Chapter 39 #2
Anton and I glance at each other, both recalling ‘Superbump,’ I’m sure. It lightens the space between us for the first time.
She removes the monitor, and the nurse comes back to have me sign the paperwork. I slip my shirt back on, but grip the edge of the hospital bed before I’m ready to stand.
“Are you okay?” Anton is instantly concerned.
I sigh. “I’m going to interview Ingram now.”
“I get why you want to.”
I can tell he wants to put a but after that.
But you don’t have to.
But nobody would think less of you if you rested and went home.
I already know both those things, and he knows I do.
But I need some closure. I want Justin Ingram to look me in the eye and confess to the woman he underestimated.
The station feels different when I walk in this time.
Like something volatile has finally settled into place.
For a moment, I let myself wonder if I ever could have expected this when I decided to be an officer. This job. This badge. I press a hand to my belly. There sure is a thin line between safety and chaos.
The sound of a chair scraping somewhere around the corner draws my attention, and Callum appears.
“I thought I heard the door.” He scans my face for the answer before he asks the question. “You sure you want to do this?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
He studies me for another beat, then dips his chin. “He’s in the holding cell. I’ll meet you in Interview.”
I follow Callum down the hall and turn into the station’s only interview room while he continues toward the back, where Ingram is being held. The space is small and functional. A table. Two chairs. No room to hide behind theatrics.
I take a seat, shrug out of my jacket, and hang it on the back of the chair. My tote goes on the floor. I pull out my notebook—empty of questions. Callum told me he doesn’t think Ingram is going to make this difficult. After all, he did have a ticket to flee, but he turned himself in instead.
That’s not a man bracing for a fight. That’s a man with a confession on his tongue.
A minute later, Callum returns with Ingram.
He’s cuffed, wrists held low, shoulders neither slumped nor squared. He looks…tired. Not defiant. Not cornered. Worn down in a way that suggests this has been building for years.
That alone forces me to recalibrate. I came here thinking I’d be staring down my nemesis, but have found a broken man in his stead.
Callum seats him across from me, then steps back to lean against the wall, arms crossed.
I let the silence stretch with a confidence I never felt before. Something about being part of catching Mike, surviving that cliff, and growing a strong-as-hell baby has infused me with newfound strength.
But as Ingram said, opposite me isn’t some cartoon villain twirling his moustache. It’s a man who is ready for this to end.
“Well, Ingram,” I say calmly, “I bet this didn’t go the way you expected.”
He exhales through his nose. “You could say that again.”
His posture is open. Arms loose and hands relaxed on his lap. No crossed limbs. He isn’t fighting me.
“You covered your brother’s murders?”
He corrects me. “Mariana Reyes. She is the only one I knew about. My brother told me. And yes, I covered it up.”
It should send a chill through my bones, knowing that this cop across from me could do such a thing, but there’s remorse in his confession. He didn’t want to.
I can’t imagine a moment like that where a family member has done something unspeakable, something that will take them away from you for years, ruin their life, possibly forever. Prison is a hard thing to survive, both mentally and physically.
I know the bonds of family. They run deep, and though I wouldn’t ever do what Ingram has done, there’s a very small part of me that understands it.
But that mistake led to more.
I note what he said and ask my next question. “Are you aware that your brother Mike Ingram confessed to twelve murders?”
His eyes fly open. For a split second, shock strips everything else away. Then his gaze drops, disbelief heavy in his words.
“God…no…”
“He did,” I say evenly. “Your brother is a serial killer, Justin. And you enabled him.”
His head snaps back up. “I didn’t know he’d end up like that.
I thought Mariana was a mistake. That something broke in him temporarily.
” His mouth turns downward. “I helped him. Yes. But I never thought he’d do it again.
I covered it up, told him to leave, and I cut ties.
I didn’t know what he was doing after that. ”
I glance briefly at Callum. Then back to Ingram.
“So why obstruct justice in the Zoe Marshall case if you didn’t know it was him?”
For the first time, he looks down at the table.
“It felt familiar,” he says slowly. “Too familiar. I didn’t know he was back, but if he was, that was a mistake. I shouldn’t have tried to make it disappear. I didn’t know for sure it was murder.” He looks up again, eyes raw. “I swear on my children’s lives.”
The desperation in his voice lands harder than the words.
I think of my own baby. I would never swear on her life unless I meant it. Then again, I would never cover up a murder either. Both things can be true.
“So you didn’t know he killed her?”
“No,” he says. “I suspected. I worried. But I didn’t know.”
I hold his gaze. Let him feel the weight of being measured.
“You obstructed the investigation,” I say. “Why should I believe you didn’t know?”
“The first time I covered to save him.” No hesitation. “The second time, I covered to save myself. If it had Mike’s name on it, it could have led back to Mariana. And then—”
He doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t have to.
If Mike had been caught with Zoe’s blood on his hands, patterns would have been re-examined. Old ground reopened. Buried truths unearthed.
Shame floods his face, unguarded.
“Why run, Justin?” I ask quietly. “Why buy a ticket to Mexico?”
He can’t meet my eyes. “I planned to send my kids to Disney. Make it look like a family trip. Then disappear.”
“And?”
“I got to the airport,” he swallows thickly. “And I realized if I ran, I’d never see my kids again.”
His features are tight with remorse.
“If I stayed…maybe fifteen, twenty years. Maybe parole. They’d be adults. But I could still be their father. I could still see them build lives. Maybe even meet my grandkids.”
He didn’t turn himself in out of courage.
He turned himself in out of love.
The room is heavy with consequence.
I glance over at Callum. I’m exhausted, so I stand and grab my bag from the floor. “We’ve got what we need,” I say.
There’s work to do to confirm this statement, but it’s enough to begin.
Callum pushes off the wall, heading toward Ingram, and just as I’m about to walk through the threshold, I turn.
I look back at Ingram. “One more thing.” There’s one last thing that doesn’t fit the narrative. “Why do you think your brother tipped off Anton Easton about the quarry today?”
Ingram gazes at me with purpose. “He didn’t.”
“Then who did?”
His mouth tightens. “I got a call when we were on our way to the airport. Unknown number. I almost ignored it.” He exhales slowly. “It was Mike.”
The silence stretches.
“He didn’t say much,” Justin continues. “But he told me not to worry. Said he was taking care of it. That everything would be buried for good.”
He gazes at me with a sincerity that makes me realize how complicated people are.
“You’re a good cop, Officer Johnson,” he says. “And you’re going to be a good mother, too.”
I study his face; something like respect flickers there.
“I’m the one who made that call.”