It still was a crazy idea.

Other options had to be considered. Maybe a profiler could figure out the mind of the killer by looking at the victims and the crime scenes. Maybe talking to the few people who were actually in the area when the murders happened would help. Put some pressure on them, trying to get a valid statement out of them that would bring the case a bit forward. Like... actual police work.

So what the hell am I doing here?, David asked himself in his mind again and again while he drove up the long road towards the Malthorn State Prison. When did I stop to be a homicide detective and became some occultist nut?

Once he arrived at the enclosed parking lot of the prison facility, he looked around and was relieved that Lauren's car was nowhere to be seen. If he ran into her in here, she would demand an explanation from him, and she wouldn't like what he had to tell her. Especially since it was technically her patient that he came to see.

He followed the procedure just by the book and left his service gun in the glove compartment. Like for Lauren, this was not his first visit here. Sometimes he and Wilks had to further investigate a case by talking to some of the inmates. None of those talks had been too pleasing, and David didn't feel like this was going to be any different. He understood perfectly why he wasn't allowed to bring any weapons into the prison. He still didn't like it.

As he got out of the car, he grabbed the case file from the passenger's seat and headed towards the entrance. The guards were already waiting for him. "Seargeant Miller," he was greeted by one. "We weren't expecting you here today. What's your business?"

"The usual, Derek," David answered. "I need to chat with one of your guests in here. How's your family?"

"Really good, sir. Really good. In fact, it is about to get bigger." During this little chat Derek went over the usual formalities with David. But he refrained from reminding David of the safety regulations. David should know them by now anyway. "Warden's not in today, so Deputy Warden Booke is on duty."

"Ah, good." Thanks to his glimpse at the file of the van Villeke murder, he knew the name of the person he wanted to speak to. But since the inmates were referred to by their inmate number, he would have to talk to the warden first. The good thing was that, despite his name, Deputy Warden Booke was not so much a "by the book" type and would be more eager to help David out than his boss, Warden Hennessey, would have been. After a thorough inspection of his possessions, he was let into the main complex of the prison. He knew the rest of the way by heart.

Several heavy doors and checkpoints later he stood opposite the small desk of the warden, facing Deputy Warden Booke, and stating his request. But he left out the details that would have appeared... strange. Booke still looked at him with a puzzled face. "And you think he's gonna help you?" he asked sceptically.

"What, you think he's not the helpful type?" David shot back. "From his file I took that he always left a good impression with all people in here."

"Maybe, but that's not the point. I'm just not sure whether he knows anything of value concerning this case you work on. After all, he has been in here for four years now. What do you think he can tell you?"

David shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe he can give me some pointers regarding the nature of this crime. I have the feeling that he might know something. At least it's worth a shot."

"OK then, suit yourself." Booke raised from his seat, grabbing an old-fashioned ring of keys that also had a more modern keycard attached to it on a smaller ring. "Come with me!"

They left the warden's office and headed for the central area. Booke led David onto a gallery overviewing the large room in which the prisoners spent their leisure time. After a short walk during which Booke looked down onto the prisoners with a watchful eye, he suddenly stopped and pointed his finger at a young man with short brown hair and a goatee who sat on a bench, reading a book, seemingly undisturbed by all the other inmates around him. "That's him. Inmate 1139. You wanna go talk to him down there, or shall I prepare a visitor's booth?"

David tried not to snicker. 1139. Rats! One digit too high. He looked at the prisoner before he turned to the warden. "I need to show him some pictures that the other inmates don't have to see. It would be nice if you could give us a room and a couple of minutes."

"Sure thing." Booke waved to a guardsman nearby who approached them instantly. "Jack, bring Inmate 1139 into Room 3 and prepare everything." Jack obeyed with a nod, turned around and quickly left. In the meantime David was watching Simon from above, taking up every detail about him, all his mannerisms. He looked like an ordinary man, like most criminals did until they were caught with their crime. In his career so far David had had his share of bad guys to deal with, most of them didn't seem so bad on the outside. The reasons for their crimes were as diverse as the people themselves.

Still, there was something odd about this Simon Weisa. Something that David couldn't really point out. Until he realized that it had nothing to do with Simon himself. The man just sat there, reading his book, showing no interest in his surroundings. In most prisons at least some other criminals would have tried to bother him, gain his attention, try to overpower him. But here it seemed like all the criminals kept a respectful distance to him. He noticed that some of them were looking at Simon, but not in a hostile or angry way, more with awe and respect. And Simon on the other hand seemed fully aware of that.

It slowly became apparent to David why Lauren was so focused on him. It also dawned on him that this very fact could make Simon a very dangerous man.

He watched from the gallery as Simon was fetched by the guardsman Jack and led out of the area. He closed his book and placed it on the table where he was sitting, apparently confident that nobody would take it away while he was absent. And he seemed right about it. As he stood up and followed Jack, the inmates around him made way, kept their distance, never to come closer than a few steps. It was like he had some sort of aura that discouraged the others from approaching him. Either that, or he smells bad, David thought meanspirited.

Deputy Warden Booke tabbed on his shoulder and signed David to follow him to Room 3. It was a short walk through the complex, and the rooms in which inmates were interviewed or questioned lay behind several more security checkpoints, gates and heavy doors, patrolled by guards. It took David and Booke a few minutes to finally arrive, and Jack was already waiting at the door to tell them that everything was ready.

"You know the procedure, Seargeant," Booke said to him, "so I guess I don't have to repeat it. Jack will be waiting here, in case of trouble. But I doubt it will be necessary with this one."

David nodded silently, suddenly feeling nervous about this whole thing. "Anything you want to tell me before I go in there?" he asked Booke.

Booke looked him in the eyes and appeared dead serious all of a sudden. "Just one thing, Miller: He is popular around here. With his fellow inmates, with the guards, with the personnel. Hell, even I owe him for helping me with a personal crisis. Regardless of what you might think of him as a criminal, I would appreciate it if you didn't rough him up in any way. Even if he didn't have the answers you are looking for. Go easy on him!"

David was surprised about this kind of request. I'm not planning on roughing anyone up in here, he thought and almost said it out loud. But instead he just nodded. As Jack opened the door, he took a deep breath and stepped into the room.

The door closed behind him. The bolts were pushed into place, locking it tight. David heard the sound of the key turning in the lock. It sounded so... irrevocable.

He tried to concentrate on what was before him. And then he almost regretted doing so.

Green eyes were looking at him, piercing him with looks. They seemed soft and gentle, yet they radiated something cold and dark from the inside.

Under a long, elegant nose was a mouth that showed no emotional reaction to this new arrival. It formed a straight, indifferent line in the middle of this thin, carefully trimmed goatee.

Hands with equally cared for fingernails were resting on the arms of the chair, with the chains of the handcuffs attaching this man to it leaving only a few inches to move. The chains rattled a little as the man moved his hands in a somewhat welcoming gesture.

Second thing that came to David's mind was this prisoner outfit in bright orange. With all the criminals he had seen and spoken to before, this man looked like he belonged in anything else but this orange jumpsuit.

The silence between them became really awkward after a few seconds. And David realized that it was him who was supposed to speak up first.

"Hi!" he said. He couldn't bring himself to say any more at this point.

The edges of Simon's lips went up just a little bit, giving the hint of an amused smile. "Hi!" he echoed. Then sat there patiently, waiting for David to say anything else.

It took a few more seconds of disturbing silence until David finally remembered that he was here on duty. He felt the weight of the case file in his left hand and finally put it on the table between him and Simon. "I'm... ehm..." He cursed himself for sounding like an insecure rookie. Pull yourself together!, he reprimanded himself. "I am Seargeant David... Miller. Malthorn City Police Department."

The little hesitation before he stated his family name didn't pass Simon unnoticed. "Miller?" he asked calmly, with one eyebrow raised. "Why does everyone bear the name Miller lately?"

"It's not so much of a coincidence," David admitted with a sourly smile. "I think you have met my wife."

Simon's eyes seem to light up for a moment as he understood. "The doctor. Ah! Yes, I have. She is a nice lady."

David appreciate this comment about Lauren, but tried not to show it. This was an awkward situation already. He cleared his throat. "Mr. Weisa..."

"Simon," the prisoner interrupted him, now openly smiling. "Please."

If the intention of this was to throw David off guard, then mission accomplished. "OK... Simon." It took another two heartbeats before David gathered his thoughts again and remembered the actual reason for coming here. "I run an investigation on a murder that happened in the city the day before yesterday. And I was hoping that... well, that you can tell me anything about it."

Simon didn't hesitate. "I can tell you something right away," he answered. After a small dramatic pause though... "It wasn't me. I have an alibi." And he openly grinned.

"No, I know. I'm well aware of that," David hurried to assure him. "But.. I do think there are some similarities to your case, and maybe you can help me out. Give me some fresh ideas."

He couldn't help but feel that Simon could see right through him. That he knew how uncomfortable David felt in this entire situation. All he was waiting for was to Simon say something like "You're not supposed to be here." And he wouldn't even know how to react to it.

Simon's actual reaction wasn't that much better. "What makes you think that there are any connections to me?" His grin had vanished from his face.

There was no easy way around this. One mention of the word "demons" would give it away, and David would have betrayed Lauren's trust. Simon would have to think that Lauren had violated their confidentiality. He braced himself, still hoping for the slim chance of getting out of this unscathed. "Would you...?" He cleared his throat again, opening the case file. "Would you mind taking a look at this for me?"

And he pushed a couple of pictures over to Simon at the other end of the table. The prisoner leaned over and took a closer look. When he looked up again, he was visibly shaken. His face was white as a sheet. "What the... Are you fucking crazy? Why are you showing me this?"

"Do you have any idea who could do something like this?" David asked, carefully watching every reaction in Simon's face.

The reaction was anger. Pure, unfiltered anger. "The fuck, man? Why would I know anything about this? You just barge in here, pestering random inmates with this. Is that some kind of sick hobby of yours?" He looked down at the pictures for one second - as long as he could bear it. "This is... just sick. Someone sick did this. You should go to an asylum instead of this place. This is... Damn!"

"OK, calm down please!" David knew that this was a futile attempt, but he had to do it. "Forget the pictures of the body! Just look at the weapon! This symbol that is carved into it, does it tell you anything?"

"Take those others! Right now!" Simon's voice cut through this room like cold steel. David hastily came over to him and collected the pictures of the murder victim, leaving only a single one that showed the strange symbol in the wooden pole up close. The part of the pole that was still visible was covered in blood and the sight still hard to stomach, but at least Simon calmed a little down. David was slightly amazed. It was an astonishing reaction from a convicted murderer who apparently didn't even feel guilty about his crime.

After a few painful seconds in which Simon silently looked at this picture while his anger visibly simmered down a bit, he raised his head again and shook it. "No idea. I have never seen anything like this before."

David's heart sank. That bit of hope he just had crumbled to dust before his own eyes. He took two other pictures out of the file and presented them to Simon. "How about these?" He hoped that his desperation didn't sound within his voice.

Simon took the time to examine those pictures more closely. They weren't of the murder weapons themselves this time, but careful reproductions of the symbols carved into them. They were much easier to make out without all the blood covering them. "Tell me something, Seargeant Miller," he then demanded. His voice sounded calm, but deadly. "What gave you the idea that I was the person who could tell you anything about this?"

It was the question David had been afraid of. The one question he did not dare to answer. "It was a hunch," he answered lightly, trying to avoid that subject.

Not that Simon would buy it, even for a second. "A hunch?" It was more than sarcasm in his voice. He knew.

"Rumours," David gave it another shot, but it was worse than the first. The eyes of the prisoner went right up to his face, ice-cold and yet burning with furious fire at the same time.

"Seargeant, if you honestly want my help here, then you should cut the bullshit. You are a terrible liar. And apparently also terible at keeping secrets, just like your wife."

David stared back at him. Man, this was a bad idea...

"Yes, I guess it was."

With his mouth wide open and his eyes widened in shock, David swallowed a big lump in his throat. "Did I just say this aloud?"

Simon raised his eyebrows. "You did."

And suddenly the door to the room opened with a loud creaking of metal. Jack, the guard, stepped in. "Seargeant Miller, you need to leave now."

As if things couldn't get any worse at this point. David sighed. This had been a crazy idea from the start. "Sorry to have bothered you, Simon," he apologized and started to pick up the pictures again.

"Hang on!" Simon interrupted him. "You still want my help, don't you?" As David stopped and looked at him, he nodded towards the pictures. "Leave them with me! Maybe I can find out something about this."

For a short moment David hesitated. How?, was the question echoing in his brain. But he decided not to pursue it. Maybe Simon had some means of research that David didn't know about. Or wanted to know about. "Thanks!" he just said instead, grabbing his file and walking towards the door. "Goodbye, Simon!"

Outside the room he felt like he had been holding his breath for an eternity. He needed a break. Leaning at the wall next to the door and breathing heavily while sweat was running down his forehead. Jack looked at him in a mixture of worry and amusement. "Are you okay, sir?"

He couldn't say anything, but he nodded after a few seconds. Finally he caught his breath and found his ability to talk again. "I was barely two minutes in there. Why did you get me?"

Jack stood there, and David couldn't help but feel that the guard was cheerfully gloating. "Not my call, sir. It's just that Deputy Warden Booke told me to fetch you. Your wife is here and wants to talk to you in his office."