Interrogation at the Clinic
I jumped into a taxi.
I checked my pockets—a pack of cigarettes, a pocketknife sheathed at my hip.
I called the secretary and fabricated an excuse, claiming some orphanage business filing was invalid and needed his confirmation. At the very least, I'd stall Dr. Ashmore for now.
I put down my phone and gave the driver directions.
Without warning, my left eye went black.
Then came blinding pain. I sat in the back seat, looking around in confusion—no shadow figures anywhere. It was pure, unadulterated pain. Sweat beaded on my forehead as I doubled over, clutching my left eye.
The driver glanced at me, puzzled. "You okay?"
I waved him off.
After a long while, the pain receded, and sight returned to my left eye.
My phone buzzed relentlessly beside me. From the beginning until now, every call had been from Detective Vance.
I switched it to silent and took deep breaths.
I certainly wasn't going to kill him.
I'd only said that because it was the one thing that would make Detective Vance leave the station without argument.
I was going to stop him from leaving—and get his confession.
Anything else would only invite more complications. I couldn't wait two days anymore.
The rain was still falling across the city, pattering against the concrete, blooming into concentric rings of water.
I stepped out of the taxi and looked up.
Fifteen floors up—the floor-to-ceiling window—Dr. Ashmore was there.
His blurred silhouette stood by the glass.
As though he was enduring the same rain alongside me.
By some stroke of luck, the building's elevator was empty. I rode it up to that floor. Old Ben stood at the elevator doors, lighting a cigarette—his eyes went wide when the doors opened and he saw me.
His finger hovered over the lighter.
I thought: Detective Vance. How many criminals have you let slip away because you refuse to make presumptions of guilt?
Old Ben blocked my path and said, "Sorry, you can't go in right now."
Just then, my phone vibrated—Detective Vance calling again.
I put her on speaker. Her voice came through: "Ian Ashford, where are you!"
I turned off the speaker and said, "I'm already at Dr. Ashmore's."
I smiled at Old Ben, feigning casualness. "I just need to confirm some personal matters with him. Should I go in now, or should I wait for the police to accompany me?"
Old Ben hesitated, then stepped aside.
The two receptionists rose to their feet, watching me warily. I saw Nolan still gripping the ink bottle, not yet having placed it back on the counter.
The secretary stood in the corridor holding a cold drink, pausing as though she wanted to say something to me.
I ignored them and walked toward the end of the hallway.
I mentally estimated the time—from the station to this building would take ten minutes at most.
Ten minutes to extract a confession.
Otherwise, when Detective Vance arrived, she might not even be able to restrict his freedom of movement—she could simply let Dr. Ashmore slip away.
I stopped at the end of the corridor.
The door opened slowly. Dr. Ashmore gripped the handle, standing behind it.
Through his glasses, his gaze rested on me, warm and mild.
---
Dr. Ashmore poured me a glass of water.
I surveyed the office. It was nearly identical to what I'd seen in the visions. The heavy bookshelves. The mahogany desk. In the upper right corner of that desk, a thick stack of papers, always.
I suddenly wanted to flip through those papers and see whether the Six Degrees Murder was spelled out in every detail.
Dr. Ashmore said, "Why didn't Detective Vance come with you?"
I said, "On her way. Just finished interrogating a suspect."
He said, "Which case's suspect?"
I smiled. "What do you think?"
He smiled too.
He blew on the steam rising from his cup and said, "You're not here to see a psychiatrist, are you?"
I said, "Why did you kill Serena."
He sipped his water, unhurried, and said, "She was someone I loved. How could I possibly…"
I said, word by word, "Serena was my beloved."
He waved it off. "A matter of sequence, that's all."
I clenched my fist tighter.
He seemed to notice his own lapse and murmured an apology.
He lowered his voice. "Mr. Ashford, you must know that her death pains me just as much as it pains you…"
I cut him off. "The reason I've been targeting only you all these years—there's a reason."
He fell suddenly silent and slowly set down his cup.
I said, "Go get the doll from your desk-mate, and don't let anyone catch you."
His arm trembled.
He said, "I don't know what you're talking about…"
I remembered what Detective Vance had told me—make the suspect believe the case is already exposed. Under pressure, he'll involuntarily reveal partial truth just to relieve himself.
Not enough. The pressure was still not enough.
I said, "If you dare steal it, I'll break your arm!"
He said, "That's enough…"
I said, "Your parents are here."
He shouted, "Enough!"
I seized his collar in one swift motion.
He gaped at me, eyes wide with terror.
I leaned close to his ear and whispered, "Just kidding."
I released him. He slumped back into his chair.
He hesitated, reaching for the call button on his desk.
I pressed his arm down.
I said, "Arriving in Sweden by ten in the morning. The night before, Detective Vance and I commit suicide one after another. The police will reconstruct Aunt Mae's murder method from the video footage, and it will match the confession she provided. Case closed—the serial falling case is solved."
I said, "Isn't that right? That was your plan."
He lifted his gaze.
I looked down into his eyes.
I said, "Detective Vance already has an arrest warrant. I'm sorry—that flight boarding is not happening."
A bitter smile flickered across his face.
I said, "Dr. Ashmore, I'm asking you as a private individual. I hope you'll give me an answer."
He asked instinctively, "What answer?"
I said, "Why did you kill her?"
He said, "I loved her…"
I slammed my palm on the desk. "Liar!"
I thought this thunderclap would shatter his last shred of delusion.
But his pupils contracted, and he clamped his mouth shut.
Strange—why that reaction?
In that instant, I realized: what Dr. Ashmore had blurted out was the truth. My roar had jolting him back to his senses.
But what he'd said was…
Dr. Ashmore fell silent for a long while. Then he sighed—and laughed.
He said, "You don't actually have an arrest warrant, do you."
He said, "So close, Mr. Ashford. What a shame."