Ruthless Regret (Ruthless Games Duology #2)

Chapter 22

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

ASHLEY

The article’s words float in front of my eyes.

Evidence ignored. Witnesses who saw someone else at the scene. Inconsistencies with the forensics.

How could they have ignored all that? Witnesses stating they saw someone who didn’t match Zain’s description? That should have been enough to make them investigate further. It doesn’t make sense.

I send the article to the printer, and stare at the screen. There must be more to find. There can’t be a sole article that references the oddities. I start typing again. This time, I focus on names—Ramsey and Holson, the detectives who handled the case. If there’s anything else to find, surely their names would be connected.

A few articles come up. Most of it is procedural, nothing new or groundbreaking. But buried deep inside one news report is a brief mention of a rumor about the lead detective pushing for a fast conviction. Holson’s name comes up in another article, a mention of him questioning the investigation, but being overruled.

I print those out as well. Each new article feels like it’s peeling away another layer to a story I thought was simple. They reveal cracks in a case that was supposed to be black and white.

I glance at the clock on the wall. I should think about going home. I haven’t shed the weird feeling of being watched, and although I still think I’m just being paranoid, I don’t want to spend all day in the library.

Folding the printed pages, I put them into the bag with my new phone. Then I close down all the web browser tabs, log out, and make my way toward the exit. The walk home isn’t far, but that uneasy feeling crawls back over my skin as soon as I step outside. Just like before, no one is paying any attention to me. It’s just the city—busy, loud, and chaotic. But I can’t shake the sense that someone is watching.

By the time I reach my street, I’m on edge. I unlock the door and step inside, closing it quickly behind me. The house is quiet. Karla and Jessa-Mae won’t be home for a few more hours, and I can’t help but do a quick check in all the rooms to make sure no one else is here, before going into the kitchen.

I drop the bag onto the table, and take out the box. Setting up the phone will be a good distraction. Something simple to focus on while I think about everything I uncovered. So, I unwind the charger, plug it in and leave it to power up. I stack the articles in a pile on the table, and then make myself a cup of tea.

Once I’m done, there’s enough charge in the phone to start the setup process. It’s simple enough, and only takes a few minutes to get everything configured, but once it’s ready, I add Karla and Jessa-Mae’s numbers, then send a message to a group text.

Me: Hey, it’s Ashley. This is my new number.

I hit send, and put the phone down. One of them will reply when they’re on a break. Until then, I’ll find something else to do. I take a slow sip of tea. My mind is still racing, piecing together bits of information and trying to make sense of everything I’ve found.

The thought that someone could have deliberately ignored key evidence, that they might have rushed to convict Zain purely because it was an easy arrest, makes me feel sick.

I was just a scared young girl, caught in the worst moment of my life. But Zain has forced me to face how little I understood about what happened back then.

I push the articles away from me, in an attempt to stop myself from going through them.

If Zain really was set up, what does that mean? For him? For me?

My phone buzzes, cutting through my thoughts.

Karla: New number saved! How’s your day going?

Me: Fine. I went to the library.

Karla: What for?

Me: I’ll tell you about it later.

A car door slams, and I jump, my head snapping around toward the window, half-expecting to see someone standing there.

There isn’t anyone. Of course there isn’t. But that feeling of being watched is back.

I’m just being paranoid. Anyone would feel on edge.

My phone buzzes again.

Jessa-Mae: Just got your message. Glad you got everything sorted. You okay?

Me: Yeah, I’m fine.

I’m not fine. I’m standing on the edge of something, and I feel like the ground is about to give way beneath me.

I take another sip of tea. The articles are still sitting there, waiting … Why am I putting it off? I know what’s in them. But I know that once I dive back into them, there’s no going back.

I shake my head.

Enough of this. Just do it.

With a deep breath, I grab the first printed page. The words blur for a second before coming into focus.

Key witnesses describe a figure near the scene who does not match Ryder’s description. Authorities dismissed this account due to lack of corroborating evidence, favoring the initial narrative that placed Ryder as the prime suspect.

I swallow. How could they have dismissed a witness statement that said someone else was there who wasn’t Zain? It’s right here, printed in black and white. Someone else was seen near the house, someone who didn’t look like him, and they what? Just ignored it?

I flip to the next article.

Holson, one of the detectives involved in the investigation, reportedly had doubts about the swift conviction of Ryder, particularly regarding the lack of follow-up on several witness statements. Sources close to the case suggest Holson felt pressured to go along with his superior’s decisions, leading to the closure of the case despite lingering inconsistencies.

Holson must have known something was wrong, but obviously he didn’t push hard enough. The entire case was built on the assumption that Zain was guilty … something that’s my fault … and it seems like everyone was so eager for a quick conviction that they turned a blind eye to anything that didn’t fit.

The idea that Zain could have been set up … I can’t imagine what that must have been like for him. Trapped in a nightmare, knowing that no one cared to look deeper.

I pull another article closer.

Inconsistencies in forensic evidence were brought up during Ryder’s trial, but were largely dismissed by the prosecution. Discrepancies in the time of death, and physical evidence found on the victims were glossed over, leading some to question whether the rush to convict Ryder ignored key details.

I exhale slowly.

The time of death. The physical evidence. How did they just gloss over it? The more I read, the more it becomes clear that the case wasn’t as airtight as it seemed.

A noise outside makes me flinch again, and my eyes dart toward the window. A group of people walk past, talking loudly, but none of them stop or look toward the house. I rub the back of my neck, trying to shake it off.

What if this is what someone is trying to bury? Zain was never supposed to get out of prison. My testimony put him there for two life sentences. Now he’s out. Was the attempted attack on me accidental? Were they there for Zain?

I jump up and pace the room.

If there was someone else at the scene of the crime, and Zain didn’t kill Jason and Louisa … then who did? And why did they make sure Zain took the fall?

I need to talk to someone. Voice aloud the things I’m thinking.

What if this really is bigger than just a wrongful conviction? What else will I uncover if I keep digging?

Or am I reading too much into it?