SweekStars 2018: Evidence by Joel R Hunt

Inspector Warrell had taken his usual seat in the Evidence Room, directly facing the door. Sunlight filtered in through the windows, caressing the air and washing over the table, casting shadows from his tablet and stylus, and otherwise emphasizing the emptiness of the place. It was a light that he could almost believe brought warmth into the room. Almost. The illusion was broken by the mist of each breath emerging from his mouth. His teeth were clamped to stop them chattering.

He had been here far too long. It wasn’t healthy.

He should leave.

Warrell’s hand fell to his side. The faint rustle of his clothing was almost deafening in the silence it broke. The only other sound was the heavy ticking of the clock on a nearby wall, drilling into his brain with every passing second.

Tick.

She stepped into the room. Precisely on time. As always. 

Tock.

A chair scraped back, and from within the Inspector, a second Warrell stood up, gesturing to the seat opposite. Its chest flickered in front of his eyes. A poorly recorded hologram.

“Please,” he heard himself say, “sit down,” 

Tick.

The woman nodded and lowered herself into the seat across from the table. The second Warrell sat back down within the first and reached for a holographic tablet.

“What can I do for you?” the second Warrell asked.

Tock.

He hadn’t needed to. He had known what was troubling her the moment she walked into the room, but often it was best to let a witness speak. It made them feel like they mattered. Like they were being listened to.

Warrell was listening now.

“I don’t want to cause you any more trouble,” said the woman in a shaking voice, “you and your officers have already been so much help.”

Tick.

“We do what we can,” said the second Warrell. Then he waited. The real Warrell leant forwards as his hologram leant back.

Tock.

The woman ran her fingers along her wedding ring.

Tick.

 “Another note arrived today,” she said. She reached into her handbag and brought out the letter, sliding it along the table. Warrell’s vision flickered as his hologram reached for the paper. He knew every word of it now. He didn’t need to read it again. But he did.

WILL YOUR KIDS BE SO PRETTY UNDERGROUND? TESTIFY AND FIND OUT.

Tock.

“Where did you find this?” the second Warrell asked.

“It came through the letterbox,” the woman said.

Tick.

The second Warrell shook his holographic head.

“That’s impossible,” he said, “We’ve got the front door observed 24/7. We have an officer going through your post. It must have got in another way. An open window, perhaps?”

“No.”

Tock.

“No, Inspector. It came through the front letterbox. I know it did.”

Tick.

“If that were the case,” the second Warrell said, “my officers would have reported it. I had no idea you’d received another letter. It had to have been moved somehow. You have a dog, isn’t that right? Maybe she carried it through, or it caught on her foot.”

Tock.

The woman ran her fingers along her wedding ring.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

“Are we being recorded?” she asked, looking over her shoulder. 

“All interview rooms are recorded at all times,” said the second Warrell, “360 degree capture for holographic display, in case we wish to review anything at a later date. Standard departmental policy.”

Tock.

“Was there something you didn’t want to say on record?” the second Warrell asked.

She slid her wedding ring up to her knuckle and back down.

Tick.

“I can’t turn it off, but I can lock this recording. I can make sure only I can view it. No one else. Would that help?”

The woman nodded.

Tock.

The second Warrell tapped his tablet, while the real Warrell looked at the woman. She was so frightened. She wouldn’t even look him in the eye. After a moment, the holographic tablet was presented to her, and she pried her gaze up just enough to look at the screen.

Tick.

“Here, see?” said the second Warrell, “this is the moment you stepped into the room, and this moving dot over here is the current moment. Everything within that time until I tell it otherwise is linked to my biometrics. No one else can access what you’ve said. Or what you plan to say.”

Tock.

The woman took a deep breath. She placed both hands on the table as if to steady herself.

Tick.

“I think it’s one of the officers,” she said. 

Both Warrells sat up straight.

“Those officers are there to protect you,” said the second Warrell, “keep you and your family safe.”

Tock.

“I don’t feel safe. I’m not safe. No one in that house is. Those officers know the rooms, they’re watching us all the time, they know when we’re vulnerable, when we’re alone. I can’t sleep knowing one of them might be the one writing these… awful things!”

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

“I understand,” said the second Warrell.

“You do?” asked the woman. There it was. The first flicker of hope. She finally raised her head and met his eyes. Both Warrells stared back.

Tick.

“I trust my officers,” said the holographic inspector, “I really do. But it’s important that you feel safe in your own home, and that you feel your children are in good hands. The first chance I get, I’ll perform a full background check on the assigned officers. I’ll do it personally. If there’s any link to the accused, any at all, they’ll be pulled from their duty under some pretext or other. They won’t even know why.”

Tock.

“Is there any chance,” the woman said, “that they could all be swapped out? New officers, ones you really trust, being put in tonight? I’m just so scared that -”

Tick.

“I’m not saying it can’t happen,” said the second Warrell, “but we don’t have the resources to do that tonight. Not that many officers, not on such short notice. But everything within my power, I will do. Please trust me on that.”

Tock.

The woman’s fingers released her wedding ring. 

“I do trust you,” she said.

Tick.

“Don’t worry,” said the second Warrell, “I’m overseeing this case personally. I won’t let you or your family come to any harm. I promise.”

Tock.

The woman smiled, and leaned in to steady her trembling hands against the table. 

“Thank you,” she breathed, and her eyes, shimmering from half-cried tears, met his. Calmed. Relieved. Trusting.

The expression cut through him like broken glass.

It was an expression he’d never see again. And never stop seeing.

“I’m so sorry,” whispered Warrell.

His hand reached across the table. As their fingers touched, hers flickered away, and he closed his fist around nothing. Just a poorly recorded hologram. 

The clock had stopped now. The recording had ended. She sat there, a half-smile frozen on her face. There was nothing else for her to do. She would sit there forever, if he let her, or disappear forever if he’d prefer.

Perhaps he should. Perhaps it was for the best that he let her go. Perhaps if he did, he could face going home each night. Perhaps he would be able to sleep again.

The Inspector raised a hesitant hand. 

Then, slowly, he rotated it.

Tock. Tick. 

Opposite him, the woman leaned away. 

Tock. Tick. 

Words were sucked back into her mouth.

Tock tick. 

She stood and walked backwards from the room.

Tock tick tock tick tockticktockticktockticktocktick

Inspector Warrel’s hand stopped, then fell to his side. The rustle of fabric punctuated the silence. He took a deep, shaking breath. It turned to mist in front of his eyes.

Tick.

She stepped into the room.

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