Page 77 of Not That Complicated

I glared at him. “Did I ever have a choice, or are you torturing me? It wasn’t enough fun to make Officer Dozy shit himself in his car and give me nightmares about human dolls?”

He sighed. “I’m trying to be a good guy here, Ray. I’d hoped you’d want it done quickly.”

“It’s not as if I want to drag it out.”

Liam gave a weary grunt. “You’d be surprised at how many people enjoy being involved in this sort of thing.”

“I’m surprised anyone would enjoy it at all.”

“People like attention. They like to be made to feel special.”

“I don’t need the entire town looking at me or my house to feel special,” I said. “I hate attention.”

“Then you’re going to hate waiting for a cadaver dog. You’re going to have plenty of mornings like this morning in the coffee shop.”

That gave me pause. “Nobody thinks I’m a murderer anymore at least,” I said uncertainly.

“Even if no one thinks you did it, people will want to come and look themselves. Take photos of the house. Poke around. Peer through your windows.” He gave me a sympathetic and not entirely genuine smile. “Be thankful this hasn’t been picked up by a true crime podcast.”

Seeing myself on the front page of the local paper was bad enough. Being talked about on Spotify by some arsehole who thought actual dead people and suffering was fun entertainment made my vision waver.

“Fine,” I said.

Liam’s mouth was already open, presumably to throw another convincing argument my way. “Fine?”

“Get the crime scene guys in. You may proceed.”

“I don’t actually need your permission.”

“Then what was this about!” I threw my arms out.

He scowled.

“Why would you stand there taking me through options I don’t even have before making me choose what you were always going to do!”

“It’s called community policing,” he said stiffly. “We don’t just do what we like, you know. A large part of deciding how to proceed with an investigation means taking into account the effect on the victim, those involved, and the community in general.”

I stared.

He scowled harder.

“You’re handling me,” I said, loud in the quiet room.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“No, you are. You’re handling me like I’m going to make a big drama or fuss.”

“I’m being professional. I’m a professional. I’m a compassionate human being. This is stressful. I can see that. Of course it is. Nobody wants you to crack under the pressure.”

I stared again. He stared back.

I sucked in a breath. Adam. “Adam asked you to do it, didn’t he?”

“As I said ten seconds ago, I’m a professional. I’ve done a victim support courseanda seminar. I know how important it is to feel like you have some control—”

“Definitely, definitely Adam.”

“Maybe I’m an excellent officer and human being?”

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