Chapter Eight

When I come round, Elliot is taking the wooden spoon from my grip while Angie is bent over me saying my name over and over. Black stars are popping in and out of my vision while they prop me against the fridge. When I've convinced them that I'm not dizzy anymore, Elliot helps me stand and supports me into the living room where he carefully drops me onto the sofa. Angie puts her arm around my shoulders and holds me close while I recover from the shock. My hands are shaking. I feel physically sick. The second Angie said the word, 'gone,' that's when I tied the voice to what happened to Al. I have never fainted in my life before. My mind and body must have gone into protective mode and switched off rather than taking another hit of intrigue around whether Edward had anything to do with Al's death.

"We've done nothing wrong, Bella," Angie insists, not realizing this isn't the reason I blacked out. "I bet Al had hundreds of enemies. He was high as a kite on Saturday, so maybe he owed money to a drug dealer. There're a million and one different reasons why he ended up in the East River. If we tell the cops the truth about what happened here on Saturday, everything will be okay. Okay?"

I nod in agreement and concentrate on my breathing. Elliot brings me a glass of water but I only manage one sip. While I'm listening to Angie's encouraging words, I can't fathom how she's remaining so calm. Angie can do 'hysterical' better than anyone I know. If anyone should be calm it's me. My dad's a cop for effs sake! I've heard hundreds of stories from him about his police work. But this is New York, and murder, not the sleepy backwoods of Washington State where a stolen bike warrants headlines in the local paper.

Could Edward be responsible for Al's murder? I ask myself this question over and over while we wait for the police to arrive. Would it be worth even suggesting to them that he could be involved? Even if Edward had been on the street when Al hit the sidewalk, how would he know that Al had upset me and not someone else in the apartment? He could've heard Steve and Elliot telling Al to fuck off but that's no reason to kill anyone.

What happened with Al had been on my mind when I heard the voice. Maybe the words, 'he's gone,' were nothing more than wishful thinking. I don't like conflict so the thought of someone else sorting out my problem rather than me would be the perfect solution. The whole of Saturday night though was strange. Looking back to how I reacted to Al's invitation to sit on his lap and then what I did to him in the bathroom, my reactions were totally opposite to my normal behavior. My instincts were telling me to attack him rather than try to escape from the bathroom first. Since Sunday, I've been aggressively imagining how I would deal with Al when I saw him again. What the hell has happened to me?

About twenty minutes after Steve's warning call, the whoop-whoop of a patrol car alerts us that cops are nearby. Not that we need further confirmation, Edward's building lights up in blue which indicates they've pulled up outside our block. Elliot has been on his cell for the last ten minutes talking to his dad and shouting advice at us. We have to remain calm, be polite and not say too much. I now wished I'd called Dad. I kick myself for not thinking of this until now when it's too late. When the door buzzer buzzes, I do feel more together than I did twenty minutes ago. When Elliot goes down to let them in rather than just releasing the door, I pray that I'll be able to answer any questions they throw at us. Angie spoke the truth – we have nothing to hide and therefore we should have nothing to worry about.

A tall and heavily built middle-aged guy with gray hair and a gray face walks into the room first. His charcoal black suit looks as though he's slept in it. He's accompanied by two much smarter uniformed cops who stay by the door. None of the three say, Hello, Hi, or any form of greeting. Instead, they scan the room without looking at us directly. The sole female officer doesn't even try to hide that she's sniffing the air for drugs.

"Nice apartment," the black suit says but not as a compliment. I suspect this is a back-handed way of saying he expected to walk into a typical student shit-hole.

"My parents own this apartment," Angie replies defensively. She's picked up on his attitude too. By the tone of her voice, she is not going to take any shit.

"Bella and I live here. Elliot is just visiting," she adds as she flops on the sofa next to me. Elliot takes a seat on my other side.

Black suit sits in the armchair and looks directly at the three of us squashed together on the sofa before fixing his eyes on Angie. I'm relieved my friends are on either side of me. I feel protected.

"My name is Detective Cole. I presume you know why I'm here. I'll be leading the investigation into the murder of Alexander Abell. The college passed me your details so I presume you're Angelina Weber."

"Why are you questioning us?" Elliot interrupts before Angie has a chance to confirm. "We have nothing to do with Al's death."

A sarcastic 'hmmm' escapes from Cole's lips. I'm sure he thinks we're guilty.

"When Alexander didn't return home on Sunday night which is when his parents alerted the police, our Tech people tracked his movements over the previous two days using his cell phone location. The last position where a signal registered on a mast was on this street at 23.43 on Saturday. We understand from his family he'd been invited to a party here. Can you confirm this?"

"Yes, he left around eleven-thirty-five. At the latest, eleven forty." Elliot answers for us.

"Did he leave on his own?"

"Yes."

"Why? Did he come on his own?"

"I don't remember but I would guess so. We had to ask him to leave. He reeked of weed when he got here and became increasingly more offensive and aggressive as the evening progressed. My friend, Steve Anderton, and I walked him outside and told him to go home. That was the last we saw of him. All of us helped Angelina tidy up after that and we left in small groups from about twelve-fifteen onwards. We looked for Al in college today but he didn't show for obvious reasons. And it wasn't a party. Apart from Bella, we all attend Baruch's business school. Bella studies journalism there. We were discussing our studies. I would say Saturday night was more a meeting of minds than a party. Ask our neighbors. There was no music or any other noise other than lots of people talking. No drugs, or anything else anti-social going on. None of us are that type of student, Detective Cole."

I'm proud of the way Elliot speaks to the detective and I'm sure Angie is too. He's assertive without being overly defensive. His father's skills in diplomacy have definitely rubbed off on him.

Detective Cole's face remains expressionless while Elliot is speaking. He glances up at the cop blocking the doorway. Do they think we're going to make a run for it? I only notice then that the female cop has disappeared. I hear noises coming from the direction of Angie's room so I guess she's having a look around which pisses me right off. I thought cops were supposed to have a warrant before they search the premises.

"So what did Alexander say to upset you enough to throw him out?" The Detective's eyebrows shoot up. This time he looks directly at me. I take from this he doesn't want Eloquent Elliot to respond. I'm careful with my response but I don't hold back on what Al said and did.

"A lot of offensive comments, Detective, the worse being he said the virus will only wipe out old folk who were, in his opinion, societies deadwood anyway and wouldn't be missed. This upset a lot of us - well all of us. Then he wanted me to sit on his lap. I said no which infuriated him. When I went to the bathroom, he followed me in. He clamped his hand over my mouth, and threatened to make my life hell in college and everywhere else for embarrassing him. I bit down hard on his finger to get away from him. He yelled out, and then, in front of the others, accused me of attacking him. His fingernails had made indent marks on my face which are still there, so when the others burst in to rescue me, they believed my version of events, not his."

Angie cut in then. "Al wasn't liked at college, Detective. He was an arrogant bully. He muscled in on our get-together and I'll admit I was too scared of him to say he couldn't come. Everyone knew he smoked weed. He used other drugs as well and sold them in college. He was blatant about it. My parents insist this is a no-smoking, no drugs apartment. I made sure he was aware of that before he came."

The Detective clears his throat and again looks up at the male cop who looks shocked.

"So … Alexander wasn't liked. Is there anybody you can think of who would want to … murder him?"

"Absolutely not," Elliot says even more assertively this time. "Al was an asshole, but that's as far as it went."

The detective rubs his hand over his face almost despairingly. We were not giving him the answers he'd been expecting. His next statement surprises me at first, but it explains why Al boasted, 'you have no idea who you've upset,' when he threatened me in the bathroom.

"Okay, kids. Would you be surprised to learn that Alexander's father is a cop? Detective Chief Superintendent Abel is my boss's boss. So I'm warning you that every layer of law enforcement in this city will be throwing the kitchen sink at this case and we won't stop until we find out who did this."

None of us react until Angie asks, "What happened to Al. Did he drown?"

"No. There's no doubt he was dead before he hit the water, but that's all I'm saying for now. I'll need you guys to come down to the precinct to give statements. I'll also want a list of everyone who came here on Saturday night. I'll want statements from them too. I've been given the names of everyone on his course but I'll need to know of anyone else he talks to in college. Any questions?"

None of us reply to that but I want Cole to know who my Dad is.

"We'll do everything we can to help to find Al's killer, Detective," I say and look him straight in the eye this time. "My dad is a Chief of Police in Washington State and he'd expect me to do no less. Please give my condolences to Al's parents and his family. I only met Al for the first time that night, but even after what he did to me, I'm sorry this has happened to him."

Cole's face remains expressionless when I drop into the conversation that Dad is a cop too. Either he knows already, or he could be the best poker player in the world.

"Don't leave the city either," Cole says as he stands up. "We'll want to question you kids again."

"What the hell for?" Angie shrieks. "This is bullshit! What about Spring Break? I'm planning to go to Florida on Monday to visit my folks."

"Not a chance," the detective replies. He towers in front of us and does his best to look intimidating before he walks out the door. He doesn't even try to hide the smirk on his face as he leaves.

"This is so shit," Angie sobs as soon the apartment door closes. When Elliot returns from seeing them out he pulls her off the sofa and gives her a hug.

"It's seven days until Spring Break, Angie. They may have caught who did this by then. The detective is only doing his job."

"I know, but this is so unfair."

"Maybe your folks could come here?" I offer. "I could move out and stay at Jenna's if they want to use my room."

Angie scoffs at that suggestion.

"I'm not going to see my folks, Bella. That was BS for the cop. I'm booked into a swanky hotel in Palm Beach with my High School friends. We plan to get wrecked for four days. I'll be so pissed if that doesn't happen."

Elliot kisses Angie on the cheek. "I'll go see if I can rescue the risotto, otherwise it's Grubhub tonight. I'm not cooking again."

Thirty seconds later …

"Grubhub it is. Any preferences?"

Half an hour later we're devouring burgers and fries which go some way to reduce my stress level. I've decided to call Dad after I've finished eating to talk to him about what happened. Allowing for the three-hour time difference, he'll be off-duty by now. After I've cleaned up and made coffee I call him from my room. I don't usually speak to him mid-week so he'll know there's something wrong.

"Hey, Bells. What's going on? I was just about to call you."

Oh God, he knows already.

"What have you been told, Dad?"

"I'll tell you when you tell me, Bella. Are you in trouble?"

"No. Absolutely not. Angie had a college get-together here on Saturday night. One guy behaved like an ass so we threw him out. He's just been fished out of the East River. The police are calling it murder, so he definitely didn't drown or commit suicide. His dad is a big cheese in the police here. They're interviewing everyone who came into contact with him. How did you find out?"

"I got a call from the Seattle FBI about ten minutes ago. They'd been contacted by the New York police department to check whether you had any convictions and if I was who you said I was. They wouldn't give me any more details. They just said you'd been interviewed in connection with a murder."

"I haven't been interviewed officially, Dad. A detective came to the apartment and spoke to me, Angie, and Angie's boyfriend. We have to write statements about Saturday night – that's all. I'm not worried – we've done nothing wrong, and we all have alibis."

"Alibis don't mean a thing, Bells. You could be covering for each other. Look, I want you to be honest with the police, but say as little as possible, okay?"

"Sure, Dad. I've already said as much as I'm going to say. I'd never met this guy before Saturday night."

"Okay, but call me anytime. I'll come to New York if you need me."

"Thanks, Dad. That won't be necessary. I'm sure I can handle this. I promise to call though if things get heavy."

I hang up then. Hearing his concerned voice underlines how far away I am from Forks. Friends say in some respects I'm mature for my age, but right now if Dad turned up at the apartment I wouldn't be sorry.

I call Mom. She doesn't answer so I leave a message on voicemail. I play the incident down, saying a guy in our college had been murdered and everyone would be interviewed and that I'd been in touch with Dad for advice. She doesn't call back.

Elliot and Angie's cells are red hot all night with calls, texts, and WhatsApp messages from their college friends. Elliot talks to his father again who says the same as Dad. Don't say too much in your statement – just give the police basic facts. Elliot passes the advice to everyone who came here on Saturday. Be truthful - we have nothing to hide. Angie calls her parents who are concerned but thankfully don't feel the need to get involved.

At ten we put the news on to check whether Al has made the local report, which he had. Even though we appreciated the seriousness of his death, all three of us laugh out loud when we hear the Principal stating that Alexander had been a hard-working young man, well-liked by both students and the academic staff. Nothing could be further from the truth. But if the Principal's statement assists in some way toward Al's parents coming to terms with what happened to their son, and this is how the city will remember him, then so be it.

When I'd got in from college I'd slung my jacket on the bed rather than hang it up. When I pick up the jacket, the can of pepper spray slips out the pocket and clatters on the wooden floor. I'm relieved the female cop didn't see it when she snooped around my room. There's no doubt she would have asked why I carry pepper spray around with me. I place the can on the top shelf of my closet but out of sight. I don't want to be reminded of Al each time I open the door.

During the night I have vivid dreams about being chased. I wake up at least once an hour and only doze in between. When my alarm goes off, I try to raise my head off the pillow but it doesn't want to move. My eyes are painful. When I open them, all I see are flashing lights. When I roll on my side, I feel the urge to vomit. I recognize the symptoms straight away – migraine. I had suffered from these in my final year of high school but hadn't had one for over a year. Stress from the events of last night has no doubt brought on this attack so no college for me today. I roll on my front again, bury my face in the pillow, and groan.

An hour later I hear banging followed by Angela shouting, 'It's nine o'clock, Bella. Have you overslept?'

"Migraine!" I mumble with my mouth full of pillow. The door opens. I try to open one eye and give up.

"Do you need anything?" Angela whispers.

"Water and sunglasses," I mumble back.

"Got it," she says and tiptoes out. I don't hear her coming back in. Deep sleep hits me at last.

I wake at twelve desperate for the bathroom. Sunglasses are in arms-reach so with my half-closed eyes covered I stagger out of my bedroom and fumble my way through the apartment like a blind person. Before going back to bed, I soak a face cloth with cold water and lay down with it covering my eyes and forehead which feels good. I don't feel sick anymore which I take as progress. The flashing lights and thumping headache are still there though. The words, 'He's gone,' keep repeating in my head, associated with the sight of Edward's coat and shoe disappearing behind the door next to the clinic. Curiosity about how Al had been murdered also keeps my mind occupied.

I doze all afternoon. Angie comes in at five and sticks her head around the door.

"Any better?"

"A bit."

"Do you want anything?"

"A bagel. There's some in the kitchen. Just plain – nothing on it, and coffee."

"Coffee?"

"Yeah, not too strong. Then you can tell me what happened at college today."

Angie disappears. I make an effort to sit up. My head swims but I persist. By the time she comes back from the kitchen the room isn't spinning nearly as much. The flashing lights have almost gone. I nibble the edge of the bagel and drink a mouthful of coffee then rest my head on the pillow again.

"Okay, spill," I say and close my eyes.

"There're lots of rumors flying around about what happened. Most of us think this one is genuine. A guy on another course has a friend who rows for one of the Ivy League colleges. He was out practicing on the East River with another guy when they spotted Al's body floating face down. He rowed out to it and stayed with it while the other guy went to raise the alarm. Both of them watched Al being hauled out of the water by the river police. They're absolutely sure Al's throat had been cut."

"Holy shit!" I cry out. "Who the hell would do that?"

"Drug dealers maybe?" Angie suggests. "Some of the local gangs are ruthless. No wonder Cole said Al was dead when he hit the water."

"Any other rumors?"

"No, not really. We've been warned by the college staff not to speak to the press about Al. I suppose the college doesn't want the family to find out that everyone thought he was an asshole. There were no reporters outside the college. I guess they're all caught up in the virus story. Governor Cuomo is making another announcement tonight. I'll let you know what he says."

"Thanks," I reply feebly and take some more sips of my tasteless coffee.

I stay in my room for the rest of the evening. Angie watches the news and tells me that the Governor has ordered Broadway to close from tomorrow along with all other events attracting more than 500 people. I manage to send a text to Joseph to say how sorry I am for his friends in the entertainment industry who would be affected by this decision. I get a six-word reply.

'Fuck the virus, and fuck Cuomo.'

Dad calls at about nine o'clock to find out the latest. I tell him I'd been unwell all day so hadn't been at college. When I think about it, the police haven't been in contact again about the three of us giving statements, so maybe we've already been discounted as suspects. I hope so.

During the day, the more I'd pondered on the words I heard in my head before witnessing Edward returning to his apartment, and now with the alleged report of Al having his throat cut, the more I'm convinced Edward had nothing to do with Al's murder. Al had been thrown out of the apartment sometime close to 11.45. I would estimate I saw Edward between 12.50 and 12.55. Would an hour have given Edward enough time to single-handedly kill him and dispose of the body? More importantly, though, why would he do this? Even if he'd overheard Elliot and Steve throwing him out on the sidewalk and Al threatening us collectively afterward, being an asshole isn't a hanging offense. Edward had no reason to kill him.

I decided to put 'He's gone,' down to coincidence. I'd been drinking Prosecco, so that would put the chance of me hearing things up by fifty percent.

I get a good night's sleep but still don't feel well enough to go to college. I email Professor Casey to say I hoped I'd be in tomorrow. She emails back an hour later to say she's had to go home as her mother has taken a turn for the worse. I send her a virtual hug and tell her to take care of herself as well.

The morning news channels are reporting that overnight, the World Health Organisation had declared the virus to be a Pandemic. I switch the TV off. Too depressing. Instead, I pick up one of the books I'd borrowed from Mr. Cohen's boxes. After five minutes of reading my eyes hurt. Even looking at pictures is difficult. Instead, I have a shower and a bowl of cornflakes. With nothing else to do, daytime TV reigns. I hate to admit this but I thoroughly enjoy watching a day of brainless lifestyle and chat show programs which I usually do my best to avoid. By the time Angie gets home, I feel almost back to normal.

"Any more rumors," I ask.

"No, but Steve heard one of the Professors saying to another that the cops told the Principal they are confident Al's murder is drug-related. Apparently how Al died matches a method that's been seen before."

"That's sick," I reply. "There are some horrible people in the world."

"Not in our world, thankfully," Angie sighs as she hands me an envelope. "Post."

"For me?"

"Yep! Do you want coffee?"

"Please."

I pull myself upright from my prone position on the sofa and stare at the handwriting on the envelope. Edward's beautiful script gives away who the sender is. After carefully opening the flap, I pull out a pale blue sheet of paper which is different from his first letter. Before reading the text, I take another look at the envelope. After squinting my eyes, I can just read that it was posted in Albany, so not far away.

Dear Miss Swan,

I have a feeling you saw me return to my apartment on Saturday night, which means you must think I broke my promise to you to call on you when I was next in the city, to apologize in person for intruding into your apartment.

My visit to the city was brief to handle an urgent matter. Once that was dealt with, I dropped in to see my parents past the midnight hour and spent a couple of hours there. I was obliged to leave early which meant I didn't have the opportunity to fulfill my promise to you.

I trust you are well and your family and friends are also well. Please wear your mask at all times – even in college and while you are at work. The mask will give you some protection from catching the virus. If you are unfortunate enough to catch it, continue wearing the mask as this will prevent you from passing it on to others.

Assuring you of my best intentions,

Edward Cullen

'Assuring you of my best intentions!' I can't help scoffing. That sort of language comes straight out of Jane Austen, or Emily Bronte!

I read the letter again, and again. I can't help feeling that Edward's words have been carefully chosen to give me a subtle message about himself? If he wants to hide his origins, for a man who seems intelligent, this is an epic fail. Or is this his way of dropping a hint that he is a time traveler, or he has drunk from a science fiction equivalent of the Holy Grail which gives him a long life? I'm more confused now than ever.

He must have seen me watching his window. If so, why didn't he acknowledge me? Why doesn't he turn the lights on in his apartment? And why did he mention an urgent matter? Why did he tell me this?

Two and two go together again and this time it equals a lot more than four.

"He's gone, Bella."

And that's when I have to accept that Edward Cullen could quite possibly be my Guardian Angel. But if I really believe this, how can I reconcile the fact that he may have cut a young man's throat with not reporting him to the police? And if I did report him, would the police believe me?

Bella has lots to think about so let's give her time, because, in the next two chapters, Edward takes over, (hooray). You'll soon find out why he left the apple on the nightstand (yes, he has a reason), and whether he has anything to do with Al ending up in the East River.

Thanks again for the reviews and guesses - and also for those of you who pointed out a couple of errors in chapter seven, and also some Britishisms! Ooops-a-daisy!

Joan xx