Page 27 of Twisted Lies
Penn shook his head. ‘Not at the same time but fire was—’
‘Back in ancient times, the tyrant Antiochus ordered a torture on naysayer Areth, whereby he was tied to a pillar by a fire that was lit at such a distance so as not to fatally burn him. He was pricked all over his head, face and body to allow the heat to penetrate deeper into his skin.’
‘For what purpose?’ Penn asked.
‘The purpose, my boy, was to roast him alive.’
Twenty
It was almost six o’clock when Frost pressed the ‘Publish’ button and the first article went live.
Without realising it, the office had emptied around her. Only Fitz and the sports photographer remained. The phones were quiet, the chatter had gone and the desks had been left in an array of chaos, ready for the next day because news happened on its own schedule.
She sat back and rolled her head from side to side to release the tension in her shoulders. She had worked non-stop on the article after being given the green light on the idea.
‘I’ll make you coffee you won’t drink again, Frost,’ the photographer said, walking past her desk.
‘Sorry, Brad, got caught up,’ she said, touching the side of the mug. It was stone cold.
‘Wanna go get a fresh one at—?’
‘I’m good, thanks. Gonna just see this online.’
‘No probs,’ he said brightly. ‘See you on the morrow.’
She held up her hand in response as she clicked onto the article. Admittedly, it had been a rush job. She’d used the piece as an introduction, a refresher on the whole case: Trisha’s background, her family and basic information. Fitz had made a couple of small changes, but overall he’d been happy with her approach.
She grabbed her notebook and began scribbling ideas for how she saw the features playing out in her mind. She wanted to report it in a linear fashion. The article today had focused on Trisha as a person. Frost had made sure to include photos of the fun-loving, carefree girl she’d been before meeting Nick Morley and to mention her name as many times as she could. She looked at her own list and nodded with satisfaction, a clear direction now formed in her mind.
Tomorrow her article would focus on the abuse, the injuries sustained over the course of the relationship.
On Wednesday, she’d focus on the murder, and the evidence against Morley.
Thursday she’d write about the mistrial, and then end with a sum up on Friday of the whole case, just in time for the new trial next week.
A small part of her felt as though she was speaking to an empty room, but she cast the thought aside. At least she was opening her mouth.
She turned to a fresh page in her notebook and began sketching out aspects of the abuse. She wanted to cover the first incident of intimidation, isolation and shame. Her pen flew over the page with ideas. When she next looked up, she’d written seven pages of notes and Fitz’s office had darkened behind her. She’d never even heard him leave.
It had been a long day and she knew she should go home, but there was a niggle in her mind that she was missing something in the abuse angle.
‘Past behaviour,’ she said to the empty office. She needed to demonstrate that he’d done it before. That it was a pattern.
She flicked backwards in her notepad to the first thing she’d written. The first thing she’d noted when talking to Penny Colgan earlier in the day.
She stabbed the pad with her pen. ‘Okay, where are you, Ariane Debegorski?’
Twenty-One
As she stood outside the empty house, Kim did her calculations.
‘This took more than two people,’ she said. ‘Given the time they had, the space in two cars and the volume of stuff that’s gone, there had to be more people involved.’
‘Agreed, but why?’ Bryant asked. ‘Her husband has just been murdered, and she’s done some kind of disappearing act with her two kids.’
‘Clearly they know something we don’t,’ she said, knocking on the door of the neighbour.
‘Well you took your— Oh,’ said the woman opening the door, clearly expecting to see someone else.
