The Formalities Begin (Continued)

He let his head fall against the car window, feeling the condensation cooling his forhead. The two officers sat in the front, the woman driving, but said nothing to one another. The man barely acknowledged his colleagues presence, instead he stared unashamedly, and unblinkingly, at Nick through the rear-view mirror. Fuzzy patches of colour rolled by - passing cars blurred by the raindrops running down the window.

Nick understood the suspicion surrounding him. He recalled Rachel’s horrified expression when she’d found him with Sarah and felt a pang of guilt. He should have stayed with her, at least tried to console her. Perhaps that may have been too much - the man who may have killed her sister lending her his shoulder to cry on. Last night, he was sure he hadn’t murdered Sarah, but now realised that though he’d no memory of the act, he was the only plausible suspect. He screwed up his face, fighting the thought that he could become such a monster.


He started as the car door was opened. The male officer’s relentless grip took hold once again to lead him into the police station and soon Nick was sitting in a cold interrogation room. While he waited for the detective who would interview him, he stared around at the dark walls, and thought about the real criminals who had sat in the same boxy room before him, being watched by the same suspicious eyes through the two-way mirror.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Keane,” a tall man in an expensive looking three-piece suit entered the room, accompanied by another man who appeared unkempt in comparison.


The man who had addressed Nick sat opposite him and laid a folder down on the table. He seemed so business-like; his neat brown hair just long enough to be parted at the side, deep-set eyes with an icy grey stare, and thin, down-turned lips that perfectly coordinated with the rest of his slim features. He reached out a bony finger and pressed the record button on the tape player.


“Interview commenced at 13:42. Present are Detective Inspector Lindell and Detective Sergeant Morrison,” he gestured first to himself and then to the other man who’d entered the room - now sitting beside him - by way of introduction. “How are you feeling, Mr. Keane?”


Nick looked up at him, wondering if a good cop/bad cop routine was about to ensue.


“Confused,” he said.


“Certainly. As I understand it, you possess no memory of the events of the previous night?”


“No.”


“What exactly do you remember, then?” The other detective - Morrison - snarled.


Nick directed his answer away from the DS, preferring instead to look into the stern, yet somehow kinder eyes of Lindell.


“I came home from work. The house was freezing. Then I was in our bedroom, holding… Holding a gun.”


“Is this the gun you were holding?” Lindell pushed a photograph towards him and identified the evidence aloud for the tape..

Nick didn’t know much about guns, but he would never forget the image of this one lying next to Sarah’s alarm clock. He nodded, clenching his teeth.


“For the benefit of the tape, the suspect is nodding,” Lindell replaced the photo in the file.

“Some convenient short-term memory loss you described there,” Morrison was snarling again, “you missed out the most important part of the story.”


Nick knew exactly what the DS was implying, and was adverse to his dirty tactics and smug, presumptuous manner. “Which part is that?” He asked, making no effort to control the contempt in his voice.


“The part where you killed a pregnant woman in cold blood.”


Nick’s face burned as he prepared to defend himself against the accusations, but something stopped the words in his throat.
“What..?”


“Yeah,” Morrison’s eyes danced with a sinister glint as he leaned forward to breath the scent of smoke and coffee into Nick’s face, “You didn’t know she was pregnant, did you? Or maybe you did - was that your motive?”


Pure shock was all that kept Nick from lashing out at the smug detective. He wanted desperately to swing his fist into that ugly face and not stop until it was unable to utter more any more disgusting sentences.


“She was pregnant?” was all his body could manage

The End

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