Phoenix

By E. M. Richmond

Abby was just a small-town reporter with a small-town future until a man imprisoned for a crime he did not commit begged for her help to prove his innocence. When the man is murdered, Abby realises there is much more to the man’s story and it leads her down a dangerous and tragic path.

Abby must leave the past behind and become someone else to survive; to stop the man responsible for destroying her world. Like the myth, she rose from the ashes to become Phoenix.

But she may end up paying the ultimate price: her sanity or her life.

Michael Ryan’s career as a police officer was all but over; then he was given the opportunity of a lifetime. He chose to turn away from all he knew, giving up on love, until he met her.

Phoenix is determined to seduce Michael in order to infiltrate his world, but her attraction for him begins to get in the way.

They both have a lot of secrets. Will those secrets destroy their love or will they be able to find a way past the lies?

Can Michael save her ... from herself?

• Language: English
• Publisher: EMR Books
• Release date: Mar 29, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310910456

E. M. Richmond

E M Richmond is a pen name. The author lives in Palmerston North, New Zealand.

Book preview

Prologue

It was hot for late spring and the air was stifling. It was unusual weather for the time of year in a small town that sat in the shadow of snow-covered ranges.

All the houses along Market Street were quiet and dark for 11pm. There was the occasional flicker of light from a television screen in some of the residences, but few if any had the lights on in the rooms. No one wanted to add to the rising temperatures from the unexpected heat wave.

A woman walked along the street at what appeared to be a hurried pace. As she passed under a streetlight, her form cast a heavy shadow. The silhouette was lumpy, distorted, but it was not easily discernible if the woman was overweight for her height or if it was just a trick of the light.

The woman turned into the short driveway of a small house. Those who saw the house in daylight determined it was nothing special. Built in the early 1930s, it was in a bad state of disrepair. However its tenant did not appear to be concerned by the sagging boards on the porch, or the peeling paint.

The tenant stepped up to the porch, turning her head to glance behind her. She paused on the step, her face, while still mostly in shadow, could just be seen by the light above her gateway.

She was 164cm in height and possibly close to forty kilograms overweight, her body, clothed in a short top and skirt exposing the flabby arms and chubby thighs which were a standard for women of her stature. Her age was indeterminate. She could be twenty five or she could be thirty five. Her weight certainly did not help. She was not well known to her neighbours. All most could say was that the woman kept to herself and was polite and quiet.

She took out a set of keys; the metal jangling in the quietness of the night and then inserted them in the Yale lock. Most would have cause to wonder why a woman alone would choose to live in a house so ramshackle and with just a cheap lock for security. This was a small town and many still believed it was safe enough to leave their doors unlocked and their windows wide open. Such was the mentality of small town New Zealand.

The door was opened and she stepped inside, over the rickety doorstep, her feet making a slight creak on a board that was bowed in the middle. She disappeared into the darkness of the small house, the door closing with a soft click behind her.

It could be ten seconds or twenty seconds later, but there came a flash and a loud explosion which shook the foundations of the house and several others on the street. As it was, the noise startled the neighbours out of their complacency, sending them running out of their houses, as if they were suddenly experiencing a magnitude seven earthquake. Startled though they were by the unexpectedness of the event, most could only stand and stare in helpless horror, like those known as rubberneckers, twisting their necks as they passed by a horrible accident scene. Not wanting to look, but still drawn to the tragedy.

Flames engulfed the building, licking hungrily at the dry, old wood. Those assembled continued to watch, speculating on the nature of this terror that had all too suddenly descended on their quiet, mundane lives. They all knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that had someone been inside that inferno, they would have instantly perished.

Some hours later, police and fire investigators were on site. A black BMW drove along the street, parking on the road behind a plainclothes police car. A man, aged somewhere in his mid-forties, with greying dark hair got out of the car. He was tall about one point eight metres, with a slim, athletic build. He was wearing a charcoal grey suit which marked him as someone official.

He walked along the street to the front of the ruin, observing a young man writing furiously in a notepad while talking to one of the uniformed officers. He continued on past, approaching a man in the dark blue uniform jacket of the fire service.

Can I help you? the investigator asked, sucking on the end of a cigarette.

The man pulled out a wallet, flipping it open to show some identification. The fire investigator nodded.

What have you found? the man asked.

Cause is undetermined.

Body?

Not yet, but that means nothing. It depends on whether the occupant was at ground zero at the time of the explosion. There may be nothing to find.

How sure are you?

The investigator's grin was sickly.

About as sure as I am of winning Lotto this weekend.

I’d like to see inside.

The fire investigator waved a hand, gesturing toward the blackened porch. Be my guest.

The man walked inside, picking his way through the ashes, the piles of charred wood, his shoes crunching on broken and melted bits of glass. His gaze fell on a small spot of colour in the destruction and he walked over to it, digging it out. It was a photograph, its edges charred, the surface bubbled from the heat. It was of a young woman and an older couple. The women looked similar. Mother and daughter, he assumed.

Turning, he walked out again, nodding to Coleman, and returning to his car.

Reporter missing after late night inferno – The Times, November 20

It is with great shock and sadness that we here at The Times must report the possible death of one of our own.

Abigail Smith, 25, a reporter for the last two years at The Times, is missing, believed dead after her house was destroyed in a massive explosion which could be heard for several kilometres.

Police and fire investigators have still to determine the cause of the explosion, which occurred around 11pm yesterday.

It was believed Ms Smith had only just arrived home after working late night at this newspaper.

Fire investigator Bill Coleman said it will take several days for the cause of the explosion to be discovered.

He said the forensics team will be sifting through the damage in the hope of picking up clues.

Senior Sergeant Mark Donohue said there was always a possibility that Ms Smith was still alive, she could be badly injured and he is hoping she will be found.

He said police were very familiar with Ms Smith due to her line of work.

"We have known Abby for two years and we have always found her to be a personable young woman.

"She’s quiet, but she has always shown remarkable integrity for someone so young.

"Should it be determined that someone has deliberately done this, believe me, we will be leaving no stone unturned to discover who is responsible for such a heinous deed to a lovely girl."

Ms Smith recently suffered two very tragic losses when her parents were killed in a boating accident eight weeks ago.

Her partner, Scott Jensen, was also killed in a car accident less than a month ago.

Police are asking for anyone with any information on Ms Smith’s whereabouts to contact them urgently.

Max Sutton put down the newspaper with a sigh, combing his fingers through his greying hair. He took his i-phone from the desk and accessed his email.

Need to meet. ASAP. Usual place.

The message came back within the hour.

On my way.

Max waited. The warehouse where he met his contact looked abandoned from the outside. It had been an old clothing factory once upon a time, but years of economic yo-yoing had left the previous owners with no choice but to abandon it.

Max.

He turned, looking at the man with dark blonde hair. He had no idea where his friend had come from and didn’t ask.

What’s going on? Michael Ryan asked.

Max showed him the paper. Michael read it thoroughly.

They got a cause yet?

No. Coleman made his best guess that it was arson. The cops are clueless.

They would be. Where is she now?

We don’t know. She hasn’t shown up at the local hospital and none of her friends have heard from her.

She could be dead, Michael said.

I doubt it, Max told him.

We need to find her.

Girl may not want to be found. He looked at his friend. Michael had that look. Mike, don’t do it. She’s not worth blowing this for.

Michael shook his head. No one cared enough to stop this before it was too late. Someone has to care. Someone has to.

And I’m not about to let you jeopardise everything we’ve spent the last six months setting up. We must continue with the operation as planned.

She knows …

She doesn’t know everything.

Chapter One

The beach was deserted. All along the coastline, private residences were scattered, haphazardly, it seemed, but each had their own private pathway to the beach below. It was private and that was the way they preferred it. The town council had fought against the ruling which allowed each residence to bar anyone from their part of the sandy expanse, but they had lost, and the town members had decided the expense of continuing to appeal was too costly for the town coffers.

Most of the residences were empty this time of year; the majority of them occupied only during the warmer months or on holiday weekends. Two years earlier, there had been a spate of burglaries where many of the homes had lost valuable possessions, so the residents had pooled their resources to pay for the continued monitoring by a private security company. The owners of these residences were rich - and in many cases, used to getting what they wanted.

Despite the restrictions to the beach from above, few considered the possibility that someone may access the homes from the sea itself. Below one such residence was an expanse of high dunes which had the effect of hiding anyone approaching from the water.

And that was exactly what the lone figure approaching the three storey mansion had counted on.

Phoenix glanced behind her, shielding her eyes from the sun, gazing at the 25 foot cabin cruiser three hundred metres out to sea. It was just out far enough that anyone watching the coastline would not get too suspicious. The man sitting on a deck chair with a fishing rod in his hands had a hat pulled down low over his eyes. It was meant to give the effect of shielding his eyes from the sun. What it really did was hide his face from anyone monitoring from the house.

He had asked her once why she didn’t rent one of the houses on either side. It would, after all, have been the most logical thing to do. She didn’t want to call attention to herself that way. Knowing the owner of this particular property as she did, any movement outside of the norm at either home would instantly cause suspicion.

It was a risk staking out the house during the day, knowing she could get caught, but she was not going to learn what she needed about the house and her enemy at night. Many of the residents, in their arrogance, didn’t think there was such a problem with break-ins during the day and security didn’t patrol as frequently as they did at night. There was also the not-so-little issue of not having the equipment to spy on them in darkness.

She had studied enough of the geography of this small area that she figured she was reasonably well-hidden. As long as she stayed behind the dunes and didn’t make any sudden movements that would draw attention to her location she was fine.

Her companion had been uneasy when she’d outlined the plan, which was to dive over the side of the boat several hundred metres away and swim underwater until she reached shallow water, then walk up the beach to where the dunes overhung the coastline, giving her an effective cover. He had wondered how she could get back on board the boat without being seen, but she had had installed a large cooler on board which would cover her return.

She carried a backpack containing a pair of dry shorts and shirt sealed in a waterproof bag. She quickly put them over her bathing suit, then added a pair of flat shoes to complete the outfit. The woman shook her wet blonde hair, pulled back into a tight braid, and began to walk up toward the grounds of the neighbouring house, careful to keep out of sight of the huge picture windows that covered one wall of the main living area on the bottom floor of the mansion.

Taking a camera and a telephoto lens from another sealed bag, she laid flat on the grass and trained the camera on the house. At this angle, the sun was behind her, so there was little chance of the light reflecting off the lenses. It was something she’d learned from a group of mercenaries in South America.

A man moved in front of the picture windows and she quickly began to snap a few pictures. The man was tall; almost 1.9 metres in height, with dark blonde hair cut in almost a spiky style. His clothes were well-fitting and looked expensive. He appeared to be talking on the phone to someone. It was a shame, she thought, that she couldn’t get access to monitoring equipment, so she could hear what the man was saying and she wasn’t close enough to be able to read his lips. For all the time she had been away, that was one thing she hadn’t managed to become proficient at.

From what she’d seen of the architectural plans of the building, the mansion had four bedrooms on the top floor, three on the second level with an office and a fairly large game room, as well as a huge open-plan living area combined with kitchen and dining area on the bottom floor. A conservatory/sunroom made up the rest of the space.

The mansion itself was the largest of the properties in this exclusive area. Two tennis courts and a huge lawn made up the front of the property, while a swimming pool and terrace faced the ocean view. The property was secure from prying eyes by clever landscaping for anyone who chose to wander in the area.

The man with the spiky hair pulled open the sliding door and walked out to sit on one of the chairs on the terrace. As she watched, another man followed him outside. The second man had olive skin and dark hair and a look which could be Mediterranean or Hispanic in origin. He appeared to be in his early forties, his skin showing signs of damage from too much sun.

She took a few more photographs of the two men as they sat drinking beer on the terrace. They were laughing, chatting casually. She bit her lip, suppressing the anger she felt at the way the men just appeared not to have a care in the world.

The blonde man shaded his eyes and looked out at the ocean, then leaned over to say something to his companion. The other man turned his head and stared in the direction of the boat on the water.

She pressed herself flat against the grass, careful to hide the camera from view. The sun might be behind her, but she wasn’t taking any chances. If she was discovered spying on these people it would ruin everything.

***

Do I have something to worry about? the dark-haired man asked.

Nah, looks like he’s just fishing, the blonde told him.

Are there no warnings that this is a private beach?

Of course there are, but that’s the beach, my friend. You can’t stop someone fishing in a boat.

He’s too close.

He’s fine. Let it go Rafe.

The blonde got up from the chair and went back inside, grabbing a pair of binoculars. He trained them on the boat, but saw nothing innocuous. The man had a hat pulled down low over his eyes, but he could just be shading them since he wore no sunglasses. The man continued to sit on the chair on the boat, fishing line over the side.

Take your own advice, Ryan, he told himself with a sigh. The guy was just a fisherman. There was nothing going on. Nothing at all.

***

Having all the information she needed, she headed back to the beach. She stripped off the shirt and shorts; stuffing them along with the camera and lens into the waterproof bags in the backpack. She located the snorkelling equipment where she’d stashed them, then glanced up to make sure she was out of sight before wading into the water until it was deep enough for her to swim under.

She swam with strong strokes out to the boat, watching through the clear water until she was sure she had gone around the boat and behind the cabin. She climbed up the ladder on the side of the boat, covered by the body of the fisherman and entered the cabin, putting down her backpack, drying herself off with a towel, then undoing the braid and shaking her hair loose.

She picked up the binoculars from the shelf in the cabin and trained them on the house. The two men were sprawled on the chairs, drinking beer and looking as if nothing untoward was going on. If luck held, they would just believe she had been sleeping in the cabin.

Jake lifted his head slightly as she walked out in espadrilles on the deck.

Are they biting? she asked.

He didn’t answer the question, and she didn’t expect him to. She sat down facing him, turning her face up to the sun. Jake opened the cooler and took out a bottle of water, handing it to her.

I still don’t see why you needed to stake out the house, he told her. Especially so close.

I needed to see who and what I’m dealing with. The house is monitored from the street, but not from the back.

Why? Are you thinking of breaking into the house?

Let’s just say I’m covering all my bases, she told him. And I don’t pay you to second-guess me Jake. You do what you’re told.

She could see the resentment on his face, but the reality of it was he really had nothing to complain about. The last thing she wanted was to cut him loose if he did complain. He already knew too much about her. Not that she’d really told him anything personal. He still had enough on her to get her put in prison for a long time. That was if she ever lived long enough to be sent to prison.

She’d found him six months ago. She’d done her research and learned where many of the ex-cons tended to congregate. Walking into the bar late on a Thursday night would have terrified her old self, but she wasn’t that woman anymore.

Dressed to kill in black skin-tight leather pants, black silk shirt and a black leather trench coat, she had ensured that no one in that bar was left in any doubt that she was not someone to be messed with. She had the type of build which made her look much taller than what she was, at 164cm, and the high-heeled boots she was wearing gave her an extra six centimetres.

She’d approached the bartender, ignoring the looks from the various members, staring at him coolly.

Yeah? he said shortly.

Whiskey. Sour, she answered, her tone just as short. She slapped money on the bar and he took it, and then poured the drink in a shot glass.

The music in the bar was loud, but she kept her voice low, speaking under the noise.

I want someone to do a job for me, she said as the bartender placed the glass in front of her. She took it and lifted it to her mouth, taking the alcohol in one gulp.

Is it legal? he asked.

She stared at him impassively. He smirked.

What kind of job?

Physical.

The bartender nodded in the direction of two guys. One of them had skin of lightish-brown, with hair as black as ebony. He had a tattoo of what appeared to be a dragon on his arm. A second man was Caucasian, shorter, and bald.

Talk to Jake.

She nodded, leaving her change on the bar and walked over to the table.

Jake?

The man with dark hair smiled up at her, showing crooked teeth.

Who wants to know?

I have a job.

Yeah? What kind of job?

The kind that pays five grand. Each.

The two men looked at each other. We’re in.

She raised a hand. Now, hold on. I need a little info first. She nodded at Jake. Where’d you get the tatt?

Prison.

For?

Armed robbery. B and E.

And you? she said, looking at the bald man.

B and E.

How long you been out?

Freddie’s been out six months. I’ve been out a year.

And you’ve kept your noses clean all that time? she asked with a smirk.

Jake grimaced. Didn’t say that.

Didn’t have to. All right. She took a slip of paper out of her coat pocket. Meet me at this address tomorrow night. Midnight. Bring a truck. And keep your mouths shut. You say anything to anyone and not only will you lose the job and the money, but I will also destroy you. Capisce?

The two men looked at each other and nodded.

Understood.

She had no doubt when she left the bar that she would be followed, but it wasn’t the two men she had hired. There were two others who had been listening in on the conversation, and trying not to look as if they were listening.

She waited until she had approached the narrow alley between the old buildings. Then she ducked inside the alley, taking out an extendable baton. She listened for their footsteps, and then extended it, tripping up one of the men. The second managed to avoid it but she quickly knocked him down with a hard punch to the stomach.

Why are you following me? she asked the first man.

Uhhhhh ... he began.

Uhhhhh is not good enough. Get the fuck out of my sight!

The two men got up and looked at each other then tried to come at her again. One of them pulled out a switchblade. There was just enough light from the street lamp at the end of the alley for her to see the glint of steel and she dodged him as he attempted to stab her, then blocked him when he tried again, grinding her heel down on his toe as she punched him with a hard right to his jaw. She heard the clatter of steel as the knife fell to the ground.

The man’s companion grabbed him.

Fuck this, he said. She’s a crazy bitch man!

The other man nodded and they both supported each other as they took off running. Phoenix turned and headed out of the alley, walking casually along the street back in the direction she had come from before heading across the street. Before she did, she glanced at Jake, who had clearly followed the other two. The expression on his face told her he’d got the message: Don’t mess with me.

The next night, Jake and Freddie turned up precisely at the appointed time to a warehouse near the city docks. They had clearly witnessed the swift way she had taken down the two men and decided she was definitely not someone to be messing with.

She was dressed in black jeans and a black long-sleeved t-shirt. She handed each of them a ski mask and they put them on while she did the same.

The job was simple. Break into the warehouse and steal whatever had been brought in by cargo ship. She had done her homework, learning all there was to know about the security system and the exact movements of the two guards patrolling the area.

Following that job, there was another, and another. Until Freddie made the fatal mistake of telling someone he was working for a ‘rich chick’. Jake had been smart enough to know to keep his mouth shut, just as she’d ordered, but Freddie, not so much. When she’d learned what Freddie had done, she had smiled and nodded. She remembered Jake had looked at her uncertainly, his expression like someone facing a deadly shark.

She contacted Freddie the next night and sent him out on a job for her alone, but she didn’t tell him that the security guards had changed their routine. Freddie was caught red-handed.

Jake had more than proved his worth in the six months they’d been working together. She had only given him information he needed to know. It was safer that way. She was well aware the man had feelings for her. He hadn’t said it in so many words, but she’d caught him looking at her with a certain fondness.

She had no time for romance because she had an enemy to destroy – and nothing was going to get in the way of that.

Chapter Two

Five Years Earlier

Abigail Smith didn’t like being teased and was often told by her father that she was too sensitive.

Of all the choices of names her parents could have given her twenty-five years ago; they had picked the one name that was not only old-fashioned, but the name of a famous advice columnist. Sure, Smith was about as generic as it could get, and at least it wasn’t van Buren.

Her colleagues had never stopped kidding her about it.

She wasn’t the most confident person because of her appearance. She’d put a lot of weight on her petite frame in the past three years. Her thick glasses gave her a distorted self-perception that also made her believe she was un-attractive.

She was a talented writer and when she was feeling confident and sure of herself, it showed in her work. She had the potential to be a great journalist, but Abby, and even her editor, despaired of her ever being able to see past her self-perceived short-comings and fulfilling that potential.

There had been times in her life when she had struggled with her feelings and thought about giving up. There had been so many times when she had wanted to pick up everything and start a new life as someone else but things just didn’t work out that way. Abby didn’t consider herself to be one of the lucky people who were able to do that. Things like that didn’t happen to her.

Not that bad things always happen to me, she thought. She had recently been seeing a young man who was a few months older than her and just as shy and quiet as she was. Scott Jensen was the friend of a friend who had done a little match-making and the couple had a lot of fun together. They would go out to the movies or on his trail bike and sometimes out to dinner with his friends, who were becoming her friends too.

Abby wasn’t lonely. She had people in her life she could consider to be friends. Although she sometimes wondered if they didn’t just let her hang around. Abby thought she was boring because she wasn’t into the same things that everybody else seemed to be into. She didn’t drink, or smoke. Her only vice was that she loved junk food. Hence she was now overweight. She wasn’t grossly overweight, but she still considered herself to be too fat and unattractive for anyone to like.

Abby loved working at The Times. It was a small daily paper, compared to the bigger Metropolitans. It was often referred to as the David of the David vs. Goliath biblical myth and it could be considered to be the underdog against the bigger newspapers, but it had held its own in a time when recession had hit a lot of small towns hard, continuing to hold onto its circulation.

The town of Kingston was a reasonable size, with a population of about 50,000, nestled in the foothills of a small mountain range roughly two hour’s drive north of the capital city. Like any semi-rural New Zealand town, a small minority of the population could be parochial, but Abby was yet to encounter a problem with the locals. She had grown up in the suburbs of a small city but her quiet, friendly nature seemed to suit the small town attitude and in many ways made the people more protective of her.

What she loved most was that in the two years she had been working at the newspaper, she had made quite a few friends among those in the community – especially among the local cops and the farmers. They all came to her when they needed their story told because she had gained a reputation not only for her integrity, but also for her empathy. As one of her friends among the police told her, they trusted her. She always tried to keep things fair and balanced.

Coming in from her latest interview, Abby picked up the mail from the basket at the bottom of the stairs and ran up the staircase to the large room which was editorial. There were six reporters on staff, including herself. One was a senior journalist in charge of doling out assignments and ensuring the reports kept to deadlines, another was a dedicated sports journalist, and the rest of them worked in various departments.

Abby sorted the mail and left each person’s letters on their desks. There was one addressed to her personally and she grabbed the letter opener from the drawer at her desk, slipping it in past the seal and slitting open the envelope.

Before she had a chance to read, her attention was caught by her name being called. She looked over at her colleague, Peter. He was an older man, in his fifties, who had come to journalism rather late in life. He’d recently joined the staff after freelance writing for a few years. Some of the staff thought him a little odd, but he was kind and sweet and made Abby laugh.

It’s your boyfriend, he said, holding up the phone.

Abby blushed, but nodded for Peter to put him through. They had been on more than a few dates, but it still felt funny to call Scott her ‘boyfriend’.

She waited for Peter to put the call through to her extension. Her phone rang and she picked it up.

Hi Scott. She looked back at Peter. He was grinning like the Cheshire Cat. She waved a hand at him and scowled. He winked at her and turned back to his computer.

Hi, Abby, Scott said. What are you doing tonight?

Er, don’t know. What have you got planned?

Anything you want to see at the movies?

Abby unfolded the letter and frowned at it, cradling the phone with her shoulder.

Um, not especially. Why don’t you come around for dinner tonight? I’ll even cook.

Okay, as long as it’s not your famous Bolognese again.

Abby could hear the laughter in his voice. She had cooked spaghetti Bolognese one night which had turned out to be a disaster.

You had to remind me of that, didn’t you? she growled. And for that, all you’ll get is Irish stew.

I love Irish Stew, he told her.

Yeah, I know, you’re just a meat and potatoes guy.

Simple tastes, that’s me.

No comment, she shot back.

So what time?

About six thirty, okay?

I’ll see you tonight then.

Okay Scott. See you later.

She hung up and looked at the letter. It was from the local prison. An inmate had gone through channels, requesting to see her. She looked closely at the name and recognised it from a court story she had done a while ago. The inmate had been sentenced to three years in prison on theft charges. He wanted to see her.

She looked up from the letter at her senior reporter.

Hey Ron?

He looked up from the press releases he was reading.

What?

Remember that guy who went to prison a few months ago on theft charges?

I need more information than that. There have been a few of them.

It was a story I covered. He said he was innocent. Remember?

Ron nodded. I think so. You thought he was innocent too, if I recall correctly.

Yeah.

So? She waved the letter at him.

So he’s asking me to go out to the prison and visit him.

What for?

It doesn’t say.

The boss isn’t going to approve a trip like that without a good reason.

I know. But what if I did it on my time?

Visiting hours are like 2pm or something. He’s not going to let you go.

Then I guess I’ll just have to convince him.

I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes, Ron said, sighing.

Why?

Because he’s not exactly in a good mood. Ron leaned forward as if to speak conspiratorially. Fight with the old lady.

Guess he’s not a big fan of women at the moment then.

Ron nodded. Maybe leave it till Monday.

Abby shook her head. I can’t. She waved the letter. He makes it sound pretty urgent.

Steeling herself, Abby got up from her desk and went into the editor’s office.

Can I talk to you about something Nat?

Nat looked up from his desk. He was frowning at a paper in his hands.

Make it quick Abby.

She handed him the letter.

He’s asked to see me, personally. I don’t know why but I think that since I covered the case he might think I’ll listen to what he has to say.

Nat shook his head. I don’t think it’s a good idea. The guy’s in a prison Abby.

But he says he’s innocent. Look, what if I call the prison and make some inquiries first? I don’t think he’s dangerous. Just desperate to get someone to listen.

He was convicted several months ago. Why now?

Abby shrugged. Guess that’s something I’ll have to ask him.

No, Abby, I don’t think you could handle it.

Oh, come on, Nat. You’re always telling me I don’t take enough risks in my work. That I don’t act enough on my instinct.’

This is different. There isn’t a story here, Abby.

You don’t know that. You’re judging it on a couple of paragraphs in a letter.

The guy pleaded not guilty. He was found guilty by a jury of his peers and convicted. End of story.

Well, obviously, he doesn’t think so.

Don’t get smart with me, missy.

Abby sighed. Nat, I’m sorry. I just feel there’s more to this. I mean, what harm is there in going up to the prison and talking to him?

All right. If you can arrange it and get all your other work completed in time, then go see him on Monday. Report back to me as soon as you get back.

Abby almost jumped for joy, but thought better of it.

Thanks boss. You won’t regret this.

I hope not, he said, under his breath.

***

Abby talked to Scott about it later that night while they were doing the dishes together.

You know, maybe your boss is right. Maybe it’s not a good idea to go up there. You know what prisons are like.

Oh, not you too Scott, she sighed. I mean, I’m only going up there to talk to the guy. It’s not like I’m going to be around other prisoners.

I’m just concerned, that’s all.

Abby handed him a plate to dry. I know Scott, but it’s important for me to do this. You didn’t see him that day in court. He was devastated.

Didn’t he have a criminal record anyway?

Abby nodded. But petty stuff. I mean, he was charged with stealing thousands of dollars of stuff from the company. And he said in court he’d turned his life around.

Once a thief, always a thief.

That’s not a good attitude Scott.

Well I’m sorry Abby, but you know how I feel about this stuff.

Your brother’s illegal activities don’t give you the right to judge someone else.

Scott’s older brother was constantly getting into trouble with the law. A frequent drug user, he and his friends had been raided by police countless times. His family wondered if he would ever straighten out, but he refused.

Growing up, Scott had idolised his older brother, but knowing what Alan did had made Scott even more determined to not be a part of that crowd, even though Alan had tried to include him in his life. Scott hated his brother’s lifestyle and as a consequence, refused to drink alcohol of any kind, or smoke. On that part, Abby and Scott agreed. Still, he could be fairly judgmental at times, which did irk.

Scott sighed. I know. I’m sorry.

He finished drying the dishes and hung up the towel.

So, what do you want to do now?

What about those DVDs you brought? We could sit and watch the movies.

Fine, he said, shrugging his shoulders.

Abby sometimes sensed that Scott was frustrated with her because of her inexperience with relationships. Scott sometimes stayed over, but sex was not the big thing everyone else had made it out to be. Abby thought it could have been because of her parents. Not that they were prudes or anything, but growing up, sex was not something that was ever really discussed, especially with her father around.

Abby wondered if sometimes her father still saw her as a child. He seemed to be a little over-protective of her. He was always asking what she did at work and whether she was coping all right with living on her own. He didn’t know about Scott yet, and Abby wasn’t sure whether she would be able to tell