Page 35 of All He Takes
"You don't remember pointing a musket at us?" Nicky asked.
"What? Of course not!" he exclaimed.
The musket ended up being unloaded, but the fact remained. In his stupor, Mr. Dumond had resorted to violence, and that did not bode well for his innocence in this case.
"You said you were running from someone," Nicky said. "You thought we were some other people who were after you."
"That doesn't make any sense," Dumond said.
"What happened in New York?" Nicky asked.
Mr. Dumond's fingers curled into fists. "I can't--"
"Did you hurt those girls?" Ken asked.
"I... I..." Mr. Dumond whispered. "I can't remember..."
Nicky glanced at Ken. He nodded, and she took out the photo of Paris. "Is this the girl you can't remember?"
"No! I've never seen her!"
"Do you remember who you were before?" Nicky asked. "You lived in New York. You had a life there."
"No... no, this is my home. I'm Charles Dumond from Pine Grove. No one else. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Nicky sighed. They needed to do this now. They needed to get to the bottom of this. "Mr. Dumond, we're not here to judge you. But if you killed those girls, we need you to come clean. We can't help you unless you're honest with us."
Mr. Dumond looked up at her. "I don't know what you're talking about..."
"Please, Mr. Dumond," Nicky said. "I know it's hard. But you have to trust us. We're not here to hurt you. We just need the truth. What happened in New York?"
Mr. Dumond's eyes flicked to hers. He looked terrified. "I... I..."
"It's okay, Mr. Dumond," Nicky said. "Tell us the truth. You won't be in trouble. We're here to help you." She hoped it would work, that the gentle approach would get through to him—being hostile in this situation would only freak him out, she was sure of that.
"You don't understand," Mr. Dumond whispered. "I can't remember."
"What do you mean?" Ken asked. “Can’t remember what?”
"I can't remember," he said. "I don't know who I am. I don't remember anything from before I came to Pine Grove."
"You mean, you can't remember anything in New York?" Nicky asked.
"No." Mr. Dumond's eyes were haunted. "It's all a blur. I have nightmares... I see things... I don't understand a lot of things... but I know I've never hurt any girls... not ever..."
Nicky sighed. Maybe there was no point to this. Clearly, Dumond was unwell. And Nicky wasn't sure talking in circles around him or trying to get him to remember things he clearly couldn't, would help. Nicky was trained in psychology and behavioral analysis, but first and foremost, her job was to catch killers. If they could get an actual psychologist in there, an expert on schizophrenia, maybe they could get Dumond to open up. They needed someone with a gentle, professional approach, someone who could actually help him in the long run, too.
Nicky stood up, and Ken did too. "Hey, where are you--"
"I need to talk to you," Nicky said. "Mr. Dumond, we'll be right back."
Nicky and Ken went into the hall. Once they were alone, Ken shot Nicky a stern look.
"What's going on? We barely even started," he said.
Nicky leaned against the wall. "I just don't know how much good this is doing us. Maybe we should call in a mental health professional."
"What, you actually believe his act?" Ken asked. "He could be making it all up, Lyons."
