Deception

"Best idea you've ever had," agreed Matt fighting back a yawn of his own but finally giving in.

"Wait can you do that?" asked Carl.

"Sure we can, the lead investigators have certain privileges Carl," said Chuck proudly.

"But if the chief asks, we are working hard and are unreachable at the moment, got it?" whispered Matt.

"Yeah," chortled Carl, "So what'd you find out from Ms Burnley?"

He told him everything that he found out from her but not quite: he decided it was best to keep some parts to himself.

"Sarah?" asked Chuck, raising an eyebrow, "Since when did you get on first name terms with her?"

Matt suddenly became very interested in a small scratch mark on his phone.

We find our two friends in their room; Chuck was browsing YouTube videos and occasionally laughing gleefully. Matt was performing his usual Sunday morning ritual of styling his hair for half an hour; both of them enjoying their silent company when Matt decided to break the peaceful silence by singing Your Guardian Angel by The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus.

"Seasons are changing and waves are crashing and stars are falling all for us ..."

"Oh no," said Chuck and he pulled out a pair of earphones.

"... I will never let you fall; I'll stand up for you forever,

I'll be there for you through it all; even if saving you sends me to heaven,

'Cause you're my; you're my; my; my true love; my whole heart; please don't throw that away,

'Cause I'm here, for you, please don't walk away and,

Please tell me you'll stay; woooh oohhh STAAAAAAAY WOOOH OOOH-

Use me as you will; Pull my strings just for a thrill

And I know I'll be okay; though my skies are turning gray

I will never let you fa-"

"CAN YOU PLEASE JUST SHUT UP!" and Matt piped down feeling guilty: he had been dreaming about Sarah. The silence returned after Chuck had had insulted Matt's singing to his heart's content. Several long minutes later Matt broke the silence, but this time not with song.

"You know Chuck, I've been thinking and I reckon I should break up with Jenny."

"Yeah and why is that?" asked Chuck automatically.

"I mean I don't think I'm getting the love and affection a guy needs in a relationship ..." droned Matt. Chuck who hadn't really been paying attention began to type very fast.

"... and obviously she seems more interested in going to parties and flirting with other guys than spending time with me," finished Matt like a child deprived of his favorite chocolate.

Chuck made a small noise, still paying his undivided attention to what he was watching.

"... so I think I'm gonna end it this Saturday," said Matt.

"That's great Matt, I'm so proud of you," said Chuck happily, "Damn! You should see this video! It's out of the world!"

"I don't know why I even bother," muttered Matt, "Did the night inspire any ideas as to where she could have hidden that video?"

"Sorry to disappoint, but the only thing the night inspired was a strong need to pee!"

"I'm serious."

"So was I!" said Chuck, bowing his head, "But where could she have hidden that video?"

"Since it's a video, why don't you do what you always do and check YouTube?" joked Matt, amusing himself. But his smile faded when he saw the expression Chuck was wearing: he looked as if he had seen a man trying to wire a plug, while juggling penguins; while making love to a beautiful woman; while on fire, on stage, in front of the Queen!

"Mate?"

Matt snapped his fingers in front of Chuck's face, "You still with me?"

"I just remembered!" he stood up. Then grabbed Matt by the head and shook him so violently that Matt thought his head would surely come off!

"Carl said she visited YouTube!"

"No!" said Matt, sarcastically as he tried to focus on the room again. But then he realized what a miserable little idiot he was being, for a little known fact about Ms Scaglietti was that she was a YouTube freak. It was an excellent hiding place, no one would suspect it. As if by instinct they both ran to the door at the same time but in their attempt to get through it before the other, rather than go through the door, both of them hit the wall, hard and collapsed, swearing.

Matt rang up Carl when they had reached the office.

"Hey Carl, can you hack into Amy's YouTube accounts, preferably her private ones, and see if you can find the missing clip of the Citibank archives?"

"Hey man, I'm the best at what I do," he said proudly, "But it might take a while."

"Right, but I need it ASAP."

"Gotcha, I'll be on it like a bonnet."

"Thanks Carl," said he, as he hung up, "Alright, we should have something soon, I hope. Meanwhile let's put together what we got so far."

Chuck nodded and began to read an extract from the file that Carl had left but immediately staggered.

"This is impossible!" he remarked.

"What is it?"

"Our missing person Alice Longworth does not exist."

"Really?" said Matt, suddenly smugness painted upon his face, "Looks like Rachel Grant was trying to send us on a wild goose chase; but it doesn't matter though, because I know she's the killer."

"Whoa! That's one hell of an accusation there, have you got proof to back it up?"

"If I didn't, I wouldn't be accusing her," said Matt, imitating Sherlock Holmes with an invisible pipe, "Would I, my dear Watson? Check this out. The lipstick places her at the crime scene."

"We don't know if the lipstick really does belong to her."

Matt pulled up the doctor's report.

"The DNA sample was an impeccable match with that of Rachel's," said Matt.

"Alright but that still doesn't mean she did it."

"Alright, fair enough," agreed Matt, but he wasn't finished, "But the house was wrecked, meaning that the killer was definitely looking for something."

Chuck remained silent.

"And we know that a file was stolen from Citibank and that Amy Scaglietti may have got a video of whoever did it."

"Right, but we don't know if that was Rachel."

"We will soon enough; but that's not all. Rachel father is ex-special forces and so is her grandfather, I think you remember," said he lifting an eyebrow. Chuck shivered as a chill swept through his body, "And we know that Rachel takes up after her father's side. So it would be no trouble at all for Rachel to have shot Ms. Scaglietti from where she stood," continued Matt, "Think about it Chuck, she had a motive, she has the skills, she even lied to us about Alice Longworth to try and buy her more time," reasoned Matt.

"Well done detective. I'm impressed."

"Chief!" said Matt turning around.

"If we recover that video and if what you say is true, then there is no doubt that Rachel Grant is the perpetrator."

Chuck pleaded that it didn't make any sense at all.

"How could she have known about the video?" he implored.

"She's a professional criminal do you really think she wouldn't have figured it out some how?"

But Chuck wasn't ready to accept reason. He argued that the facts didn't add up to Rachel. He argued that Rachel had been in England at the time of the murder, but Matt had checked on that: there hadn't been any record of her going there, recently. No flight records, nothing.

"She wouldn't kill someone over a stupid little video!" he begged.

"Spaulding you're letting your emotions cloud your judgment."

"No I'm not!" he spat, "See, if she did it, why would she use a .45 caliber? I know that the only gun she possesses was her father's .357 magnum, which she's used as her trademark, you yourself gave me that bit of information Matt, you said that she only ever used that, why would she use anything else?"

"Obviously she's smarter than using a weapon we could easily trace back to her for murder. If you want to prove her innocence then you're going to have to give something more solid than that, Spaulding."

"Rachel is an impeccable shot, sir, there's no way she could have been off by as much as a millimeter from that range! Let alone an inch!"

"Circumstantial Spaulding, evidence like that won't last in court."

"But sir-," pleaded Chuck but the Chief cut him.

"But nothing! When the video comes in and it is what Matt says it would be, then bring it to my office," said the Chief and without so much as another word, he left.

Chuck turned on Matt, "Come on Matt, you know I'm right."

"I'm sorry Chuck but this time you're just not looking at the evidence."

"I know it looks bad but that doesn't mean she did it."

"Look, I know you two shared something special in the past, but that all over now she's changed mate," said Matt, he couldn't believe he was saying it but it was worth it if it would knock some sense into Chuck, "I'd have thought you'd realized that the day she left you next to nothing."

He felt horrible. Chuck looked as if he'd just had his heart ripped out, again. He blinked. It dawned on Matt that Chuck had never really given up on her. He just stood there, flabbergasted, looking at the floor. Finally he looked up.

"This isn't about us! This is about convicting someone for something they didn't do," his voice cracked, and his throat sounded dry.

Matt's phone rang, "OK. We can see for ourselves then," he answered and put it on speaker.

"Carl?"

"I've sent the video to your computer. I think you're gonna want to see this."

"OK thanks, Carl," said Matt, picking up the laptop he tried to locate the video.

"It's in the Main server, in your shared folder, password's '23344'," said Carl.

After locating the file, Matt punched in the password and played it. It showed the Citibank manager's office; it was night-time but the moonlit office was clearly visible. Someone entered the office and opened the filing cabinet; the intruder's figure suggested that of a woman's. As she turned, the video paused; Rachel Grant's face was clearly recognizable.

"I rest my case," said Matt.

Chuck stared at the screen, horrified.

"Not enough," said he, "Carl? Run an Infinity Scan on her."

"Thought you might come up with that," said Carl, "Already did, and it didn't take much time either. Rachel Grant was the one who did it."

Matt hung up and looked at Chuck.

"Alright so maybe she stole the file, but that doesn't mean she murdered Scaglietti!" said Chuck, desperately.

"Do you even hear yourself? Look at the evidence she is the only one who could have done this," getting slightly annoyed at Chuck's failure to see reason.

"But we don't have solid enough proof to convict her."

"And what proof do you have that shows she didn't do it?"

"I know her Matt, she didn't do this."

"Oh right, you know her?" asked Matt, growing angry, "You don't know her at all! You still have this beautiful image of her. What did she do when you proposed? She left! She left; and you were arrested for what she did! She just used you! You were just a random actor in her play! She doesn't care about you! And yet here you are, twelve months later, thinking she loved you!"

"THAT'S NOT WHAT IM SAYING!"

"Then what are you saying chuck?" said Matt, raising his voice still, heads were turning in their direction, but he didn't care, "That we should just take it easy and let it go because you still love her? Is that it? Wake up and face the truth. You and Rachel will never be together! Do you think that she'll come running to if you save her from jail?! And if you're blindly gonna risk everything that we worked for then, maybe, you shouldn't be here!"

"What? What are you saying? That I don't deserve to be a detective?

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

"No," said Chuck, bitterness swooping over his face, "No, I don't deserve to have a bone-headed friend like you!"

Matt said nothing as Chuck turned away from him and put some distance between them. He looked back.

"Criminals maybe scum, but at least they stick together!"

Chuck left without another word.

"Yeah? Well, good riddance!" shouted Matt after Chuck.

He sat down on his desk and sighed; ran his fingers through his hair and stared into oblivion. Everything was so quiet, everyone had gone back to their work, but he knew they were secretly talking about them, he didn't care. He put his back against the wall and put his head between his knees. He felt sick. They had been everybody's idea of best friends, in and out of the office, until now: until Matt had run through Chuck's heart with a knife.

He couldn't believe what he said, how could he have said that to his best-friend? But Chuck had been blinded by love. He hadn't seen the truth that was plainly dancing naked in front of him! The stupid git!

He heaved himself off the desk, picked up the file and his laptop and dragged himself into the Chief's office. He showed the Chief everything; his actions were lifeless, zombie-like. He felt as though he had a part of him missing.

"Excellent we have her," exclaimed the Chief, "I'm gonna get a warrant for her arrest, but it will take about three days."

Matt didn't say anything; he just stared out the window; an empty, sinking feeling inside him.

"I'm going to let you lead the arrest. Well done detective, keep this up and some day you might be as good as me.

"Thank you, sir," said Matt, emptily.

"Don't worry about him son, he'll come back."

Matt stared at the Chief as he patted him on the shoulder and asked him to go home. He turned and walked back to his desk where he sat down and watched the comings and goings of the office, though his mind didn't register any of this.

Chuck sat alone in their smoothie bar, the very same one he and Matt had hung out at hundreds of times. He ordered a Mango Marvel, but even its incredible powers of washing away virtually anything seemed to be absent now that Matt wasn't by his side. He thought of all the times the two of them had been here; all their silly little arguments and the time that they'd won a coupon for a year's supply of free smoothies.

When Matt had finally picked up the courage to ask Jen out and she said 'Yes'. They'd celebrated all night and had been sick for an entire week afterwards! All those happy memories seemed stolen, stale and above all replaced by what Matt said.

He got up and left his unfinished drink on the counter, an act that both of them believed to be a most heinous crime, and walked out into the street. He wasn't paying attention to where his feet were carrying him, he just kept walking; for what felt like hours he traced the roads and as the evening stretched out, his legs felt numb. He leant on a wall of a handsome looking shop to have a breather. Passersby, he could see: dudes, friends, bros. He felt painfully alone. Everywhere he looked; kids were playing catch with their friends; guys walking by, hitting each other playfully; two old men in their late 70's enjoying a cup of tea in a restaurant.

Feeling he'd seen enough and with the night creeping up, he began walking back to his apartment. It felt wrong to go there: he had shared with Matt for over six months. He had occasionally used his place instead of Matt's as a crib, but now that he felt like this might be the end ...

He kept walking with his hands in his pockets and his head bowed in an attempt to shut out the outside world.

He staggered to a halt before a restaurant that he and Matt had once been chucked out of. It triggered a memory: Matt had been watching a TV show called Top Gear and that was all he could talk of. He was obsessed. One day after a long morning, they'd decided to treat themselves to a decent meal, and had chosen this place. Despite the waiter's warning to keep their voices down, Matt had yapped on about Top Gear until he'd driven Chuck insane. Chuck finally asked him to drop it but he had said it too loud.

The waiter had kindly asked the two idiots to leave, but being the idiots they were, they immediately started bickering about who was a bigger idiot until a huge security man had grabbed both of them by their collars and thrown them out.

Just two tables away from where they had had their little fiasco, Matt was now thinking about the same thing. The cursor in the report he was typing, blinked expectantly but had moved nowhere in the last ten minutes. He looked at what he had written, re-read it but what he wrote barely a quarter of an hour ago didn't make sense. Swearing loudly, he got up, the waiter shot him a warning look, but he didn't care. Matt returned to his seat after splashing his face with cool water, he was able to finish the report; but only just.

Fifteen minutes later he was handing over the report to the Chief who praised him for his outstanding work, but in Matt's mind, he couldn't help but wonder, what if? What if Chuck was right? What if Chuck knew what he was talking about, for once? The Chief brought him out of his thoughts as he realized that he had been staring at the waste paper basket for quite some time. He left the office and took a cab home. Street lights and shops reflected in the window as the car sped on towards his house and he was looking at himself, not sad and beat down as he was now; but happy and laughing. In the reflection Chuck was by his side, he was pointing at a Kiddie pool through the window of a shop. The joy of a child painted on his face as he relayed the possibilities to an amused Matt. But as abruptly as it had appeared, the car turned and all that remained was black.

That night he was restless, and as he tossed and turned in bed, he received a call from Jen, hearing her voice was comforting, and they kept talking. He told her how they'd been drifting apart but he received another painful blow as she said she'd found someone else and wanted to break up with him. When Matt finally ended the call, he was devastated but as the night wore on, sleep finally overtook him.

He just sat there: in the smoothie bar. Everything was a blur: the chairs, people, and the drinks. Everything except for the glass he was holding; it had a thin strip of black reflected in it; it was waving as though it was riding the wind and strangely, it reminded him of the person Rachel had been talking to when they found her. She had had sleek black hair. This triggered a series of questions:

Why would Rachel kill someone over a measly video?

She'd shot before, but always avoided, if possible. She'd never killed before, so why start now?

She was an excellent thief, so how come she didn't find the memory card?

She was also a top marksman, why miss the target?

The 1973 Ruger Vaquero single shot .347 magnum revolver was her trademark. Why use another?

Matt opened his eyes and slowly sat up in bed; he wasn't sleepy anymore. He couldn't help but think that the dream had made sense. He stayed there in the dark for hours, analyzing every possible scenario. Until at last, at daybreak, he had the answer. He jumped out of bed to wake Chuck, but he wasn't there. He grabbed his phone and called him.

No answer.

Matt quickly typed a text message.

Matt entered Rachel's apartment, mildly surprised that he'd managed it without difficulty. He'd found out Rachel was gone for the day and would not coming back till later that night from the friendly security guard. He walked in slowly, carefully, verifying that he was alone. He closed the door, but didn't lock it in case he had to make a quick getaway. It seemed stupid but it was a plan of action that had never failed him. He cautiously swept the entire apartment and decided to take a closer look at Rachel's room. Halfway down the corridor though, he heard a creak and looked around but something caught him squarely on his face; his nose had broken. Pain erupted from his forehead and he saw little lights explode in his vision and as he staggered, everything went black.