Caught in the Web by Emmy Ellis (most read books in the world of all time TXT) 📗

a solicitor would be all they needed to nail the bastard. Burgess could have listened in but hadn’t been able to bring himself to do so. Some rules were ingrained in him and, no matter what, he wouldn’t break them.

A knock on the door had Burgess and Shaw jumping. So Shaw was just as on edge as him. Although Burgess didn’t wish any unease to gripe at Shaw, it was good to know he wasn’t the only one feeling it. With this case being so close to home, he had wondered whether it was hitting him in places it ordinarily wouldn’t. In the heart, for instance. It was digging into emotions he wouldn’t usually feel in any other murder case.

Burgess opened the door. Quint, one of his oldest friends from work, stood on the other side, looking anything but his usual well-put-together self. He appeared harried, unnerved, his cheeks tinged red and his eyes troubled.

Burgess gestured for him to come in then closed the door. “What’s up?”

“Burge, you know I don’t like telling on my clients, but this man isn’t right, I don’t think.” Quint shivered. “He’ll need a mental health assessment at some point, although I heard from the doctor that he’s okayed Varley to go ahead with an interview for now. You’ll need to get as much information out of him as you can, as quickly as you can, in case he displays more signs of mental instability. Talking of which… The suspect thinks you’re his father, did you know that?”

Burgess nodded. “Um, yes. I’m surprised you haven’t heard—news rips through the station when it’s gossip, doesn’t it? Apparently I’m his half-brother, although DNA test results haven’t come back to confirm that as yet. But from what we’ve gathered so far, you may as well say we’re related. Which is why I’m in here and not in there with him.”

“Sensible. Best to distance yourself.” Quint bit his bottom lip. “I just have to say—and I didn’t say it, I wasn’t in here with you, if you know what I’m saying—that if you do go in there, he’s going to want to know why you lied. About being his father.” He held up one hand, the other still holding the file to his chest. “No idea what that’s about, but he has a thing regarding not lying, it seems, or people telling lies. So just be prepared for some possible anger if you talk to him. That’s all I can really say.”

“Thanks. I don’t plan on talking to him. If I have to for the case, fair enough, but it won’t be by choice.”

Quint gave a short nod. “Well, I’ll just let Emerson know we’re ready to start then. I’ll mention the lying thing to him, too, by the way.”

Quint left, and Burgess moved closer to the window. Shaw joined him at his side. Varley was still flat to the back wall, eyes closed. Was he asleep standing up or just thinking? Going by his body language, he was calm, not worried at all, his features unruffled. He was static, no jerking of his legs or tapping of his feet. Either he believed he hadn’t done anything wrong or he was so composed it was frightening.

“Quint was letting us know Varley’s going to spill,” Shaw said.

“I guessed that’s what he was saying. About the lying and whatnot. Makes our lives easier.”

Burgess was grateful that Quint regularly informed him in some small way of how things were going to go. It made Burgess’ progression with suspects much smoother, knowing which path to take with questioning.

“Shit, here we go,” Shaw said.

Burgess held his breath. Emerson, Flemmings, and Quint entered the room. The uniform by the door approached Varley, who opened his eyes and looked at him as though startled, then seemed to relax as he maybe became aware of his surroundings.

“Please take a seat, Mr Varley,” Emerson said while he and Flemmings sat themselves. Emerson set up the recording device.

Varley sat without a struggle beside Quint and smiled. “I want to speak to my dad.”

“That’s not possible, Mr Varley, because as you know, your father is deceased.” Emerson wasn’t one to beat around the bush.

“He’s called Mr Varley, like me. He’s a detective.” Varley frowned.

“Ah, Mr Varley is indeed a detective”—Emerson scratched the side of his nose, a signal he and Burgess employed while interviewing, to let Burgess know he might well have to come in on the discussion—“but I assure you, he isn’t your father. Now—”

“I won’t talk to anyone but him.” Varley’s voice was that creepy childish tone he’d had in the pub. He pouted. Was he about to stamp his feet, too?

“Shit.” Burgess blew out a long stream of air. “This isn’t going to go well.”

Shaw shrugged. “Better he speaks to you than no one at all.”

“Very well,” Emerson said. “I’ll see what Mr Varley is doing and whether he can spare the time to speak with you. We’re very busy, you know. Our lives don’t revolve around you.”

Shaw laughed. “Good old Emerson. Always has to make them feel they’re not as important as they think.”

“Might be a bad thing in this instance.” Burgess watched Emerson pause the recording then leave the room. “Us saying about an unstable life. What if he’s been ignored for most of his? Maybe he needs to feel important.”

Emerson came in. “We can leave it five minutes or ten before you show up. Your call.”

“I’ll come now.” Burgess went with Emerson.

In the interview room, Burgess stood in the doorway a moment so he could study Varley’s reaction upon seeing him. The man’s eyes lit up, but then the light in them doused, indicating dark thoughts might possibly be scavenging through his mind for any unsettling feeling he might have, so they could be sparked and set off.

Flemmings set the recorder going again. “Detective Burgess