Temptation [A Young Writer's Prize Submission]

Cain... the criminal?

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

He was a murderer from the beginning, and has nothing to do with the truth, because there is no truth in him.

John 8: 44

The one good thing about the hospital bed, I discovered, came with a pinch of salt - actually make that a plateful. Though Debra might complain that hospitals were old-fashioned and uppity, their redemption lay in the fact there was an overhead screen attached to my bed. I'd scrolled through the options, selected a show I wanted to watch, and settled back into my pillows, preparing to watch it. Then emerged the nightmarish catch: a sign flashed across the screen with a demand for money.

Just as I was wondering whether I could coerce Debra into paying for the TV, someone knocked on my door, almost politely. I made no reply, but they came in anyway; a man and woman.

I knew they were police officers almost the moment I saw them. Though they dressed in civilian clothing, there was no disguising the aura of power that surrounded them as they entered the room. No other occupation could give them such hardened expressions. Though the woman attempted to smile at me, it never reached her eyes.

"You're Mercy Falle?" the woman asked. She carried one of the hospital's folding chairs under one arm. I nodded once as she set the chair at the side of my bed. Pulling off her coat and draping it over the back of the chair, she sat at my side. The man stopped starkly at the end of my bed.

"You're not here to arrest me, are you?" I joked, with only a slight hint of alarm.

The woman chuckled warmly, shaking her head, while the man's gaze only became sharper. No joke on earth could melt the frown on his face.

"I'm Detective Murphy," the woman showed me her badge, probably not expecting the expression of repulsion that crossed my face as she flashed it at me. "This is my colleague, Detective Jones."

"We want to talk to you about the events of April 6th," Jones spoke in a deadly serious tone.

I paused for a moment, trying to gather my bearings. 6th April... that was last Sunday...

"Will Bishop," my mind spat the name onto my tongue before I could properly process it. "I don't want to press charges," I added instantly. At best, he would only serve a short sentence, but once he was out again, he'd have every intention of making me pay for every minute he spent outside.

Murphy cocked her head at me and, despite my panic, I realised she was quite pretty, despite her tough appearance. With her shoulder-length curly blonde hair, her big brown eyes; she could be an actress, if she hadn't appeared to be allergic to makeup. "I'm not sure what you mean, Mercy," she enquired, in a gentle manner, while Jones tensed.

"That's what you want to talk to me about, isn't it?" I questioned; "what happened with Will?"

Murphy shook her head. "If you are referring to William Theodore Bishop... his body was pulled out of the Thames this morning."

"What?" Disbelief coloured my voice; "He's dead?"

"Is there something you want to tell us?" Jones finally spoke. His tone was carefully light, but even I could hear the dangerous undercurrent.

I snapped my mouth closed. What Will had done to me was enough motive for anyone.

"Mercy, you are not a suspect." Murphy reassured me; "Your family has assured us of your whereabouts at the time of death."

"Then why do you need to ask me questions?" I asked, truly confused.

"You're one of a few people we're interviewing to mesh out a profile of the victim," Jones provided.