Page 66 of Love Unlocked

‘Did Walter call you in here because he’s missing a few buttons on his shirt?’ Al asks, annoyed but trying to keep calm. There’s no point denying it. ‘Come on, the guy is screwing my ex-fiancée. I think an innocent reaction is understandable.’

‘We’re not here about buttons.’

‘Is it the odd shoes then? I’ll give them back, they’re taking up too much space in my wardrobe anyway.’

Al sits back, not at all concerned anymore. If they want to arrest him for revenge then he will gladly be taken. It was worth every second of it. He’s amused now.

‘Wait, now I remember who you are. That dinner we went for was in Beppe’s. You refused to pay for the starter because you said the size of the entrée barely qualified as a light snack.’

Ryan’s partner Stafford looks at him, amused, then studies the bridge models on the shelves. He picks one up. ‘Is this a suspension bridge?’

‘A cantilever bridge. It uses pillars anchored vertically into the ground to support a horizontal deck extending out from both sides of the span. Longest one in the world is in Quebec, and is eighteen thousand feet.’

Stafford sucks in air. ‘Do we have one in Ireland?’

‘The Rose Fitzgerald Kennedy Bridge over the River Barrow.’

He nods, impressed.

Ryan Kane looks over his shoulder at his colleague, a kind of a glare that says, Are you finished? Stafford gently places the bridge back on the shelf, and moves to the next one.

Al returns his attention to Ryan. ‘If this is about me going into the house, it was still my property at the time. In fact my name is still on the mortgage and the deeds. I used my own key. I had stuff to collect and I waited until they were both out. I haven’t been near either of them.’

Al won’t admit to the mouse infestation. He’s not giving them anything more.

‘That’s not why we’re here,’ Ryan says. ‘Walter has been receiving messages at all hours of the day and night. Distressing messages.’

‘I haven’t sent him any messages,’ Al says, honestly, both relieved and confused. ‘Not one.’

Stafford watches him too, stealing looks from the sidelines.

‘You can check my phone records, my mobile and my work phone. I swear I haven’t called him once. He works here and I can barely even look at him.’

‘These messages are of a sexual nature.’

‘I haven’t sent him any sexual messages. Is this a joke?’ Then Al realises what’s going on. ‘Oh right. This is a wind-up. Are either of you even gardaí?’ He can’t remember what Ryan said he did for a living on that unmemorable night out with Tara’s work friend and spouse he had absolutely nothing in common with. He and Tara had both agreed it was the first and last time, but it looks like Walter and Tara need to find new friends for their new life seeing as they’ve alienated all their old ones.

Al stands up.

‘Please stay seated. And calm down, Al. Have some water or something,’ Ryan says. ‘We’re not here to arrest you.’

Al unscrews the lid from the water bottle, grateful to Natasha, and gulps it down, the soothing cold water helping to put the fire out inside him.

‘The messages are coming from a polyamory dating app called Pulse. Someone seems to have set up an account and a dating profile for Walter and they included his mobile number.’

Al tries not to spit out his water. He coughs as it gets caught in his throat. He sits down, just for something to do because he wants to roar laughing.

Ryan Kane starts to read out Al’s likes and dislikes from his profile, in a dry unimpressed monotone.

‘“Foot fetish. I like to have my toes sucked and licked. Armpit fetish. I love to lick armpits, the more unshaven and sweaty the better. I like hairy women.”’

Al tries to keep a straight face, but the pressure of their stares breaks him and he starts smiling, then bites his lip.

‘Do you think this is funny?’ Ryan asks.

Stafford looks away and Al can see a smirk on his face.

‘Actually, yes I do. But that wasn’t me. I didn’t set up the account. You can check my phone, I don’t have that app.’ He removes it from his pocket and pushes it across the desk to Ryan. ‘You can also check my work computer.’