"I found these," said Hughes, "in your sock drawer. Start talking."
In my sock drawer?! "Hughes, what the hell are you talking about?" Dickinson asked him, indignant.
"Don't you play dumb with me!" The man exclaimed, the barrel of his gun (well, maybe not his, but the one he was holding anyways) trembling. "You killed all of those people! Maybe you were smart enough to wipe your prints off of all of this, but the fact that I found it here will be good enough for most juries. Put your hands behind your back." He pulled the pair of handcuffs off of his belt with his free hand.
No! He's not going to take us in! Wailed the voice. He planted that here, don't you see?
Why did you say us this time? Dickinson asked. Normally, you refer to me as "you". Maybe I really am crazy, but even I can see what's going on here. He chuckled. "So I was right all along, wasn't I? I always thought that something seemed off about you, Partner. Absolutely everyone thought that I was crazy for saying it, but I mean, it all adds up. Your twin brother dies in a car crash, then sets of twins start to die. Evidence is rarely left, and if it is, it mysteriously goes missing. And then there was that ordeal with, Walter, the fourth victim. You were on the team that was looking after him, and he just disappeared without a trace. Bethany McGrady was killed by someone much larger than her, and her sister was killed in your house, with your knife, the same knife that was used to kill another man yesterday. It all points to you. Most people wouldn't suspect a thing, you're more passionate about catching the murderer than anyone, and he even killed your old friend, didn't he?"
"Shut the fuck up!" Hughes yelled.
He ignored that order. "Doesn't that seem a little odd to you? A seasoned cop like Myles going off on his own on a vauge, mysterious lead, leaving only a voicemail to let people know what he was doing? Don't you find it odd that he wouldn't ask for backup? Don't you find it odd that the same person who all of the scant evidence in this case points to would know exactly how to take recordings of his voice and play them in any way he wanted? Don't you find it odd that that exact thing was done just yesterday? When a woman who knew just enough about the Gemini Murders to be of use to the police was killed for a seemingly unrelated reason by a man who ... Well, maybe Eugene isn't the nicest guy, but-"
Hughes fired a shot and the pillow next to Dickinson's head exploded. "Shut up! Just- Just keep quiet, okay!" The man roared. "What do you- What do you want me to say?!" The large man wailed. "I ... I killed him Matthew, I killed my little brother, my own flesh and blood it ... It's all my fault. I didn't mean to start any of this. I was at the bar and I was drinking and this guy was being really friendly and he mentioned that he had a younger twin brother and ... So I followed him to his car and I ... I stabbed him in the neck with his necklace. Afterwards, I panicked and I just ... I thought 'His brother shouldn't have to deal with the pain of living without him' so- so I killed him too. And I broke into that house to help cover my tracks, no one would suspect that a serial killer would also be a thief, and the car got sold to that woman and she knew too much so ... And the fence knew even more that's why..." Hughes looked at the floor with a sad expression on his face for a moment before looking back up angrily. "There, I admitted it, are you happy now?!"
As if he might as well go the whole nine yards, he rubbed his hand on his cheek and held it out, displaying the make up that had come off on his fingers. There wasn't much of it left to begin with, and Hughes rubbed off most of the rest with his fingers. The scratches on his cheek were now prominently displayed. They had been given to him two days earlier, so they were beginning to fade, but it was still red and ugly, and it was still easy to see that they had been made by a hand clawing at him and pulling down.
And so the truth comes out, he finally admitted that he did all of it. If only this were all under different circumstances.
He's not in the best mental state right now, if I want to live, this is my best shot, so I'd appreciate it if you kept quiet for a minute, can you do that?
Aye, sir! The voice said mockingly. Dickinson quickly leapt forward and smacked the hand that Hughes was holding the gun with. He then tackled the other man so they landed on top of the coffee table, cracking the wood. Somewhere in both of their minds, both of the men knew, without really thinking about it, that this was it. Whoever lost this wasn't going to leave this room, it was a fight to the death, with innocence and life as the prizes.
Time to meet our fate, eh? Said the voice.
Dickinson didn't answer back.
Claire Williams heard a gunshot off in the distance from her vantage point in the front seat of her car. She had been driving slowly around the city for the past few hours, listening to her police scanner in hopes of news about Alex Hughes. A week ago, she would have been out with helping the official police search. Four years ago, she would have been useful in the search. Then again, a week ago she wasn't wanted for attempted murder.
The middle aged woman cursed herself every time she remembered when she shot that cop. She had never gotten to know Hughes very well, and the last time she had seen him up close was three years before. She had followed him around for a few weeks, as often as she could, but she always kept her distance, never coming close enough for either of them to clearly see the other. Even if she had been younger, it would have been difficult to recognize him by sight alone. So when that man came up to her in her car, she asked him who he was, if he was the man she was looking for, and he had responded.
"Well, can I ask you why you're looking for Hughes first?" The cop had asked her.
"I just ... Have some buisness with him." Claire had never been good at lying, she had detested it since she was a child.
Something about her tone or her body language must have tipped him off, told him that she was up to no good. "Well, ma'am, I'm Alex Hughes, what can I help you with?"
I remembered you as being a lot taller. Thought the woman as she brought up her weapon and pulled the trigger. In a daze, she quickly drove off. He wasn't the first person that she had ever killed. It wasn't until she heard the broadcast on her scanner later that night.
Attention, all officers ... For a suspect in a red pickup truck, physical description unknown. I repeat ... Carl Cook has been shot, the suspect is driving a red pickup truck, keep an eye out.
That was all it took. Claire turned the scanner off and leaned back in her chair. So he lied. Dammit! It's going to be hard to move around like this. She thought for a few moments. In the end, she decided to just keep doing what she was doing. They weren't going to arrest her just for driving a red truck. But she couldn't hide forever, nor could she just let Hughes go unpunished.
Myles spoke of his suspicion, but only to me. It's taboo to even think of another cop as a criminal, so he never told anyone else about his thoughts ... And then he just went missing when he "followed a lead". And that's when I knew, Hughes killed him. He killed my son.
The woman continued to drive in the direction of the gunshot. It had to have been around here somewhere. And then she saw it. A dark blue house with a broken window. While she was debating whether or not to check it out, she heard a yell of pain.
That settled it, she was going in.