Page 25 of Sullied Saints

I'm facing him across the metal table, Dirk standing by my chair. "Why did you commit a murder? And why did you try to make it look like Cocooner?"

The man peers at Dirk, small eyes with a glint of too much moisture. "I know you.Shetalks about you." The way he says this sounds disturbingly close to worship.

"She?" I ask, though my stomach feels oddly hollow. I know already.

"She won't make that mistake again. None of us will."

I blink. What the fuck… "Have you been in contact with Cassandra?"

Is she training someone new? The way my husband did? But…thisguy? Really?

He looks back at me. He's sweating, the stains under his armpits expanding across to his chest, amber-coloured. I resist the urge to cover my nose. "Oh, she talks to me all the time."

"About her kills?" Dirk asks.

"You, especially." Again, Dirk’s gaze cuts up. To be counted as a 'kill'. But his expression stays set. "She doesn't like unfinished business."

I clear my throat. Something tells me this isn't about to end well. "Dirk, maybe you should…"

"Why are you killing for her?" His eyes don't leave the greasy man in front of us.

"Because she showed me the way."

"The way to what?"

He stares at me now, and my skin crawls. "Perfection." The wind feels knocked out of me.

They're an echo of what Cassandra said, of Caleb's words, his ideas. What he intended for me. A magnum opus. The perfect kill.

"Is that so?" Dirk asks, voice deceptively calm.

Back to him now, our suspect says, "You're imperfect. But not for long." His chins multiply as he lowers his face back towards me. His leer makes me think of men covered in Cheeto dust watching illegal porn in their mother’s basements. Then he found Cassandra instead. But how? And why wasshelooking forhim? "Not for long at all. You, too. I wanted you, but she said I had to wait."

My jaw clenches. I need to get away from this man, this stench, before my bile rises any further. Dirk hasn't moved, still perched on the corner of the table, staring down at the man on the other side.

Then, his movement, the snapping out of his arm, is over before I've even registered it, and our killer's nose is a bloodied mess, bright red blood smearing the metal table where Dirk had slammed his face once into it.

I'm on my feet amid the sobs of shock and pain. "Dirk, what the fuck!"

He's pulling me towards the door, closing us off from the integration room and the wailing killer inside, into the relative freshness of the hallway. No sooner has the door latched than he breaks away. "Needler has some questions to answer."

That seems like a bad idea. But he's already gone, marching off. Andrea has rushed out of the observation room, wide-eyed. Vaguely, I can hear the pained crying of the suspect coming through the walls.

“Should I get Tawill?” she asks.

Glancing at Dirk’s retreating back, I curse. “Just try to hold her off for a minute.”

Andrea nods, looking shocked. I can’t blame her. It’s not every day a detective assaults someone right there in the interrogation room. And is possibly on his way to assault another.

By the time I catch up to Dirk on the other end of the station, he’s already punched the code into the Needler side of the cell, on the dangerous side of the glass, and I rush through the solid metal door after him to find Dirk already has Tristan pinned to the wall by his shirtfront.

"You're going to tell us something actually fucking useful about your sister. Today."

Tristan, for his part, doesn’t even look that surprised, nor is he struggling with Dirk. Merely holding his hands open beside his shoulders as though in easy surrender, looking Dirk straight back in the face.

“Dirk let him go!” I yell, staying a pace back. Behind me, heavy boot-falls tell me the cell door has registered as open and security has arrived. I hold a hand back at them, halting them in the doorway.

A picture of calm compared to the storm that is Dirk, Tristan spreads his hands. “If you’ll tell me what she's done…"

---