Chapter 62

62

Roxi

Roxi pointed her watch towards the secured metal box of medicines stored inside the kitchen cupboard. When it opened, she scanned the barcode attached to a bottle of paracetamol before her Audite spoke.

‘Is this medicine for you, Roxi?’ it asked.

‘Yes.’

‘The most common use of paracetamol is for the treatment of a headache. Are you suffering from a headache, Roxi?’

‘Yes, I am,’ she replied.

‘This is the sixth day in a row you have requested this medicine, Roxi. Would you like me to use your wearable tech to run a full body scan and find the root cause of your pain?’

‘No.’

‘Would you like me to send a report to your General Practitioner, Roxi?’

‘No, I just want the fucking tablets.’

‘Have a good day, Roxi.’

The war on prescription drugs, now more critical than illegal street narcotics, meant anything potentially habit-forming was strictly regulated, monitored and recorded before it was dispensed. But Roxi was in no mood to be questioned as to the cause of her recent headaches. She knew the reason. Antoinette Cooper. Roxi swallowed the tablets quickly before the cupboard changed its mind and, with a coffee in her hand, made her way out into the garden.

She didn’t register the dampening of her soles following last night’s drizzle. She just needed enough fresh air to erase the stench of death that had been clinging to her since her ill-fated visit to Cooper’s house.

Roxi had made sure to delete all search history relating to Cooper on each of her devices then erased the hard drives twice. Several times a day, she scanned social media and local news feeds for reports of the woman’s demise, but without inputting anything that might register her interest in Cooper specifically. She must leave no digital footprint. Roxi had yet to find anything. She also searched images and studies of the human skeleton to gain an understanding of how Cooper had died so suddenly, and learned hitting the exact spot that could sever a spine was an incredible, unfortunate, fluke.

For the first time in as long as she could remember, Roxi craved the comforting clasp of Owen’s arms around her body. Today more than ever, she needed to hear his reassurance that everything was going to be all right, like he had after Phoebe’s murder when Roxi had fallen into a deep depression. It was Owen who had pulled her out of it, something she conveniently forgot when her ambition belittled his importance in her life. Instead, she had never felt more alone.