“You want me removed from duty?” Duncan asked. “I’m a damn good interrogator-“
“From the building,” Mrs. Harris said. “Whether you’re removed from duty is up to your superior officer.”
“Fair enough,” the older man said.
“Borrow your pad?” Duncan asked his partner, as they left the room.
Fuck. A rune?
No. Probably something damning, though.
This was all I could do to defuse the biggest threat. I didn’t expect we’d really be able to get rid of him, but… well, at least he wouldn’t be interfering or working magic mojo on me.
He’d wanted to play it up, to get smug, lord it over me? I’d use it against him.
I was left alone, door locked, while they all shifted to the neighboring room to look at the device.
When they returned, Duncan Behaim wasn’t with them. No mention was made of him.
But, I noted, his partner Max held the pad of paper.
“Let’s get you on record about what happened,” the older man said. He looked to Duncan’s partner. “Max?”
“What brought you to those woods tonight?”
“I was told to go there earlier today.”
“By?”
“I don’t think I could give you a name if I wanted to,” I said.
“And you went? No name, just a request, and you traveled halfway across the city to a very specific destination?”
“Yes,” I said. There wasn’t really a better answer available.
He glanced down at the sheet. “This evening, when you found the body, that was your first time seeing Evan Matthieu?”
Fuck.
That one fucking moment’s hesitation probably felt ten times longer than it actually was.
“That was the very first time I saw him in the flesh,” I said.
“Have you seen him when it wasn’t in the flesh?” he asked.
“I had no contact with him online,” I said. Deflect, deflect. “Or by phone.”
“More specifically… yes or no?”
“That’s a very odd question,” I said, buying time to think.
“To be entirely blunt,” Max told me, “My partner wrote down the word ‘schizophrenic’ with a very large question mark. He’s noted the signs he believe point to this… disheveled appearance, question mark. Hoarding objects and tools, question mark. Self inflicted damage, question mark. Duncan Behaim has an uncanny knack for being right in his assessment of people. Do you see things, Mr. Thorburn?”
“We all see things. It’s why we have eyes,” I said.
“Don’t try to be clever,” my lawyer whispered to me.
“I’ll try to be clearer. Do you see aliens?”
“He wrote down all those questions, huh?” I asked.
“Yes. Do you see aliens?”
“Not as far as I’m aware,” I said. He was reading questions off the paper, and I knew what was coming next. I had to lay groundwork. “But I’m open minded to possibilities.”
“Do you see ghosts, goblins, grumpkins or anything in that vein?”
“I’m open minded to possibilities,” I said.
“Try to be specific. Yes or no?”
“He insisted on yes or no answers, didn’t he?” I asked.
“I find it curious,” Mrs. Harris said, “That you’re relying so heavily on the input of an officer we asked to leave the area.”
“He’s one of our best interrogators, if not the best,” the older man said. “I’m more curious that your client is so disconcerted by this line of questions.”
“You’re implying that I’m crazy,” I said.
“We’re implying nothing at this stage,” the older man said. “We’re only asking simple questions.”
He indicated for Max to continue.
“Yes or no, do you see goblins or anything in that general neighborhood?”
“Do I… have to answer?” I asked.
“You don’t have to do anything,” my lawyer said, “You have the right to not have to give testimony against yourself. But yes, it might be a very good idea to answer.”
“In that case. I exercise my rights, and I don’t answer,” I said.
I could see the change in expression on the officer’s faces.
“Pursuant to section eleven,” Mrs. Harris said. There were nods.
“Do you see goblins every day? Going about their business?”
I sighed, leaning back. “I exercise my right to not self-incriminate.”
“Do you see demons?”
“I exercise my right to not self-incriminate.”
“Do these goblins or demons ever tell you what to do?”
Yes, Pauz had. “I exercise my right to not self-incriminate.”
“Was it these goblins or demons, or something in that general neighborhood, that told you to seek out the boy in the woods?”
That’s a pretty broad neighborhood. “I exercise my right to not self-incriminate.”
This was going to keep going?
I looked at my lawyer, but I only saw a note of pity.
“Earlier, you said you were told to go to those woods. By someone or something without a name. Was this someone or something a person you can identify?”
“I exercise my rights, section eleven.”
He looked down at the page, as if reviewing the questions. After a pause, he asked, “Let me return to my earlier question. Did you have contact with Evan Mattheiu prior to that point we found you in the woods?”
I could feel the tension in the air.
“I exercise my rights not to self-incriminate.”
Silence yawned on.
I fidgeted. I didn’t care, at this point. I was brimming with a sick kind of nervousness. The sort of nervousness that went beyond the nervousness of ‘what if I get fucked/hurt/ruined’ and into the ‘when‘.
I was the one driving nails into my own coffin, now.