Page 53 of Witness 8

SMS message sent to CONTACT: SMS sent at 17:05.

After all we’ve been through, you’re still treating me like a piece of shit. I’m always second best, aren’t I?

I’m done being your fucking piece on the side.

I can end you with one phone call.

Maybe I should tell everyone what you’ve done.

How would you like that?

Then you’ll know what pain feels like.

‘Has Jackson seen this?’ asked Lake.

I shook my head.

‘Is this a defense?’ he asked.

‘Not yet. I’m guessing one of the numbers on the phone was for Brett Bale and the other Todd Ellis. We have two alternative suspects. We were on our way to check out these guys when Bloch got the call from Raymond. I need you two to look into them. Deep dive,’ I said.

‘From the looks of that message, Margaret Blakemore was playing a dangerous game with at least one of these men. That message is a threat. It sure looks like motive.’

The waiter came with our drinks. Lake tried to ask him a question, but he pretended to hear something on his mic and practically ran from the table.

‘We need to get to know Ellis and Bale. I think we should wait until we have their statements, or interview transcripts from Castro. Then we’ll go shake their trees.’

‘What if nothing falls out?’ asked Lake.

‘Then we shake harder,’ said Bloch.

19

Ruby

Holding the page up to the light from her desk lamp, Ruby surveyed her work.

The lettering appeared uniform, all capital letters. She had used a Sharpie, the thick line less likely to show any personalization in her handwriting. She had practiced for a few hours on cheap copy paper, making sure to work out any kinks in her lettering. After fifty or so pages, she had the paragraph locked down, and could reproduce it as if it had come out of a Xerox machine.

She lifted a pad of paper from her desk drawer, spying the clock on the desk in her bedroom. It was almost eight in the evening and her hand was beginning to cramp. Mom would be growing impatient around now. It might be a good time to take a break, but she was in the zone. Now was the time to finalize her letters.

‘Ruby! Ruby! Is there any soup?’

The voice came from the living room of her small apartment.

‘I’ll be there shortly, Mom!’ called Ruby.

‘Thank you, sweetheart.’

She looked around her bedroom. A single bed, tight against the left-hand corner of the room. The bed didn’t fit on this side, and the door could only open a couple of feet before it hit the mattress and base. But Ruby needed her desk on the right side, where the sockets were and the light from the window. Nofamily pictures. The walls painted white to maximize the light. A bookcase beside the desk. There were only a handful of books on those shelves. Mostly non-fiction. Cookery. Home maintenance. Mindfulness. And a selection of self-help books that proved to be no help at all. A single poster above her bed.

She had seen the poster in a second-hand record store. They also sold old pieces of memorabilia – classic Americana to go with the rockabilly records – their specialty. The poster was faded on one side, as if it had long been exposed to a bright sun. Ruby didn’t mind; it meant someone else had loved it enough to display it. And Ruby loved this poster. She gazed at it for hours at a time. She wasn’t sure, but she guessed it was from the eighties advertising a convertible Cadillac Eldorado. The car looked nice, but that wasn’t what made the poster special. Behind the wheel was a woman, her blond hair blowing in the wind as the car sped along an arrow-straight road through the desert.

That lady looked like she had the perfect life. No one around her. No whispering from the red priest, no family, no responsibilities. And no problems.

Total freedom.

Ruby desperately wanted to be that lady. And she knew one day she would be. Everything she was working for was to get onto that road, with nowhere to go, forever.