‘What happened when the officers discovered you, Mr Whittler? Can you tell me in exact detail, please.’
Nathan looked perplexed. Presumably he was expecting follow-up about the killing, not its aftermath. Perhaps, she thought, he was wondering why she was being so pedantic about the actions of the officers.
‘Uh, their torchlight was in my face. Totally blinding, Detective, after all that darkness. All I could see was white, and green blotches. I fell back a little, away from his body. Their torches bobbed and I realised they were coming towards me. They grabbed my arms and dragged me on my backside around the corner to the next aisle. Then I was on my stomach and handcuffed behind my back.
‘I was having trouble breathing. The after-effects, I suppose, but I was wheezing. One of the officers leaned in and asked if I was okay. I nodded, and I think his torch was near enough that he understood. The other officer had stepped away somewhere and was talking into his radio. They’d need “everyone”, I think he said. And he started talking about forensics, and searches, and detectives. But I was tuning it out, to be honest. I think I was in shock, and all I could hear was a rushing sound, like being under a waterfall. Everything looked and felt artificial, untouchable; happening to someone else. I was bewildered, and hurt, and appalled.’
Nathan stopped, as though unsure Dana would still believe him, or still respect him, if he went ahead with his next statement.
‘And relieved, Detective. Relieved he was gone. At last. I’d forgotten to be worried about him, out in the cave. Took a while, but I’d learned to tune him out entirely. That was where the real peace came from, Detective, the real serenity. Knowing that if I remained careful, Jeb would never find me. Knowing I’d got away, and I’d never have to face him. I thought, if he was finally gone, then maybe my parents would be pleased, too. Maybe they’d forgive my weakness for all those years. But at least I’d never have to worry about Jeb again. When I’d spied him at Jensen’s a few weeks ago, walking to his car, I’d been rattled, I admit. The memories came flooding back and I’d considered never going there again. Just for the peace of mind that would bring. But then, later, that struck me as stupid. He was just shopping, surely, just in the neighbourhood. It never occurred to me he’d bought the store, let alone that he’d be there in the night. Sheer chance, but I’d found him. And ended it. At least I’d ended it. And for that, I was relieved.’
Dana put down her pen. Deep breaths wouldn’t come. Her pulse was too skittish, and this mattered too much.
‘Mr Whittler, I need you to look straight at me, please. I need you to understand this.’
He struggled. He tried once and couldn’t do it. He swallowed and collected himself, and at the second time of asking he could look her in the eye.
‘Mr Whittler, Jeb was not at that store. I met him fifteen minutes ago. The man you killed was not Jeb. It was Lou Cassavette, the store owner.’
Nathan was shaking his head.
‘No, no. It was definitely Jeb. I’d know, Detective. I’d know him anywhere. My own brother. It was him. You’ve… there’s a mistake. You must have made a mistake.’
‘I’m afraid not. Your brother is alive and well, and was at this station until a few minutes ago. Mr Lou Cassavette is in the morgue.’
Dana would never forget that scream. She’d hear it in the night for years; echoes of it ripping through her mind. It sounded like her own pain. It tore itself from Nathan’s body, primeval and bereft. She couldn’t bear to look and turned away, reluctant to face the mirror as Nathan howled into his hands. She lifted a hand to the observers to warn them all to keep out. Nathan needed his terror, his shame, to remain between them.
She waited him out. She sat silently through his tears, through his scratching at his own face until it bled, through his shaking. She waited it all out. Because while he didn’t need a witness, he still needed a human being there for… validation. She could do that, and did.
After perhaps twenty minutes Nathan was empty to the core. She reached forward and, for the first time that day, touched his skin. Her fingers rested lightly on his forearm as he wept into his sleeve. He looked up and blinked.
‘I’m so sorry, Mr Whittler. I understand; I get why you mistook one for the other. In darkness, I’d have done the same. I understand: the jury will, too.’
She flushed at how unprofessional that was; but how necessary. She’d ride it out with Bill if she needed to. Nathan had to have something to hold on to. It might save his life.
She stood wearily. She must get out now. Not only from this room but from the station. From people. The Day was closing her throat.
As she opened the door Nathan called out to her.
‘Detective?’
She turned. He was wiping his eyes with a fist.
‘Thank you for, for helping me through this. For your compassion. Thank you, Dana.’
Her own name had never pierced her like that. She could barely push out an answer ahead of a sob.
‘You’re welcome, Nathan.’
Chapter 35
No one entered the women’s bathroom after her. Lucy, she assumed, had gone home before the confession. Neither Mike nor Bill came in to check on her. Dana took two hits from the nebuliser then wiped her face with a tissue. Even by her standards, she felt she looked awful. The Day, and the events, had dragged life from her and left a shattered, sallow figure in its place.
Now the adrenaline surge from the confession was ebbing from her, fear and anxiety took over. In some ways, it felt the same: a rising heartbeat, restless movements from her eyes, a frantic need to rush and finish anything and everything at once. But the adrenal boost was a positive thing – it was a wish to achieve, a desire to complete. Whereas what was infecting her thoughts right now was relentlessly, almost comfortingly, negative – a need to avoid, a wish to hide, a craving to run.
She could hear their low mutter of conversation outside the door. She took a deep breath: better to get this done as fast as possible and get the hell out. Checking her watch, Dana noted there were twenty minutes before Father Timms expected her text. She wanted to keep that appointment. The corridor felt brighter, less claustrophobic.
‘Hey. Is that everything you need today, boss?’ She tried to sound perky and upbeat but the sentence lacked conviction.
‘More than enough, more than enough. And twelve hours to spare before the lawyers get to him. Whittler’s back in the Lecter Theatre; doc’s going to give him a fairly hefty sedative. He seemed remarkably calm when we walked him back’ – Bill looked to Mike, who nodded in agreement – ‘so hopefully he’ll be better tomorrow.’
Dana leaned against the wall. ‘Okay. Maybe confession was good for the soul, after all.’ She paused. It was, surely, the opposite of what she’d always believed. ‘Sorry about that last bit, Bill. The jury’ll hear that.’
The lead detective’s assertion that mistaking one person for another was ‘entirely understandable’ was rash, to say the least. It was fodder for a downgrade of the charges and ammunition for clemency requests. A defence lawyer would suggest it was further evidence the death was partly accidental, akin to a bar fight where someone gets concussed in a fall. They’d spin it as the police having known that all along, and trying to push Nathan. She’d said it from basic decency. She wouldn’t blame Bill if he was livid.
Bill raised a hand. ‘Not a problem. In the context of the whole set of interviews, it’s another piece of rapport. Works in our favour in some ways – someone as obviously concerned for his welfare is less likely to be seen as applying undue pressure. It’s fine.’