You think you know someone until they’re a murder suspect. That’s when all the secrets come out. All the white lies they’ve told, the skeletons in their closet, and then the not-so-white lies. Once the Paranormal Police Department starts digging, they leave no stone unturned.
It’s a pretty neat system, depending on which side of the one-way mirror you’re sitting.
Unfortunately for me, today I'm on the wrong side. Or maybe it's unfortunate for Ambrose, not me. He's the one being accused of being what we hunt.
I can't believe anyone would think he's capable of something so awful when he spends his days tracking down dangerous people and getting them off the street. It isn't fair.
Life's not fair, Amy. My sister's voice chases around my mind. She used to tell me that every time she got preferential treatment just because she's the eldest. Even when she's not around, I still hear her. Now that's really not fair.
I drum my fingers on my knees while Detective Dean fills out his forms. He could’ve done those at his desk but he’s doing them here to make me uncomfortable. He knows how bad I am with sitting still and waiting.
A disadvantage of being questioned by the people I work with.
“Well? Are we going to get on with it?” I ask once the waiting becomes too much.
Dean shoots me a disapproving look and continues filling out his forms. After a tense minute or so, he puts his pen down and folds his hands together.
Ah. Now he means business, I can see it in his eyes.
“Could you state your name for the record, please?” he asks.
I lean back and cross my arms. “You know my name.”
He sighs and rubs his forehead slowly. “Amy, this isn’t fun for me either. Can you just work with me here?”
Something in his voice convinces me. There may be a small part of him that's doubting Ambrose's innocence, but for the most part, he believes he's innocent. And I can help him prove that, I'm sure of it.
“Fine. My name is Amethyst from the Gemstone Coven, but I go by Amy. I’m named after my Grammie, I have a birthmark on my shoulder and my star sign is Leo. There, are we done now?” I can't make it too easy.
“No, you know we’ve only just started. Why are you being so difficult? You know how the process goes. You’ve done this multiple times with Ambrose.”
I bristle at the sound of his name.
“Don’t you talk to me about Ambrose?”
“Talking about Ambrose is the whole reason for this conversation,” he reminds me, probably with a lot more patience than I deserve.
“Interrogation,” I correct him.
He should call it what it is.
“I’m not interrogating you, I just want to ask you some questions.” He rubs his forehead. “Where were you two days ago around three in the afternoon?”
I shrug. “I don’t know, you’ll have to ask my assistant.”
“You don’t have an assistant.”
“You don’t know that. Wand makers could have very busy lives.”
He shakes his head, probably because he's well aware of how little time I actually spend at the wand shop, even if it's technically my main profession.
“Fine, could you check with your assistant where you were?”
“Wow, I didn't think you'd play along,” I mutter.
“Amy.”
Hmm. He's using the same warning tone Ambrose did in the beginning.
“Dean. Wait, that’s your last name so it doesn’t have the same effect. What’s your first name again?”
“Richard.”
“Richard,” I mimic, using the same tone he used on me before. “No, that doesn’t sound right.”
“I'm sorry you don’t like my first name.”
I shrug. It's not that it's bad, it's just that it doesn't fit the person I know. “It’s not as bad as Ambrose’s. Did you know his first name is— No, you know what, I’m not telling you his first name.”
“I know his name is Knight.”
“You do? How?”
“I can see it on the arrest warrant,” he points out. “And we’ve worked together for a good while.”
“But you’re not friends.”
“No, I suppose not.”
“If anything, people would say you’re more like rivals.”
“I don’t know if I’d say that.”
“Hmm. Is this your way of knocking down the competition?”
I know I'm making it up, and I'm sure he knows it too.
“Of course not.”
“Then why are you doing this?” I ask.
“It's my job.”
“So you don’t believe Ambrose is guilty?” At least that's something. Dean believing he's innocent is a step towards getting his name cleared.
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Look, I know you and I haven’t worked together much, but I’m a man of integrity. I’m not doing this as a personal vendetta against Ambrose. I respect him, he’s a good detective. I just want to know the truth and if he has an alibi, it would be good for us and for him, if we had that on record. And I'm guessing you're the best person to ask for one.”
I can tell he’s being sincere. And it’s not like being stubborn and snarky is going to help Ambrose out even if it's how I want to deal with the stress of the situation. At least I know he hasn’t done whatever they’re accusing him of so I can tell the truth without worrying.
With a sigh, I gesture to his form. “Continue.”
Dean sighs with relief. Maybe he thought I was going to fight harder. “Thank you.” He clicks his pen again. “When was the last time you saw Ambrose?”
“Half an hour ago when we came into the station. We were supposed to be at the beach so thank you for ruining that.”
Oops, a little bit of snark after all. It's not my fault, I was born with it. Though Mum's not particularly snarky, I think it skipped a generation from Grammie to me.
“Okay… And did you happen to see Ambrose two days ago?”
“Two days ago… Which day was that?” Why can't I remember things more clearly?
Oh. Right. Because I had no idea I'd have to give an alibi for one of the most honest people I've ever met.
“Friday.”
“Friday… Oh, yes. We went for lunch.” Relief floods through me. It's all fine.
“Around what time?”
“Lunchtime,” I reply.
Dean’s silence makes it obvious that my answer isn’t sufficient. But to be fair, I wasn't paying much attention to the time, I was too busy looking forward to the company and the food.
“Around one. There’s this new Mexican place that has the most amazing burritos and quesadillas. I had a chicken wrap with guacamole and a lemonade and Ambrose had beef. No, pork. No, beef.” I gesture to Dean’s form. “Why aren’t you writing any of that down?”
With a tired look, Dean writes ‘beef’ in one of the boxes and puts his pen back down. “Did either one of you pay by card and around what time did you leave?”
“I paid with cash but Ambrose paid with a card. The server was not happy about it but I have to get rid of the change from the till somehow.”
Dean nods. “And after you ate, you and Ambrose parted ways? Did he say where he was going next?”
“No, after we ate we went to the beach.”
“The beach again?” He seems surprised.
I don't get why. It's just two friends going to a beach and walking a dog. There's nothing strange about that. “We both like the beach, is there a problem with that?”
Dean quickly shakes his head. “No, no. Just surprised.”
“We went to the beach so his dog could run around and—”
“Wait, his dog?” He wets his thumb to flick through the documents. “Did you take the dog into the restaurant?”
Realising what I just said, I feel the first signs of panic. I shouldn’t have said that. I stare at my hands, trying to avoid his gaze.
“Amy. Did you have the dog with you for lunch?”
I wish I could lie. But I know I can't. Rover is such a friendly boy, the servers at the restaurant would remember him if he'd been there.
I stare at my hands, hating myself for letting Ambrose down. “No… After lunch, Ambrose went home to pick up Rover and we met up at the beach. But he was only gone for like… forty-five minutes or so. Maybe an hour?”
“I see.”
“But that doesn’t mean he did whatever you think he did. He’s not a killer.” My throat constricts as a little bit of panic escapes. “You know he’s not like that, right?”
Detective Dean releases a sigh and closes his folder, ignoring my question. “That’ll be all, thank you for your cooperation.”
I stare at him, waiting for him to tell me this is all a mistake. But the words don't come. This is real. And if we don't find a way to stop it, Ambrose is going to be locked away for a very long time.