the other Son

Chapter 36

The knowledge Finnegan had provided did strange things to Tristan's mind.

Theoretically, he thought of himself as level-headed and driven by intellect rather than impulses and emotions but right now the - almost - certainty of the killer being somewhere on this godforsaken rock in the sea was throwing him off. It brought a whole new dimension to the threat and suddenly everyone - McParrish, Eddy, Becks, Dirk, Thyra, Griffin, hell, even Brenda - appeared to be suspicious. A word, a gesture, a look - everything was proof of their guilt.

At half past seven in the morning, he found himself standing by the kitchen window, gray coffee cup in hand, and staring out at the street and scrutinizing his downstairs neighbour for any signs of murderous intentions. It was fucking ridiculous.

The strong, hot coffee soothed some of the racing thoughts and he sat down at the table once his noisy neighbour had disappeared around the corner of the street. Where was the man heading every morning anyway?

Scoffing softly at his own apprehension, Tristan pulled up the local paper's website to check for any noteworthy news.

He'd skipped past the announcement of a cake sale at the church when his phone rang from where he'd left it on the kitchen counter. With an annoyed huff, Tristan turned on his chair and stretched to reach it without bothering to stand up.

"Yes?"

"Mister Kinlaw, DI Beran speaking."

There were voices in the background, keyboard clatter, hurried footsteps - a plethora of noises found in any kind of office.

Tristan took a sip of his coffee and replied, "Good morning, Detective Beran."

"I was wondering if you could provide information to something odd concerning the case," Beran said without much preamble. A door fell shut and the office noises were cut off.

"I will do my best, Detective Beran."

There was a long inhale. "Why the fuck did you put obituaries in every fucking newspaper under someone else's name?"

Tristan couldn't help but chuckle at Beran's unadulterated and unrestrained anger. He'd never heard the other man curse and felt strangely accomplished for vexing him so much to lose any sense of decency and professionalism.

"Now that's a wild accusation, Detective Beran."

"You can't tell me you don't have anything to do with it - the address the invoices were asked to be sent to is directly across the street from your apartment and Doctor Walsh neither commissioned said obituaries or intends to rent a holiday home in Eanverness. This isn't some sort of crazy coincidence." Beran paused briefly, probably to calm his nerves. "Why the fuck did you do this?"

Tristan hummed under his breath, tilting his head in thought although the Detective couldn't see it. "Maybe I'd hoped you'd come to check the address in person?"

"Are you serious?" The anger had returned to Beran's voice full force.

Tristan smirked.

"What have you planned?" Beran demanded to know.

"Nothing, Detective."

Beran mumbled something unintelligible.

"Is that all, Detective?" Tristan asked innocently.

"I should arrest you for obstruction of justice."

The threat was more than empty and Tristan couldn't help but huff out a gruff laugh at the poor attempt to intimidate him. "I'd love to see you try."