Work Text:
"I'm here, I'm not going anywhere."
"Please, sir," the officer at the front desk sighs deeply. Her name tag says Natalie, not that Harry gives a shit about what her name is. "We can't give you any information about an ongoing case."
Harry breathes in sharply, his eyes closing for a moment. His jaw is set, tight, his hands gripping the desk. Relentlessly, he stares the officer down. "I don't want any information, I have everything I need. All I want is to speak to Detective Malik. I don't want to see the files or the evidence."
"I'm sorry sir, that's not possible," Natalie says as she crosses her hands in her lap. "He's not giving out interviews to anyone, especially not about this case."
Harry's breath hitches. "This is not a fucking interview. I'm not the press."
"You're as good as press," Natalie gives him a tight-lipped, forced smile. "Please leave before I arrest you. You don't want to spend the night in the holding cell."
"Goddamit, I just need five minutes-"
"Natalie?"
And there he is. When Harry lifts his eyes from Natalie, he's met with the partly bored, partly angry stare of Detective Malik or the man that has made the last few weeks of Harry's life a literal hell. If only he did his fucking job.
"I need to speak with you," Harry rushes in before Natalie has a chance to speak. He doesn't walk anywhere towards Detective Malik because he knows he could easily get arrested. It's a fucking police station still.
"You again," Detective Malik says, the arm with the files in his hand dropping down. "You really don't know what a 'no' means."
"I do but not in this situation," Harry shakes his head briefly. "I'm not letting this go."
"I know," Detective Malik cocks his head to the side. "We've all seen your video."
A year ago, Harry would've blushed. Now, he doesn't avert his gaze. All he says is, "Good."
"You have no authority to dig your nose in the case like this," Detective Malik says. "It's curious to me how you still fail to understand that, Mr Styles."
"So arrest me," Harry spreads his arms. His bag swings at his side. "If you want to, arrest me. Or are you scared to do it because it would reveal how fucking corrupted this whole county is? How everyone would see that you've had your killer in your face all along but you're not doing shit about it because you're just their little pawn? Or-"
"Alright, that's enough," Detective Malik says, his voice low. He takes two long strides and he's at Harry's side, grabbing his elbow and pulling him out of the station.
"Excuse me," Harry says through his teeth. "Get your fucking hands off me or I will fight you."
"Suit yourself but you're gonna do it out of my station," Detective Malik retorts, still dragging Harry along somewhere. When they round the corner, he finally drops his hand from Harry's elbow but he doesn't storm off and leave as Harry expects him to.
"What?" Harry asks, defensively pulling his arm back. "Why aren't you leaving? What do you want from me?"
Detective Malik breathes in, looking to the side as his hand comes up to his face, his long finger messing with his eyebrow. His eyes meet Harry's again when he takes a step closer to Harry, "Meet me at Kooky's tonight. At seven."
"What?" Harry parrots himself. "Are you trying to ask me out on a fucking date now? I wouldn't date you... never! You're everything that's wrong with the judicial system! You and many more like you! How can you even ask me that?"
Detective Malik shakes his head softly. His gaze is unwavering, no emotion on his face. Harry feels a rush of adrenaline and whether that's good or bad, well, he'll find out later. "It's not a date, don't be ridiculous," he says. "You don't have to come but I think this is what you wanted all along." Menacingly, he turns around and leaves, letting Harry drown in the thrill and the uncertainty and the endless slew of possibilities. He will get to the bottom of this, no matter what.
xxx
Harry shuts the door to his motel room and leans against with a huff. His eyes shut, as if the simple act of closing his eyelids could make this all go away. It's been weeks, long weeks since he had a good night's sleep. Not since he saw the news that day.
April 17th 2020. That day will probably be etched in Harry's mind forever. He was watching the evening news, as he often does now because he likes to cover ongoing cases as well. It's his thing, if you could call it that. National news, local TV stations, obscure news coverage that goes something like this: stolen cow, car crash, a lady fell over on the sidewalk, A-HA murder!, the primary's school cookie fundraiser, new IHOP opening nearby. That day, Harry's life changed when he saw three happy faces staring at him, three faces that were no longer smiling, no longer alive.
Everyone says it. Online in forums, in person, when you mention the case to them, even on TV sometimes. "The husband did it.". Of course, he did. But there was no evidence. He had an alibi. There had to be something though. Who would want to murder a woman and her two children for nothing? Why not come when the husband will be home too? Why just them? What could possibly be the motive?
The husband had plenty. Financial troubles, an affair, plans for trying for another baby. The puzzle fit perfectly yet he wasn't even a person of interest. Something had to be wrong.
Harry can't explain it but he felt something shift in his chest that day and it hasn't fallen back into place since. He's been drawn to cases before, spent nights hunched over his laptop researching, reading any article he could find, putting scripts together. This was different. The police were too lenient. The crime scene was cleared too quickly. There wasn't enough involvement with the higher-ups for a tragedy like this. They were strangely content with having no killer arrested for the death of a woman and her two small children. Press was avoided like the plague. It didn't feel right.
The YouTube channel wasn't supposed to be anything huge. Harry always loved true crime and had an interest in the law and legislature and the judicial system. He'd seen others do it and thought, "Why not?". After doing all the research to quench his own curiosity, why not put it all together and share it with the world? Even if a few people saw it, the video could raise awareness, could help prevent something horrible from happening.
Harry never expected to have hundreds of thousands of subscribers. He rarely took any sponsorships, it wasn't about that for him. He just wanted to raise awareness and perhaps help, even in the smallest way, with solving cold cases, with bringing justice to all those victims. The world is so fucking unfair as it is, anything a person can do, no matter how minuscule, it does help.
That is why he's found himself miles and miles away from home, in a dingy motel with an ancient ice machine and cigarette smoke embedded in its walls and decor. Harry slightly cringes when he drops his bag on the ancient carpet. He figures that some public spaces the bag has touched might be even dirtier.
His room is a caricature of a fired-up movie journalist trying to solve a case. There is a map of the county blue tacked to his wall, circles made with a red Sharpie all over it. On one of the two beds, folders and papers are splayed out ready for an autopsy. Not much has been released since there has been no trial because they still don't have a fucking suspect. Harry's anxiety never fails to remind him that they're probably trying to find someone to pin it on.
Harry sits down at the edge of the empty bed with a sigh. The papers are almost taunting him, mocking him. What did you think you would achieve with this? Harry doesn't know what possessed him to actually come here, to try and talk to the people investigating the case without any journalistic credentials, without anything. Yes, somehow he's meeting the main detective on the case. The man that's failed him and the poor family the most.
He looks at the dusty clock above the outdate television. It's just after four. Three more hours and Harry will either get threatened with a lawsuit or he'll get what he needs to get justice.
xxx
Harry walks to the café instead of taking his car. He figures that the walk will do him good. It doesn't, not really. Just as he was rounding the corner of the coffee shop, it started drizzling.
He comes there five minutes before seven, according to his clock. The sign at the door says that they close at seven. Harry looks around, trying to see any strange cars or an actual police car. Is this one of their tricks? Not only covering up three murders but also threatening a plain old civilian who's trying to only get the truth?
Just as Harry's about to leave, he spots Detective Malik in a booth in the farthest corner of the café. He's wearing a hoodie, a cap covers half his face. It's far from the suits he normally wears on the job. Harry grabs the doorknob and swings the door open. It's now or never.
The bell notifies of his arrival. The Detective doesn't make eye contact. Harry then notices a man at the front counter, tidying up. He does lift his head up from the now empty display and gives Harry a smile. Nothing more. Harry feels like he's in a strange Wes Anderson film.
"What is this setup?" Harry asks as he sits down. "What the fuck do you want from me?"
Detective Malik sighs, his forearms on the table. "I need your help."
"Of course," Harry scoffs. "With that? Covering up another murder? You want good publicity from me online? Feed people your lies?"
"No," Detective Malik shakes his head. "I asked you to come here because you need to know the truth about what's going on."
"I think I know the truth well enough," Harry lets out a humourless laugh. "He killed his wife and two children and because he's all buddy-buddy with half the police force, you covered it up. I don't need you to spell it out for me. I just want to know why the fuck you did it. You have a duty to serve people, to strive for justice and not... this!"
"I didn't have a choice."
"Everyone always has a choice!" Harry hissed. "You are not controlled or employed by this fucking town. You are meant to do your job and bring justice to people. What could they do if you did what you were supposed to? Tell the fucking president? Kill you?"
"As a matter of fact, yes," Detective Malik hisses back. "I'm not from here, I was transferred here from my old precinct. I might be the highest-ranking officer there, but no one listens to me. My hands were tried."
"No, they weren't," Harry argues, his chin jutted out high. "You should've reported them. You should've done something."
Detective Malik scoffs. "If they saw I was doing something that wasn't in line with their narrative, I would've been lying dead in a ditch somewhere and no one would ever find me. Or they would've staged a fucking suicide for me."
"Why don't you leave then?" Harry asks, shrugging a shoulder. "No one's keeping you here."
"I didn't think it would come to this," Detective Malik says quietly, looking down at the table. "I only had a few months left here."
"Why are you telling this to me now?" Harry huffs out a breath, crossing his arms. "You're a big boy, you can sort out your messes alone without the help of someone who makes silly videos on the Internet."
"I would've jeopardized my entire career, my whole life would be over," Detective Malik explains.
"Wow," Harry chuckles bitterly. "Wow, you're a real piece of work, aren't you? What about the lives of the mother and her two children who are currently rotting in the ground?!"
"That's why I asked you to come here tonight," Detective Malik says sternly. "I'm leaving soon. I will be completely detached from the case, a different detective will replace me. I won't have the authority to see the files, to do anything with it if it ever goes to court. I need your help."
"Where are you going?" Harry frowns.
"I'm joining the FBI," Detective Malik says. "I had to complete a year as a detective in a regular precinct as a part of my training. You may think so but I won't be able to do anything with the case from there. The county won't give the case up to a federal agency. That's why I need your help. I can't leave it like that. Not when I know the truth."
Harry's lips are set in a straight line. He has trouble believing this. It must be a trick to get him arrested and prosecuted and locked up so he can't dig around in their dirty laundry anymore.
"I don't believe you," Harry says simply. "I don't. You're probably wearing a wire, getting this all on tape so you can finally get rid of me. Nope, I'm not falling for it."
"Harry," Detective Malik sighs and since when the fuck are they on the first-name basis? "You hate to believe me."
"Sure, Zayn," Harry spits his first name. "I'm not stupid, okay? Your little gang won't get me."
Harry's refusing to break. Nope, this is not how they're going to take him down. Zayn rolls his eyes and to Harry's absolute shock, after removing his cap, he takes his hoodie off, showing off a toned body, complete with abs and a few stray tattoos Harry never would've expected to see on a stuck-up detective. No wire anywhere. Harry clears his throat awkwardly. He's not going to ask him to take his pants off. No one would put a wire in anyone's pants. Too much rustling and not enough security.
"Do you believe me now?" Zayn asks once he's once again dressed. "Or do I need to get completely naked and show you every corner of the café to prove that nothing here is bugged and we are not being listened to?"
Harry purses his lips. "Show me your phone."
Zayn furrows his brows. "I don't have my phone here. Anyone could track it. I can't ever be connected with you like that in any way, shape or form. Not if you do what I need you to."
Okay, Harry thinks, that's smart. Unless he's lying.
As if he could hear Harry's thoughts, Zayn sighs, "I promise you I am not lying."
"Why are we in an empty coffee shop after hours?" Harry inquires. It's very uncanny.
"Because it's empty but it still is a public place so you won't feel in danger," Zayn replies. "Any more questions?"
"Later," Harry dismisses him. "So what do you need from me, future FBI agent and a current coward?"
Zayn gives him a look, momentarily raising his brows. "I need you to expose how botched this investigation was." Harry only scoffs but Zayn continues, "You already have most of the facts right. You just don't have the evidence to support it but I do."
"How can you have evidence if they got rid of all of it?" Harry asks, frowning.
"Not all of it," Zayn shakes his head and pulls up a folder that was hidden on the seat under the table. "I was first at the scene, with a few officers who aren't complete cocksuckers to the sheriff. We started things off properly, in the right and correct way. We photographed the scene, took a few samples, collected other physical evidence. I have the photos, all of them, even though I don't think they will be that much help. But I have DNA. I have fingerprints."
Harry shakes his head slowly. "How? Just how did you manage that?"
"Before they went on throwing out the evidence, I stashed some of it in an old case file with evidence," Zayn replies. "Something completely irrelevant no one would look into. I have been slowly taking it out and hiding it away from the station."
"Where is it?" Harry asks. "I want to see it."
"It's in my car," Zayn replies, putting a hand on the folder and sliding it towards Harry. "Don't open it here. Wait until you're in a safe place. Anyone could see us here if they look hard enough."
"What about the evidence?" Harry wonders, cautiously taking the folder and sliding it down into his lap. "I want to see it. Have you got testing done on it?"
Zayn shakes his head. "Not yet. But I put in the information from the elimination prints for comparison. I have a friend with a private lab in DC, she'll do the testing for us. You can make it down there from Philly, right?"
"Yeah," Harry nods, his eyes straying down to the folder on his thighs. "What do you want me to do?"
"What you do best: make a video."
xxx
A few minutes later, they make their way out of the café to Zayn's car that is parked behind the building, in the employees only lot. Harry feels like a criminal then, with the folder of invaluable information stored away in his bag. But he's ready to do whatever it takes to get that man in jail.
The box is in Zayn's trunk. A plain white box, like any other one that would be used to store evidence. It's a lifeline.
"Where's your car?" Zayn asks.
Shit. "I walked here," Harry replies. "But it's fine, I'll take it with me anyway."
Zayn shifts nervously. "I could give you a ride," he says, hesitant.
"Okay," Harry nods. "It's safer not to be seen walking around with a box of evidence."
"Not the safest to be seen with me either," Zayn adds. Harry doesn't refute it.
Silently, they walk to their respective doors, Harry sitting in the passenger seat in the front. He thinks for a moment about lying down in the back so no one sees him but he can just pull his hood up. He will have to get out of the car at some point when they reach the motel. It will be less eye-catching and suspicious when he walks out like a normal person and not a fugitive.
The car ride is silent. Harry didn't tell Zayn where he's staying but he automatically heads to the motel. It's possible the police have been keeping tabs on him ever since he arrived. Or the town is small enough to know that most people drop the anchors down at the motel and not the overpriced inn for newlyweds and bored pensioners.
Harry turns his head chastely, watching Zayn's profile as he drives. He's trying to make his mind up about him. Up until tonight, he absolutely despised him, along with the rest of the department. Now Harry's not so sure. Still, Zayn did sit by and watch this injustice happen. It's been eight months since the day of the murders. Would he do anything at all if Harry hadn't turned up? Would this case go cold and the killer would walk free?
Zayn turns his head and Harry averts his gaze quickly, snapping his head so quick a muscle in his neck starts burning.
Soon enough, they pull into the motel's parking lot.
"Which door?"
"I'm upstairs."
Zayn parks his car near the outdoor staircase, shutting off the engine. He looks at Harry, his face blank, "Before I leave, I'll try to get the case moved to the district. I'll try to get the state involved. They have been trying to get their fingers into it anyway. Those are the people who you will need to give the evidence to, eventually. I'll try to let you know when it will be."
"How?" Harry frowns. "They could get our phone records."
"I put a burner phone for you in the box with evidence," Zayn says. "There's a number saved, it's to my burner phone. We can contact each other that way."
Harry nods quickly, looking down at his hands. Zayn really thought of everything. He planned this. He put thought into it.
"Do you want to come up for a bit?" Harry asks. Zayn's trained poker face shows a whisper of surprise. "No, I mean," Harry clears his throat nervously. "To see what I've found. What my theory is. You said I have most of the facts right. I can't possibly have the full story."
Zayn waits a moment to answer, clearly weighing out the possibilities. "Okay, yeah," he says at last. "That's actually a good idea."
They get out of the car at the same time but Harry walks up first while Zayn gets the box from the trunk. It's still dangerous, still too close in proximity but at least they won't be seen walking together. Being in one car is bad enough.
Harry enters his room and panics. It's a fucking mess. Quickly, he drops his bag onto the floor and starts putting all the dirty clothes from the armchair into his half-empty suitcase that's in the bottom of the wardrobe. He takes the three empty paper cups from coffee and squashes them down into the trashcan in the bathroom. The sheets are all rustled so he very swiftly and haphazardly makes the bed. After he's done, he surveys the room and concludes that it's still a mess. Whatever, he tried.
The door opens and Zayn walks in along with the white box. "Put it on the bed with the papers and stuff," Harry says and gets the folder from his bag. He walks to his bed and sits down, putting it on the other bed with the rest of his research.
Zayn's standing at the foot of the bed, his eyes going over the dozens of papers and printed photos and scribbled notes. "You have a lot," he says and reaches down for the neatest pile of papers, which happen to be Harry's supposed timeline that he put together and printed out just before leaving. Harry watches anxiously as Zayn reads it. His face doesn't tell Harry much, not until a small frown takes over his face. "Do you have a pen?" Zayn asks, not lifting his eyes from the paper.
"Yeah, course," Harry says and scrambles around for a pen. He finds one under a pile of the crime scene photos and hands it to Zayn.
Zayn sits down at the shitty desk/vanity that's by the ancient TV, writing something down on the paper. Harry doesn't interrupt him as he goes through paper after paper, occasionally jotting down a few words, drawing arrows and whatnot. "You're not far off," Zayn says as he clicks the pen off and shuffles the papers into a neat pile again. "You were missing some info that you couldn't have possibly known but all the details on it are in the folder I gave you. There is a timeline as well but it's not as involved as what you have here. That one is just pure facts."
"Thanks," Harry says as Zayn hands him back the papers. He looks at them, neat black lines now interrupted by blue ink on the margins and in-between. Zayn writes in cursive. Harry finds it a little fascinating.
"How do you have this?"
Harry lifts his head up from the papers to see Zayn frowning at a bunch of printed out photos from the crime scene. Shit. "I have a friend."
"You have a friend who works here or one that is good at hacking?" Zayn asks. A smile tugs at his lips. Okay, so Harry's probably not getting arrested.
"Maybe the second one," Harry quips, teasing. "Am I in trouble, Detective?"
"Not with me," Zayn replies, dropping the photos down. He sits down, moving a couple of papers. He's scanning them all, flitting over words quickly. When something gets his attention, he picks it up, sometimes writes down a comment. His guard is slowly melting away, Harry notices. His face is less rigid, more prone to show emotion. Despair flashed across his features when he picks up the particularly grim photos from the children's autopsies. His eyes find Harry's then and Harry feels blood coming into his cheeks, painting them red. He was watching him, again.
"Why are you doing this?" Zayn asks. Not accusing, simply wondering.
Harry sighs, grabbing a pile of papers to have something to busy his hands with. "I'm in law school, did you know that?"
"I did," Zayn replies. "You're graduating next year. Why not wait until you have your license to do something about the injustice? Why are you putting yourself on the line like this?"
Harry looks at his hands. "This isn't about me."
"It is," Zayn says, his voice soothing. "You can lose your chance at ever becoming a lawyer with this. You can ruin your life."
"I won't," Harry shakes his head softly. "I'll say this was given to me anonymously. They won't be able to prosecute me for anything. I'm just tired of the injustice. Tired of seeing guilty people go free. It's sickening. Our entire judicial system fails thousands of people every year. I'm sick of it, I'm just so sick of it."
"I know," Zayn nods, his eyes on papers on the bed. "When the investigation first began, I thought they were all giving him just the benefit of the doubt. You know, a small town, close-knit community. They don't want to believe that one of their neighbours, their friend, is a murderer who would kill his wife and two children. But after a few days, I saw how wrong I was. They were covering it up. He came into the station like he owned it, shook hands with the sheriff like his wife and children weren't in the morgue down the road. I felt sick. But I couldn't do anything about it."
"They're not gonna be nice to you when all this comes out," Harry says.
"I'm aware," Zayn nods and looks at Harry. "I'll live, don't worry. My superior at the bureau knows about it. As I said, they're a federal agency and can't do shit about this. The most they can do is request to review the case but the state would never grant it. Not at this point anyway."
Harry nods slowly. "Do you want a drink?" he asks, letting out a deep breath. "I feel like I'm going crazy."
"I shouldn't," Zayn replies, smiling sadly. "I still have to drive home."
"One drink won't kill you," Harry retorts and stands up, walking to the small fridge in the room. He pulls out a bottle of whiskey, pouring a little into the two shitty glasses that the motel has here. He takes them, along with the bottle, offering one to Zayn, who's not very willing to take it. Harry shakes it a little in front of his face and Zayn finally grabs it with a chuckle.
They throw back the whiskey too quickly. A silent agreement is made and Harry refills the glasses.
"There is one thing actually," Harry says after three glasses of whiskey, the alcohol getting to him too quickly because he's barely eaten anything all day. "Why I do this."
"Yeah?" Zayn asks, one shot behind Harry. He still insists he has to drive.
"Years back, when I was a kid," Harry starts, pouring himself another glass. "There was this lady who lived a couple of houses down from ours. She was a single mom, had two kids. I never played with them because they were a couple of years younger but my mom had them all for dinner a few times. Her name was Janice, by the way. She was really nice and so reluctant to accept any help, no matter how my mom and a few other decent people in the neighbourhood tried.
"One day, shit hit the fan, frankly. She was found dead, along with her two kids, Billy and Travis."
"Shit," Zayn says and takes a drink from his glass. "What happened?"
Harry chuckles bitterly, drinking his whiskey. "Her ex was a cop. A real fucking asshole. He didn't come to see her and the boys often but when he did, she was sporting bruises for a week afterwards. And take a wild guess what happened." Harry swirls in liquid in his glass. A stray thought comes into his mind. Zayn's eyes are that colour. Hm.
"He killed her, didn't he?" Zayn asks, shaking his head. "And the kids. And he's still free."
"Bin-fucking-go," Harry lifts his glass up and then down the rest. "They didn't even fucking try. Everyone in town knew. Everyone. But it was like fifteen years ago and now almost everyone has forgotten about it. Her ex has remarried. Some young, vapid girl. They don't have kids as far as I know."
Zayn is silent. He doesn't look at Harry, instead, he studies the bottom of his glass, now nearly empty. Harry refills his own.
"I know you must hate me."
Zayn's voice completely shocks Harry. He almost spills the whiskey.
"I did hate you," Harry admits as he screws back the cap on the bottle. "I was in awe how someone can be so oblivious and so... complacent with such injustice. Ever since I came here I just wanted to honestly punch you in the face."
"That's fair," Zayn nods, the rim of his glass leaned against his bottom lip. "I hated myself during this process. I felt like just... calling up the news and telling them everything. But I couldn't do it. I was scared. So I did at least this. I had to do something. I didn't enter the force to sit idly by and watch as crime happens. I failed them with this investigation, of course, I did but hopefully, with your help, it can be rectified. It doesn't have to be beyond saving."
"You did a good thing," Harry places his hand on Zayn's knee without thinking. "You made a mistake but this... this is the best thing you could've done in that situation. You saved actual physical evidence that would've been destroyed forever and no matter what, he could not even be prosecuted if that happened. Thank you for trusting me with this."
"You're welcome," Zayn gives Harry the slightest smile. He still hasn't removed his hand. "I'm glad you agreed to this. I was afraid you wouldn't even come tonight. But you did. And I'm so fucking relieved because I have no idea what I would've done otherwise."
Harry becomes aware of the warmth of Zayn's skin underneath his jeans. He takes his hand away like he was burned. He clears his throat and cheers clumsily, "Yay! Teamwork! Aren't we the dream team?"
"Maybe," Zayn breathes in deeply, running his hands over his thighs. "We can draw a conclusion on that after we see if the plan works or not." He stands up then, looking around awkwardly, as you always do when leaving. "I better go. Thank you, Harry, really," he puts his hand on Harry's shoulder, squeezing a little. Harry's breath hitches. "Leave as soon as you can."
Harry swallows down a shot of whiskey as he watches the door close behind Zayn. He's ready. He can do this. He'll get justice to that poor woman and her family even if he has to drag it in by the hair, kicking and screaming. He's not giving up so easily. Not this time.
xxx
Harry leaves early in the morning, his car packed with information that will hopefully change everything. His head his heavy from the whiskey from the previous night but he doesn't care, nothing can stop him now.
As soon as he gets back, he sets up a mind map on the big notice board he got last year to keep track of the cases he's researching. The real evidence stays hidden in the box, along with the folder and the burner phone Zayn got him. Harry puts it all in the back of his closet, hidden from sight by shoe boxes and a holdall. It's good that he doesn't have classes now, since it's summer but this case will drag on for longer than that.
Soon enough, Harry's room turns into a manic HQ full of evidence and timeline and ideas about how the fuck to present all this to the world. It was so easy for Zayn to say make a video. Sure, Harry's gonna make a video but it's really fucking difficult. Harry's roommate Adam, bless his heart, excuses Harry's state of mind and makes sure he at least eats something.
Before Harry can do anything, he needs to go to Washington DC to the lab Zayn mentioned. The address and the information for the lab technician were in the box, all Harry has to do is drive down there and not act suspicious, which is kinda hard in this case. How can he know that he's not being surveilled?
Eventually, Harry makes his way down to DC two weeks before the start of the fall semester. He comes early in the morning, just as the lab opens to avoid running into anyone. Very discreetly, he flags down the attention of the lab technician Zayn arranged to do the testing. She tells him it will be done by the end of the day, hopefully. Harry struggles to believe it for a while because that's too damn fast but considering what it is, no one would want it in their lab longer than necessary.
He wanders around DC all day before he finally gets the call on his burner phone. The results are just what they expected. He did it. Chris Rochell killed his wife Macy and his two sons, Keith and Patrick. His blood was found on Macy's body, on her hand specifically, it got there as she tried to defend herself, complementing his skin that was found underneath her nails. His bloody fingerprints with Patrick's blood were on the edge of the coffee table in the lounge. His ripped out hair was found clutched in Keith's hand. More than enough evidence to convict someone. Evidence, that was nearly gone forever.
After Harry retrieves the results and the evidence itself from the lab, he texts Zayn. 'I know the results. Meet me at El Sol. The address will be in the next text.'. Harry hides the evidence in the trunk, in one of those little compartments for the first aid kit and various manuals for the car. He can't be safe enough with it. Just in case, he took photos of the results and the evidence, and just to have a bit of extra security, he uploaded them to both his iCloud and Google Drive and sent them to a spare email account. Yes, he's aware that sometimes, he can be a bit paranoid.
Zayn never texted back so Harry had serious doubts he would come, but as he's sitting in the far corner of the bar, nursing his second Manhattan, Zayn walks in, dressed in his 'oh, I'm a detective' suit, effectively making all the women and most men in the bar turn around and look at him like it's a fucking perfume ad. Harry rolls his eyes and knocks back the rest of his cocktail.
"Hello, partner in crime," Harry gives him a close-lipped grin. "It's good to see you again."
It's been a few weeks now. He's got two texts from Zayn in that time. One telling him that he's officially filed for the state to take over, another one that he's leaving. So it's an 'oh, I'm a special agent' suit now, probably.
"Are you drinking because you're celebrating or because the case just went to shit?" Zayn asks and climbs onto the empty barstool opposite Harry.
"Wouldn't you want to know?" Harry chuckles humourlessly. He pulls out his phone from his back pocket, finding the photos of the results before passing it to Zayn. He raises one eyebrow at Harry but takes the phone and starts reading. It's quite entertaining, seeing the storm of emotion wash over his face. From anxiety with its little wrinkle between his brows to relief and excitement and eventually determination. Because they will get this fucker behind bars no matter what.
"Thank fuck," Zayn sighs, tipping his head back in relief. He has a neck, Harry notes. A rather nice one. "You know it's only gonna be worse from now on?" Zayn asks, passing Harry the phone back. "Once the state takes the case, you'll need to give it to them. They're reluctant to do it because the county is like a little yappy dog that will tear a part of your calf off. I think it would be better if you made the video first and stated that you won't release the actual evidence to the authorities until the state is handling the case. Wait, no, they'll just get a warrant and search your house."
"No, no, no," Harry says. "It's a good idea. They can't take anything if it won't be at my house."
Zayn shakes his head lightly. "No, it's too risky. I'm gonna ask back at the Bureau to have the case reviewed. Directly through the state. That will spook them enough to get the county to hand it over to them. Then you'll expose this."
"Okay, fine," Harry sighs. He can't argue with Zayn when it's a legitimately good plan. "Do you want a drink?"
"I need like twenty at this point," Zayn chuckles, already standing up. "I'll get us a few rounds."
After those few rounds, alcohol is warmly and deliciously cruising through Harry's body. He feels relaxed, relieved and it makes him a bit sick to his stomach, celebrating that a man indeed did kill his wife and children but at the same time, that man is now a step closer to paying for what he did.
"How do you even manage all this?" Zayn asks, the edge of his voice brushed away by booze.
"What do you mean?" Harry frowns. "What's all this?"
"School and your," Zayn makes a face, "YouTube channel? God, this feels wrong. I associate YouTube with cute kitten videos and fail compilations and weird people scamming teenagers off of their money for shit products they make their parents buy them. Not crime investigation."
Harry laughs. His face feels warm. "It's been a long time since you clicked on YouTube, grandpa. But you're not wrong. All that is still there but there is also an incredible true crime community. There's CrimeCon, where you should go, by the way. And juggling all that with law school basically means that I have no social life," Harry spreads his hands and shrugs. "I'm friends with my roommate, Adam. Then I have Niall, the culprit behind those not so legally obtained things, but we go way back. That's about it. For me, the last few years have been just exams and research and filming. On very few occasions, Adam or Niall drag me out to a party or to do something social. That's not often though."
"So no girlfriend?" Zayn asks, giving Harry a long, direct look before dropping his gaze and taking a sip of his drink.
Harry straightens his back, cocking his head to the side as he watches Zayn. What the fuck was that? "No, no girlfriend," Harry replies deliberately slowly. "Either way, if there was anyone, which there isn't, it would've been a boyfriend."
"Oh?" Zayn raises his brows lazily.
"Yep," Harry nods once. "I'm gay, big surprise. But you knew that, didn't you?"
Zayn breathes in sharply. "Maybe. I had an inkling."
"What gave me away?" Harry asks. "Not that I'm hiding."
"The way you put your hand on my knee in the motel," Zayn replies, once again with his fucking police poker face. "The way you stopped breathing for a second when I put my hand on your shoulder."
The corner of Harry's mouth is tugging at a smile. "Are we playing for the same team then?"
"Not exactly the same one," Zayn says. "Why do we always start with the investigation and end with whiskey?"
"Because we need to numb our brains and forget we're trying to get a man who killed his entire family arrested?" Harry grins coldly and raises his glass. "Cheers!"
"Can't argue with that," Zayn adds and finishes his drink as well. "Where are you staying tonight?"
"Oh shit," Harry's hand with the glass returns to the table comically slowly. "I didn't book a hotel. I wanted to just drive back. Shit. Well, to answer your question, I'll be staying anywhere that has vacancies and isn't crazy expensive."
"You can stay at mine," Zayn says, nonchalantly. Harry's not sure if it's an invitation or just helping our a... partner in crime in need. "I'm staying a couple blocks away."
"How long are you in DC for?" Harry asks, boldly ignoring the question.
"A few months," Zayn replies. "I'm renting an apartment."
"Okay," Harry nods. "I need two more drinks and we can go to yours. Or no, wait, you've had less than me. We need to drive back."
Zayn frowns at him. "Why in the world do you want me to get a DUI? Or crash your car?"
Harry leans over the table, whispering. "There evidence is in my trunk. What if someone steals my car along with the evidence? We're fucked!"
"Jesus fucking Christ," Zayn rolls his eyes. "Fine! But if they pull me over I'm gonna be really pissed off."
"You're a cop, what does it matter?" Harry scoffs as he carefully gets off his bar stool. He still stumbles. "You all just... cover up murders for each other. Don't kill me, okay? Because I got my mom hooked on true crime and she will sue your ass. And she'll win."
"Okay, Superman," Zayn laughs, offering Harry his arm because Harry this drunk is like a newborn giraffe. Harry very reluctantly accepts it and hangs onto him as they leave the bar. Harry's car is nearby, thankfully, and soon enough, they're no longer touching and Harry can breathe again.
During the whole ride, they don't talk. Harry leans his head against the cool glass of the window, thinking about how stupid he is to let himself be driven to an unknown location without telling anyone. He can find himself lying dead in a ditch somewhere. This is how many unsolved cases start. Even solved too.
But they get safely to the underground garage of Zayn's apartment building and make it to the elevators in one piece.
"You're not scared to leave the evidence here in your car?" Zayn teases as they board the elevators.
"Not really," Harry sighs, leaning against the wall. "It's gated. There's security. It's hidden safely and no one's stealing the whole ass car from here. Hopefully. But I have backups. Technically."
Silence takes over the elevator, random instrumental music playing and filling in the void.
"I wanna clear your name too," Harry says, watching his feet as he repeatedly taps his toe against the floor.
"They can't know it was me."
"You'll have to testify either way. The case won't hold up in court without you."
"I know but you can't say anything about my involvement just yet."
"Will you be kicked out of the FBI?"
"No," Zayn scoffs. "I might be reprimanded in a way but they won't. They know about this mess. I reported it, I told my superiors. They couldn't do shit."
Harry sighs, planning to say something just as the elevator dings and they have to get off. Once they're in Zayn's apartment, Harry quickly loses focus because it's just another non-descript place.
"Zayn, the whole country will hate you," Harry says. He's proud of himself for thinking so clearly considering the number of cocktails he had tonight. He continues, "You helped cover up a murder for weeks. The murder of a mother and her two young sons. No one will ever forgive you."
"I don't care, Harry," Zayn sighs. "I was a coward for doing that, I know. I'll never forgive myself. But I won't be right now and I won't jeopardize this for such a fucking silly thing. I don't care what anyone thinks of me. The truth will come out and if people still hate me, fine."
Harry shakes his head vehemently. "No, no I won't let that happen. I will not let the entire world hate you, okay? I won't. I'll... I'll be vague about it. It'll be fine. You fucked up with this, yes, but so many people would've done the same thing. I probably would've done the same thing because these guys are fucking scary, okay? But... even if I hated you before, when I learned that you had gone out of your way and risked so much to save the evidence, I couldn't hate you anymore. I couldn't. You put your faith and trust in me with this and this is how I repay you. I don't care that you don't agree. I will simply do it and I won't ask for your permission. Because media can be cruel, you know? And they will try and-"
Harry's suddenly interrupted by a pair of lips on his own. He swears his heart stops for the little moment when Zayn's lips are on his, before Zayn pulls away after a second or an eternity.
Zayn gives him a small smile. "You wouldn't shut up and I didn't know what else to do."
"Okay," Harry sucks in a breath. "So if I keep talking you'll kiss me again?"
"Probably not."
Harry hums. Then he takes the matter in his own hands and connects their lips again because he's fucking drunk and he hasn't kissed anyone in months, probably and this is enough of an excuse. He might not even remember it in the morning, although that's unlikely because if Harry's able to scheme about something other than getting takeout, he's not drunk enough for memory loss.
And Zayn doesn't pull away. No, he doesn't and it feels great. Harry's moral compass is a bit askew right now, cue the drinks, but Zayn is gorgeous and deep down, the compass knows he's not an inherently bad person. He fucked up, yes, and it will never go away but perhaps for a few moments, they can forget under what circumstances they met.
As Zayn's hands land on Harry's hips, Harry suddenly remembers how good passion and lust feel with someone else. And does it feel fucking wonderful. Harry's fingers card through Zayn's hair, no longer neat like it always is. He's a bit dishevelled now and Harry loves it. He loves it all and he never wants this moment to end.
xxx
"Oh, fucking hell," Harry curses when the sun hits his face. Risking being blinded, he opens his eyes and looks around the room. He lets out a soft 'fuck' when he realizes this isn't his room.
He tries sitting up but then the memories from last night hit him like a truck and he falls back into the pillows. The results, the drinks, Zayn, kissing Zayn and oh god. Harry lifts up the duvet quickly, letting out a humongous breath of relief upon finding out that he's still wearing everything except for his shoes and jeans. So they didn't fuck. Thank god. Or what if they did?
"Morning."
Harry's head snaps towards the voice and he sees Zayn, with just a towel wrapped around his waist, leaning against the doorway to the adjacent bathroom. Harry didn't notice that last night. He gulps, trying to lift his eyes off Zayn's chest and look him in the eye.
"We didn't fuck, did we?" Harry asks.
Zayn chuckles. "No, we did not."
"Thank you whoever is up there looking after me," Harry sighs, his eyes at the ceiling. "The last fucking thing I need is sleeping with the detective who helped cover up a murder I'm trying to expose."
Zayn scoffs. "Excuse me, who gave you the evidence that will allow you to do that?"
"Oh, right," Harry grins at Zayn after he sits up. "That was you! I almost forgot."
"Ha, ha," Zayn turns around to walk back into the bathroom. "Very funny."
Harry's hit by another memory from last night. "I'm still not letting you get hounded by the media and everyone following the case, mister!" he yells after Zayn.
"If you fuck the case up I'm packing you up and sending you to Alaska to be fish food."
"I'll take my chances!"
Harry sighs, letting his shoulders relax. Fraternizing with the enemy, so that's how it is. At least he didn't let the very sexy enemy fuck him.
xxx
"You're brooding."
Harry looks at Niall over his laptop. "'m not brooding."
"You've been brooding ever since you came back from DC three weeks ago," Niall says, reaching over the table and snapping Harry's laptop shut. "Spill it. What happened there? I know it's not the case."
Harry pulls his fingers from between the halves of his laptop. "How can it not be the case? I'm trying to get a man who killed his wife and kids arrested." Right as he says that, he looks around, hoping no one heard him. Talking about that in the library, well, no one needs to know his business. Especially not this business.
"Is it that sexy detective?" Niall wiggles his brows.
"No!" Harry exclaims immediately. A library clerk gives him a dirty look. "I would never have anything with a man who let such injustice happen."
"Uhm," Niall nods but there's shit-eating grin curling his lips. "Yes but that man gave you invaluable evidence and has been helping you for weeks now."
Harry huffs out a breath. "Fine! We made out. We were both drunk. Well, I was wasted. But nothing happened. We just kissed. And it's not going to happen again. Ever. It's wrong."
"You refused to let Logan kiss you at that party last week," Niall snickers. "That's when I knew things were off."
Harry raises his brows at Niall. "Have you quite finished? I've made out with countless men I shouldn't have. Zayn is just another one of them."
"Oh, so now it's Zayn," Niall leans back in his chair cockily. "Before all this, it was 'that fucking spawn of Satan that doesn't know what justice and truth are'. Quite an interesting development I'd say."
Harry scoffs. "Things changed a little, okay?" he starts gathering up his things. "As much as I'd love to listen to you nag about my poor life decisions, I have to go. I need to finish the script for the exposé video and finish editing the one that I need to post this weekend."
"Have a good time jerking off to Detective Sexy!"
"You suck!"
The thing that Harry does when he gets back to his room these days, is check the burner phone. And he does it today as well when he gets back from the library. Unlike all the other days, there is a text waiting for him. A text he's been waiting forever since DC. 'State got the case yesterday. Good luck with the video.'
For a split second, Harry's filled with doubt. Why should he show this all off in a video? Will it lose credibility? Shouldn't he just send the evidence over? But then he recalls how one of his videos helped a witness come forward and the murder was finally solved. How he helped a grieving family reach their petition goal. It matters. Exposure matters because once people know, it will be harder for the authorities to conceal their mistakes and wrongdoings.
So he gets to work.
xxx
"Hi, everyone. From today's title, it's quite obvious that today's video will be a little different from what you usually expect from me. It's not clickbait, it's not fake, it's not a prank. We are talking about the lives of a young woman and her two small children, who were violently taken so soon by someone who had no right to do it. And I can prove it.
"As most of you who follow me on Instagram know, I went to North Carolina this summer to try and find more about what the hell happened with this investigation. I tried speaking to authorities, to the locals, I tried to get any bit of information that would help in proving that Chris Rochell killed his family. Well, I found way more than I could ever dream of.
"The title of the video is not clickbait. I am in possession of actual evidence from the crime scene that was collected by the authorities and properly bagged and stored. I didn't break into the police station, I did nothing illegal to obtain it. I stayed at a local motel there and someone placed a box with the evidence and the truthful case file on my doorstep. It was given to me anonymously. There was someone working on the case from the beginning, who wanted to bring Macy's family peace, to catch her and her children's killer. But because of the nature of it, because of the relationship between Chris Rochell and the Sheriff and many other officers, that someone was prohibited from doing their job and threated. Who that is? That will remain a mystery until this case is solved and justice is served.
"As I said, this was given to me anonymously along with the instruction to get it tested at an independent lab in Washington DC. I did that and because there were samples of blood and so-called elimination prints from Chris Rochell, the lab was able to prove that the evidence indeed very directly ties him to the murder of his wife and children. I'm sorry for my long rambling but you needed to know the story. Now, onto the new corrected timeline and the evidence."
xxx
Harry's mom calls him in panic after the video is released, worrying that he's gonna get arrested and thrown in jail for years and years and years. He's not afraid of that. Even if they arrested him, what for? He didn't do anything wrong. Fine, obstruction of justice, maybe, for not turning it in immediately but he did intend to hand over the evidence to the state after the video was done.
Once the video goes viral enough to reach national news, Harry pats himself on the back. Even if nothing changes, he did what he could and that's it. A bit of that fear comes in when the North Carolina sends officials to knock on his door and bring him in for an interview but he needs to stay strong.
He doesn't get arrested. He doesn't go to jail. The evidence isn't thrown out.
Chris Rochell is arrested eleven days after the video came out. Thanks to the evidence that Zayn saved and Harry showed to the entire world, he's charged with three counts of first-degree murder and a few other things that he more than deserves. Justice is served and Harry's job is done, for now.
He does have to testify in court a few months later, for what reason he doesn't know but he feels like it's just because the DA wants to flex on Chris' defence team, wants to show them how pathetic this attempt even was that a normal guy in law school was able to figure it out. They needed to know who actually gave Harry the evidence and he wasn't afraid to say that it had been Zayn. Without his testimony, they couldn't prove the corruption and coverup within the police station.
Once their roles in this we clarified, Harry and Zayn started talking occasionally, on their normal phones and not the burner flip-phones that so eagerly wanted them to use T9. Harry's moral compass was still protesting a bit sometimes but now that they put a murderer behind bars together, kind of, it wasn't that bad of a situation, was it?
When he sees Zayn after the court has adjourned outside the courthouse, Harry approaches him with a smile.
"Kinda feels like Scooby-Doo," Harry grins. "Unmasking the monster and finding only a man underneath. Felt like that when he started crying in court today."
"Won't give him a lesser sentence," Zayn smirks. "So, now that we're not technically doing illegal things together, would you like to get dinner sometime?"
Harry tries to push back his smile but his eyes are lit up with mirth. "Is that what you were thinking about while the DA tried to prove that Rochell killed his wife and kids?"
"God, no," Zayn frowns, a small laugh escaping his lips. "But when that heinous fucking crime wasn't on my mind, I couldn't stop thinking about you."
The amusement dissipates and a sad smile appears on Harry's face. "But you're in DC."
"Not anymore," Zayn shakes his head. "Coincidentally, there's a very good HQ in Philadephia. And I'm starting there next month."
Harry grins, stopping himself just in time not to crush Zayn with a hug. "You know, I'm graduating very soon so I won't have that much time for you. You know, law school, YouTube, my two friends. I'm in high demand."
"Are you?" Zayn teases. "Well, I'm sure I can give you a very interesting offer for your time at that dinner."
"I really want to kiss you right now," Harry smiles, discreetly linking his pinky finger with Zayn's. "But there are cameras everywhere and I truly do not need some stupid local news talking about how I sucked your dick for the evidence. Nope, sir. That's a step too much for me."
"Fine, how about we have a very platonic dinner right now and something non-platonic in my hotel room? Apart from the murders, North Carolina isn't horrible."
"Well, I am a bit hungry after a day in a courthouse."
xxx
Even if they were brought together by horrendous circumstances, they don't really affect Harry and Zayn's lives after the trial. It's like a puzzle coming together, like gliding into a bespoke dress tailored to perfection. In a new city, without a box of evidence hidden in Harry's closet, without texting on burner phones, they build a new life together. Very conveniently, Harry's lease is up just a few months after Zayn moves to Philadelphia and he doesn't hesitate when the idea of moving in together comes along.
"Baby?"
Harry's lips quirk up in a smile. It's still a bit strange, to have Zayn come back home to him every day, to love someone he despised one day.
"In the kitchen!" Harry calls back. He reaches up to the cabinet for some wine glasses.
"Are you cooking?" Zayn asks as he comes to him and wraps himself around Harry's back.
Harry scoffs, setting the glasses on the counter. "Don't be ridiculous. Like I have time for that." He twists in Zayn's arms, grinning at him, "I got us fancy takeout."
"You're incredible," Zayn smiles softly and briefly kisses Harry. "How was your day, babe?"
"It was fine, nothing special," Harry replies. He wraps his arms loosely around Zayn's neck, his fingers coming up to play with the ends of Zayn's hair. "How about you? Anything extra fucked up?"
Zayn makes a face. "Actually, yes. A bloated corpse. Pulled from the water after like a week."
"Mmm, spicy!" Harry giggles. "How do you even feel like eating after that?"
"I didn't have lunch, so you don't, apparently," Zayn pinches Harry's butt. "I think I'd love to have you for dinner."
Harry laughs brightly. "I don't think so, darling. I'm famished. Maybe after that but I'm not making any promises, I've got an early morning tomorrow."
"You're no fun," Zayn pouts playfully before kissing Harry's jawline. "I have the weekend off. We could go where."
"Maldives?"
"I was thinking more like, New Jersey. Ocean City, maybe."
"Fine, I'll be low-maintenance," Harry sighs theatrically. "I still love you a lot. Like, a lot."
Zayn smiles at him. In the past few months, Harry's found out it's his favourite sight. "I love you too, babe."
Harry settles into his adult life with someone he very easily fell in love with. It's better than anything he could've imagined. Before Zayn came along, Harry did think he was destined to be alone, too engrossed in his work to build a relationship. There's always a new case, always something more important than a date that a cliché overpriced restaurant with ambience lighting.
He was lucky to get Zayn but he wouldn't change anything. Not the way they met, not the mistakes they've both made. Sometimes they both feel guilty for meeting through a triple homicide but they can't change the past, they can't control other people's actions. They got to know each other because they were trying to right a wrong that was in their power to and that's what matters.
Harry finds himself watching Zayn sometimes, admiring how fucking beautiful he is and thinking about how he hated him. He was right to do so, of course, but since that case, so much has changed. Ever since Harry saw the initial news coverage, he knew that case would change his life. He just didn't know it would bring this incredible, beautiful man to him, who he loves so fucking much it hurts sometimes.
What matters the most, truly, is that they have each other and they're not letting go anytime soon. The past is the past and there's no changing it. Might as well enjoy the present.