Page 287 of Chameleon Killer

Brewster's computer supplied the rest. Guy. Colin. Surveillance. Unauthorized access. Manipulated evidence. Years of files on the Auditor. Files within files.

Profiles revised so many times that eventually they seemed to describe less a person than the man Elliot Brewster had needed him to be.

There were hearings. Investigations. Internal reviews. People resigned. People were fired. Everyone insisted appropriate procedures had now been implemented.

I remained skeptical. Some things also survived trauma.

Then there was Simon.

I looked at the whiteboard. His name wasn't on it. It hadn't been on any whiteboard for six months.

That didn't mean I didn't think about him. The FBI questioned me for fourteen hours over three days.

CPD did another nine.

Alisha attended every minute.

They called me in once a week for three months. We were now down to just once a month. I offered them subscriptions to the blog. Not for free, because that wouldn’t be ethical, but just in case they wanted to keep tabs without wasting anyone’s time.

My story never changed because I didn't change it. Elliot abducted me. He took me to the warehouse. He used me to draw Simon there.

Simon arrived. Elliot held a gun to my throat. Elliot fired. Simon fired back. Elliot died. Simon put his weapon down. I picked up Elliot's.

Then came the question everyone cared about. What happened next?

I told them. I called 911.

Before that.

I looked toward the warehouse telephone.

Before that, Ms. McBryan.

I turned away from Simon. There was always a pause after that answer. Sometimes a very long one.

Finally, they’d ask, Why?

The first time they asked, I didn't have an answer. The second time, I had too many. By the twentieth, I understood the problem wasn't my answer. It was that everyone asking wanted one they could use.

Trauma. Fear. Confusion. Concussion. Manipulation. Gratitude. Attachment.

Any of those would have worked. Any of them could have turned what I'd done into something that happened to me.

So eventually I gave them the truth. Because I chose to.

Boy, they didn't like that. Neither did I. That didn't make it less true.

They asked whether Simon had threatened me.

No.

Whether he'd ordered me to let him leave.

No.

Whether he'd attempted to manipulate me into doing so.

Not at that moment.