Page 30 of Sullied Saints

Smiling, he nods, "I'd like that."

***

"Working after-hours? Some habits never die."

I give Needler a look. I hardly need to be reminded of the times I 'worked after hours' and ended up encountering him. The slight curve of his lips tells me he's teasing. And I'm too tired for it. I tell him about the forum, what we've found, and her new following.

"Tell me about her as a child?" I ask at the end, "Favourite places in Crennik? Did she murder kittens? Did she try to show off to other kids?"

He shrugs. "She was as normal as you'd expect a child with little supervision or love to be. And no, she was a loner. I never knew her to have a friend. Besides me."

"What does that mean? 'As normal as expected'?"

"She was quiet. She didn't socialise well. She was yelled at for being too quiet and that made her clam up even more. She once went a year without speaking."

"Then she was an easy target for someone like my husband. Would she have gone this way without that offer of mentoring?"

Tristan blinks, seeming suddenly sad. "That’s all I want to talk about of her tonight."

"Tristan…"

"That’s all," he says, voice flat this time. Maybe I need to rethink him being a psychopath. They’re not supposed to feel. Not to hold on to nostalgia, or empathise.

My lips tighten. I know we're desperate, and he knows it too. But this trickle of information won't do, not with the protestors at the gate, and only about to get worse when Cassandra's fanboys start killing in earnest. "What do you want?" I ask.

Now Tristan peers at me, as though suspecting a trick. "Want?"

"In return for your cooperation. We've talked to the foster parents you two went through in the system and they're deadbeats. They hardly remember anything further back than last week’s highs. We know you're telling the truth. We need it faster. Do you want a shorter sentence? The chance of freedom in your lifetime?"

If I'm honest, it’s not just for the information that I want to push him to help us. Seeing him like this, caged, fading, it feels wrong. Do I agree with the methods he took? No. Did I, and do I still, have feelings for him, and appreciate what he's done for the city? For me? Yes.

"Freedom? What would I do with it?" Tristan chuckles, a short, sharp sound, then meets my eye and gives a slow smile. "You think I’d kill again." Shaking his head, he drifts away from the glass. "I was killing for revenge, my own and others. But what I was avenging turned out to be alive and well. No," he hums, facing me again. “I'll help you, but I want something to do."

"To do?"

"Yes." Waving a hand, he encapsulates the cell, this place, everything. "With the possible exception of your partner's angry moments, everyone else here bores me. They're afraid and predictable…"

"Stick to the point."

"I'm bored. Give me something to do."

"Such as…"

"Well." The smile he gives is easy to imagine under a silver mask, while he drove spikes into the chests of murderers. "We all knowonething I'm good at."

I laugh, then realise he's serious. I shake my head. "We arenotgiving you cases to work on."

"Really? Not enough to go around?" When I stare back at him, unmoving, Tristan’s smile falls away. "I used to be a detective."

"You’re not the same man now."

"And are you the same woman you were a year ago? Is dear Dirk the same man he was before my sister got to him?"

My jaw clenches. "You could be planning to escape and use the information we give you to hunt them down."

"Please," Tristan snorts, almost offended by such narrow, obvious thinking.

"Or worse, when you do eventually go to prison, or Eternal Light—which you will—to find them there, instead."

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