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“There was a father-shaped hole in Tate’s life, and once Vincent realized, he filled it, reshaped it, and pushed Tate towards doing something, ordinarily, he never would’ve done.”
Ally flung her hands up. “All is forgiven then.”
“I’m not saying that. I’m saying I understand him. I understand him more than all the other serial killers we’ve dealt with. Tate did wrong, I’m not denying it, and he knew it, too, but he was desperate, he was tortured, you didn’t see him, Ally. Up on Castle Hill. I’ve never had a serial killer react like that—”
“You want to blame Vincent Whitehall for what Tate did.”
“He played a role in this.”
“I agree, he did.” Ally stood in front of him. “But that doesn’t take away from the fact Tate was weak.”
“Weak?”
“Yes. He was weak. He let a serial killer into his head. He allowed one to fill the empty void in his life. I’d go as far as saying he encouraged it, and then he acted against his own moral compass in the hope Vincent would be happy with him, proud of him. He was after that monster’s love.”
“Is wanting to be loved really so weak?”
“Yes, when you want to be loved by a serial killer. Tate sought Vincent out. It was him that sent him letters, and him that requested a visiting order. He knew the kind of man Vincent Whitehall was. He watched the documentary, covered his bedroom in his drawings, and bought that hoodie with that stupid quote on it.”
“Anyone can be a serial killer.”
“Looks like Vincent proved it. I don’t feel sorry for Tate—I can’t feel sorry for him. Vincent Whitehall is a monster, a psychopath who loved terrorizing a town, kidnapping daughters, and sisters, and butchering them while pretending to be the town’s shining knight. He’s evil, and that’s who Tate chose to idolize. He didn’t choose a good person, he chose Vincent fucking Whitehall.”
Chad slumped and downed his cold coffee. It left a bitter taste on his tongue.
Ally shook her head. “I thought you of all people would hate Tate.”
“Why?”
“He bent over backwards to please a serial killer. He knew what he was doing was wrong, but did it anyway. You were taken by two serial killers, and you kept them out of here.” Ally flicked him squarely on the forehead. “Because you aren’t weak.”
Chad lowered his gaze and stared into his empty cup until Ally removed it from him. She tossed it in the bin. “If Tate had just stuck to worshipping fictional beings, likethismoron, none of this would’ve happened.”
Chad frowned. “What?”
Ally sighed and opened the door.
Josh stood on the other side with a carrier bag hanging off his elbow.
“I called him,” Ally said.
Josh waved as he stepped inside, not stopping until his legs were against Chad’s knees. “You look like shit.”
Chad didn’t have time to formulate a reply.
Josh stooped over and gave him a quick hug before backing away with his nose twitching. “You smell like it, too.”
“Sweat,” Chad said. He brushed his knees. “And mud.”
“I’ve heard CPR hurts like a bitch.” Josh cleared himself a space on the desk and sat down. “This girl once liked me so much she pretended to drown in a swimming pool so I’d save her, you know, give her the kiss of life.”
Chad’s mouth pulled with the start of a smile. “What happened?”
“I went straight in with chest compressions. I was probably a bit too eager. It’s not uncommon to break a rib or two.”
“You broke her ribs?”
Josh narrowed his eyes. “I fractured one.”
