Chapter Ten

09:24 am. New Year's day.

Jacques stiffened like he got tasered by Loxley's words.

They sat knee deep in the stunned silence that he, after composing his features into deadpan and clearing his throat, was the first to break. "I'm not a murderer." Jacques softly, almost wistfully, said.

"Your record states otherwise." Loxley countered. Her hand reached over to the left side of the table, grabbing the manila folder that laid undisturbed since the previous interrogation. She opened the folder and pulled out two sheets of paper, slipping it towards his eyeline. 

It was a copy of his criminal record and a newspaper article of a local paper that covered the incident.

"Well, I did some background check on you," Loxley stated, watching the man wipe a hand down his face and over his salt and pepper beard as he exhaled deeply. "It states on here that you were released on license having served half of your actual sentence for manslaughter," she gestured with her eyes to the printout, "for killing your wife." She finished, her gaze lazed over the platinum ring resting over his chest before locking on Jacques' tormented stare.

"It was an accident." Jacques insisted, his voice lowered to barely above a phelgamy whisper and ended in a turbulence.

"Is that why you still hang onto the wedding ring?" Loxley quipped and Jacques' gaze fell on the ring for a good second before looking back at her. "A symbolic memento of the person who's not in your life anymore that you're unwilling to let go. But, you can't will yourself to wear the ring either because it's tainted and deep down you know you killed her."

Loxley noticed Jacques clenching his jaw, trying to quell the rising heat. But, the man didn't radiate heat instead there was a coldness. What's an anger without it's raging flames? Guilt.

"There is nothing you can say to me that's worse than what I've told myself." Jacques swallowed the last smoldering bit of fury and his shoulders weighed down. "So, what are you proving by bringing up my record?" He managed to keep his tone composed. 

"A leopard can't change its spots, Jacques."

"What?"

"For a comfortably off person, what are you doing in a run-down motel?" Loxley thought out loud. She leaped up from her chair and started to circle the table, evaluating him. "As Niven puts it, you're more like a resident at Seven Crows."

"What's your point?"

"My point is..." Loxley came to standstill in front of Jacques after completing a full circumference around the table, "your wife's murder might've been an accidental act but murdering that man was a volitional act."

At first, Jacques appeared confused, then his ears reddened and veins swelled on his temples. "What the bloody arse are you talking about!"

"Simple," Loxley planted her palms on the table, leaning forward until her sphinx-like eyes levelled with his fiery, cold eyes. "You couldn't forget the first taste of killing someone and you were desperate for more."

"Bollocks!" Jacques stood up, kicking the chair behind him and slamming his palms against the table.

Just then, the maple door swung open. Loxley turned around, encountering the pair of dark-brown eyes. Detective Ebony. Her lips parted as if to speak, but all they formed was a silent shape.

Ebony's eyes darted between them, before he cleared his throat and averted his head just enough to speak over his shoulder, "Officer Malek, could you please escort Mr. Spearman out of the room?"

"Alright, Mr. Spearman, the interrogation is over." He declared, marching over to the recording camera and turned it off.

Jacques stood hunched over the table — the left sleeve of his cardigan slipped off his shoulder and his bedraggled hair cascaded over his weary face — as he squeezed his eyes shut and sighed through his nose. Officer Malek strode over to him and Jacques combed his fingers through his hair, regaining his composure before letting the officer guide him out of the interrogation room.

The door closed with a soft click, leaving the detectives in an unusual silence. The constant ticking of the wall clock was clear in Loxley's ears and her fingers. A string of questions were on the tip of her tongue but she repressed them, and voiced the most nagging one, "I'd called and texted you several times, but you never got back to me."

Ebony shoved his hands into his pant pockets and lifted his right shoulder up in a little shrug. "The cell phone died out of battery."

His words left a sour taste in her mouth. Loxley knew that was a blatant lie. All her calls rang for a long time before she was greeted with his voicemail and her text messages were delivered. But, she let it slide and kept a poker face while eying her friend. 

Loxley noticed how he avoided or kept minimal eye contact. Ebony fidgeted on the spot before walking over to the interrogation table like a clockwork soldier and pulled out one of the chair. He positioned it perpendicular to the table facing Loxley before he sat down, almost as if he needed the support. In all of their years of friendship, she had never seen his dark eyes so distressed before.

"Jamie." Loxley's given name felt wrong coming out of his mouth. Though, he knew she detested pet names, Ebony never called her anything but 'Jay'. Looking up at her with a blank expression, he asked in a scratchy mumble, "Where were you last night?"

Loxley could feel the sweat drench her palms, the throbbing behind her eyes and the thumping of her heart against her chest. But, she merely folded her arms — her fingers wound into fists and nails dug into her palms — as she tilted her head to the side with a hint of a smile on her lips, peering straight at Ebony. "I was at a New Year's party. What's gotten into you, Blaine?"

"Does the name Finn Ward ring a bell?" The muscles in his temples flexed.

Loxley broke his outstare for a split second to take an inaudible deep breath, but it didn't escape his notice as Ebony remarked, "You steal ultra-fast side glances when you grow frustrated with yourself. When you know you've made a mistake. There's a little line between your eyebrows because now you're doubly furious with yourself for the lack of self-control."

Though, Ebony held an impassive face, his eyes were red and anyone could have read him like an open book. He was inward weeping. "You taught me to pay attention to the little things." 

The oxygen flooded in and out of her lungs but Loxley felt numb. She bit the inside of her cheek but her face remained emotionless.

"There are crumbs of reality that always lead up to the truth," Ebony shifted in his chair, his face growing serious, "It could be a partial finger print, an unexpected statement or a cell phone call. But, truth always comes out."

"Finn Ward was that crumb of reality that you didn't foresee." He finished, letting his words trail off into the air.

"Well, I was skeptical and brushed off the call at first," Ebony said and Loxley's mind recalled the phone call that interrupted Jacques' interrogation. "But, then later I found the exact same number with a name in the motel register."

"I'd held out hope on my way to the rendezvous..." He cleared his throat, "Mr. Ward has submitted a video recording of you caught in action." Ebony disclosed. "It's easier to accept than to refuse, Jamie."

Loxley's feet twitched to take a step and Ebony leaped to his feet, a pistol in hand. She stared at the barrel pointed towards her and then at the sweat trickling down from his temple. "You've never taken a shot outside of the shooting range." She said, her gaze focused back on his.

"Keep your hands where I can see them!"

"Lower the gun, Blaine," Loxley held her palms faced towards him, "I'm not going to hurt you." Keeping their eye contact, her left hand pulled out her chair and she sat down.

"I don't know anymore." Ebony muttered. He slowly moved his finger off the trigger and dropped the pistol onto the table, close enough to grab again.

"Officer Walker and her force is waiting right outside the door," Loxley followed his eyes to the large one-way mirror, "So, don't try anything foolhardy."

Ebony's right hand rested on the table, his thumb twiddled with the titanium ring while his left hand hung loosely by his side. "I want to be the first one to hear your story. So talk." He straightened his posture and his eyes hardened.

Loxley reclined in her chair, folding her arms over her chest and crossing her left leg over the right. "Do you recall the case at Avarnach where a young man was kidnapped, tortured, and then tied on a tree where he died of hypothermia?"

"Yes." His eyebrows knitted together in a frown.

"One about a pregnant woman found dead in a small town near Remington, stabbed twelve times?" Loxley's impassive expression faltered and her face flushed scarlet. "There's a lot more unsolved cases."

"What's your point?" Ebony leaned forward in his chair, a hawk-like look in his dark-brown eyes. "These are all unfortunate but random cases. There's no connections between the victims or the way they died." 

"It's not random, Blaine." Loxley stressed on the word 'random' with a hint of bitterness. "They do have one connection. It all happened on New Year's Eve. It's deliberate scattering."

"What do you mean?"

"The dead man's name is Seth Grier." She began, rubbing the upper bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. "It's not his actual name but what he's been going by for over a year. He's a psychopathic serial killer and he deserved to die," Loxley's fisted hand trembled and her pupils dilated; she looked wild and hysterical.

For a moment, Ebony stared at her, an unreadable expression on his face before he stood up and walked over to the handycam.

"Talk to the camera. What happened last night?" He clicked the record button before adding, "Don't skip any details. Start from the beginning."