3

“What?”

Ridley stood there, his mouth hanging uselessly, his eyes wide.

“He’s dead,” Emily sobbed. “They found him this morning." Emily broke down, hugging her arms around herself, weeping pitifully.

Ridley strode around the desk and wrapped his arms around her, a remarkably human gesture and not one Nairo had seen him do before.

"Here, take a seat.” Ridley pulled out the chair opposite his desk and sat her down, his own eyes were bright and glistening. “He can’t be. Are you sure it was him?”

Emily nodded, tears streaking down her face. She buried herself in Ridley’s chest and wept. Ridley hugged her tight, his jaw clenched as he fought against his own tears. Nairo felt painfully intrusive in this naked moment of grief. She looked at Mrs. Paper, who was dithering by the door, and motioned for her to bring another cup of tea.

“What happened?” Ridley asked, his voice gruff.

“The-the- the police contacted me this morning. They wanted me to i-i-identify the body. It was him, Ridley. He looked so… in so much pain,” she sobbed.

“How?” Ridley croaked.

“They’re saying… they’re saying it was an overdose on-on Burn.”

“What?” Ridley snorted incredulously. “That’s bullshit. Quinn wasn’t a Burner!”

“I tried telling them that! They wouldn’t listen,” Emily said, her eyes bright, a desperate, imploring look on her face. “They just wanted to get him identified and move on. I kept saying he wasn’t a-a drug addict! But they didn’t care!”

“Damn coppers,” Ridley growled as Mrs. Paper brought a hot cup of tea for Emily.

“Thank you,” Emily said, her voice shaking.

“Why did they think it was an overdose?” Nairo asked, and Emily looked around in surprise; she hadn’t even noticed Nairo sitting behind her desk.

“Oh,” Emily said.

“Coz they’re lazy, bloody pigs who don’t want to investigate anything,” Ridley growled. “This is the Sarge, by the way. Sarge, this is Emily Quinn, her father was…” Ridley’s voice tightened for a moment. “Her father taught me everything I know. He showed me the ropes to the PI game.”

Nairo bit back a smart remark. Now wasn’t the time.

“I’m Sally,” Nairo said to Emily with a small smile. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you. Do you… work with Ridley?”

“Yes, we’re partners,” Nairo said, and for once, Ridley was too distracted to add ‘junior partner’ to Nairo’s title. “Why do the police believe your father overdosed?”

“They said he looked just like… the others. That they’ve had dozens of them over the last few weeks. Apparently he had the same signs.”

The vivid image of Sarita’s gnarled and twisted corpse flashed past Nairo’s eyes.

“Did he… look like he was in pain when he passed?” Nairo asked.

Emily sobbed and nodded.

“Were his eyes bloodshot?”

Again, Emily nodded.

“Were his…”

“Enough of the damned questions,” Ridley snarled at Nairo.

“I’m just trying to establish the facts,” Nairo said to him calmly.

She could see the agitation in his shoulders and the twist of his face as he forced unshed tears to stay at bay. She had seen Ridley angry, she had seen him frustrated, she had seen him wounded before, but she had never seen hurt like this before.

“It’s okay,” Emily said, laying a gentle hand on Ridley’s arm. “This is why I’ve come to you. You have to prove he didn’t overdose. Someone killed my dad, and the police don’t care.”

Ridley’s jaw clenched again, and he nodded to Nairo to proceed.

“Was his face a sickly yellow colour?” Nairo asked, pulling her notepad in front of her and clicking her pen.

“Yes.”

Nairo saw Ridley shut his eyes and then turn his back.

“I’m sorry Emily, I know this is painful, but I have to ask,” Nairo said.

“It’s okay,” Emily said, dabbing at her eyes.

“You say your father never took Burn?”

“Of course he didn’t!” Ridley snapped. “Quinn was a man. A real man. Sure, he drunk like a fish, but he would never touch that crap.”

“When was the last time you saw your father?” Nairo said, ignoring Ridley.

“I haven’t seen him in… maybe a few months.”

“Is that unusual?”

“No, dad was never around much. He lived a hard life, and he didn’t want to bring… all of that around the family. I saw him more as I got older, but we were never in regular contact.” Emily frowned.

“So you haven’t seen him for a while. No letters? No correspondence of any sort?”

“No.”

“Ridley, have you seen him recently?”

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

“No. I haven’t seen Quinn for maybe a year.”

Nairo nodded and noted that down.

“I know what you're angling at,” Ridley growled at her, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“What?” Emily asked.

“She’s gonna try and say neither of us have seen him in so long we don’t know what he was doing. Could be he developed a habit in the months since we’ve seen him.”

Nairo looked up at him. He was right.

“I’m just establishing facts and timelines,” Nairo said, her voice still placid and calm.

“Quinn wasn’t a Burner!” Ridley snarled through clenched teeth.

“Maybe it would be best if you stepped outside and let me carry on, Ridley. Get some air.” It sounded like a suggestion, but Ridley knew it wasn’t.

He stood, arms folded obstinately across his chest.

“Please Ridley,” Nairo added. “You’re too close to this.”

"It's okat," Emily said to him, stroking his arm gently.

Ridley clenched his jaw and deflated. He grabbed his smokes off the desk and stalked out of the office, slamming the door behind him.

“I’m sorry about him,” Emily said. “He was… so close to dad. Ridley doesn’t have much in the way of family. Dad was all he had for a long time.”

Nairo gave Emily a small, thin lipped smile and took a breath.

“You say you think someone killed your father? Why do you think that?”

“That wasn’t a natural death,” Emily said. “I don’t know much about that sort of thing, but seeing him there all twisted. People don’t die like that.”

“Why would someone want to kill your father? Did he have any enemies?”

“Dad moved in some shady circles. You understand, it’s part of the Private Investigator life. But I don’t know about enemies.”

“Could you think of any reason why someone would want to harm your father?”

Emily shook her head.

“Do you know anything about what he’s been doing recently? Anyone he’s been associating with? Working for?"

Emily shook her head again.

“Dad didn’t really talk about work. I think he was working a case though.”

“Why?”

“Because when he goes missing for a long time, it’s because he’s working on a case. The last time I saw him, he did say something about having work coming up. I can’t remember any details though.”

“So you also wouldn’t know about any known associates or anybody he would have been in contact with recently?”

Emily shook her head.

“Ridley would know more about that than I would.”

“Okay. Thank you, Emily. I know this must be so hard for you.”

“You believe me though, don't you? Dad wasn’t a junkie. He just wasn’t!” Her voice sounded so small and desperate.

“I don’t know,” Nairo replied honestly. “But I promise, Ridley and I will look into it.”

“Thank you,” Emily said.

She sighed and wiped her eyes.

“I don’t know what to do,” she said. “What do you do when someone dies? I’ve got to make funeral arrangements, and the kids have school in the morning. It’s all just…”

“Take your time,” Nairo said. “Grief can’t be rushed. Just take your time and give yourself a chance to grieve.”

“When you find my dad’s killer. Then I’ll be able to lay him to rest.” Emily said, her eyes suddenly hard.

Nairo opened her mouth and then closed it, deciding to just give a silent nod instead.

Emily gathered her belongings and stood up, wiping her nose.

“Thank you for your time… Sally was it?”

“That’s right.”

“Thank you, Sally.”

Emily turned and walked out of the door, her tea untouched. Nairo sighed and put her pen down. She leaned back and rubbed her eyes. After a few minutes, she heard the door open again, and Ridley walked back in, soaking wet and stinking of tobacco.

“So?” he asked Nairo.

“You’re not going to like this,” Nairo began.

Ridley crossed his arms and sat on the edge of his desk.

“I’m just speaking as an impartial observer,” Nairo said. “He was an isolated, lonely, older man, estranged from his family with no support system. By your own admission, he had a drinking problem…”

“Who doesn’t?” Ridley snorted.

“No one had seen him for months. Addicts usually become reclusive, to hide their addiction. From what Emily described of the body, it sounded exactly like what I saw this morning with Sarita’s corpse. Twisted face, bloodshot eyes, yellowed skin—all the telltale signs of a Burn overdose. It could be that he was just a casual user and he got some of this Bad Batch. We don’t know how much of it can kill a person. I’m sorry Ridley, but it all points to an OD on Burn.”

Ridley chewed this around his mouth. His jaw worked from side to side, and his eyebrows knitted together.

“Naa,” he sniffed through his nose. “Bollocks. You didn’t know Quinn, I did. If he died from an OD, someone poisoned him. He wouldn’t touch that shit.”

“Emily said he had no known enemies. He hadn’t spoken about being threatened. Usually, when people’s lives are in danger, they make contact with loved ones. They put their affairs in order. Why would someone want to kill your friend?”

“Coz he was Mack Quinn! One of the best PI's this city has ever seen. His list of enemies’ll be longer than your arm!”

“And one of them randomly decides to do what? Force him to ingest contaminated Burn? Emily said they found him in his home. So that means they would have had to break in, overpower him, force feed him Burn, and all without leaving a trace that would raise suspicion,” Nairo said. “Doesn’t that sound unlikely to you?”

“You didn’t know him,” Ridley growled, his eyes darkening. “Quinn was as solid as they come. He hated Burn, Slug, and all that crap. He said junkies were bottom feeders. He would never have become one. And if he was in trouble…” Ridley stopped.

“He would have come to you,” Nairo finished for him.

“He would have!” Ridley said.

“And if his life was in danger, would he have come to you?”

Ridley clenched his jaw and flared his nostrils.

“Someone killed Quinn. I don’t know why... Maybe it had something to do with a case he was working, or something.”

“Every PI's dream to get murdered on a case, right?”

“Exactly,” Ridley said.

Nairo sighed. As a copper, she had seen this before. Grief was a strange beast. It made people irrational. It made them hunt shadows and twist truths till they bent and snapped. It made them do anything other than accept they had lost someone.

“I’m investigating this case,” Ridley said, his tone adamant. “You don’t have to get involved. It’s got nothing to do with you.”

“My name’s on the door,” Nairo said to him pointedly.

“Just a technicality.”

“Ridley you can’t…”

“Emily came to me!”

“And it won’t help her to move on if she spends the rest of her life believing someone murdered her father. She needs to accept what has happened and process her pain. Not wait for some impossible justice to soften the blow.” Nairo said, her voice firm.

Ridley kicked his desk in frustration and began pacing.

“You don’t understand.”

“I do. And I’m your friend. If someone killed someone important to you, then it’s important to me too.” Ridley was her friend. It had taken her almost half a year of knowing him before she was comfortable enough to vocalise it, but he had her back when she most needed a friend in her corner. If investigating and finding no wrongdoing would help him grieve the loss of his mentor, then she would help him take that journey. “I don’t think anyone did kill Quinn, but I’ll help you investigate. How about I set up an appointment with Drake? The coroner is slammed at the minute with all of these bodies, but I’m sure if I asked nicely, he would be able to push Quinn to the front of the queue.”

“I want to see the body,” Ridley said.

“I’ll arrange it.”

“And tell that bloodsucker to treat him with care.”

“He’s not a vampyr.”

“Yeah whatever.” Ridley stalked across the office and grabbed his jacket.

“Where are you going?”

“To Quinn’s.”

Nairo sighed and pushed herself back from her desk, grabbing her notepad and mini baton, and followed him out into the stormy night.