Chapter 5 - The Confession in the Dark
By 3:00 AM, the diner’s basement office was once again transformed into a courtroom of shadows.
Derek Lawson was tied back to the wooden chair, his nose swollen, his lip split open, shivering violently despite the summer humidity in the cellar. When the heavy steel door creaked open, Vincent walked in carrying a steaming mug of black coffee. He didn't offer any to Derek.
He simply set the mug down on the edge of the oak desk, picked up the manila folder, and dropped it into Derek’s lap.
Derek looked down at the exposed photographs of Amelia walking down the street outside the diner. All the color drained from his face, leaving him looking like a corpse dragged out of the river.
“You didn't just come in for eggs and bacon tonight, did you, Derek?” Vincent asked quietly, leaning against the edge of the desk.
Derek shook his head frantically, his voice a pathetic squeak. “I swear... I was just supposed to find out if she was still here! Raymond’s brother—he’s still on the force in Albany—he wanted to know if she was protected—”
“Raymond’s brother,” Vincent repeated, tasting the words like poison. “And how much did he pay you to check the traps?”
“Five grand,” Derek sobbed. “Just to confirm her location. I didn't mean to hit her! I swear to God, she looked at me the way Raymond used to look at her in the precinct, and I just lost my temper—I thought if I scared her enough, she’d run again, and then I’d get the rest of the money—”
Vincent stared at him for a long, agonizing minute. The silence in the basement was so profound that the ticking of the wall clock sounded like a sledgehammer against stone.
“You thought you could rattle a woman who survived two years under Raymond Fletcher,” Vincent said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “You thought a cheap punch and a cracked coffee pot would break someone who walked across a frozen state line with six hundred dollars and a prayer.”
Vincent reached down, grabbed Derek by the lapels of his leather jacket, and hauled him forward until their noses were inches apart.
“Listen to me very carefully, Derek. You are going to take your phone out—Vinnie, untie his right hand—and you are going to call Raymond’s brother in Albany right now.”
Derek’s eyes went wide with terror. “What... what do you want me to tell him?”
“Tell him,” Vincent whispered into his ear, “that Amelia Hayes is dead. Tell him you buried her by the river tonight. Tell him the debt is paid in full.”
Derek’s fingers trembled as Vinnie sliced the zip-tie on his right wrist and slapped his burner phone into his palm. With shaking fingers, Derek punched in the digits, hit speakerphone, and held the device near his mouth as the line began to ring in the quiet basement.
It picked up on the third ring.
“Yeah?” a gruff voice barked from the speaker.
Derek looked up at Vincent, whose dark eyes offered no mercy, only the cold, absolute certainty of an executioner.
“It’s done,” Derek choked out into the phone. “She’s gone. You won't ever have to worry about her again.”
A heavy, satisfied sigh came through the receiver. “Good. Send me the photos to this number. And don't ever call this line again.”
The line went dead.
Vincent reached down, took the burner phone from Derek’s hand, and dropped it into a heavy glass ashtray on the desk. He pulled out his own pocketknife, flicked the blade open, and crushed the phone’s circuitry with the heavy brass butt of the handle until it sparked and died.
“Vinnie,” Vincent said without looking back.
May you like
“Boss?”
“Take Mr. Lawson to the county line. Drop him off at the bus station with a one-way ticket to California. And make sure he understands that if he ever breathes the name Amelia Hayes again, the next time he sees the river, he won't be standing on the bank.”
