Page 60 of Ancient Obsession

“I do.” She stood and returned to the narrow hallway outside of the cell. “But I’m not the one you have to convince.” Lucia closed the door with a clang that made him jump. She locked it, gave him a single nod, then walked out of sight.

With a sigh, Oliver put his head back again, saying under his breath, “Fucking mummy. Fucking TikTok. Fucking archaeology department.”

That felt like an appropriate number of fucks to hand out, so he laid on his back and studied the ceiling while he waited for Detective Carter to arrive and haul him away.

Detective Carter arrived not long after Oliver’s conversation with Lucia. He Mirandized and handcuffed Oliver—hands in front, per Lucia’s suggestion—then signed some paperwork about transfer of a prisoner. After that, he escorted Oliver outside. A touch of chill was in the night, and Oliver shivered as he wrapped his arms around himself.

Carter had him sit in the back of the police SUV. Oliver never realized how being in handcuffs made the simple act of moving around so much more difficult. On the way out of town, they drove past the apartment complex where Oliver lived with Dave. He was able to catch a glimpse of lighted windows and what he thought might be Cody’s truck in the parking lot. Just that quick impression helped the vise around his heart loosen a bit.

They were both silent on the drive to Glenmont. If Detective Carter was confident about the evidence he’d found, nothing Oliver said now would make a difference. And it would just be something that could be used against him.

When they arrived at the station, Oliver was alarmed to see a number of news vans parked in the lot. Some had satellite link-ups raised, windows glowing as reporters and editors worked on piecing together footage.

“Fucking hell.” Carter pulled the SUV around to the back of the station. “News gets out fast.”

“Because of me?”

“Don’t get a swelled head. They’re glorifying the terrible way those kids have been killed.”

“No, that’s not what I meant. I was just surprised⁠—”

Bright LED lights burst into life, revealing a crowd of people waiting at the back of the station. They started shouting questions before the vehicle had even come to a stop. Carter turned to speak through the wire separating the seats.

“Keep your mouth shut and your head down. Got it?”

All the spit had left Oliver’s mouth. He nodded. His heart banged hard, and his lungs couldn’t seem to get enough air. Once he got inside the station, things would be better. He’d have a chance to ground himself and prepare for whatever questions Carter might throw at him. In just a few minutes, he would be inside and away from this insanity.

“Here we go.”

Carter opened his door. A cacophony of voices rushed inside, seemingly stealing the air from inside the car. Oliver swallowed hard. Reporters surrounded the vehicle, cameras practically pressed against the darkened glass to catch even a glimpse of him. The car seemed to tilt, and he locked his knees to keep from slumping over.

The door beside him yanked open. Carter gripped his upper arm and practically hauled Oliver out of the seat. His legs were shaky but held him up. People surged around them, thrusting phones and digital recorders in his face. He squinted in the glare, completely blind and turned around. All he could do was follow slightly behind as the big detective forged a swath through the mob.

“Did you kill them?”

“Why did you do it?”

“Were you in love with them?”

“Do you work out?”

“Was it werewolves?”

“Are you a werewolf?”

Oliver kept his chin tucked to his chest and allowed himself to be hauled along. He had to resist the urge to shout he was innocent, that someone else had committed these crimes. That something had murdered those people.

At the rear entrance to the station, Carter pounded on the door. Someone opened it from inside, and Carter propelled him through, closing the door behind them. The shouting was cut off, the sudden quiet almost as jarring. Oliver blinked in the low lighting of a long cement hallway, phantom images from the lights outside floating in his vision. At the far end of the hall, several patrol officers stood staring, Officers Montroig and Keaton among them. Oliver’s pulse hammered. Carter took him by the arm again and started him walking toward the gathering. The officers’ eyes were fixed on him, hands on their belts. Oliver found it even harder to catch his breath.

“Stand down,” Carter said. “I need to get Mr. Berridge through processing and into an interview room.”

The group dispersed, grumbling, and Carter tugged on his arm again.

“How about a phone call?” Oliver asked.

“Once we get you processed. Come on.”

He was fingerprinted and his mug shot snapped, all digital and faster than Oliver expected. After that, he was instructed to surrender his belt, shoes, wallet, and phone. He was given canvas slip-on shoes that felt loose on his feet. He wondered how many other people had worn them before him. He signed numerous forms, and then he was permitted to stand at a phone hanging on the wall while Carter hovered nearby. Fortunately, he knew Dave’s number, and he punched it in, hoping he’d pick up for a strange number.