Page 53 of The Twenty (Major Crimes)

“Stop messing around,” she says sharply. “Either you tell me what you know, or I walk out of here now.”

He sits back in his chair, a satisfied smile on his face. “I always knew you were strong. That you had something about you, Romilly. Confirmed when you called the police. I should have expected it. It was my fault.”

Romilly stays quiet. She doesn’t know what to say.

“I forgive you,” he continues.

“You forgive me?”

“Yes. For calling the police. I thought we were a team. You and me against the world. After your mother died.”

“You killed four women!” she shouts. Then she hears Dr. Jones in her head. “Don’t let him take control. You can decide how you react to him. Only you.”

“I didn’t mean to kill them,” he says softly. “But I pushed them too far. They couldn’t take it. In the end.” He pauses. “And I would have had more. If you hadn’t stopped me. I knew you had to stop me, Romilly.”

She stares at him. He looks up and meets her eyes; she refuses to look away.

“It was a test. One you passed with flying colors.”

“You left those keys there deliberately.” Romilly had always wondered: What would have happened if she hadn’t noticed them there that day? If she’d been late home from school. If her father had spotted them and moved them. How long would it have gone on for? How many would he have killed?

And now she has her answer. He would have kidnapped women, killed women, raped women until someone stopped him.

He smiles. “Of course I did. You didn’t think I’d be that stupid, did you?” He reaches across the table toward her face, but she pulls back quickly. “My poor Romilly. Have you blamed yourself all these years? For putting your father in jail?”

“You deserve to be here,” she hisses.

“Yes. I do. But I didn’t know how much I could push you. How far you’d go. And it was further than I imagined.”

Romilly takes a long breath in, her hands balled into fists. She wills her heart to stop thumping, the panic to calm.

“But I had a need. A want. Something inside me I couldn’t ignore. No more than you could resist coming to see me today.”

She can’t listen any longer. To his voice, pulling her to the past. She pushes her chair back, a squeak of metal on tiling, and walks quickly toward the door.

“You think I’m involved,” he says. “Don’t you?”

She pauses, hand poised on the handle.

“But how could that possibly be true?”

Romilly turns. “The numbers,” she says. “The ones carved into the wall of the outhouse.”

“You think someone’s copying me? Continuing what I started?” She goes to speak, and he waves his hand, dismissing his question. “Why would someone do that? What would they be getting out of it?” He stops, and a faraway look comes over his face. “Me? I knew that those women were mine. I owned them. I could do what I liked with them. In that shed I was king, and they soon learned there were consequences if they disagreed.”

Romilly screws her eyes tightly shut, trying to block out his words. Some part of her recognizes he’s saying it deliberately, enjoying watching her squirm, but to hear it coming from his mouth, it’s disgusting. She feels dirty just listening to it. She knew, of course. She’d stopped reading the papers long ago, self-preservation, but she could hardly avoid the news reports of the trial. And the interview after. The Daily Mail paying their fifty pieces of silver for the whole truth direct from the Good Doctor’s mouth.

She bashes once, twice on the door. She looks to the guard, but he hasn’t moved.

“I’ve upset you,” Cole says. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t give a shit,” she snarls back. “You don’t care about the victims today, same as you didn’t care about the women you murdered then.”

“Oh, but I do! I care about them because you do. Because your beloved Adam Bishop does.” He shakes his head. “I’m not sorry about the divorce. He was never good enough for you, Romilly. But I should have guessed you’d go for a cop. You always did like the police.”

Romilly pushes the handle down, but it’s locked. She bashes again.

“Let me out,” she directs to the guard, but he doesn’t move. “Let me out!”

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