Page 9 of Sullied Saints

I drive into the precinct, and soon regret it when I round one corner in Downtown to hear the megaphone, and Conrad's voice, right before I see the crowd. The would-be mayor is on top of a hastily built stage this time. Cars ahead of me honk behind his audience. They’re blocking traffic, making people listen.

By the time the traffic clears, sifting slowly around the crowd, it’s well past the early hour I was hoping to get to the precinct, and the space in front is already filling up with media and protestors.

I park close, almost over the footpath, but the reporters recognise my car. I duck my head, pulling my hood down as I turn my face away from them on the way to the steps. They want to know if I’m on the Cocooner case, if I’m talking with Needler. They want to know what kind of relationship I had with Needler. They know full well the answer to all of those questions, but they want it on camera. And I’m not about to give it to them.

I’m let through the police barricade, which is now a semi-permanent feature of the station. Walking down the corridor towards the offices, I feel displaced—this isn’t the ideal place for someone who had mind-boggling sex with a co-worker just yesterday.

I've barely sat down at my desk and started tapping away at the typewriter before Andrea finds me. “You’re wanted in the interrogation room.” Apparently, when Tawill said I’m here for the interrogation, she meant that’sallI’m here for. I stand and follow Andrea.

It may be taken as a sign of my mental health that talking to Needler—Tristan—is the part of being back that gives me the least nerves. He's the only one here where things don't feel irrevocably different, even given his change in circumstances. Just like before, the feeling is that he's exactly where he wishes to be.

Of course, he's also entirely likely to be a psychopath.

When I reach the doors of the interview room, I stop in my tracks to see Tawill there. She's clearly been waiting for me, but when she sees me, her expression doesn't change. "Detective." She nods towards the door. "I'll be accompanying you on the interview today."

I manage some noise of affirmation, walking to stand beside her as she turns to unlock it.Great, this won't be tense at all.

When Needler glances up at our arrival, his eyes cut to Tawill with a faint smile. "Commissioner Tawill. How lovely to meet you."

Her voice is stern. "Detective Ginsburg will be conducting the interview today. I am here to observe." As though to prove it, she takes the metal seat waiting in the corner.

Youcouldobserve from the other side of the glass, I want to point out, but turn my side to her and sit across from Tristan instead. He tilts his head to me, and I know he sees too much, my tension, and how long it’s been since I was here last.

"Eleanor. I've missed our talks."

The muscle in my jaw twitches. If looks could kill… "Are you going to give me more on Cassandra than last time?" I ask.

Casually, he sits back in his chair. "How's the other officer? Your partner. He's the only one to have survived any Cocooner attack. Quite the commendation."

I blink at the mention of Dirk. Coincidence, surely. Tristan couldn't possibly know… I clear my throat. "I'm not at liberty to talk about other detectives. He's not relevant to the interview."

"No?" Tristan raises an eyebrow. "Cassandra's never been the type to let a good thing get away."

"Are you indicating Dirk could be in danger still?" I ask, too fast, voice urgent. Like I need to go and order a squad to his house right away. Not thinking about him has proved to be as impossible this past day as it was before, so I've resolved topretendto myself that I'm not thinking of him.

Tristan shrugs. "It is unknown territory."

"But not to you," I press. "Tell us something that will help us catch her, and she won't hurt any more people."

"She'll do something… unexpected."

"That’s not helpful."

Tristan grins and leans forward. "Tell you what will jog my memory? Not sharing a cell with whatever drunkard you throw in there. What are your people trying to achieve?” Smirking, he asks, “Is the best Tregam’s law enforcement can think ofreallytempting me into violence so you can show it to the media and get the mob off your doorstep?" My gaze locks to his. He is definitely not supposed to know about the rioters. His smile widens. "I know they're out there. Probably have been for a while, if I had to guess. Why else wouldn't you have sent me on by now?"

I didn’t know about who he was sharing a cell with, and I resist glancing back at Tawill. Because if they are trying to get something to smear his ‘clean’ record, that is a supremely stupid thing to do, and I could have told them it would never work.

"We need information on your sister," I offer.

"You could do that from prison. The jail is never very far from any point in Tregam. Unless…" his eyes narrow, considering, "You've decided White Rock is the better place for me?" he asks, naming the island off the port of Tregam, named for its pale cliff faces, and most notably, home of the once-infamous Eternal Light Asylum.

"We haven't decided yet," I say truthfully. It’s another thing the mobs, now led by Conrad, want to know. Whether we’re going to send their favourite killer to the madhouse or the jailhouse. Given the reputation of White Rock and Eternal Light, they’re in favour of the latter. It’s kinder.

“Or perhaps it’s some place more final,” he suggests flatly. And there’s the other outcome that I can’t quite deal with thinking about—Death Row. If Tristan won’t lawyer up, which he hasn’t yet, the death penalty could very much be on the cards.

By all appearances, he has no anxiety on the subject whatsoever. Almost definitely a psychopath, I remind myself.

“That needs to be decided in court,” I say, hoping the shake in my voice isn’t too noticeable.

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