Marks shook his head. “Sex thing is it?”
“No, detective. It’s not. It’s a metaphor.”
Gilmore looked up. “It’s an interpretation of Andromeda, right? Greek mythology. Perseus sets her free.”
Marks’ eyes alternated between the photograph and Alice. “Oh I get it. You’re Andromeda and your boyfriend is Perseus. What’s he going to free you from?” Marks smirked and added, “Metaphorically speaking.”
“Ian isn't the hero type.” Alice rubbed her nose, then folded her arms. “Anyway, I don't need rescuing.”
Marks stared at her with unblinking eyes. “Are you sure about that, Alice?”
“Like I said, detective. It’s a metaphor.” She looked to the portrait once more. “It offers a different meaning to each of us.”
“Just as well the police deal in facts, eh?”
Alice looked away. “Yes. Lucky us.”
The hint of a scowl crossed Marks’ face. “That’s all for now, Alice. But we may need to talk to you again.”
“People are threatening me on Twitter. What about them? And I haven't even looked at Facebook yet, God knows what they’re saying there. Isn’t that illegal? Aren't they facts?”
Marks stood and smoothed down his suit. “Our section doesn't deal with harassment. If you feel you're in danger, you can contact your local police station. Are you in danger?”
She shrugged. “I don't know.”
“It’s emotional out there, but it will blow over. We reviewed the comments, and you apologised. My advice is to ignore it. Do not engage with people spoiling for a digital fight. They’ll soon get bored and look for someone else to target.”
As the detectives walked to the door, Alice asked, “Don’t you need the contacts for my last job?”
Marks stopped and gave the semblance of a smile. “There’s no need. We know an awful lot about you, Alice Madsen.” He wagged a finger at her, “Now, may I suggest two Aspirin and a good night’s sleep.”
16
When Ian heard the lounge door open, he left the kitchen and approached the detectives in the hall. “Well?” Ian asked. “Is everything all right? She’s not a suspect or anything?”
Marks raised an eyebrow. “At this stage, it appears she is just a witness.”
“Good. What about media briefings? The reports on new channels are still implicating Alice by innuendo.”
Marks nodded. “I’ll pass our conclusion to the appropriate people.” He edged towards the front door and Gilmore followed him. Marks held out his hand. “We’ll be in touch if we need anything else.”
Ian opened the front door and a cool breeze ran through the hall, ruffling Alice’s jacket on the table. Gilmore brushed against it and it fell to the floor. He didn't retrieve it, and Ian couldn't tell if he intended the slight.
“One more thing,” Marks stopped in the doorway and pointed at the estate agent’s board by the front gate. “What’s with that?”
“This is my parents’ house. We rent it off them, but they want to sell it, so the sign went up a few days ago.”
“When are you moving out?”
Ian shrugged. “We’ve only begun the search for another place, but we’re thinking 6 to 8 weeks.”
“Uh-huh.” He waved a finger at Ian. “You need to keep us aware of your plans and any change of address. Same goes if you intend to leave the country for any reason. Business, holiday, family. Anything. All right? You have my card. Call me.”
When they’d left, Ian picked up the jacket from the floor. He hung it at the end of the stairs and paused. After several deep breaths, he entered the lounge.
“How was that?” he asked Alice. He sat on the sofa opposite her, leaning forward, resting his chin on linked hands.
She shrugged. “Unpleasant. Both them and the conversation.”
“At least it’s over now.”
“I hope.”
“They said they’d let the media know you’re only a witness.”
“Will they put that on Twitter?”
Ian shrugged. “Somehow, I doubt it.”
She curled up on the chair. “What am I supposed to do? Everybody hates me.”
“That’s not true, Alice.”
She nodded and spluttered. “I’m not feeling well. I should go to bed.”
“Then give me your hand. Come on. I’ll help you to bed.”
She held out her hand, and he pulled her to her feet. She stumbled into him and he pulled her close. He thought he felt her return the hug but couldn't be sure. As he nuzzled into her hair, he caught the fading scent of her usual perfume. Wonderlust by Michael Kors. A reliable gift if he couldn’t think of anything else. He closed his eyes and inhaled. For one moment, he fooled himself into believing everything was normal. Then she wriggled free. “Sorry. I’m just not right after all this.” She rubbed her eyes like a tired child. “My bag. My phone.”
“I’ll get them.” He grabbed her bag, popped her phone into it, and helped her up the stairs into the bedroom where she sat on the edge of the bed with her head in her hands.
“I don't trust those police,” she said. “They pretend to be on your side, but they’re not. They have their own agenda, and I never know what it is.”
“I think these guys are all right.”
Alice scoffed. “Yeah, sure.” She stood, unzipped her dress and let it fall to the floor. Then she unclipped her bra and threw it at the laundry basket.
“You want me to get your dress?” An instinctive pang of want fluttered through Ian as he watched her climb into the bed.
“Thanks.”
He hung the dress in the wardrobe and picked up her bra from the floor. “I’ll stay up for a while, okay?”
“Sure.”
