the gym, rather than going out on his motorbike.

  I’ve always admired that about him. He can always push that little bit further, when everyone else would give up. Not to mention the fact that he somehow manages to look like a fitness model, rather than a wreck.

  That’s not something I’ve ever achieved. Last time I went to the gym I came home looking like I’d been through a three-day ordeal. Red, horrendously sweaty, and in need of an oxygen tank. It wasn’t my finest hour.

  Ram was in his room for perhaps thirty minutes before he emerged again. Transformed into some kind of rock god, like the lead singer of a band. He was wearing his leather jacket, of course, and tight skinny jeans that showed off every inch of the calves he had just been working on.

  Most guys that look like Ram would go too far. They would insist on wearing black eyeliner to accentuate their eyes. Or they would wear earrings and delicate gold chains. Or go full caricature. But Ram knows how to look good, and he stops there.

  He looked amazing. I felt a twinge of jealousy in my gut. Whoever he was meeting was going to have no chance at all. They would just have to fall for him immediately.

  “I’ll be back l
ater,” Ram said at the door, then turned around with a twinkle in his eye. “Or maybe tomorrow.”

  I nodded, looking back at my computer screen deliberately. “Sure. See you later,” I said, pretending not to care at all about what he said.

  The sound of the door closing behind him made me flinch. I hate it when he goes out and leaves me alone. At the same time, it’s necessary. If he never went out, then I wouldn’t get the time alone to earn an income. God knows one of us has to.

  I tried to focus on the screen, my hands poised in mid-air over the keyboard. I had been mid-flow when he came out of his room. Now, the wind had completely dropped from my sails. Whatever wild idea I’d had when I started this sentence, I no longer had any clue what it was.

  I sighed, leaned back on the sofa, and felt my spine creaking in protest. I had been hunched over for too long. My fingers felt cramped and stiff, like claws. A whole day of typing will do that to you. It was time to take a break.

  I put the laptop down on the coffee table and stared at it for a moment longer. As if that would help. I had a deadline in a couple of weeks for my latest novel. And I was still twenty thousand words short.

  Not that it needed to be the next Pulitzer Prize winner. I write what can best be described as softcore porn, mostly enjoyed by lonely housewives and horny teenagers. All soft moans this and nibbling on ears that. Most of it is fairly gross, if I’m honest. I especially hated writing straight romances. But they paid the bills, and that was what we needed more than anything.

  I got up and stretched, feeling all my muscles slowly loosening up. Of course, Ram didn’t know anything about my career as a prolific romance novelist. He probably hadn’t even heard of BJ Wong (my pseudonym), despite the fact that my ebooks were quickly gaining bestseller status one after the other.

  It had just started as something silly to make a bit of extra money, back when we were studying. Somehow it became something serious. The only really serious way we had ever managed to stay afloat since we first decided to get a flat together to save on bills.