Page 73 of The Professor
“When she crashed and died instantly, he grabbed her phone and a laptop from the car so that he could protect her name in death. Except it didn’t work that way, because then it was him about to be thrown into prison for a few decades, he had no choice but to confess. Tampering with evidence is a much less serious charge than murdering his wife.”
“He didn’t murder her…he didn’t kill her.” The words were good in my mouth. They made my father himself again, even if he had withheld information.
But my mother…who was she? Human trafficking?
My head swam. The faces all turned my way had blurred. I clenched my fists. “This can’t be true, she was a good woman, beautiful, a wonderful mother and…”
“Have you ever heard the name Candy Floss?” Mitch asked.
“What? No.” What kind of name was that?
“Your mother never called herself that?”
“No. Never.” An image of us at a fairground came to mind. My mother laughing as she bought four big bags of pink candy floss. “She loved the stuff. Couldn’t walk past a stall.”
“Might be why she picked that name then.” From his pocket, Mitch pulled out a small black book. The leather binding was tattered, and a frayed silk page divider hung from it. “Do you recognize this number?”
“I…what?”
“Zero, seven, seven, zero, four, four, two, two, eight, eight, nine, nine.”
A lead weight opened in my belly, a black hole that seemed to suck me downward, into the seat. Of course I knew that number. We’d laughed that it was an easy one to remember. The only one I could.
“Chelsea?” Andrew said softly. “What is it?”
“That…that was my mother’s number.” I pointed at the book. “Why is it in there? Why have you got it?”
“This.” Mitch sighed and shook his head. “Is the little black book of a pimp we took out recently, Ranson. He ran a whore warehouse, kept his girls high so they’d stay, utterly dependent on him and—”
“Okay! So?” I folded my arms. “It’s not a crime that her number is in his book.”
“I think it means she knew him well,” Mitch said. “And she’s listed as Candy Floss and then in brackets, Bitch Who Gets Good Price Albanian Ass.”
“Albania. My mother has never even been there and…” I swiped at a tear that was rolling down my cheek. How could this be happening? “No. This isn’t right. Not at all. It’s a lie.”
* * * *
Andrew
I sighed and pulled Chelsea closer. Learning about her mother’s true character, on top of grief, was a double blow, hell, it was a triple blow. It marred memories and would stir up so many questions.
“That’s the book you picked up at the warehouse?” I nodded at Mitch’s hand.
“’Fraid so.”
My belly twisted, and I wiped a tear from Chelsea’s cheek. “Come on, let’s head to my place.”
“I want to go and see my father.”
“Are you sure? Already?”
“Yes…he’s my father.” She stood. “And he’s obviously having a horrible time.”
I also stood, but as I did, a thunderous vibration went through the building. It shook the souls of my feet and rattled through my bones.
“What the fuck?” Dalton stood and pointed at the screens. “We’ve got visitors.”
“Who the hell?” Finn and Cillian stood.
