"You sure this is the place?" Zam asked.

"This is the address the boys at the station gave me," Emily shrugged, rereading her notepad, double checking the address.

"Apparently being a professional poker player doesn't pay very well," Zam commented, glancing around at the dingy hallway. The door to the flat that allegedly belonged Phillip Vine, their main suspect, was dirty beyond belief, covered in a thick layer of dust and grime.

"I mean, he did lose everything," Emily pointed out. "I guess he was forced to... downgrade."

"Still, this is not a nice area," Zam said. The area of Goldenrod they were in had the highest crime rate of the city.

Emily knocked on the door, no doubt causing need for extreme sanitation later, and said, "Phillip Vine? It's the police, open up!"

They waited for a few moments but there was no response. "He doesn't seem to be in," Zam said.

Emily sighed. "Well I can try and get a warrant but I doubt I'll get it. We don't exactly have any hard evidence, more of a hunch."

"I suppose we'll just have to make do without one," Zam shrugged, before retrieving a large set of keys from his blazer pocket and stepping towards the door.

"What do you mean?" Emily said, no doubt eyeing him with great suspicion as he inspected the lock on the door carefully.

"Well, we've got to get in somehow haven't we?" Zam said, picking what seemed to be the best key for the job. He inserted it and began tapping and attempting to turn it.

"No!" Emily said in a harsh whisper. "We're not breaking in!"

"Well turn your back if you don't want to see it."

"Zam no—" Just then, the lock clicked and the door swung open. He turned to her and grinned, only to meet a look of utter confusion. "How did you do that?"

"It's a bump key," Zam said, showing her the seemingly unimpressive key. "Works on most locks, especially in a place like this where security is somewhat lacking. Honestly, do they not teach you about these sorts of things?"

"We usually try not to break the law," Emily said, shaking her head.

"We haven't broken any laws!" Zam protested. "We opened the door with a key! That makes it legal."

"Let's just get in and get this over with," Emily sighed, taking a step into the room and immediately coming to a halt. "You smell that?"

"Oh yeah," Zam nodded. The vile smell that filled their nostrils was particularly distinctive.

"Bedroom?" Emily asked, pointing to a slightly ajar door to their right.

"Emily, I'm flattered," Zam replied, "But this is hardly the time or place, and, according to Taylor, sex with other women is strictly prohibited unless she deems a threesome to be acceptable which I apparently shouldn't get my hopes up for."

"Just follow me," Emily sighed, trudging through junk and garbage that lay littered about the filthy room. Slowly, she pushed the bedroom door open, revealing a man, lying face down on the bed. There was no life in him whatsoever. The smell and sight had only one conclusion: the man was dead.

Zam and Emily barely showed even a moment of emotion. They simply got to work examining the scene and the body, trying to find out how this man could've died. Emily put on a pair of white gloves and inspected the victim, turning out his pockets, lifting up his arms, checking behind his ears, doing everything in her power to find a cause of death or a sign of struggle. Meanwhile, Zam searched the room for any trace of evidence left behind by a potential killer, looking for any sign of intrusion. The room was messy but did not appear to have been disturbed in any way. Dust seemed to have begun to settle on everything that lay around the room and he couldn't spot anything out of the ordinary.

"Find anything?" Emily asked once her inspection was complete.

"Not really," Zam replied. He was currently studying a half-drunk glass of beer that rested on a bedside cabinet. "You?"

"No signs of a struggle," Emily said. "He's not got a scratch on him. He appears to have thrown up before he died so perhaps something he ingested? Have a look at this though."

Zam glanced at Emily who was looking intrigued. She brushed a hand through the victim's hair and it fell away with apparent ease, as if it had never been attached in the first place. "Interesting," Zam said as the gears in his brilliant brain begun to turn.

"I'll get his laptop up and running," Emily suggested. "See if I can find a note."

"You think suicide?" Zam raised an eyebrow.

"No sign of forced entrance, no sign of a struggle, no clear cause of death?" Emily said. "I'm not sure we've got anything to suggest otherwise."

"Maybe," Zam said, staring into space, thinking hard. "But maybe we do."

"Do we?"

"The hair loss, vomit and death are all symptoms of thallium poisoning," Zam explained. "He could well have spiked his own drinks with thallium but it seems an odd way to end one's life. It's not particularly quick. It also just doesn't... feel right."

Emily nodded. "I know it doesn't. Why would he come to us with a case, then steal some money to pay off his debts and then kill himself?"

"You're right, it doesn't quite add up," Zam agreed. He strongly believed that this was murder. Unfortunately, they had no real evidence to go on. They seemed to have hit a dead end.

He stood in silence whilst Emily booted up a laptop that she found under the bed, thoughts flying around his head, trying to pull a lead out from somewhere. If this was in fact murder, their killer had done an excellent job of covering their tracks. The only thing that stood out to Zam was the poker player who had taken everything from their victim but that seemed like motive for the dead man to commit murder, not be killed himself. He was missing something.

"Looks like he really had a grudge for this other bloke," Emily said after a while. Zam craned his neck to see the screen. "There are hundreds of emails like these, each getting increasingly more violent and threatening."

"I know you cheated," Zam read. "You couldn't get that lucky that many times. You always knew what I had. Give me the money back. I'm taking this to the police." Zam stopped himself from reading the next few which seemed to be the words of a deranged psychopath more than anything. Zam hadn't even known half of the swear words used. "What was this guy's name?"

"Melvin Jones," Emily said.

"Rings a bell," Zam said, running a hand through his beard. "Well then, it seems to be our only lead so why don't we go check this guy out?"

Emily sighed. "No."

"What?"

"I won't be able to," Emily explained. "I've called the boys over and as far as they'll be concerned, this is an open-and-shut case. We'll do a bit of digging and find that Phillip Vine did steal the money, the Brewers will get all of their donations and Vine's death will be classed as suicide. My boss won't let me continue investigating."

"I'll look into it alone then," Zam said. "I might as well start by finding out if this Melvin bloke is actually a cheat. If he is, that gives him clear motive for murder."

"How do you plan on doing that?"

"Simple," Zam grinned. "I'll play him at poker myself. If he does anything sneaky, I'll be sure to catch it."

"Well good luck with that," Emily laughed. "This guy is supposed to be the world champion. The minimum he plays for in cash games is two hundred and fifty thousand Poképounds."

Zam bit his lip. "I'll get a loan then!"

"Where the bloody hell are you going to get a loan like that?"

*

Taylor's eyes shifted nervously towards the door. She tried to turn herself towards the television but she instinctively glanced straight back. Away again. Back again. She was acting purely on instinct, it was like a nervous habit or an addiction, giving her no choice but to check the door every few seconds, waiting for his arrival. Where was he?

It had been several days since she'd last seen Zam. The first night had been bad enough; she'd already been anxiously anticipating his arrival, dreading the moment he bounded through the door, annoyingly handsome grin upon his face, no doubt positively buzzing from a fun day of examining corpses, or whatever else he and Emily had got up to. By now, Taylor was a borderline emotional wreck. She was no longer dreading seeing him. In fact, that was all she wanted to do. Just see him again. Just know that he was safe.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened. Something had probably caught Zam's eye and he'd gotten far too over-excited about it, not even pausing for thought as he rushed off head first into some sort of reckless adventure. Still, Taylor would've liked to have thought that he'd have let her know, especially after a few days away. Was he thinking of her? Was he too suffering with the idea of never seeing her again? If Taylor could answer those types of questions, then perhaps her bigger issue would cease to be.

Taylor sighed to herself before forcing herself up out of the sofa and wandering over to the kitchen where the kettle had just finished boiling and she could make herself a lovely cup of tea. She glanced over at a pile of letters on the worktop. Zam's mail had built up a fair bit in the days he'd been gone. A letter from the university, a postcard from his grandma and an apparently urgent letter from a Doctor Cass.

There was a firm knocking at the door, making Taylor's heart skip a beat before she realised that if Zam had indeed come home, he would've simply entered. There was no need to knock. It wasn't Zam. Feeling far more disappointed than she should have done at a simple guest at the door, she walked over and swung it open.

"Emily!" she smiled as her friend in the force was revealed.

"Hi Taylor!" Emily beamed back. "Is Zam around?"

"Um, no," Taylor said, trying not to look as bad as she felt. "He's not been here in a couple of days."

"Really?" Emily asked, sounding worried.

Taylor nodded. "He never came back after he went out with you. I've tried texting him and calling him and, and... and nothing."

Emily seemed perplexed. "We weren't doing anything dangerous, just investigating a case that led to a body. We were trying to figure out if it was suicide or murder but there was no way my boss was going to allow me to continue. Zam was going to check out our only lead but he was going to need a lot of money. So, we went our separate ways and I just assumed he went home."

"Knowing Zam he probably tried to take down a criminal syndicate single-handedly or something like that," Taylor said, half joking, half believing the words she said. If Zam felt like he needed money, he'd go to any lengths in order to get it.

"Taylor, he'll be fine," Emily smiled, placing a comforting hand on Taylor's shoulder. "Even if he has done something completely reckless, he'll probably figure it out. He'll be back in no time."

Taylor tried to smile back but she couldn't fight the feeling that something was wrong. Well, something was most certainly wrong, that much she knew for definite, but if something had happened to Zam... if she never saw him again... that would somehow make the current situation worse. She had to tell him. He had to know.

"I really need to speak to him," she blurted out.

"You ok?" Emily asked.

"I just have to speak to him," she repeated. She felt sick. She could feel the panic rising in her chest, her every breath becoming increasingly shorter. Right now, Taylor was in dire need of support. She desperately needed love and support and comfort but even if Zam was here, would she get it? He always tried his best to make her feel better whenever things were rough but this was different. She just didn't know what to think; the future was so unclear, and that filled her with an immense feeling of worry and dread.

"Ah!" a familiar voice said from the doorway. "I fought I 'eard my favourite detec'ive! 'Ow are you my dear, 'ow are you?"

"Tristan, we need your help," Emily said, somehow not succumbing to Tristan's charm. "Zam is missing and he hasn't told either of us where he's gone."

"Interesting," Tristan said, with a huge grin on his face. Emily and Taylor exchanged glances, thinking the exact same thing: Tristan knew something they didn't.

"You know something?" Emily asked.

"Well o' course, if he didn' tell youse, he probably didn' want you ta know, 'ats the way I see it."

Taylor shot him a look that she was surprised didn't kill him on the spot. "Tristan, I have to speak to him. Urgently. If you—"

"No can do my dear," Tristan shook his head, waggling his finger. "Communicashun is strictly pro'ibi'ed."

"Why?" Emily asked.

"My instrucshuns were clear my dear," Tristan said. "Young Zamuel is unable to answer any an' all calls."

"But why?" Taylor demanded, the same sickening in her stomach rising once again. "Is he safe?"

"Perfec'ly safe my dear, nofink to worry abou'," Tristan assured her. "Now o' course, I ain't s'pposed to say a word, 'owever, seein' as your both wivin 'is inner circle, I may well be persuaded to disclose said informashun."

Emily sighed, rolled her eyes and turned slightly away before regaining her stern look and facing Tristan. "Taylor, give me fifteen minutes."

"Twenny-five," Tristan said immediately.

"Ok fine." Tristan grinned to himself before turning away and walking back into his own flat. Emily turned to Taylor and said, "This won't take twenty-five minutes." She smiled and followed Tristan, closing the door behind her.

Not allowing her mind to wander to whatever intense interrogation strategies Emily had planned, Taylor slumped back down on the sofa. She took a sip of her now somewhat tepid tea and brainlessly switched on the television, not really intent on watching the screen, or paying attention at all. It was a simple distraction. A simple distraction from the madness inside her head. Taylor glanced at the screen, hoping to momentarily forget about everything going on at the moment. Her eyes found the aged face of a man named Lord Salt. He was currently scratching his poorly kept stubble, a look of deep thought in his murky brown eyes.

"Right then, let's move over to Team Victorious," he said in a raspy voice with an accent somewhat similar to Tristan's. "First of all, why did you choose that for your team name?"

"Because we're going to be victorious." Taylor's jaw dropped as the camera panned to an all too familiar face.

"I see..." Lord Salt muttered. "And as I understand it Zam, you put yourself forward as the project manager on this task. Why did you do that?"

"Simple really," Zam replied in the tone of voice he used when he explained things to people of lesser intelligence. "I need to win your investment. In order to win that, I need to win the tasks and the only way to guarantee victory week in and week out is to be the project manager. In business, the safest hands are always my own."

"So not because you're an expert in the field of selling flowers?"

"I am also an expert in selling flowers."

"Are you kidding me?" Taylor groaned. Zam's plan to get the money was to win it on The Apprentice? How had he even gotten on the show so quickly? Why was he such a colossal idiot? But far more importantly, why hadn't he let her know? She wouldn't have liked the news but she would've understood... did he not feel as though he could trust her?

The door to the flat swung open once again and Emily re-entered, looking slightly flustered but also very pleased. "Told you it wouldn't take twenty-five minutes."

"He's on The Apprentice," Taylor said. "That's why I can't speak to him. One of the rules of the show forbids outside contact."

Emily gave an exasperated look and sighed. "So I could've taken my time after all."

"Why didn't he just tell me?" Taylor blurted out, not really asking Emily, more thinking out loud.

Emily gave a half smile and shook her head. "He's Zam the Hybrid. How are any of us supposed to know what he's thinking?"

"It's just..." Taylor began but the words wouldn't come out. The words hurt her. "What if he doesn't feel... the way I feel. What if he doesn't care about me?" When she finally forced the words out of her mouth, an involuntary hand shot towards her belly. She was confused. Hopelessly and desperately confused about how she felt, about how Zam felt, about the uncertainty of her future. Now she was going to have to wait twelve agonising weeks of reality tv to get any answers at all.

"Of course he cares about you," Emily said, "He just doesn't really know how to show it. He's... he's..."

They both looked at each other and finished off Emily's thought in unison. "He's an idiot."