Ruthless Regret (Ruthless Games Duology #2)

Chapter 46

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

ASHLEY

Zain is pacing the room, while Holson sits at the table, pale and sweating. Sheriff McFadden sits opposite him, watching Zain. I’m standing near the wall, watching all of them.

“Why did Ramsey pin this on me?” Zain’s voice is sharp.

Holson looks down. “Look, I don’t know anything for sure, but there was a report ... A witness who said that they saw Louisa arguing with someone outside the house the day before the murders. I don’t know who it was, but Ramsey ... he made sure that report disappeared. He wanted the investigation focused on you.”

“Who was she seen with?”

“I don’t know. The witness said she was arguing with a man. She went into the house and shut the door, leaving him outside. He drove away a couple of minutes later.”

“And Ramsey buried it?” McFadden asks.

“Yeah. The next day, the report was gone. I asked about it, and Ramsey behaved like I was imagining things. Said there was no report, and told me not to mention it again. I got the impression that Ramsey was protecting someone,” Holson says. “He never said that to me, so it’s a guess. He wanted us to focus on building the case around Zain. Ashley saw him at the scene, she said he had the knife and was covered in blood ... There was no real need to look further for a suspect when we had one right there who ticked all the boxes.”

“You’re saying I was framed because I was convenient ?”

Holson nods. “I’m saying now you’ve been exonerated, it’s looking like that’s what happened.”

Zain stops pacing, and turns toward Holson. “Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know. But I remember thinking Ramsey was acting weird. He was on edge. More than usual.”

Zain’s voice is tight with anger. “And you just let him do it?”

“I didn’t know how far he was willing to go,” Holson says. “By the time I saw the full picture, Ramsey had buried anything that didn’t point to you.”

Zain’s body is rigid with rage, and I keep waiting for him to snap, but somehow he keeps himself under control.

McFadden takes over the questioning. “And you’ve kept quiet about this for all these years?”

“You have to understand that back then I was just a junior detective. I had no power, but Ramsey did. He made sure no one would question his decisions. All I know is that Ramsey made sure the investigation never followed up on the single report about Louisa being seen with someone else.”

“And you let me rot in prison for fourteen years because it was easier to go along with it.”

Holson doesn’t answer, his guilt obvious in his silence.

McFadden steps forward, his voice harder now. “What else do you know? You were friendly with the Conway family, weren’t you?”

“A long time ago. I hadn’t spoken to Louisa or her parents in years. I don’t know who Louisa was with that day, or if she was with anyone at all. It could have been a case of mistaken identity, but Ramsey made sure it didn’t matter anyway.”

“When I spoke to you the other day, you said Ramsey has been living off grid for a few years. Do you know where he is?”

Holson shakes his head. “We weren’t friends. He retired about ten years ago, and once he moved out of town, I never had any more contact with him.”

“He wasn’t that old. Why did he retire?”

“He said he’d had enough of the job, and wanted a change of pace.”

"A change of pace," Zain repeats, and it’s impossible to miss the biting sarcasm in his tone. "Or maybe he wanted to disappear before anyone could start asking questions."

"It's possible,” McFadden agrees, his voice grim. “Holson, I want you to write down everything you remember about that witness report and Ramsey's behavior during the investigation. Every detail, no matter how small."

"Of course. Whatever you want." He seems relieved that everything is out in the open.

I look over at Zain. His jaw is clenched tight, his eyes never leaving the detective who interrogated him all those years ago. It’s easy to see the struggle he’s having, the desire to push for more answers warring with the knowledge that we've hit a wall for now.

"Zain, there’s nothing more to be done here," McFadden says, turning to us. "Go home. I'll contact you if anything new comes up."

For a moment, I think Zain might argue, but then he gives a short nod. "Fine. But I want a copy of that statement as soon as it's done."

"I'll see what I can do.”

And Zain has to be content with that, because it’s clear from the sheriff’s face that pushing will be a waste of time. Without another word, he turns and stalks to the door. I hurry after him, my mind full of everything we've just learned.

We’re almost at Zain’s car when his cell bursts into life. He stops abruptly, and I almost crash into his back.

“Rook?” He unlocks the car door while he answers the call. “What have you got? … What? When? … Are you sure?"

My heart slams against my ribs. There’s a note to Zain’s voice, a tension in his stance, that tells me whatever he’s hearing, it’s not good news. When the call ends, he stands there for a second, staring across the parking lot.

“Zain?”

His head snaps around. “Get in the car.” He doesn’t wait to see if I do as he says, and ducks to climb in.

I debate asking him about the call. Curiosity is eating me alive, and our deal was that he wouldn’t keep anything back from me, so once I’m in the seat beside him, I do. “Who was it?”

He doesn’t answer straight away, fiddling with his car keys, his seatbelt, and then starts the engine.

"They found Ramsey," he says, his voice tight.

“They? Who’s they? What did he say?”

“He didn’t say anything.”

“Why not?”

"He's dead. Apparent suicide, but Rook thinks it was staged."

" Dead ?" I struggle to process this new information. How could he be dead? "But ... how? When?"

Zain reverses out of the parking space, and drives out into the traffic.

"Recently. Within the last twenty-four hours. Rook says it looks like he hanged himself, but there are inconsistencies."

"What kind of inconsistencies?"

"The rope marks on his neck don't match up with the height of the beam he was supposedly hanging from. And there were signs of a struggle in the room."

A chill crawls its way up my spine. "Do you think someone killed him to stop us talking to him?"

"Looks that way."

The implications of this are staggering. Ramsey was our best lead, the one person who seemed to know the full truth about what happened that night. And now he's gone, and the secrets he had gone with him.

"What do we do now?" I hate how small my voice sounds.

"Someone out there is trying to cover up what really happened that night. I’m going to keep going until I find out who it was."

"Whoever did this ... they're not going to stop at Ramsey, are they?" I whisper.

His fingers grip the steering wheel tightly, but his voice is steady when he replies. "No," he says quietly. "I don't think they will."