Disclaimer: Twilight and it's characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. We just like the idea of Edward Cullen wearing a black suit all the time.
Brianna is still our beta-queen.
Special thanks to the lovely ladies Ayrina, CathCullen and Severn for providing awesome feedback and motivation from the very beginning. We owe you big time!
Chapter 3 – At The Bottom Of Everything
there it is
we are only one push from the nest
we are only one argument from death
the sun rises, but the sun also sets
(The Sun Also Sets – Ryan Adams)
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She was about to ruin it all. I had no choice, this was the only way out.
I hastily picked up the shiny paper knife from the desk and clenched it hard into my fist. The metal felt surprisingly cool against my skin. Without second guessing my actions, I stabbed it hard right into her chest. Again and again. Her brown eyes froze in horror while she didn't even have the time to scream. The blood sputtered out fast, her body trembled hard and finally slumped down on the floor. What a mess. The carpet would be ruined for good.
The smell of her blood swept over me. I needed to think straight. I could not mess this up, this was too important. This needed to work. Finally, I was about to get what I deserved, what was mine. What should have been mine from the beginning.
Calmly I fetched a tissue from my pocket and neatly cleaned the handle of the letter opener. If I've had more time to prepare this, I would've worn gloves. I considered lying the conveniently sharp item back to it's usual position next to the name tag on the table, but decided against it. It just looked more appropriate, pushed back deeply into her chest. I arranged it a little until I liked it best and took the sight in once more. I smiled, satisfied.
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Edward Cullen
My night was cut short. Not that it mattered, I couldn't sleep anyway. Twisting and turning between the sheets, I wasn't able to find the right sleeping position all night. Constantly I kicked the blanket away, just to search for it a few minutes later, when my body got cold again.
During the early morning hours my restlessness was suddenly disturbed by Vivaldi's first movement of 'La Primavera' of the Four Seasons, signalling an incoming call on my mobile in the living room.
I turned some more and the thought of ignoring it was all too alluring, since the tune was soothing and always a beautiful listen. But when I came to think about it, there were only two reasons someone would call this early in the morning: something bad or something really, really good had happened.
I always expected the worst. What if something happened to my mother?
I rolled out of bed, 'La Primavera' already half through, when I answered the phone eventually.
What awaited me got me fully awake in an instant.
"Edward?" Jessica's voice cried on the other side of the line. "I.... there... could you...."
She was incapable of forming complete sentences and although I had witnessed this quality of hers before, she had never sounded so desperate.
"Okay, just calm down, please. Why are you calling? Are you at work already?"
"Please, there's ... so much blood."
Her words were muffled by her silent cries and I was getting more nervous by the second. What was happening on her side of the line?
"Blood? Your blood?" I asked warily, trying to get some more facts out of her.
"No. Please. I don't know what to do."
I gripped the phone a little tighter, pressing it closer to my ear, so I could understand her silent cries a little clearer.
"Jessica, stay calm. Where exactly are you? I'm coming, alright?"
"Your office," was the last thing she got out, before her sobs and cries made any further conversation impossible.
"Listen, I will hang up now, but I'm on my way, alright? Stay right where you are. I'm there in a minute," I finally pleaded, already looking around the room for some trousers.
Her behaviour scared me, but I hung up anyway to get to Gateshead as fast as possible. I quickly pulled some sweater over my head, slipped my shoes on and was out the door in a minute. My thoughts were running wild while I drove through the still completely dark city. Why was there blood in my office? Had there been an accident? And why was Jessica calling me of all people, when she was absolutely stressed out. Her tone was so out of the ordinary; the confident attitude replaced with a stuttering uneasiness I couldn't understand just yet. What if she hurt herself? I should have told her to call an ambulance or the police or at least ask some more questions to get a clearer picture of her situation, but I wasn't any use when it came to emotional crises.
The rain slowed me down a bit and I thought about giving her another call to make sure if she was still alright and functioning, but I decided against it and concentrated my eyes on the roads instead.
I parked my car in the garage, jogged up the stairs, not bothering with the elevator this time and ran down the hallway to my office where I instantly saw Jessica cowering in the door frame, her arms curled around her bent knees. She shook and sobbed, her whole body rigid with anxiety, but physically she seemed unharmed.
I slowly approached her, but she just looked down at her feet, her upper body rocking back and forth apathetically.
Gently, I lay my right hand on her shoulder, trying to make my presence known and reach through to her. But she jerked away, her body getting even more tense with my movement.
"Jessica," I said as calmly as I could manage, "what happened? Why did you call me?"
As soon as the words left my mouth her whimpers increased, the fragile woman in front of me shaking as if the mere thought of whatever had happened was causing her pain.
I knelt down next to her and since she wasn't responding to anything I said or asked I began to look around for whatever might have caused her breakdown in the first place. The building was quiet during these early morning hours. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, until my gaze fell through the door into my office.
A motionless figure. A woman's body. Claire McNamara.
My left hand searched for the door frame or anything to hold onto, but it was useless. My vision went blurry and my eyesight out of focus. The image of Claire this afternoon, a cup of tea in her hands, faded into nothingness. White. Black. Colourful dots. I closed my eyes. How was this possible? Was this even real?
I concentrated on my breathing. In and out. No need to freak out. After a few moments I opened my eyes again and stood up, leaving a shaking Jessica behind to approach the quiescent form in my office.
There was blood everywhere.
My paper knife was stuck in her chest, the blood that had poured out of her body and through her clothes already dried. The instinct reaction to grab her forearm and check her pulse seemed inappropriate when I looked into her stone-cold eyes. She was staring up at the ceiling with big, wide eyes, leaving no doubt that she was, indeed, dead.
My brain was trying to process everything, but it couldn't keep up with what my eyes saw. Suddenly, my stomach twisted and turned. I felt nauseous and couldn't stand any of this any longer. I instinctively turned away from her body, ran past Jessica through the hallway to the bathroom and knelt in front of a toilet bowl where the whole meal Jasper brought last night reappeared instantly.
I couldn't be sure if this was a natural reaction towards death, but I wasn't able to stop gagging until my stomach was entirely empty. Never before had I seen a dead body, not even my father.
I sunk back against the cold tiles, not feeling better in the slightest. It was like the world was suddenly not making sense anymore. Life. Death. Claire. Jessica. Office. Blood. Paper knife. Death. Death. Death. I grabbed my hair in frustration, kneading my scalp in the process. The life-altering thoughts that were running through my mind were too much. I needed one more minute by myself. Claire was not only dead, but killed. I had to mute my thoughts as best as possible and get back to Jessica. She was the only one who may know more.
I stood up, supporting myself with one hand on the wall and approached her again. She hadn't changed her position in the door frame at all.
"Jessica, I need you to answer me. Do you have any idea what happened here?"
I got down to my knees and tried to get a good look at her face, when she raised it fractionally from between her knees.
"No...," she sobbed once more and then continued shakily, "I came in early because I wanted to prepare the conference room for the early meeting with the investors." She stopped for a moment and more tears spilled out of her already red eyes. "I went to your office to download the presentations and then I saw... Claire... she was..."
"I know Jessica, I know," I said, hugging her briefly. "Did you call an ambulance or the police or anyone else beside me?"
She shook her head no and buried it between her knees again.
With another glance into my office, I got my mobile out of the pocket of my jeans and dialled 999. I tried to sound somewhat collected on the phone to get the urgency across, but probably failed miserably. There's just no way to report a murder in a nice way.
Some guy promised to send an officer over and I hung up and cowered right next to Jessica until the police arrived, trying to sooth her as good as possible.
The next hours passed in a blur. So many things happened at once. Cops and paramedics were rushing in and out of the building and next thing I knew I was sitting in one of our empty offices in front of two cops, explaining what happened during the morning. I couldn't really tell them anything besides me hanging over the toilet seat in the bathroom, but they asked for every single detail.
When I was done retelling my story they began asking questions. Why didn't I call the police right away? How close was I to Jessica? How close was I to Claire? And then they finally got to the bottom of everything: they asked me what I did last night between 9 and 10pm.
The look of disgust and repulsion on their faces was only one indication, but I just knew it by the phrasing of their questions: they thought I did it. They thought I had killed Claire.
Of course the cops said that this was a habitual question they had to ask, but they couldn't trick me. They needed a culprit to present to the media or to get a promotion or whatever it was they needed and I was the perfect match.
I told them I had been with Jasper at that time, which was only almost true. To be honest, he had not arrived at my apartment until 9:30. And as if they saw right through my white lie, they explained they needed to confirm this first.
"We need you to come to the station with us," the taller one said, standing up and leaning towards me over the table. "Detective Black will get the truth out of you soon enough."
Knowing I couldn't win this argument, I stood up as well and gave in to whatever they had planned for me, still too consumed by the images that were Claire's body covered in blood. The men framed me and walked me out the door into the hallway. Basically, they arrested me.
The office was full with people by then and everyone watched as I was guided outside by the two cops to their cruiser. Everybody glared at me but to be honest I couldn't care less.
I was guided down the stairs and past the deserted reception desk, the empty seat a reminder of the crying Jessica in the door frame.
"What happened to Miss Stanley?" I wondered, concerned if she was doing fine and got over her initial shock. I wouldn't put it past those officers to suspect her as well.
"She's talking to a psychologist right now. Was quite out of it, that poor girl," the taller police man answered and got into a more detailed explanation about what was going on with her.
But I zoned out as soon as we walked through the big glass doors and out into the open. Like a magnetic pull, my eyes focused on her.
Isabella Swan stood next to some officers on the pavement, involved in a heated discussion as it seemed. It wasn't enough to find a body in your office, no. She had to be present as well and confuse my inner turmoil even more. What the hell was she even doing here? Getting the newest gossip about my company for her fucking newspaper? Well, it must be her lucky day. Nothing better than sex affairs and murders to increase the circulation of a damn paper, right? She was fidgeting with her bag, getting a pen and a notebook out. Just great. There goes my attempt to get good press again.
And it was such a disappointment, too. The articles I had read of her were serious journalism, even the one in which she degraded me. And now she was standing in the first row like she was the reporter of some cheap tabloid. Flashes were lightening my face, but the officers guided me straight forward, ignoring everyone on our way.
I chanced another glance at her and surprisingly she looked right back at me this time. Her fingers stopped moving on her notebook and her big brown eyes just stared at me as if she was trying to figure out what happened. She didn't blink once. Shock, disgust and maybe a little pity were the emotions her face portrayed. I gazed right back at her for a moment, before I lowered my head down. I had already passed all those employees in the building but this was different. Back there I had been too wrapped up in Claire being dead, but now I was already moving on, thinking about me, thinking about us; the teenager in me wondering what the hell she was thinking of me.
The two police men more or less pushed me forward, into the backseat of the car and slammed the door shut right after me. I had no chance to take another look at her, before they drove me away to the station.
At the station I was led to one of those rooms you would recognise from criminal stories on TV. Fluorescence light, a simple table in the middle, one chair on each side and that was basically it. I was actually a little disappointed that there wasn't one of those one-sided transparent window walls through which the cops watch the suspects squirm. I guess the station here in Newcastle wasn't exactly comparable to those you see in American TV series.
I kept my mind entertained with stuff like that for about five minutes, before everything came crashing down on me again. Claire was dead. Brutally murdered even. Her wide open eyes stared at me as soon as I closed my eyes for a few seconds. And since my analysis of the interrogation-room couldn't push away all those fucked up memories forever, I needed to think of other things. Anything to keep me sane. Surprisingly, Bella Swan turned out to be the most pleasant distraction. Her and her persistent nature.
The cops kept me waiting in the sterile room for at least an hour, before anyone bothered himself with talking to me again.
"Well Mr. Cullen," someone who introduced himself as Detective Black began, after closing the door behind him, "we just talked to your friend Jasper Whitlock and he confirmed that he's been with you since 9:30pm."
He paused for a moment and sat down in the unoccupied chair across the table. With piercing eyes, he studied my face while I tried to keep every emotion to myself. I had no idea what he expected me to look like and what I was supposed to feel in a situation like this.
I mean, I'd known Claire for a couple of years and she had been a nice enough person, but we didn't really have any connection whatsoever outside of work. The whole morning seemed like a real bad movie or something to me. Exactly like this room. And I felt like an actor who wasn't allowed to read the screenplay before filming. I had absolutely no clue what to do, how to look, what to say. So I tried to be neutral. That seemed to be the safe choice.
I had no idea if that was what Detective Black saw when he studied my face, but he finally continued.
"We don't know the exact time of death yet, but due to the forensic doctor's first guess it happened between 9 and 10pm last night; there's a possibility that you killed her and drove home right after the act to welcome Mr. Whitlock at your apartment," the Detective stated as if it was a fact.
Straight to the point, I had to give him that.
"Well, I didn't kill Claire," I answered simply, because that was the only thing I was still absolutely sure of.
"If you say so." His eyebrows raised in disbelief. "So, when exactly did you leave the company yesterday evening?"
I sighed because - of course - I stayed longer than usual due to my research on technologies - and Miss Swan. But there was no need to go into such details.
"I left around half past eight to nine, I guess. I didn't look at the clock."
"And are there any witnesses for that?"
"Probably not. Most of my employees were gone by seven."
"And why didn't you leave around that time? Does that happen frequently?" he inquired sensing my weaknesses.
"Well, no. But I'm the CEO of this company after all. Sometimes there are things that need to be taken care of." Like google the reporters you're supposed to do interviews with. I was so pathetic.
"I see," Detective Black said, writing down some notes in his book. He was probably already thinking about more questions to corner me. He studied my face again before he suddenly stood up, left the room just to come back in with a little transparent plastic bag. He put it in front of me on the table and I curiously glanced at it. It was the paper knife from my desk with which I had opened my letters for the last couple of years. It was now covered in dried blood. Images of Claire's bloody chest flooded my mind and I had to look away. To avoid Detective Black's calculating observations I stared down at my folded hands on my lap.
"So I guess you recognise this?" he asked while taking his seat across from me again.
"Yes," I quietly admitted, knowing already where he would be going with this.
"Let me be honest with you, Mr. Cullen. Things don't look too good for you right now. Your alibi isn't airtight, the body was found in your office, she was killed with your paper knife and you were one of the first at the crime scene."
"Because Jessica called me!" I interrupted his summery of questionable knowledge. This was insane. He couldn't use everything against me.
Detective Black wasn't impressed with my objection and continued his accusations. "To top it all, you had a motive."
"A motive?" I was getting confused.
"Several people confirmed that you had a fight with McNamara just recently, Mr. Cullen. Do you disagree?"
"Hell yeah, I do disagree," I said a little louder than necessary. They would not get me in prison because of this. This couldn't be happening.
"No need to get loud Mr. Cullen," the Detective answered too calmly for my liking. "But that's what Miss Swan said when we questioned her. This temper seems to be a well-known attribute of yours."
That got my full attention.
"Wait a minute. Miss Swan? What does she have to do with this?" I enquired instantly, but tried to remain my composed and neutral expression. Bella told the police I had a fight with Claire? Did she believe I did this? Oh my god, I wished I had left a better impression with her. And commenting on my temper? In front of Detective Black no less? This was more than humiliating.
"She was apparently one of the last ones who saw Claire McNamara alive. But that should be none of your business. She just said you got into a heated argument with the victim about something as simple as tea. Isn't that right?"
"Well, yes." I tried to chose my words carefully now. "She brought the wrong tea and spilled it on my clothes, so I was a little irritated, but that's no reason to kill someone or is it?"
"You tell me!"
"No, it isn't."
"Alright then," he paused for a second, "but jealousy definitely is."
"Jealousy?" What would he come up with now? After all, it wasn't James who had been killed and he was the only one towards whom I possibly felt a little jealousy. Just maybe though and only a little. I totally forgot about him and his impertinence, though. Another train of thought opened up. Was Bella at Gateshead because of him? Had their night out been a success? This mess was getting more confusing every minute.
"Yeah, somebody told us you had a little thing for Miss McNamara, but your advances weren't returned," Detective Black interrupted my internal monologue. What the hell?
"Uh, what? Did Miss Swan say that as well?" She couldn't assume this, could she?
"Mr. Barth was so kind to let us in on that information. You see, all things are leading towards one direction," he informed me smugly.
Why was any of this James' business? He was getting on my nerves more every minute now. What was the deal with him lately? He had never held my attention for more than two minutes before and now he was all over the place, making himself quite unpopular in my book. I took a deep breath to calm myself.
"Oh boy!" I exhaled quietly. If I were a girl, I would dramatically roll my eyes now. "I can assure you, I didn't have any kind of romantic association, relation or desire towards Miss McNamara. I barely knew her."
"Well, Mr Cullen, I'm afraid your assurance won't be enough."
"What does that mean? Are you going to arrest me?"
"Yes, that's a possibility," he stated after a little pause for dramatic purposes and watched me carefully after that.
"Okay, I'm done. I'm not saying anything else. I want to talk to a lawyer or to my mother or anybody other than you right now," I enquired a little harshly. But it was true. I had sat in that room for hours now and this was getting nowhere. Just more accusations and stupid suspicions.
"Fair enough, but if you've got something to confess, you better do that now, because we will find out eventually." He glared at me with his dark eyes as if to hypnotise a confession out of me.
"I'd like to speak to my mother now!" I demanded again, because really, there was nothing to confess.
"Sure, actually she's waiting outside."
"Great, when did you plan on telling me that?"
He ignored me, stood up and walked out of the windowless, silent room. Again they kept me waiting for God knows how long, before my mother came inside, followed closely by Jacob Black.
"Edward!" my mother silently cried while running towards me and embracing me like only a mother can. "What happened, son? Are you alright?"
She loosened her grip around my torso to look up into my face. Tears were running down her face.
"Don't worry Mom, I'm fine. Please don't cry, everything's alright."
"I'm so glad nothing happened to you sweetheart. I was sick with worry when the police called me this morning."
"It's okay Mom. I was wondering if you can call Mr. Morrison for me. It looks like I might need a lawyer," I asked her selfishly. I wished I had more time and peace left to soothe her properly, but I got more and more scared of having to stay the night in prison throughout the interrogation.
"Sure darling, I already called him, but Detective Black here just told me that you're free to leave."
This information calmed me in an instant. When they allowed me to go, the evidence couldn't be that solid. But apparently Detective Black didn't believe in this 'innocent until proven guilty' thing, because he still looked at me as if I was dirt.
"You may go now, because there is not enough evidence to keep you here for custody, but don't you dare to leave the city under any circumstances and believe me when I say that we'll watch your every step. You are the prime suspect after all."
I just glared at him in response.
Bella Swan
The moment I stepped out of the Gateshead Windpower building, I wanted to throw my hands up in the air and scream. Just do something to get rid of all my anger and confusion. I did the next best thing instead: I threw the annoying red umbrella in a wastebin. Free at last.
I took a deep breath and walked back to the paper again. A giggle escaped my lips, thinking about how Edward Cullen probably looked right now, with tea all over his lap. With satisfaction I thought about how people would think he had peed himself. That served him right. I still couldn't believe he held me responsible for his business failure. That... narrow-minded, arrogant weirdo was way too beautiful for his own good. I should send that woman from James Barth's office – obviously named Claire – some flowers to thank her for her intervention.
Also, she seemed to be the only person in that firm at least somewhere close to normal. The receptionist hated me, James Barth was slightly nasty and well, there was Edward Cullen. He had yelled at my saviour Claire pretty badly while I left his office. I cringed at the thought. I was way too clumsy and tripped all the time, too. I was sure, she didn't stumble on purpose either.
Back in the office, I went straight to the fridge, but it was useless. There were no pickles left.
"Great," I muttered to myself and went to my desk. "Awesome, windpower!" I muttered again, as I figured what I needed to work on. My mood just hit rock bottom.
Thankful for some distraction I registered that I had a new e-mail. Life went well for my mother in Florida; she had attached a photo of herself and Phil in their backyard, surrounded by bright Gazanias. Her description of the flower reminded me a lot of my mother herself: they were of vibrant colour when it's sunny, but tended to close in wet or dull weather. Newcastle had never been the place for my mother to thrive and prosper, I guess. My trail of thoughts was interrupted when suddenly someone was touching my shoulder. I shrieked and jumped up, knocking over half the desk.
It was Angela.
"Oh Bella, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. Are you alright?"
"Don't worry, it's ok. I was just lost in thoughts."
Angela smiled. "As usual." She was right, I spaced out quite frequently.
"So did you get your umbrella back safe and sound?" she asked, and I knew that she could sense I hadn't told her the whole story behind my second visit to Gateshead Windpower earlier. But she wouldn't pester me further. Angela was always nice and comforting like that and therefore it was easy to be around her.
"Yeah, sure sure," I replied, remembering only now that I threw the umbrella away, making a mental note to get a new one.
Angela of course caught the concerned look on my face.
"Did anything else happen?" She put her hand on the back of my chair and the piercing green of her armlet instantly reminded me of Edward Cullen's eyes. I felt the heat on my cheeks in the exact same moment as Angela chuckled.
I considered using a lame excuse just to make her let go of it, but couldn't bring myself to that. I sighed and told her the whole story, only rearranging a few parts. For example, why I had to go to the CEO's office to pick my umbrella up. Or why I blushed at the thought of Edward Cullen's eyes.
Angela listened calmly to my ramblings and although she normally isn't one to be especially inquisitive, she asked me, why I didn't take the chance to go out for dinner with James Barth. She knew I didn't exactly have a social life, which is not as sad as it sounds. Not really. I just didn't go out very frequently and liked being by myself. That's about the extent of it. I wasn't unfriendly or anti-social, I just didn't connect to a lot of people. Especially not to James Barth.
Angela understood and dropped the subject eventually. We continued our little chat with random topics and she told me that Ben was out of the office for a longer appointment.
Just my luck.
I needed to talk to him; I was absolutely unsure what he expected me to write, and I couldn't come up with anything good myself. My patience for anything regarding windpower already ran out for today anyway.
I went home quite early and had a lot of time on my hands. I breathed in the lovely aroma of coffee, rising from the hot cup in my hands. The cushions of my sofa were soft as ever and after a few sips of the hot liquid I was eager to start the new book I had bought a few days ago. My feet under a blanket, book in hands, I dived into the story in front of me.
After a few pages I gave up. I couldn't even remember the characters names, not to mention any part of the plot. My mind was drifting elsewhere. Did Edward Cullen really think it was my fault that he screwed up the interview? Did he even bother to think about his own mistakes? Was his mind full of doubts like mine? Probably not.
These thoughts must have circled around in my head for a while, because as I took another sip of my coffee it was already cold. The bitter taste at least reminded me, that I shouldn't blame myself for other peoples problems all the time.
That however made me think of my father and as I was looking for some kind of distraction anyway, I picked up my phone and dialled his number. He answered happily and filled me in on his latest fishing trip. Charlie never used more words than absolutely necessary, but we had our own way of communicating with each other. I was relieved that he was fine – his recent retirement had me worried; he had always lived for his work.
Of course he had also read my article on Gateshead and he quickly told me that he liked it. Windpower had become a boomerang lately, the topic kept coming back at me all the time.
After talking to my father and doing my laundry I couldn't find much else to keep me occupied and went to bed, hoping I would have a dreamless night.
The next morning the alarm went off pretty early and as I slowly woke, I remembered why: the last day had been highly unproductive. After I tossed and turned around in my bed for a few minutes, thinking about the upcoming day, I finally got up and showered. I put on some everyday-clothes and went into the kitchen. Not hungry in the slightest, I grabbed some cereal and put it in a bowl with some milk. As I was about to start eating, my mobile began to ring in its most boring old tune. I didn't care about such things; it worked and that was enough for me. I hurried to my living room and grabbed the phone off the table.
"Hello?"
"Bella!"
It was Ben. It was unusual for him to call me this early on a work day, since we had a conference in the office this morning anyway.
"I just got some interesting news, you will never believe what happened!" He sounded overly excited. That only happened when he got wind of a big story; big as in really, really huge.
"Well then why don't you just tell me," I suggested. I wasn't much for guessing games.
"There's police all over the Gateshead building downtown. Rumour is that there has been a murder."
Murder? My heartbeat increased instantly. All these years of being a cop's daughter didn't numb the horror rising inside me with the news of such a crime. I processed the message further: Gateshead? The face of Edward Cullen came to my mind. Oh god, I hope it's not him. I shuddered at the thought. Ben finally paused my mental rambling.
"Bella? Are you still there? I need you to go there and get as much information as possible, every little detail. Do you understand? This is big! Forget the other article, I want you to focus on this," he continued, but I listened only half-heartedly, not really glad that the dreaded windpower article had to be replaced by something as horrible a murder. "Sure, I'm on my way," I replied and after he told me he would send Ryan over for pictures, he hung up.
What if something happened to Edward Cullen? He had annoyed the hell out of me but that didn't mean that I would want him dead, murdered. I needed to find out. I rushed out of my apartment and right to my car, breakfast long forgotten. It was one of those very rare moments I wished I had a new, shiny and especially fast car. I simply couldn't get to Gateshead fast enough. I rushed through town, only little traffic in the streets; at least until I got further downtown. I left my car in a no parking zone, because there was so much confusion in front of the Gateshead Windpower building, that I hoped nobody would pay attention to my little misdeed. My mind was occupied with a lot of things - finding a decent parking spot was none of them.
The police had of course cordoned off the entrance of the building. Judging by the number of policeman and the general look of things the rumour about the murder was true. I nodded to our photographer Ryan, standing a few metres away and went straight to the officer standing next to the doors. It was Waylon, one of my dad's friends, who had babysat me sometimes when I was younger.
"Who's the victim?" I spoke under my breath. I didn't want to put him into any trouble.
"One of the secretaries," he responded almost unnoticeable. I let out the breath that I had been holding. I was relieved and felt guilty instantly; some poor woman had died and I was glad that it wasn't who I'd feared the victim to be. I thanked Waylon, turned around and saw another man approach me. His hair was dark, almost black, he was a lot taller than me and he had a slight smile on his face.
"Bella!" he said like he knew me.
Was I supposed to know him? I couldn't place his face anywhere. Since it is kind of embarrassing when you don't know one person's name, when he obviously knows yours, I avoided saying his name altogether, in hopes he wouldn't notice my lack of knowledge.
"Hey there!" I finally said and of course he heard the insecurity in my voice and saw the obvious blush claiming my face.
"You don't know who I am, right?" he asked undeterred and that made me feel even worse.
"I probably should, right? I'm so sorry," I confessed, looking down.
He instantly extended his hand in my direction and introduced himself as Jacob Black. His grip was firm, warm and comfortable but I still couldn't remember meeting him before.
"Your father introduced us a few years ago, when I was still in my training to become a police man. You became a reporter?" he asked, pointing at the little Press ID I had clipped on my jacket.
"Oh yeah, but I prefer the term journalist," I answered confused. I had so many questions about whatever happened inside the Gateshead building last night that I was even less in the mood for small talk than on other days. "So, uh, Jacob," he looked so young and friendly that I couldn't bring myself to address him by his last name, "what's going on in there?" I tried to sound casually, but inside I was dying to know about all the details; and not only for the article's sake.
"Oh right," Jacob answered turning around to the building again. "Of course we're still investigating. But off the record...," he paused and I nodded quickly to show him that it was okay for him to talk to me confidential, "well, it seems like the woman was stabbed by the big boss."
What? I gasped. "Boss as in Edward Cullen?"
"Exactly. Some of our people are questioning him right up there. It happened in his office, and she was stabbed with his paper knife - I will spare you all the other glory details. The receptionist found the victim a few hours ago," he rambled on with facts and I was at a loss for words. Edward Cullen? A murderer? Sure, he was a little cold-hearted, but - oh my god, I just talked to him yesterday. Maybe it could've been me instead of the poor secretary if I had stayed there longer. Oh no. Suddenly I remembered his stupid yelling at Claire. I needed to know. "Jacob, what's the victims name? Who was she?"
"McNamara, Claire McNamara. Why are you asking? You know I shouldn't even tell you anything in the first place."
"Claire...," I all but whispered in response. I shuddered as her face flashed before my eyes, I had left her alone with him.
"Bella, you alright? Did you know her?" Jacob turned to fully face me again, now with concern and curiosity in his voice.
"No, not really," I answered quietly, "I just met her yesterday, while I was in the office." I had been very amused when Claire had spilled the tea on Edward Cullen and now she was gone for good - and he may be the reason why. I was really, really glad I didn't get to have breakfast this morning, because by now I was ready to vomit; sadness and guilt filling my stomach.
"What do you mean Bella? You were here yesterday?" Jacob enquired and stopped my worrying. I nodded, not sure if my voice would be stable enough to talk.
"Well, I'm sorry but in that case I have to ask you some questions. You okay with that Bells?"
In any other moment I would have wondered about his intimate use of a nickname for me, but this was some kind of extreme situation. I couldn't imagine how my Dad had handled investigating murders most of his life. Thinking of Charlie, I tried to collect myself. He would want me to not mess up with the investigation and the facts. So instead of waiting for Jacob's questions I just told him what happened.
"I came back yesterday because I forgot my umbrella the day before when I was here. It was work-related." Still, I didn't want to tell him exactly how the whole umbrella thing went. "I met her while I was looking for Mr. Cullen's office." I avoided saying her name out loud; it made it even more real. "She was really nice and friendly and I appreciated her help very much." I took a deep breath before I got to the next part. "So I went to Mr. Cullen's office and got my umbrella. He had asked her to bring some tea, and when I was leaving she spilled the tea all over him. Accidentally, of course. I was already half out the door when he yelled at her really bad.. And I... oh my god... I even thought it was kinda funny how he was all enraged about something so stupid. It seems like he gets riled up about the stupidest things." I realised I was babbling and shut up instantly.
Jacob took a few notes and put his notepad away again. He had a serious look on his face. "Thanks, Bells. So I take that's all?" I nodded in silent agreement. "Good. I'm sorry but I need you to confirm your statement at the station, just stop by my office within the next few days."
I assured him to make an official statement later this week before he left towards some of his colleagues. There was so much information crashing down on me this morning that my mind was completely empty. I couldn't form any coherent thoughts. One minute I worried about him possibly being killed, the next he was supposed to be the murderer. Guilt was also a big slice, riddled with fear. I took a deep breath and decided that I needed to step back from the happenings a bit if I wanted to get my work done. I grabbed my notebook and a pen out of my bag to take some notes, just facts and observations; no feelings. I quickly scrabbled down a few lines and then got distracted by the sudden commotion around me. I looked into the direction of the building again and my heart skipped a beat.
He was just being escorted out of the building by two bulky looking men in uniform. I barely noticed them as my eyes immediately met his. I tried to picture him, his angelic face and beautiful eyes, stabbing an innocent woman. When the police talked about him as the murderer, it was just words, now, as I looked into his eyes, the image just didn't fit. It couldn't be him. He was a rich, arrogant bastard and a thousand other things, but he wasn't capable of murdering someone. There goes my attempt to not get personally involved in this story.
He didn't look away and neither could I. His expression was tense and at the same time emotionless. But his eyes... his eyes were tired, slightly terrified and had the saddest look. I was paralysed and just stared at him until he was shoved into one of the police cruisers. It wasn't possible to look inside the car, so the uproar settled a bit. Everybody just watched as the two men got in as well and soon they weaved the car through the barriers, passing by the curious onlookers and were out of sight.
I wondered what would happen to him now. Would they arrest him? Would they arrest him because I had told them that he had yelled at the victim? Nobody gets accused of murder just because he yells at someone, right? But the way they had taken him with them seemed like they were quite positive that he had done it, when I was ninety percent sure he hadn't.
Which brought me to another unpleasant thought: If it wasn't him, then who did it?
Ryan came over to tell me he was leaving as he had all the shots we needed. I felt even more sick as he happily announced that he had a great spot for the arrest and wanted me to look at the pictures right away on his camera display, so that I could appraise his work. I didn't want to, as it had just happened right in front of my eyes, and I needed no reminder. So I simply told him to meet me later at the editorial office, and that I had work to do here. I already knew I couldn't write my name under a article with pictures of Edward Cullen being arrested; it seemed wrong. My stomach clenched, Ben would probably fire me after that argument.
To avoid that, I needed to get more information. Information which wouldn't make Edward Cullen the only suspect and candidate for our headline. I surveyed the area, looking for my next move.
I saw James Barth standing in the foyer, watching me. I was torn between being glad to find a familiar face to talk to and well - it was James Barth. Before I made my decision, he was already through the doors, walking towards me, a vacant expression on his face.
"Bella! I had pictured our reunion under more pleasant circumstances," he approached me. As I didn't respond – really, what was there to say - he continued. "I guess you've heard about Claire? It's such a tragedy! I can't believe she's dead. She was such a lovable person and a great colleague." James shook his head in disbelief of the events. I listened to him emotionless, pretending I was only standing on the sidelines of everything that had happened.
"Was she...," I asked "married? Kids? Is there a family?"
"Her family lives in Cornwall I think," he paused as Jacob was passing us, "she just got engaged. She was so excited about it yesterday when she told me. Guess not everybody was reacting too well to it," he said bitterly. Jacob must have heard our conversation as he joined us then. "I'm Detective Jacob Black, head investigator, may I ask you a few questions?" he introduced himself to James.
"Oh of course, anything that helps!" James agreed.
"Bells, would you mind?"
Oh! Police investigation and all, I guess I was not supposed to listen.
"That won't be necessary. I'll be telling her everything afterwards anyway."
That seemed to be good enough for Jacob, so he began questioning James, starting with his name and getting on with how good had he known Claire etcetera. They soon came back to the point when Claire had told him that she was engaged yesterday.
"She was entirely happy about it. Though I don't know the guy, I was glad to see her so happy." He paused a little, like he was deep in thought. "How ironic, that her true happiness probably caused her death in the end," he trailed off. I wasn't quite sure what he was implying there.
"Mr. Barth, what do you mean by this?" Jacob articulated my thoughts.
James seemed slightly uncomfortable. "Well, it's not very known in the firm, because Claire felt awkward about it, but Edward Cullen, he had a thing for her and as she told me he couldn't take a no with her. So I guess he got the news about the engagement and freaked out or something. Jealousy can be quite a bitch. Lauren, she's an assistant in engineering, told me she heard him yelling at Claire yesterday and that she was crying afterwards."
I was completely baffled, my intention to gather information emotionless definitely screwed. Edward had a thing for Claire? I wasn't sure if this bothered me because it made him more suspicious or because he was attracted to her at all. I forced myself to pay attention to the two men still talking. Jacob was asking for details and names now. James only provided some of the co-workers and assured that he didn't know who the fiancé was. After that, Jacob asked him to get him to the woman named Lauren so he could question her as well. I was glad I didn't have to deal with James and his statements anymore right now, however I wanted to talk to that Lauren too. Unfortunately, she was obviously still in the building as the two men disappeared behind the doors.
When I was finally back in the editorial office, sipping my first coffee for the day, my feet were aching and my stomach was growling. My body felt the hunger, but I couldn't bring myself to eat something. The crime was still too deterring, too fresh. Death was something I never really gave much thought to, but it was out there, or rather somebody was out there. Somebody cruel enough to stab a woman.
I shuddered at the thought and focussed back on the notes in front of me. I talked to several other employees earlier and no one knew about Claire having a boyfriend or even fiancé. Was it weird for someone to never talk about things like relationships during work? Well, who was I to know; I basically only talked to Angela about personal matters - still, I had seen Claire that day.
Aren't you supposed to be deliriously happy, all smiling and loving the whole world, when the one you love asks you to marry him?
There hadn't been anything like that.
The whole happenings seemed strange to me, there had to be something I missed.
I just didn't know what exactly I was looking for yet.
Chapter End Notes
Chapter title obviously borrowed from the amazing band that is Bright Eyes.
Again, lyrics in the beginning and story title borrowed from mastermind Ryan Adams.
Gazanias are really nice flowers, very common, you can google it.