Chapter Twenty-One

Chad felt like a criminal.

Correction, he was a criminal, but he had to convince whoever stepped through the doors to the interview room, he wasn't.

They'd taken his fingerprints, swabbed his hands, the side of his face, and his neck, but they hadn't taken any photographs.

He hadn't been arrested.

Not yet.

And not at all if Chad could convince officers of his version of events.

They'd taken his clothes, let him shower, then handed him some worn down grey joggers and a grey sweatshirt. He could see his skin through the threadbare knees of his jogger, and the sleeves of the sweatshirt were torn, and mishapen, as if the previous wearer had chewed them. The clothes smelled terrible with a strong scent of stale body odor.

He'd been asked to hand over his shoes and socks, too, and had been given a mismatched pair of sports socks that scratched like a scouring pad.

Chad didn't bounce his leg on the floor, or fiddle with his fingers in his lap. He didn't pinch the top of his joggers or chew the sleeves. Keeley's visits had taught him to hide his nervous tells and he sat slumped in his chair—not too slumped, that screamed over confidence—but not ram rod straight, and certainly not rocking back and forth like he'd witnessed so many suspects do over the years.

Chad sat relaxed in the chair like it was a relief to finally sit down, and rest his back against something solid, because it was.

His eyes were on the mirror on the wall. He didn't know if anyone stood in the boxroom on the other side of it, but he stared anyway.

When the door opened, it was the DI who stepped into the room, laptop tucked under his arm, and holding a cup of coffee. He smiled at Chad, and placed the coffee down on the table. Chad recognized the brand printed on the side of the takeaway cup. He glanced at it questioningly until the DI pushed it closer.

"Josh insisted," the DI snorted softly. "Said you couldn't stand the instant coffee we sell here."

"Thanks," Chad said, wrapping both hands around the cup. He exhaled as it warmed his palms.

"Are you feeling any better?"

"A bit," Chad admitted. "The shower helped."

It was basic, hidden away in a holding cell. It trickled out warm water, just enough for Chad to sweep the small hand soap he'd been given over his skin. He'd scrubbed the bar over his hair, rinsing out the blood that couldn't be seen with the naked eye.

"Good," The DI said, taking his seat opposite Chad. "That's good."

He set up the laptop, then reached into his pocket.

"Josh also got one of the officers to bring you this." He revealed Chad's phone. The screen protector had smashed from where he'd dropped it, but he could still see the waiting message from Frank.

He managed not to snatch the phone from the DI's fingers. Barely.

"Josh said he tried to message Frank back, but he didn't know your passcode."

Chad held out his hand. The DI hesitated before passing it to him.

"No doubt he's heard the news … you might want to tell him you're all right."

Chad opened Romeo's message.

I promise I'm okay. Come home to me.

Chad exhaled a shaky breath, and blinked back the prickle of tears in his eyes. He couldn't break down, not yet.

I will x

"Done?" the DI asked.

Chad swiped away a stubborn tear from his lash line. "Done. I've told him I'm okay."

"Good."

Chad glanced at the still open door while pocketing his phone.

"He'll be along soon," the DI said.

"He?"

"The superintendent."

Chad's toes curled. He nodded, before sipping his coffee. It helped rid him of the irony tang of blood still on his tongue, and he breathed deep, hoping to push the scent out of his nose once and for all.

It lingered, though, and he had to mentally stop his mind rebelling and taking him back to the moment.

"Sorry to keep you waiting."

The superintendent's abrupt tone suggested he was anything but sorry. He sat down beside the DI, rested his elbows on the table, and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. Chad looked over to him and didn't look away from the stare he received.

"I'm superintendent Peter Watts and this is Detective Inspector—"

"Chad is well aware of who we are," the DI interrupted.

"Still. The formalities need to be performed."

"He's not a suspect in a crime."

"Excuse me," the superintendent shot a pointed look at the DI, "but a woman was found murdered on his property."

The DI glared back. "Murdered would imply Chad had a choice in what happened. She was found dead. We're here to ask Chad what happened in the lead up to her death and why she died. If recent events have affected your abilities to perform your job—"

"Don't you dare. I outrank you, remember that, and I'm personally involved in the case that led to the events of today."

"Maybe you're too close to this."

"And maybe you are too close to Chad," the superintendent snapped back.

The DI sighed. "Chad. Tell us what happened."

Chad took a deep breath, then told them. He told them Ally called him. How he'd gone to the front door and seen Lucy park outside. How she shot out the window, and he'd fled to the kitchen. How he heard the front door bang, and thought she was inside the house.

"What were you planning?" the superintendent asked. "To come up behind her?"

Chad shook his head. "No. I had my keys. I was going to drive away."

"We found Chad's keys in the dirt."

Peter flicked his hand at Chad to continue.

"She wasn't in the house. She was waiting outside for me. She fired, I managed to move out of the way, then she went to fire again, but nothing happened."

"She'd already fired the other shot, remember?" Peter asked. "You said she shot in the window of your front door."

"The window of Chad's front door had been broken," the DI said, tapping away on his laptop.

"So at this point, Lucy was not a threat. Both shots had been fired."

Chad gaped. "She had a gun—"

"An unloaded gun."

"I was on my side in the dirt. She'd just tried to kill me. I saw her grab a cartridge from her jeans. She was loading the gun. She was going to shoot again. I had to do something, so I got to my feet, and I…"

It had been so easy retelling what happened minus Romeo, up until this part. This part choked him. The lies stuck into his throat, cutting deep as he tried to force them out.

"Do you need a minute, Chad?" the DI asked.

"No." He swallowed. "I want to get it all out while it's fresh in my mind. I grabbed the gun. It was muddy, we slipped. We struggled. The gun was between us, and it went off."

The DI looked away from his laptop. "Killing Lucy."

"Yes."

"And what happened next?"

"I … I could hear the sirens in the distance. I shut Merc in the house."

"Merc?" Peter asked.

"My dog."

"You never mentioned anything about a dog."

Chad bit the inside of his cheek. "He was there with me, and I shut him in the house when I heard the cars coming. I didn't want him to get knocked down."

"Interesting name."

"What?" Chad asked.

Peter cocked his head. "The dog's name. Merc. What's it short for?"

"It's not short for anything."

"Are you sure it's not Mercutio?"

"What the hell does the dog's name have to do with anything?" the DI hissed.

Peter shrugged. "Curious, that's all."

"The police arrived. Josh was there, he led me around the other side of the house."

"Out of sight of any other officer…" Peter said.

"What are you implying?" the DI asked.

"I'm not implying anything, only stating fact."

Chad gestured to the DI. "You know the rest."

"Can you think of any reason why Lucy would want to harm you or James?"

"She was angry and upset."

The DI nodded, poised to type something. "Because you hadn't got the result she wanted. You didn't find Harriet."

Chad swallowed. "I'm sure she felt angry and upset about that, too, but it wasn't the reason she wanted to hurt us. Vincent told her something."

"What?" the DI asked.

"He told her he didn't kill her sister," Peter answered.

Chad frowned. "How did you—"

"He said the same thing to James, and he marched straight out of that room not believing a word. He called me about it from outside the hospital and I told him Vincent was just messing with him, and he should go home."

"Vincent said the same to me," Chad whispered.

"Yet, you didn't say anything to James or me. You kept it quiet."

"I didn't think it was…"

"Necessary? Important?"

The DI shook his head, glancing at Peter. "Why would Lucy have believed him? Vincent confessed."

"I don't know. Maybe Chad can enlighten us."

Chad's curled toes began to cramp. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

"You asked for the case files," the DI murmured.

"I … I didn't know anything about the Whitehall murders. Harriet's file was incomplete. So much of it had been blacked out, and there were inconsistencies in Vincent's recollection."

"What inconsistencies?" Peter asked.

"With the others he recalled details. Specific details, but not with Harriet. He was vague, that and with the lack of remains…"

"It made you think someone else might have been responsible for her death. It made you think that you were better than the officers of thirty years prior and could find the real killer or even worse, you suspected a cover up by those officers."

"I wanted to know the truth."

Peter stabbed his finger down on the table. "You had it. Vincent killed her. He chopped her into little pieces like he did the others, then he hid her around Bardhum—"

"Then why hasn't she been found? Why was he vague in his details?"

"He wasn't vague."

"He could only describe her from what had been written on her missing persons posters."

Peter leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "Missing rib. Tattooed ankle."

"Wait," Chad squeezed his eyes shut. "He didn't know that at the time."

"Of course he did. He found out about the rib for himself when he cut her up, and he must've seen her dolphin tattoo, too. James told me."

"No. Vincent found out because the letters Eileen wrote to him."

The DI leaned across the desk. "Letters? What letters?"

"She sent them to Vincent while he was in Wiltknot."

"Where are they now?" the DI asked.

"He burned them."

Peter tipped his head back, and barked a laugh. "How convenient."

"He burned all his letters."

The DI nodded. "He did. I remember he destroyed Tate's—"

"When are you going to wake up?" Peter snapped in the DI's direction. "He's not a team player. He's not special. He's out for personal glory and will invent whatever he has to in the pursuit of it."

"That's not true," Chad said. "I've only ever wanted to protect people and keep them safe from the monsters."

"Did you keep James safe, Chad? Did you stop Lucy from doing something monstrous?"

"I didn't know she would go after James. If I'd have known—"

"You would've done nothing," Peter said. "You hated James."

"I didn't hate him—"

Peter turned to the DI. "Did you know he accused James of being a pedophile?"

"I didn't—"

"He wanted to know how James knew Harriet. Even went to some disturbing means to get James to admit to an inappropriate relationship with her," Peter chuckled darkly, "but the girl sang in the choir at his daughter's funeral. They went to the same church. That was how they knew each other."

"He was known to pick her up after school, and leave her gifts."

"Let me guess … you learned that from Harriet's father. He made his daughter make a statement—a vicious load of lies. He ran a smear campaign against James, tried to get him kicked out of the police, tried to get him forced out of Bardhum by a baying mob. James went through hell, and then he got accused of Harriet's murder. It was only when Vincent confessed, he finally moved on and then thirty years later you bring it all up again."

"It's inappropriate for a twenty-eight-year-old married detective to be giving a seventeen-year-old girl rides home. It was wrong for him to be parking with her in secluded spots."

Peter slammed his hand down on the table. "Nothing sexual happened between them. They talked. The friendship was ill advised, but not illegal."

Chad chewed the inside of his cheek. "I wanted to fill in the gaps."

"Why? That wasn't your job. Your job was to meet with Vincent. To chaperone him around the area in the hope of jogging his failing memory."

"It was a game to him."

Peter nodded. "Yeah. We knew that was a strong possibility, just a game, one last chance for Vincent to take the spotlight and remind everyone he was once someone to be feared, but I didn't think you'd be playing on his side. From the beginning you were against James when you should've been with him."

"I messed up."

The DI caught his face in his hand. "Christ, Chad."

"Lucy thought I'd turned against her. She thought I was looking for a way of pinning her sister's murder on her." Chad rubbed his sore cheek. "And when Vincent told her he didn't kill Harriet, she went after the only other person she thought could have."

"You have blood on your hands."

"I know."

"Do you remember the oath?"

"The oath?"

Peter nodded. "The office of constable oath."

"Every officer has to swear the oath when they join."

"But do you remember it."

Chad shook his head. "Not word for word—"

"It talks about fairness, integrity, diligence and impartiality. All things you've failed at. It talks about keeping the peace and preventing all offenses against people and property. You failed that, too. You failed, Chad. Your incompetence, your inability to follow orders and work with others has cost us two lives—"

The DI straightened. "You can't blame Chad for—"

"I can and I do."

"Lucy made the decision to go after James, hell, she went after Chad, too. You can't pin this all on him to save your own skin."

"My skin won't be saved," Peter gritted his teeth. "I'm not going to come back from this. My resignation is on my desk in Alborough, but I'll be damned if I leave before making sure Chad resigns with me. If it was up to me, you'd do time for this, but I imagine you'll avoid it, but if there's even a slither of doubt in your version of events with Lucy, I'll encourage the Hastings family to rip you apart in court."

"Enough," the DI growled.

"You aren't coming back from this, Chad," Peter said. "I swear I won't let you. You're not a detective. Not from this day forward. You're nothing."

Chad lowered his head. He couldn't stop his leg from bouncing, or his fingers from fidgeting in his lap.

"I'm … not nothing."

Peter got to his feet. "I expect to hear of your resignation by the end of the day." He tilted his head toward the DI and tipped his head in a nod

Then he left, slamming the door behind him.

"Fucking hell, Chad." The DI gripped his hair as he released a long breath. "I don't really know what to say."

"You don't need to say anything … can you help me write it out?"

"Write what out?"

"My resignation," he revealed his hands from under the table, trembling and bloody from where he'd pulled at his hangnails. "I can't stop shaking."