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

short while,” he said. “With you outside the door. And the peep hatch has to be open.”

“You’re scared of him?” Not a reproach or a jibe from Shaw, just a gentle query.

“I think so. We still don’t know what he’s capable of, how angry he might get. But the fear comes from what might happen in another way. That I’ll have feelings other than hate for a killer—and I’ve never wanted that. Since Dad…well, knowing how broken a family is after a loved one has been murdered… Wouldn’t I be a hypocrite in giving the bloke sympathy, when all these years I’ve hated every killer out there for what they do?”

Shaw shrugged. “I feel sorry for him. So what? Doesn’t mean I care less for the victims or their families. Just means I have it in me to see all sides. To understand. Maybe you should look at it that way, too, eh? Gordon had a family—fucking dysfunctional, but hey. Gordon was an innocent party once. For whatever reason, he killed to make things better, I’m assuming. Mental illness isn’t something we can fully explain. What makes sense to Gordon won’t make sense to us—or it might make sense once we know his logic, just that it isn’t lawful sense, if you get me. To him it was right, and I think he needs help in seeing it wasn’t right—if he can handle that.”

“You’re not bothered that he might not be put in a regular prison?” Burgess asked.

“He’s already in prison.” Shaw swiped a hand down his face. “Has been all his life by the sound of it. And where he ends up next will still be a prison. Shit, it’s like I’m excusing what he’s done, but I’m not. It was awful, him taking those lives, but at the same time, the things that were done to him, which broke him somewhere along the line, they were awful, too.”

“You’re a decent bloke, Shaw.” Will I ever be as decent?

“Yeah, well…” Shaw smiled. Swung his feet to the floor. Put his cup on his desk. Tugged at his suit lapels. “It’s a tough job being so brilliant, but someone has to do it.”

Burgess laughed—and fuck, it felt good, if a bit wrong. Then he sobered. “Come on.” He slid his feet to the floor then put on his shoes. “I need to get this done.”

He walked to the door and glanced behind him. Shaw stood there straightening his tie. Smoothing down his suit front.

“Um, you might want to put shoes on?” Burgess opened the door.

“Oh yeah.”

Burgess waited outside his office, leaning against the wall. Shaw joined him, and together they walked in silence down to the holding cells. Outside Gordon’s—must think of him as Gordon for this, not the impersonal Varley—he took a deep breath. Nodded at an officer striding down the corridor, silently asking him to get out his keys. The uniform peered through the hatch first then swung the door wide, and Burgess stepped in.

The door clanging shut then locking behind him brought on a shiver. As did the sight of a man he never thought he’d want to speak to. In all his time as a police officer, he’d thought of criminals as the lowest of the low, but this one? Fucked if he could compartmentalise and not allow emotions to surface. He didn’t like what was happening inside him, couldn’t understand it. Another thing to discuss with Shaw as his therapist.

Gordon looked up. Smiled. Teeth bright inside that beard that was so much like their father’s.

“Hello, Detective Varley.” That childish voice.

Another shiver.

“Hello, Gordon,” Burgess said. “Mind if I sit beside you?”

“Why would you want to sit by me?” Gordon frowned, did that bird thing with his head.

“Thought maybe you needed someone to talk to. Gets a bit lonely in here, I should think. Would you like to talk to me?” Burgess asked.

Gordon shrugged. “Maybe.”

Burgess took a chance and sat beside him. Glanced at the camera in the top corner. Then at the hatch in the door. Shaw was there, the tip of his nose visible, a side view, where he was obviously giving Gordon the illusion no one stood there at all.

“So tell me,” Burgess said. “Tell me everything. Right from the beginning. The truth, Gordon. I know you like to tell the truth.”

He hadn’t expected the words to come, but by fuck they did, Gordon’s voice changing from childlike to adult with each different subject. Burgess stared at the hatch throughout, holding it together as Gordon described the depth of the abuse he’d suffered. How, when Burgess had been crying for the father he’d lost, Gordon had been longing for that same father to come and rescue him, even though he’d known he was dead. How, when Burgess had run to his mother for advice, love, and hugs, Gordon had run away from his—from her smacks, her wicked words, and the mind games she’d played.

And as for the men—and The Man, Thomas Hornton… Christ, what they’d done to him all but ripped a hole in Burgess’ heart.

Gran—thank Heaven for Gordon’s gran. But fuck Social Services up the backside for not following up on her call for help. The school, who must have known he came from a rough mother, must also have known Gordon hadn’t been treated right. Fuck them, too. And, if he were honest, fuck Gran to some degree. Although she’d done her best, she could have saved Gordon. Picked him up from school one day and taken him away somewhere.

The furniture in Gordon’s flat had been explained. It had belonged to Gran, and after she’d died, Gordon had taken all of her things to the flat above Letty’s, thankful he had more than the bed from his childhood to fill it.

“What will happen to Gran’s things now?” Gordon asked.

“I’ll make sure they’re put into