Autopsy of a Mind

"Detective Lewis," Nash reprimanded right on cue. 

"Well, the sick bastard slipped through the investigation and wasn't convicted. It's probably a good thing that he's dead. Divine retribution if you ask me." Dean looked up at me in shock. 

"But we still need to find out the guy who murdered him. That's our job. Keep your personal feelings out of this," Detective Nash said in a firm voice. I scoffed and looked away. Dean's eyes were trained on me. He was completely ignoring Detective Nash post that. 

The need to brag about what he had done was bubbling in his heart and I was the person who was on his side in his opinion. 

"Do you know who did it?"

"No."

"I think you do know who did it," Detective Nash pressed. He had grown aggressive, making himself out to be the bad guy in the situation.

"No," Dean replied confidently. He had been expecting this confrontation at some point in this conversation. He had not an ounce of guilt or emotion in his voice. If he hadn't done it, he would have been appalled and asked why he was being treated this way. But no, he had reacted like he knew exactly what the answer was and didn't want to tell. 

Like a stubborn child who had stolen but didn't want to admit to it. 

"Tell me something. His parents need to know what happened to him. They deserve better!" he demanded. 

"I don't know anything. I told you when I last saw her." 

"But that's not true. Because we have proof," I said calmly. We had rehearsed this moment multiple times before coming into the interrogation. We had planned who would reveal the surveillance tape to the suspect and exactly at which moment. 

The situation was completely transparent yet he continued to maintain his innocence by clinging to his narrative. It became evident that he was not going to budge. So I took control. I revealed the final and most substantial piece of evidence. Now, I had to tell him I understood and make him speak to me. 

"We have proof, Dean. I don't care about what you did. I am doing my job... I look at that man and I think about the people who did this to me. The pain I suffered and I see why this man needed to be punished. But I need to know the truth. I need to know the truth, Dean." My voice wavered as I spoke. I pressed my finger against the picture of the victim. 

"This man is dead." I bit out the words. "He was a horrible man and he deserved what was coming to him, but he is dead."

I had one leg crossed over the other, I lifted it and quickly kicked Detective Nash's chair, informing him that I needed alone time. This was something I had decided from the beginning. 

It was not a good plan to lower the pressure at this point, but we have changed methods. We were taking a risk by putting me there alone with this guy.

Detective Nash cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. I'll go to the bathroom." He sighed as he scrubbed his face, showing that he was tired of the conversation. Dean's eyes gleamed with victory as he watched Detective Nash stand up and leave the room. The door remained open and Dean kept his eyes on his retreating figure. 

I leaned back into my chair, unsure if I could pull the trick off. 

I was looking towards the wall, pretending to be deep in thought when Dean interrupted the silence. 

"What happened to you?" he whispered. 

I blinked and turned my head to him, confused. 

"That," he pointed towards the scars on my hand. "Did you do that to yourself?" he whispered. 

"No. Someone else did. I still remember every moment. But I came back alive." I gulped. 

"I'm terribly sorry. Those people should be punished. Were they punished?" I looked him in the eye.

"Is it really punishment that they received? They went behind the bars for a couple of years. Whereas I... I am living with the memories of what they did to me. My family, my friends... they are all suffering with me. I can only stop them from committing more crimes. I can't erase what they did to those other people, though." I sighed heavily.

"That is why someone needs to take care of those people. They slip through the cracks, use their money and power to slither right out of being punished, and then... and then they live excellent lives like nothing had happened. They boast about the horrendous things they did." He shook his head in disbelief. 

I wanted to chuckle. Sir, that is the exact same thing that you are doing. 

"It angers you, doesn't it? It makes me see red," I admitted. "Have you ever done anything to stop them? To punish them?" I asked, not glancing at him. I wanted to act like I was thinking about something I had done. 

"Sometimes when I see someone molest a woman on the street, I beat the shit out of them. It makes me happy to hurt them like they hurt those women," he revealed in a conspiratorial tone. This I knew about. This man had a record of violence. He had beat up some guys on the street for trying to mug and molest a prostitute on the street. There was nothing wrong with saving the woman, just that he had beat those guys half to death. They had to be admitted to the hospital.