Page 117 of Five for Silver

Ally stood up. “He needs to be checked overby a doctor.”

The DI nodded.

“I need to get out of these clothes as soonas possible. I need to shower, I need to wash my hair,” Chadswallowed. “I need to get the smell of blood out of my nose. That’swhat Ineed, Ally, not a doctor,”

“Okay,” she said softly.

Chad looked up at thehouse. Most of all, he needed to know Romeo was all right. Heneeded to know he’d be there when he got back.

If he got back.

Chapter Twenty-One

Chad felt like a criminal.

Correction, hewasa criminal, but hehad to convince whoever stepped through the doors to the interviewroom, he wasn’t.

They’d taken his fingerprints, swabbed hishands, the side of his face, and his neck, but they hadn’t takenany photographs.

He hadn’t been arrested.

Not yet.

And not at all if Chad could convinceofficers of his version of events.

They’d taken his clothes, let him shower,then handed him some worn down grey joggers and a grey sweatshirt.He could see his skin through the threadbare knees of his jogger,and the sleeves of the sweatshirt were torn, and mishapen, as ifthe previous wearer had chewed them. The clothes smelled terriblewith a strong scent of stale body odor.

He’d been asked to hand over his shoes andsocks, too, and had been given a mismatched pair of sports socksthat scratched like a scouring pad.

Chad didn’t bounce his leg on the floor, orfiddle with his fingers in his lap. He didn’t pinch the top of hisjoggers or chew the sleeves. Keeley’s visits had taught him to hidehis nervous tells and he sat slumped in his chair—not too slumped,that screamed over confidence—but not ram rod straight, andcertainly not rocking back and forth like he’d witnessed so manysuspects do over the years.

Chad sat relaxed in the chair like it was arelief to finally sit down, and rest his back against somethingsolid, because it was.

His eyes were on the mirror on the wall. Hedidn’t know if anyone stood in the boxroom on the other side of it,but he stared anyway.

When the door opened, it was the DI whostepped into the room, laptop tucked under his arm, and holding acup of coffee. He smiled at Chad, and placed the coffee down on thetable. Chad recognized the brand printed on the side of thetakeaway cup. He glanced at it questioningly until the DI pushed itcloser.

“Josh insisted,” the DI snorted softly.“Said you couldn’t stand the instant coffee we sell here.”

“Thanks,” Chad said, wrapping both handsaround the cup. He exhaled as it warmed his palms.

“Are you feeling any better?”

“A bit,” Chad admitted. “The showerhelped.”

It was basic, hidden away in a holding cell.It trickled out warm water, just enough for Chad to sweep the smallhand soap he’d been given over his skin. He’d scrubbed the bar overhis hair, rinsing out the blood that couldn’t be seen with thenaked eye.

“Good,” The DI said, taking his seatopposite Chad. “That’s good.”

He set up the laptop, then reached into hispocket.

“Josh also got one of the officers to bringyou this.” He revealed Chad’s phone. The screen protector hadsmashed from where he’d dropped it, but he could still see thewaiting message fromFrank.

He managed not to snatch the phone from theDI’s fingers. Barely.

“Josh said he tried to message Frank back,but he didn’t know your passcode.”

Chad held out his hand. The DI hesitatedbefore passing it to him.

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