Inspector Rames

Chapter 25

My father called much later that evening after Alex had gone. I was curled up on my sofa, reading Ripley's diary and drowning my sorrows in chocolate. It was just an audio call -- he was even worse with technology than me.

I answered it immediately. "Hi, Dad."

"Hi, Amber." His voice was gruff, but pleasantly so, an unusual tone that had made passengers truly listen when he'd read out safety warnings. But his career as a train driver was now long behind him. Twenty years had passed since robots had phased out all human drivers.

And fifteen years had passed since he'd become paralysed from the waist down.

"Are you going to tell me the details?" I asked quietly. "About Eric?"

There was a long pause. "I thought we could start the conversation off like normal. How was your day?"

"It was fine. So, the details?"

Father sighed. "He attacked someone a few nights ago. Had a drunken row with a bloke at a pub, then broke his arm and stabbed him."

I pressed my knuckles against my mouth, feeling the blood drain away from my head.

"Amber?"

"Where?"

"New London. He's being held there now."

"No, where did he stab the guy?"

"The shoulder." His voice softened. "He's been in surgery, but they think he'll be all right. Eventually."

It took me a long time to find words. Eventually, I croaked, "I'm surprised the news isn't on Xplora already."

"Journalists are busy writing about your robot killings and a celebrity divorce in Rosek. A small fight doesn't interest people among this week's murder and mayhem."

My whole life was murder and mayhem, and it was going to be filled with even more mayhem soon. Clyde was very interested in making Eric Rames the big news, and therefore trampling all over my career with his intimate knowledge about our history.

Knowledge I'd never know how he'd obtained.

"I'm not sure when he'll be in court," Father said. "He's at the city prison right now. He's allowed visitors, but I don't suppose..."

I swallowed thickly. "No. I don't -- I don't really think about him anymore. Not since...that day."

An awkward silence hung between us.

"Does Cassia know?" I asked finally.

"I'm just about to tell her."

"Right. Well. I'll let you get on with that."

"Wait, Amber. Come around for dinner this week. You haven't been since Christmas, and your mother's worried about how you're going to cope with this." He added, in a lighter tone, "Well, you know she always finds something to worry about. No husband, your ex-boyfriend, your murder investigations..."

"I'll try."

We said our goodbyes and hung up. I stared at the electronic pages of Ripley's diary and watched the text blur before my eyes.

I couldn't do this again. Not the late nights spent recalling every moment with my uncle, wondering where it had all gone wrong and if I should have spotted it. Not the days spent wondering if I should have questioned his philosophy for using his fists. Or if I should have even loved him.

I scrubbed my eyes and tucked my legs underneath me. No, I wasn't going to do that again.

I was going to spend my night inside the mind of a suicidal teenager instead.