Chapter 240: Chapter Two Hundred And Forty
"I am the great Adair Reed," the frail man said, his voice a hoarse, proud declaration. He let out a strange, cackling laugh that was cut short by a fit of coughing. The constables held him firmly, guiding him toward a waiting vehicle.
Prescott watched them go, a deep sadness in his eyes. He stood with his hands in his pockets, his shoulders slumped slightly. The chaotic energy of the moment had faded, leaving a strange quiet in its place.
"How is he still alive?" Delia asked, her voice a shocked whisper as she came to stand beside Prescott. "The stories all said he was dead."
Prescott’s gaze remained fixed on the retreating figure of the man. "The official story was that Adair Reed and his assistant died many years ago when their ship was lost at sea during a storm," he replied, his voice low and full of a strange sadness. "They never found his assistant’s body." He took a slow, deep breath, the air whistling softly through his nose as he saw the departing carriage.
Eric and Delia exchanged a look of surprise. The man’s declaration had seemed like the ramblings of a confused person, but Prescott’s words added a new, more mysterious layer to it. If the real Adair Reed was dead, who was this man? And why would he make such a claim? Their minds raced with questions, but before they could ask any more, Prescott turned to them.
"We have to go," he said, his tone now firm and professional. "Fredrick is conscious. They are waiting for us."
~ ••••• ~
The interrogation room at the Criminal and Justice Division headquarters was a place designed to make a person feel small. The walls were paneled with dark, imposing wood, the ceiling was high and lost in shadow, and the only furniture was a single, massive desk and several hard, uncomfortable chairs.
Augusta, her hands now cuffed in front of her, sat in one of those chairs, her face a pale, defiant mask. A now-conscious and sober Fredrick Garrison sat beside her, a look of weary annoyance on his face. Opposite them, Delia sat with Eric, her expression calm and resolved.
At the head of the desk sat Inspector Thaddeus Wimbly. He looked at the documents spread before him, then fixed his sharp gaze on Fredrick.
"Fredrick Garrison," Inspector Wimbly began, his voice calm and serious. "You are here as a suspect in the attempted murder of Lady Catherine Dalton and Her Grace, Duchess Delia Carson, twenty years ago."
Fredrick let out a short, incredulous laugh. "A suspect? Inspector, with all due respect, I’ve already served the sentence for that unfortunate incident. I spent twenty years in Newgate. You can’t try a man twice for the same crime." He sounded cocky, confident in his legal position.
Inspector Wimbly did not react to his tone. He simply picked up a piece of paper. "That was because the Baron himself, Baron Henry, brought in evidence given to him by his wife, Baroness Augusta." He glanced at Augusta, who refused to meet his gaze. "That evidence, a sworn statement from a so-called witness, stated that you were severely intoxicated while driving your cart. Therefore, you were charged and served punishment for causing a death through reckless, drunken behavior and not attempted murder."
Fredrick looked at Augusta, a slow, cold realization dawning on his face. He laughed again, but this time the sound was bitter and full of a new understanding.
"Oh, so that was why the Baron could catch me so easily, he thought to himself. You were already one step ahead. You quickly saved yourself and threw me in the fire." He thought to himself. Augusta continued to stare at the wall, snubbing him completely.
Fredrick turned back to the Inspector, his confidence returning. "Well, there you have it. I have served that punishment, in full. So you have nothing against me." He made a move to stand up, as if the matter were settled.
"You were imprisoned for careless driving which led to a death," a woman’s voice said, sharp and clear.
Fredrick stopped, turning to see a woman standing in the doorway he hadn’t noticed before. She was elegant, her face pale but her eyes burning with an intense, fiery light. "Who are you?" he asked dismissively. "Why are you sticking your nose in someone else’s business?"
The woman took a step into the room, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Her voice trembled with a rage that had been buried for too long. "You... you tried to kill me."
Fredrick’s eyes widened as he looked from her to Wimbly, a flicker of genuine fear finally appearing on his face.
"This is Lady Catherine Dalton," Wimbly explained calmly. "The woman you were believed to have killed. She has strongly requested that we reopen the investigation into the carriage accident, on the grounds that it was not an accident at all. That is why she is here, with her own evidence to present."
Augusta, hearing Catherine’s name, seemed to shrink in her chair. She subtly turned her face away, hiding it in the shadow.
Catherine continued, her focus entirely on the man who had haunted her nightmares. Tears of pure grief and anger began to stream down her face. "You dared to try and kill my daughter and I?" she cried, her voice breaking. "My baby was in that carriage! You left us for dead!" Her composure finally shattered. She lunged forward and grabbed the front of his shirt. "I hope you rot in prison for the rest of your miserable life!"
Two constables moved quickly to pull her away, her body shaking with sobs.
"Don’t touch me!" Fredrick snarled, yanking himself away from her grasp as the constables held her back. He was cornered now. His legal defense was in tatters, and he was being confronted by the living ghost of his crime. His self-preservation, the only instinct he had ever truly trusted, took over. He did the only thing he could do to save himself.
He turned, a trembling, accusatory finger pointing directly at the woman who had been his partner in crime, his lover, and his betrayer.
"She told me to do it."