CHAPTER 17. SCOOP
As I head toward the Shorewitch Police Department, I try to convince myself that Xavier could be anywhere—just walking around, sulking, maybe chasing some lead that has nothing to do with Bernard Nimoy or the Bridge case. Maybe he only now got to The Chronicle and is talking to Fred the way I did.
But my gut says that’s not it. He figured it out back at the pub. And pushing me away was him trying to keep me out of it. Keep me safe. From Bernard.
I called Willand first, tried to explain everything and asked him to send someone after Bernard Nimoy, but he started asking questions and eventually told me to come in—probably figured it was too much to make sense of over the phone.
So now I’m on my way, very annoyed I have to waste time on this.
I tried Fred, but his phone’s off, so I texted asking for Bernard’s number.
Thought about messaging Ernest too but figured I should talk to Willand first—no point panicking the older Ormond until I know more.
As I sit in the back of the cab, phone in hand, checking the screen every ten seconds, all I can think about is how much I hate taxis—and how Xavier and I really need to buy a car once this case is over.
We’ll drive to cases together and go home after.
The thought gives me a bit of comfort—makes me believe there’s going to be an after.
When the cab finally pulls up to the station, I jump out, the cool wind catching my hair, and head straight for the entrance. I push through the doors and metal detectors, grab a visitor pass, and move fast through the lobby toward the elevators, barely registering the people around me.
As soon as the elevator doors open, I step in with a couple of officers. I can feel them looking at me, curious, but I don’t care. I count every second as the elevator crawls upward, people getting in and out, one floor after another. Finally, the fifth.
I walk fast down the hallway to Willand’s office and push the door open without knocking.
He’s by the window on the phone. When he sees me, he gives a quick nod and gestures toward the chair. I stay standing—too on edge to sit—and wait while he finishes.
When he hangs up, he turns to me and says, “Tell me what’s going on.”
“We don’t have time,” I say, the pressure in my chest tightening—but he cuts me off.
“I’ve already filed a request to trace Bernard’s phone,” he says. “We’ll have to wait, but I marked it urgent.” He sits down, motioning for me to do the same. “I’ve also sent two units to his office and his home. So now, I need you to tell me what’s going on.”
A flicker of relief cuts through the panic—at least Willand took me seriously. Maybe we still have a shot at stopping Bernard before things get worse.
I sink into the chair across from him, only now realizing how tense I’ve been. My legs feel shaky, like I’ve finally stopped running.
“You remember Cormac Bridge?” I say, and Willand nods. “He was in charge of installing cameras in all the Farewell Security homes.”
“I know,” Willand says, his voice calm. “But what does Bernard have to do with this?”
I’m about to continue, but the door behind me opens. I glance over my shoulder and see Crowley step in. Her expression is unusually serious—none of the dry amusement she usually wears. She gives Willand a brief look, then stays by the door, silent.
Willand turns his attention back to me, waiting.
“I think…” I start, then pause—because even now, saying it out loud feels as ridiculous as it did over the phone. “I think Bernard killed Cormac Bridge.”
“I gathered that,” Willand says patiently. “But how are they connected, exactly?”
“Remember the scandal about Minister Craig and his special advisor?”
Willand frowns, clearly thrown.
“What—that they’re…gay?” he says the last word cautiously, and I can already see him starting to connect the dots between that story and the one about Xavier and me.
“Yes,” I say, trying to keep the sudden flicker of embarrassment out of my voice. “Bernard was the one covering the whole thing.”
Willand gives a slow nod, still not quite following.
“Christopher Hill,” I say. “The minister’s advisor. Bridge went to his house the day he died—he was one of the clients in Bridge’s calendar. The last one, actually.”
“Okay,” Willand says, trying to keep up.
“I know it sounds weird, but bear with me,” I go on. “Bridge was there to fix the cameras. But what if Bernard broke in while he was still inside—digging for dirt on the minister and his lover?”
Willand frowns but doesn’t interrupt.
“What if Bridge caught him, Bernard panicked, ran—and later followed him and killed him?”
“Then why didn’t Bridge report the break-in?” Willand asks.
“He tried,” I say. “He called Hill after eight, but Hill didn’t answer.”
“Okay,” Willand says slowly, and I can tell he thinks it’s a stretch. “What else do you have?”
“Bernard somehow knew Xavier and I were working on Bridge’s robbery case. He probably figured you’d hand us the murder too, so he needed a diversion. Fred Collins—his colleague at The Chronicle—told me today that Bernard paid him to bug me.”
“Bug?” Willand echoes.
I nod. “He put an audio recording device and a tracker into my belt. Fred confirmed Bernard was behind the scandal about Xavier and me. I’m assuming it was meant to distract us from the murder.”
“So he was trying to throw you off,” Willand says after a pause, and I can hear the effort it takes for him to keep the skepticism out of his voice.
So I tell him everything from the start in details.
Meeting Fred. Us getting drunk at the bar (I leave out that it happened because of my argument with Xavier).
Then the article. The swarm of journalists waiting for us on every corner.
The tracker Selena Hast gave us and the bug we found later.
How we met Nimoy. How we saw him again at that café—on the same street where Bridge was killed. I tell him about Mrs. Bridge—
And then I stop.
It hits me—Xavier said the killer might’ve been listening in on conversations in Willand’s office. That’s how he lured him into Mrs. Bridge’s house…
“Shit,” I mutter, heart picking up, realizing Bernard might’ve heard all this.
“Wait,” Willand says, startled. “You think Bernard killed Mrs. Bridge? Then broke into your apartment and attacked you?”
I nod, but my mind’s already elsewhere.
“Then why did Nimoy rob Bridge a week before the murder?” Crowley asks, stepping forward and leaning against Willand’s desk. There’s no usual scepticism in her voice, which gives me hope they might take me seriously after all.
I blink, glance up at her, realizing something. “He didn’t. It was just a coincidence. Bernard probably wanted it to seem connected. He was keeping tabs on every criminal case in Shorewitch—and he was talking to you, right? So he had to know about the robbery.”
Willand and Crowley exchange a glance before looking back at me.
“So all of this started because Nimoy was spying on the minister and his advisor?” Willand says, frowning.
“Yes,” I say, though I’m only half-present now. My eyes move around the office, scanning for where Bernard could’ve hidden a bug.
“Well, he did get a promotion thanks to that story,” Crowley notes. “And he’s been here coaxing you an awful lot lately, boss.”
Willand sits there, unmoving, thinking. I stay silent, giving him space to think, hoping he’s not going to disregard me.
After a long couple of moments, he finally looks at me and says, “Okay, so let me get this straight: Nimoy was illegally spying on the minister and his lover. So what—he decides to get into the guy’s house?
” He pauses, waiting for me to continue.
“Yes,” I say, thinking it through as I speak, “He probably stalked them for a while, that’s how the first photos got into the paper.
Both Minister and Hill must have realized they’re being watched, so Hill decided to install cameras in his house.
Nimoy didn’t know that, but he needed new material and he might have got inside the house when Bridge was there. ”
“So Bridge catches him,” Willand says, continuing my line of thought. “What does Nimoy do next?”
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “I suppose he ran away, but then realized Bridge saw his face, or something, so he went after him and killed him. Xavier and I actually bumped into Nimoy in a café next to the crime scene, he said he lived nearby. So if Nimoy followed Bridge and realized they lived in the same area, it wasn’t hard for him to ambush him later that night. ”
“Is that a coincidence?” Crowley says. “That they live nearby?”
I shrug. “I don’t know, but the waiter in the café knew him like he was a usual there.”
“Okay,” Willand says, though I can tell by his expression that he’s really stretching it to believe my theory.
“So it’s all a big coincidence. But why didn’t Nimoy get caught on the cameras outside of the alley where Bridge was killed?
He didn’t come in or out of that alley that day, that’s for sure. ”
I pause, thinking, aware of both Crowley and Willand watching me. I’m sure I’m right—I just don’t know how Bernard pulled it off.
“I don’t know,” I say honestly, and to my surprise, Willand nods.
“Alright,” he says, “We’ll figure it out. I still have many questions, but now I actually feel better about arresting him.”
I nod, letting out a big breath. Not of relief exactly, though close to it.
Before we can continue the conversation, Willand’s phone rings. He gives me a quick look, before picking it up.
“Willand,” he says, and I freeze, watching him, my heart suddenly pounding. “Yes. Yes. Got it, thank you.” He puts the phone back in his pocket. “Nimoy’s gone. He’s not at work, he left early today. And not in his apartment.”
“He probably found out we’re on him,” Crowley says, thoughtful, then looks at Willand. “I’ll put an APB on his car, chief.”
“Thanks,” Willand says, and she leaves the room.