Chapter 4

They drove me back in a separate car, a cage in the back like I was some rabid animal. The street was still a mess of official vehicles, the curious neighbors replaced by a grim-faced forensics team. They walked me, still in cuffs, up the porch steps of Benton's house. The air was thick with the smell of luminol and death.

Inside, the house was a chaotic stage. Forensic markers dotted the floor like bizarre confetti. They positioned Caleb near the doorway, with Jennifer, Andy, and Clark standing around him. I was placed in a chair in the corner, an unwilling audience to my own framing.

"Okay, Caleb," Clark said, his voice calm and authoritative. "Take your time. We just want you to tell us exactly what happened. Start from the beginning. Where were you when you saw... Detective Hughes?"

Caleb licked his lips, his eyes flicking toward me for a split second. "I was... outside. Across the street. I heard shouting."

"What kind of shouting?" Jennifer prompted, her psychologist's tone gentle and encouraging.

"Angry shouting," Caleb said, gaining a little momentum. "My dad... and him." He pointed at me. "He was yelling at my dad about money."

"Liar," I said from the chair, my voice flat. "I haven't spoken to your father in six months, and it was about his overgrown hedges."

"Scott, be quiet," Clark warned.

"Why? So he can build his fantasy?" I shot back. "Let him talk. Let's see how deep this hole goes."

Goaded, Caleb's agitation grew. "He was furious! He pushed my dad. My dad fell back, onto the floor, right... right there." He pointed to a chalk outline. "And then... then he pulled out the knife."

His description became more vivid, more animated. He described the glint of the blade under the lamp light, the sound of the impact, the way his father gasped. It was a good performance, but it was just that-a performance.

"And the music box?" Jennifer asked softly. "When did he place the music box?"

"After," Caleb said, his breathing heavy. "He took it out of his pocket. A little wooden box. He opened it... and put it right on his chest. The music... it was horrible."

I watched him, a cold, detached part of my brain analyzing his every word, every gesture. He was getting lost in the lie, embellishing it, making it his own. He was getting comfortable. Too comfortable.

"You're pathetic," I taunted from the chair. "You can't even lie convincingly. What was the music, Caleb? What lullaby was it?"

He hesitated. "I... I don't know. It was just... creepy music."

"You don't know?" I pressed, a shark sensing blood in the water. "You were right there, you saw it all, but you can't remember the tune? The same tune that was playing when Jennifer's parents were murdered? The one detail that connects these two crimes, and it just slipped your mind?"

"I was scared!" he yelled, his face flushing. "I wasn't paying attention to the song!"

"Oh, you were paying attention," I said, my voice dropping to a low, intense growl. "You were paying attention to every single detail, weren't you? You had to. You had to get it right. You had to make it look just like the first time."

I stood up, the chair scraping against the floor. "You had to make sure you put the box on his chest, just like how it was put on Jennifer's mother. You even made sure to turn her father's head to the side, facing the wall, just like the original file said."

Caleb's eyes widened in panic. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.

"How would you know that, Caleb?" I asked, my voice deadly quiet. "How would you know that Jennifer's father's head was turned to the wall? That detail was never released to the public. It was never in any newspaper. It was only in the confidential case file."

The room went dead silent. Jennifer, Andy, Clark-they all froze, their eyes locked on Caleb.

"The only people who knew that detail," I continued, taking a slow step forward, "were the original investigators... and the killer."

In that split second of stunned silence, I moved. I lunged toward Andy, grabbing the spare cuffs from his belt. Before anyone could react, I spun around and snapped one cuff onto Caleb's trembling wrist and the other to a nearby radiator pipe.

Click.

The sound echoed in the silent room.

Caleb stared at the cuff on his wrist, then at me, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated terror.

I looked at Jennifer. A small, sad smile touched her lips. Andy let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for an hour. Clark nodded slowly, a look of grim satisfaction on his face.

"The music box doesn't show you anything, Caleb," I said, my voice ringing with clarity. "It's just a music box. The reflection was a lie. A coordinated act. A charade we all played."

I looked at my wife, my partner, my captain. The crushing weight of their betrayal lifted, replaced by the soaring, brilliant light of the truth.

"We just needed you to break," I said to Caleb. "And you did."