Lying Beside You (Cyrus Haven #3)(18)

Pros: I’m not afraid of commitment. I love cooking. And my mum is the coolest person I know.

Cons: I don’t like doing the dishes, or wearing white shirts when I eat, or ordering wine at restaurants because I know nothing about wine.

My motto: Be all in or be all out. There’s no halfway.



There are two more photographs, casual shots designed to make him look like a relaxed, carefree, all-round nice guy, and a world traveller. In one he’s pictured riding an electric scooter in Italy, and another shows him in Egypt, perched on a camel with the Sphinx in the background.

‘He lives in West Bridgford,’ says Prime Time, who has pulled up a street-view image of the house. Detached. Two storeys. A garage to one side.

Monroe has been typing. ‘No rap sheet, but two years ago a woman alleged that Foley sexually assaulted her and held her against her will.’

‘Was he charged?’

‘She got cold feet and refused to sign a statement.’

Lenny studies the satellite images. ‘Maya could be inside the house or the garage.’

‘We don’t have enough for a warrant,’ says Hoyle.

‘What about a gas leak? Probable cause,’ asks Edgar.

‘Any judge will see through that,’ says Hoyle.

‘Maya’s safety is more important than a conviction,’ says Lenny.

‘Rohan Kirk might not agree,’ says Hoyle. He addresses the task force. ‘I want eyes on the house, around the clock, and I want Foley followed. We stick to him like goosegrass.’

‘For how long?’ I ask.

‘Twenty-four hours. If Foley doesn’t come forward, we’ll know he has something to hide.’ Hoyle claps his hands together. ‘Let’s get to work. Remember the ABC of being a detective. Assume nothing. Believe no one. Check everything.’





11


Evie


My English teacher, Mr Joubert, has a thick French accent and speaks through his nose, making him sound condescending even when he’s calling the class roll.

‘Cheryl Agostino?’

‘Here.’

‘Aaron Bailey.’

‘Here.’

‘Evie Cormac.’

‘Yeah.’

He never looks up from his tablet, which means that anybody could answer. Half the class could be missing. He doesn’t care. On our first day, he gave us a speech about treating us like adults not children, and that he wouldn’t mollycoddle us. I still don’t know what that word means.

Tuesday morning and I have two classes today, English and maths. I prefer numbers because letters sometimes get jumbled and start to move when I read them. Mr Joubert knows that I don’t have the required GCSEs to be studying at Nottingham College and he probably thinks my father is somebody famous or influential, who bribed the admissions officer to let me in. I don’t really care. If it were down to me, I wouldn’t bother with A-levels or higher education. I’m only here because of Cyrus.

There are about twenty of us in class today, a chocolate box of different ethnicities and colours. We’re discussing one of our set texts, Othello. I don’t understand Shakespeare, particularly the old-style language and the weird couplets and iambic penta-whatnots. The Bard couldn’t rhyme for shit.

Everybody else is crowing about poor old Othello and what a tragedy it is; and how it’s a play about human nature and relationships and sexual jealousy. I’ve been listening for twenty minutes, saying nothing, checking the time on my phone.

‘What bollocks!’ I mutter under my breath.

‘Did you have something to say?’ asks Mr Joubert.

I glance up and discover the entire class are staring at me.

‘No.’

‘Did you agree with Aaron?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’ He opens his arms. ‘Share your opinion with us.’

‘I’d rather not.’

‘Class participation is a requirement.’

I roll my eyes and stare at the ceiling, knowing this is a mistake.

‘Othello isn’t honourable, or tragic,’ I say. ‘The whole play is nothing but toxic masculinity masquerading as art.’

‘I think you’re being a little harsh,’ says Mr Joubert.

‘Fine. I’ll shut up.’

‘No. I respect your opinion,’ he says, lying through his arse. ‘But the definition of a tragic hero is someone who makes a bad judgement that leads to his own destruction. As Aristotle said, tragic heroes are “doomed from the start”.’

‘Othello was dumber than a box of rocks,’ I say.

Tianna gives me a filthy look. I scratch my nose, flashing her the finger.

She complains. Mr Joubert ignores her.

‘Othello was an outsider, an outcast, who was manipulated by others,’ he argues.

Paulo agrees. ‘That’s why Desdemona forgave him before she died. She understood his tragic flaws.’

‘Dumb cow,’ I say. ‘They deserved each other.’

I must have piqued Mr Joubert’s interest because he wants me to continue.

‘I mean, she gets stabbed by her jealous husband and, as she’s bleeding out, she wakes up and tells everybody that she did it to herself. She’s dying and she’s still protecting him. What does she want – a medal?’