Needing (4 page)

As they approached the reception desk, Langham gently cleared his throat. He leaned on the polished wood and asked to see the manager, flashing his badge to a startled receptionist, who nodded and lifted the phone handset to her ear. Oliver left him to it, idly glancing around to get a feel for the place. The glass walls appeared clear, nothing like the blue they were outside. Leather sofas dotted the area, black and plush, and if Oliver wasn’t here for any reason but to crash out, he’d climb on one of them and sleep the sleep of the dead. He mentally cursed himself for his turn of phrase and eyed the many potted plants, tall ferns and coconut palms, the leaves lush enough to hide a person. This outfit raked in the money, that was for sure.

“Uh, Oliver?”

He turned at the sound of Langham’s voice and smiled as he walked towards him. “Are we off to do some questioning, then?”

“Um, we would be if Louise had worked here and we had any tangible evidence something was amiss here.”

“What?”

“She never worked here, Oliver.”

“But she said—”

“I know what she said, but there isn’t any record of her ever being here. Are you sure she said she actually worked
here?
”

Oliver thought back. Crap. “Well, no. She said she was killed because of something to do with work, then mentioned PrivoLabs. Shit. Sorry.” Something had been way off ever since Louise had woken him with the call. His lack of concentration. Missing crucial information, like whether cars were parked on the side of the damn road. And now there was another misdemeanour to add to his growing list. He’d misinterpreted what Louise had said, bringing them out on a trip they needn’t have made.

To make himself feel better, he said, “Can’t we question the manager anyway?” When Langham didn’t answer, he went on with, “Well, didn’t you check my information first? Didn’t Shields run her name through the database and confirm where she worked?”

“No. Your information is usually correct so we didn’t—”

“Ah. Right. My fault. My fuck-up is going to go down
so
well with Shields. He’ll gloat like the bastard he is.”

“Fuck Shields.”

“No thanks.”

Oliver stormed out of the building, angry with himself and feeling as though he was losing his touch. It wouldn’t be so bad if he didn’t have to deal with this kind of thing—the voices, the messages—but if he were losing his grip, it would have to wait until he’d helped solve this case. Maybe he just needed sleep. A solid few hours where he wasn’t interrupted.

Langham came up behind him and laid a hand on his back. The heat from his touch comforted Oliver, and he wanted nothing more than to bury his face in the crook of Langham’s neck and have all this go away. He’d hugged Oliver in the past, all muscled arms and firm chest, and it had felt like nothing else existed except them. He’d entertained the idea of telling him how he felt about him, but it would only complicate things. What if Langham didn’t feel the same? There would be tension between them, totally different to the sexual kind that simmered now, and Oliver couldn’t handle ruining what they had, working by his side knowing Langham was aware he thought about him in
that
way.

“Listen, don’t beat yourself up,” Langham said. “Shit happens.”

“Yeah, it usually does to me, but not like this.”

“Anything on your mind?” He steered Oliver towards his car and opened the passenger door, ushering him inside.

Oliver stared up at him from the seat. “That’s a stupid question, Langham. One of the worst you’ve come out with. There’s
always
something on my mind.”

He smiled. “Not like that. Not the voices. I mean worries. Shit you need to talk about.”

“What, like me fucking up? No, I don’t want to talk about that.” He stared out of the windshield, jaw rigid and hands bunched into fists in his lap. “You gonna stand there staring at me for much longer? I mean, it’s cold out, and the door being open? You’re letting in a draught.”

Langham huffed out a breath. “You are one infuriating, irritating little—”

“Yeah, yeah. Get it all out. Purge your feelings. Let me know how you
really
feel, why don’t you.” Oliver knew he was pushing him, but he could never help himself. It was fun, something they just
did
to one another, and when the car door slammed and Langham strode around the front of the car, Oliver let out his tension in a burst of laughter.

Langham climbed inside the car then started the engine. “Glad you find it funny.”

“Of course I do. So would you if the boot was on the other foot.”

“Bitch.”

“Bastard.”

Langham peeled away from the kerb, chuckling himself. “You’re too hard on yourself, you know that?”

“Yep.”

“Don’t you think you ought to loosen up?”

“Why, do you?”

“Maybe.”

“Oh, right. So not only am I infuriating and irritating, I’m a tight-arse. Great if some guy winds up with me and likes a tight hole, but… You know what, you have the most charming way of saying things.”

“As do you.”

“So, what next?”

“We go back to the station and find out where the victim—”

“Louise.”

“The
victim
worked. Then we go from there.”

“Why don’t you ever call them by their names?” Oliver looked across at him, noting his firm jaw, the way a muscle flicked beneath his skin.

“Because then it becomes personal. I don’t do personal.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Oliver muttered.

Langham glanced at him then returned his attention to the road. “You got something you need to say?”

“Nope.”

“Oh, right. I could have sworn you did.”

“Nope.”

Langham smiled and drew to a stop at a red light. “Listen, you know I care about you, don’t you?”

He’d never said it outright before, and Oliver took a few seconds to digest what he’d said. He could mean anything—that he cared for him as a friend, a colleague. “Yes.”

“And friends confide in one another, don’t they?”

“Yes.”

“So if you ever need to confide—”

“Yep, I know.”

“Good, just so you do.”

They spent the remainder of the journey in silence, Oliver fighting the urge to have a tantrum. It was insane, wasn’t it? To have a fit because Langham thought of him as just a friend? Just because Oliver wanted more, because he’d stupidly allowed himself to grow attached to him in the last six months, it didn’t mean… Didn’t mean shit.

As soon as the car drew to a stop, Oliver hauled arse, striding towards the station with purpose. He’d help solve this case then inspect his feelings later. This wasn’t the time to get all worked up over something he couldn’t change. He had a job to do, and as soon as Louise contacted him again, they’d need to be ready. He shoved the door open then made his way towards Langham’s office, knowing the detective wouldn’t be far behind. There, he slumped into Langham’s chair and plonked his feet on the desk, crossing his legs at the ankles. His head itched, and he snatched off his hat, tossing it across the room and watching it fall to the floor.

Langham walked in and eyed him from the doorway. “Why do you always insist on doing that?”

“Doing what?” he asked, pretending to pick at a hangnail.

“Sitting in my chair with your feet on my desk. Look, you’re scrunching my papers.”

“Oh, really? I hadn’t noticed. Sorry about that.”

Oliver planted his feet on the floor and scooted the chair across the room, picking up his hat so he had something to occupy his hands. Langham was suddenly too close. Being in the room with him, his presence overwhelming, his scent doing things to Oliver it shouldn’t be doing. Like making him wish he was in his arms, breathing it in with his head resting on Langham’s shoulder.

“He’s sweet, I’ll give you that.”

Oliver sat upright, startled that Louise had decided to contact him now. “Hey, Louise. You all right?” He noted Langham’s raised eyebrows and put a finger to his lips so he’d remain quiet.

“I’m okay.”

“So, we went to PrivoLabs and found out you didn’t work there. You want to tell me where you did work?” Oliver closed his eyes, bouncing his heels on the floor and hoping for a positive answer.

“He said—”

“I know, love, but it doesn’t matter what you tell me now. Your son is safe.”

“He is?”

“Yes. He’s living with your mother.”

“My mother? Oh no…not her…”

“What’s up with that? You two not get along? She’s all your son has now, he has nowhere else to go. We’ve moved them both to a secure location. He won’t find them.”

“Oh, God.”

“That’s all right. You’re welcome.” He couldn’t help his sarcasm.

“He’ll know she has him.”

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about that. He won’t find them. So, do you think you can tell me what you know?”

“I’d been filing and a piece of paper fell out. I shouldn’t have looked, should have just put it back inside the file, but I held about three and wasn’t sure which one it came from. So I read it and saw…”

Oliver waited a few beats. Louise didn’t continue, so he prompted, “Saw…?”

“They’re doing experiments.”

“Who are?”

“PrivoLabs.”

“Yep, that’s what they do, right?”

“Yes, but these ones… What I read were notes. They probably weren’t even meant to be in the file. Handwritten. Doodles.”

“So what are they doing? What tests are they?”

“They’re drugging children. Older youths.”

Oliver jumped up from the chair and began to pace. Langham grabbed a notebook and pen from his desk and held them out to him, but he waved them away. “With what?” His heart pattered fast and he felt sick to his stomach.

“With this stuff. Like… God, you’re not going to believe me. She didn’t…”

“Try me.”

“With this stuff to make them do things.”

“Do things?”

“Yes. Bad things. They want to see whether the drugs make the children kill. I never thought… I never suspected…”

“What?” Oliver stilled, bile in his throat and a sour feeling in his gut. This kind of shit didn’t happen, did it? Not for real.

“He’s taken the drugs too. The man who…”

“Shit. You got a name?”

“I don’t know his name.”

“What about the name of the person who wrote the notes.”

“There wasn’t one.”

“So how did anyone find out what you knew?”

“I gave the note to my boss.”

“And what happened then?”

“He started an investigation. Got PrivoLabs’ attention with it. He got fired.”

“What’s his name?”

“Mr Reynolds. Mark Reynolds.”

“Right, thank you. Anything else you can remember?”

“He…ah, he came to my house.”

“Who, Reynolds?”

“No, the man. The man who…”

“Right.”

“He told me I had to go with him, leave my son asleep. And he said if I didn’t, he’d give my son that stuff. The sugar strands.”

“Oh, Jesus. Okay. Do you want to talk about what he did to you?”

“Not really.”

“But can you at least tell me something about him so we can catch this son of a bitch?”

“He was tall. Very tall. Big hands. He smelt…”

“What of?”

“Musty clothing. Like he lived in a dirty place.”

“What did he look like?”

“I don’t know. He wore a mask and a wig.”

So it
was
that fucker who had tried to run Oliver off the road. If he’d been given shit to make him kill, it explained why he’d been intent on crashing into Oliver’s car. Why he’d killed Louise—although he’d clearly had another reason for getting rid of her. Louise had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, discovering something she shouldn’t have—and look where it had got her. It made Oliver wonder about the virtues of being honest and doing the right thing. Sometimes it was best to just keep your goddamn mouth shut.

“I wish I had.”

“Sorry, Louise. I didn’t mean for you to hear that.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

“I’m tired. This is hard work.”

“I know, love. Can you try for one last bit of information for me? Something about him that stands out? Louise? Louise, are you there?” Oliver stood still, straining to hear a response, a whisper, anything. Silence. “Fuck it!”

“Has she gone?” Langham moved as though to walk towards him then changed his mind.

“Yes. Damn it, yes!” Oliver flopped back into the chair, rage bubbling inside him over thoughts of the hateful things people did to others. Killing. Hurting. What the hell was
wrong
with people? Why did they feel the need to
do
shit like that?

“So, when you’re ready…” Langham took a folding chair from against the wall and set it up behind his desk. He rested his elbows on his blotter, steepled his long fingers and propped his chin on the tips.

“Give me a second.” Oliver jammed his fingers in his hair. “I need to remember everything she said. I don’t need another fuck-up on my résumé.”

Langham failed at stifling a sigh.

“You got a problem with that?” Oliver snapped.

“No, but it seems you do.”

“You’re damn right I do. I don’t
do
wrong, okay? I don’t
do
fucking up.”

“I know, and you don’t usually, so cut yourself a damn break, will you? Concentrate on what she told you, tell me, then we can get the ball rolling.”

He decided to ignore the ‘usually’ comment. Getting into a fight with Langham wouldn’t solve this case, although it would give Oliver an outlet to vent his frustration. But no, he wasn’t going there.

Not yet anyway.

Chapter Four

Langham stared at Oliver, one eyebrow raised, and took his elbows off the desk. “So, we’re talking some freaky shit here, right? If the victim’s meant to be believed, this guy took something that
made
him kill?” He sighed then stood, gazing at some spot or other on the carpet, pinching his chin.

“Something more interesting in the damn carpet pile?” Oliver asked, frustrated and angrier than he’d been in a long while.