Chapter Fourteen The Interview
The interrogation room sounded far more intimidating than what it really was.
Plastic and metal chairs, a metal table that was bolted to the floor, and a faint hum from the vent above that never quite shut off. Wickham sat at the table, hands folded loosely, posture relaxed enough to look cooperative without appearing submissive.
People who were nervous fidgeted. People who were guilty rushed.
Wickham did neither.
I took my seat across from him and opened the folder without comment, giving him time to read the room again, to recalibrate now that Lydia was no longer present. His gaze tracked my movements with polite interest.
“Thank you for coming in,” I said.
“Of course,” he replied easily. “I’m happy to help clear things up.”
That phrasing again. Clear things up. Not answer questions. Not cooperate with an investigation. He framed himself as the solution, not the subject.
I noted it and moved on.
“Let’s go over your role with the Bennet family from your perspective,” I invited, giving him room to hopefully make a mistake.
He nodded, already prepared. “I was hired to assist with operations for a Christmas event. It was short-term, and I was mostly consulting on how to run it. That’s what I do for a living.”
“What type of event was it?” I questioned.
“A dance. Lydia framed it as a way to let the community know the SnowDrop Inn was back in business,” Wickham answered.
“You were paid?”
“Of course.”
“What was the total of your fee?”
He gave a number without hesitation. It was close to the amount the Bennets had reported as stolen. In my opinion that wasn’t an accident.
“And who approved the payments?” I asked.
“Lydia,” he said. “With her parents’ knowledge. They were all very happy to have hired me.”
“I was informed that you had given your services for free,” I told him.
Wickham laughed. “Why would I do that? My time and expertise is worth money. If I weren’t hired by the Bennet family, I certainly would have worked at a different event.”
“They insisted that you agreed to work for free,” I pressed.
“Do they have any proof of that? I don’t recall signing anything to that effect. As I said, I’m a busy man and would never work for nothing,” Wickham told me with a smirk on his face.
There was no written agreement. The Bennets had already admitted to that folly. It was their word against Wickham’s word which made for a weak case and I realized that Wickham knew that.
“Was there a written agreement?” I asked, even though I knew the answer.”
He spread his hands slightly. “No. Everything was discussed verbally.”
I let that sit for a moment.
“So there was no contract,” I repeated.
“No,” he agreed. “Which was fine at the time. Everyone seemed comfortable with that decision.”
Comfortable. Another careful word.
“The Bennets insist that you were working for free and you stole the money from the ticket sales,” I revealed.
Wickham gave me a look that approximated shock.
“Did they really? How terrible that they would accuse me of such a thing. Just because their event was smaller than anticipated, doesn’t mean they should try to recoup their losses on me.
Have they told anyone else? I might have to sue them for defamation or slander.
I really don’t understand the legal term, but if they are damaging my reputation with such blatant lies… ”
He shook his head like he couldn’t believe it.
It was almost believable.
“And the charity funds have gone missing as well. The money raised during the dance,” I added.
His brow furrowed, a convincing display of concern. “I never handled that money.”
“You didn’t collect it?” I persisted.
“No.”
“Did you see where the box went?” I questioned.
“I assumed the family had it,” he said. “They were running the inn.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“There was no reason to,” he replied mildly. “I trusted them.”
There it was. The reversal.
I kept my tone even. “You can see how this all raises questions.”
“Of course,” he said. “I would be asking the same questions if I were you.”
I made a note, even though there was nothing new to record. I took my time intentionally, hoping that silence would make Wickham uncomfortable and talk. Wickham didn’t take the bait.
He waited.
“What is your relationship to Lydia Bennet?” I questioned.
“There is no relationship. She hired me to do a job, that’s all,” Wickham easily stated.
“She seemed to think there was something more,” I replied.
Wickham had a little laugh. “Did she tell you we were boyfriend and girlfriend, or something? I knew she was interested in me, but I’m a professional. I don’t mix work and personal life. Besides, she’s not exactly my type. She’s very chatty. It got on my nerves, the way she would talk, talk, talk.”
I paused, not bothering to write that down.
Wickham leaned forward, understanding flickering across his features. “Oh? You didn’t like that. Do you have a thing for her?”
“How long have you been back in Maple Ridge?” I asked, ignoring his comment..
“Just a few days." He tapped a finger on the table. “If you are questioning me and taking her side because you happen to be infatuated with the girl, I’m going to have to talk to your supervisor about police bias.”
I stopped and coldly looked at him, waiting before replying. “I can assure you, there is no bias and I am doing my utmost to uphold the law as a professional of the police force.”
“I hope so. I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes if I find out it’s any different,” Wickham calmly mentioned.
“What is the reason for your return to Maple Ridge?” I asked as I made a note.
He smiled, small and unconcerned, leaning back in his seat. “Work.”
I looked up. “What kind of work?”
“Hale Lodge has hired me as event coordinator for their Holiday Gala. It’s a very prestigious event and they hire only the best,” Wickham boasted.
The words landed with quiet precision.
I kept my expression neutral, though something sharpened internally, a line snapping into place.
The Holiday Gala was a very public event with high visibility.
A lot of people would be there, creating enough confusion that it would be an excellent opportunity for Wickham to try to defraud the Lodge.
“I see,” I said.
He watched me closely, clearly assessing whether this information mattered. When I didn’t react, he relaxed again, settling deeper into his chair. “I told you that I have nothing to hide.”
“Are you aware of any concerns raised by the lodge about hiring you?” I wondered.
“None,” he said easily. “I came highly recommended.”
We went back through the timeline again, slower this time. Dates. Conversations. Responsibilities that were always adjacent to authority but never squarely within it. Wickham was careful to place himself just outside every point of accountability.
It was frustrating.
It was also deliberate.
I asked him for references for previous jobs he had done. I accepted his business card so I could contact him if I had further questions, and to look at his website.
When I finally closed the folder, he straightened, polite expectation returning to his face.
“Is there anything else? I would prefer to get on with my day,” he remarked.
“No,” I said. “Not at this point.”
He nodded, satisfied. “Then I assume I’m free to go.”
“Yes,” I said.
He stood smoothly, already victorious in his own mind. “I hope this puts things to rest.”
“It clarifies them,” I replied.
That seemed to amuse him. “I’m glad to hear it.”
As he reached the door, he paused, hand on the knob.
“For what it’s worth,” he said lightly, “I’m sad Lydia is upset about this misunderstanding. She seemed like such a nice girl.”
I didn’t believe him for a moment.
the door closed behind him with a soft click that felt louder than it should have.
I sat alone for a moment, staring at the space he had occupied.
The chair across from me was empty now, the indentation in the cushion already easing back into shape, like Wickham had never been there at all. I gathered the papers slowly, aligning edges that did not need aligning, giving my hands something to do while my thoughts settled.
The interview hadn’t failed. That was the wrong word.
It had done exactly what Wickham had designed it to do which gave the belief that he had done this multiple times before.
Wickham had answered every question without contradiction. He had never raised his voice, never rushed, never claimed authority he couldn’t plausibly justify. He had placed himself just far enough from every decision to avoid responsibility while remaining close enough to benefit from the outcome.
That kind of precision didn’t happen by accident.
I stood, carried the file back to my desk, and was about to begin transcribing the interview. The record would show cooperation, clarity, and a lack of evidence sufficient to proceed. I had just gotten settled when Gail appeared.
“Lydia Bennet is in the lobby,” she told me before heading back to her desk.
I nodded and closed out the computer program.
When I stepped into the lobby, I caught sight of Wickham at the front desk. He laughed at something Gail said, easy and charming, the picture of a man inconvenienced but unbothered.
He glanced over his shoulder and saw me.
Our eyes met.
There was no challenge in his expression. Just a mild, knowing look, as if we were two men who understood the rules and had agreed to play within them.
He nodded once.
I did not return the gesture.
He left the station moments later, coat buttoned, stride unhurried, already blending back into the rhythm of the town. Watching him go, I felt the familiar frustration tighten in my chest that wasn’t anger exactly, but something colder. The knowledge that truth alone was rarely enough.
I turned back to the lobby seating area where Lydia was sitting, hands shoved deep into her pockets. She straightened the moment she saw me, searching my face before I had even crossed the distance.
“It’s over?” she asked.
“Not really,” I said, sitting down beside her.
And then, because she deserved it, I told her a paired down version of what had happened.
How Wickham had been calm and answered all questions fully.
He had explained away the Bennets ’ accusations and since there was no definitive proof of a contract, there was very little I could do at the moment.
I explained what the law required for a charge to be laid.
She listened without interrupting, jaw tight with tension. “So that’s it. Gavin gets away with stealing from my family.”
“For now,” I replied. “However, I’m not done with my investigation.”
She let out a breath that sounded more like a laugh than anything else. “He makes it sound like I imagined everything.”
“I know,” I said.
“He asked if I had proof at the cafe,” she continued. “Like I was the unreasonable one.”
I chose my words carefully. “What he did relies on people questioning themselves before they question him.”
She looked at me then. “You believe me.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Yes,” I said.
The relief on her face was subtle but unmistakable.
“I should go,” she said after a moment. “I have things to do.”
“Of course,” I said, standing up. I walked her to the lobby doors and waited as she adjusted her coat then went out into the cold.
Once back at my desk, I pulled up the gala assignment details, reading through them more carefully this time. My role was crowd management with security oversight. I would coordinate with private staff and the manager. Nothing unusual on paper.
In practice, it meant proximity to the man who I believed had stolen from the Bennets.
There would be money, vendors, charity donations, temporary hires, and loose oversight in the name of efficiency. The kind of environment Wickham thrived in.
This time, I would be there to watch him.